All We Have Lost Read Online Free

do it.’
    ‘Really? You think I should?’
    ‘Yeah I do.’
    ‘But you’re not permanent yet.’
    ‘Well, you could always think about it for a bit longer.’
    ‘Right. OK. I’ll do that.’ Now that it’s a possibility, it has become suddenly scary.
     
    9am and already there’s a message from Maeve asking me to call her urgently.
    Though it kills me, I do it.
    ‘Oh, Kim, great! You got my message?’
    ‘You said it was urgent?’
    ‘Yeah, I was ringing about the proposal you presented yesterday. It’s a little light on activities, isn’t it?’
    That urgent? ‘That’s all the budget allows, Maeve. If you want to increase it, I can by all means add more activities.’
    ‘I’m sure we did a lot more last year for the same price.’
    I take a deep breath; then count to five. ‘Let me pull out last year’s proposal. Actually, why don’t I call you back?’ I don’t need to look at last year’s proposal; I consulted it when preparing this one. Contrary to what she thinks (or would have me believe she thinks), I’m not trying to screw her. I make myself a coffee. I check Twitter and the morning’s newspapers for mentions of my clients. After fifteen minutes, I call her back.
    ‘Maeve, looking at last year’s activities, I realise that I’ve under-budgeted this year’s proposal.’
    ‘Oh. Really? Wow. OK. Well, I can’t increase the budget, Kim. It’s fixed. My hands are tied.’
    I push back a cuticle. ‘All right, let’s leave it at that then but we’ll have to revisit it, next year.’ The thought that I mightn’t be around gives me the sweetest thrill. And just to remind myself why I mightn’t be around, I flick through the proposal I’ve just presented to her.
    Activity No. 1: Press Conference – Caffeine is Good For You – new research.
    Activity No. 2: Celebrity endorsements – sponsor celebrities to be seen and photographed in public with client’s drink in hand.
    Activity No. 3: Photoshoot – Twelve Green Bottles (life-sized) Hanging On A Wall with twelve Big Brother contestants pushing them off.
    Activity No. 4: Sponsor university rag week.
    Activity No. 5: Mother’s Day competition on daytime TV.
     
    Once we get over the budget issue, Maeve claims to love the proposal. I wonder if I can spend a year implementing it. I’m particularly depressed about Activity No. 3. How did I come up with it? I’m slowly losing all credibility with myself.
    People like Maeve are actually great, though. Because they make you think. Things like: life’s too short; I’m selling myself short; if only my working day was really short; and what a short fuse I have. I can taste freedom in the air. I imagine days spent writing, not listening to her, not editing and re-editing her press releases then changing them back to the original, not reassuring her, not appeasing her. Just making up stories. Stories where people follow their dreams, where mothers can be with their children, where the main character can quit and still win.
    I know now. There’s no way I’ll ever be able to carry out my proposal for Maeve. Maybe – subconsciously – I made it so ridiculous on purpose, knowing that I could never be able to go through with it. I can’t do this to myself any more. I need to believe in what I do, in myself. I need a challenge. I need to be with my children. I need to quit.
    Ian will be made permanent. And I’ll become a bestseller.

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    If kidnapped by aliens, blindfolded and returned, I’d know I was in my mum’s kitchen by smell alone. The reassurance of home baking; I could do an article on it. Or not.
    Mum looks at me as if I have, in fact, agreed to take off with aliens.
    ‘But why?’
    ‘I’m tired, Mum.’
    ‘Tired?’
    ‘Yes, tired. Tired of having to think up news angles and PR proposals for non-newsworthy, boring products. Tired of writing creative captions for pictures of cheesy businessmen in grey suits. Tired of having to be gung-ho about Flush bloody toilet