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‘That’s the first editor,’ she said, pointing to the older woman.
I nodded.
‘Margi Matthews,’ I said. I’d read about her, of course. She’d come from the States and had been a real trailblazer.
‘And that is Suze Williams,’ Emily pointed to a young woman at one end of the picture. She had dark hair in a crop just like Twiggy’s, and she was wearing a very short, black pinafore dress over a white long-sleeved t-shirt and white tights.
‘No way,’ I said. Margi was the founding editor of the magazine, but it was Suze who’d made it what it was now. She’d been editor in the late seventies and had taken Mode from its cautious beginnings as a fashion mag, to one of the most controversial and sassy women’s mags in the business.
‘She started out as editorial assistant,’ Emily said. ‘She worked on the very first issue, and eventually took over.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ I said, staring at the pic. ‘Can you take some of these, go through them and make some notes about features that catch your eye?’ I said, a germ of an idea taking root in my mind. ‘I’ll take the other half.’
‘Of course,’ Emily said, looking like I’d given her a present. ‘I’d love to.’
She took a bundle of mags from the top of the pile and headed out of my office.
I sat back in my chair, pleased with her initiative, and started leafing through the issues. They made me really sad. It was such a brilliant magazine and if Lizzie had her way it would be the end. I loved digital and how you could react to things happening immediately online, but in my opinion there was nothing better than treating yourself to a glossy magazine and curling up on the sofa to read it. Grace was a great magazine, I liked it a lot, but it didn’t have the history that Mode had. It had changed its image so many times over the years that its early days as Home & Hearth were completely forgotten now – except to magazine geeks like me.
I read for well over an hour, jotting down ideas. Magazines had really changed, that was for sure, but what surprised me about those early editions was just how blunt and honest they were. There was loads of sex in them, hard-hitting features on things like abortion and racism, there was humour, advice, and a real feeling of being in this together. We could learn a lot from these issues, I thought.
I picked up the photograph of the first Mode team again and stared at it. There were only about ten people in the picture. They all had their arms linked and they were laughing. Margi Matthews, in the middle, was holding a round glass of champagne and the man to her left, who was wearing Mad Men style glasses, was gripping the bottle. There was so much energy and enthusiasm oozing out of the photo I could almost feel it.
I tapped the photo against my chin, thinking. The difference between the team in this picture and the team I was looking at – the nervous, quiet, worried team I had – was astonishing. Somehow I had to get that enthusiasm into my team if we were going to have any chance of beating Grace’s brilliant sales. I couldn’t rely on Vanessa to come up with exciting ideas, that was clear. I needed a right-hand woman. Someone I could work with. Someone who knew me inside out. In short, I needed Jen.
She and I had worked together on and off for years. We’d met when we were both interns on magazines in the same company. Our careers had followed similar paths and we’d ended up as deputy editor – me – and features director – her – on Happy magazine. We’d loved working so closely together. I was in awe of Jen’s creativity and her knack of knowing exactly what the magazine needed each issue, while I knew I was better at managing a team and getting the job done.
We’d worked so well together in fact that we’d hatched a plan. We’d started plotting to launch our own online magazine, which we’d planned to call The Hive. We’d approached writers, spoken to designers, I’d even had some tentative meetings about getting finance in place. The feedback was enthusiastic, there was a real buzz about it and things were moving. And then Lizzie had called me to chat about this job. I’d not mentioned it to Jen at first, thinking it would come to nothing. But somehow I’d gone for one interview, then another, then presented to the board… and suddenly I was the new editor of Mode. I had to tell Jen – and more importantly we had to put all our plans for The Hive on hold.
Not surprisingly, Jen was furious. She’d put a lot of work into The Hive.
‘Carry on,’ I’d said, as we sat in our favourite bar the day I told her. ‘Carry on without me.’
She’d shaken her head, her bleached blonde hair brushing her shoulders.
‘You know that wouldn’t work,’ she’d said. ‘It’s called The Hive for a reason. It’s not a solo venture.’
‘I’ll help,’ I said desperately. ‘At evenings and weekends. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.’
Jen stared into her glass.
‘You won’t,’ she said. She didn’t sound angry, she just sounded disappointed and really tired. ‘You’ll do whatever you want to do. That’s what you always do.’
She fished a ten-pound note out of her purse and shoved it at me.
‘For the drink,’ she muttered. Then she picked up her bag and left.
I’d not seen her since then. I was put on gardening leave as soon as I handed in my notice, so I’d not gone back to Happy. Jen hadn’t replied to my emails and she cancelled all my calls. I knew she was acting as editor while the bosses at Happy found someone new to fill my role and I hoped she was doing well. She’d make a great editor and I knew she’d been bored to tears before – it was one of the reasons she’d been so keen to launch The Hive.
Although, I thought now, tapping my nails on the front cover of the first ever Mode, it might be good if she was bored.
Without stopping to think, I scrolled through my phone to her number and hit call. It rang a couple of times, then went straight to voicemail as I’d thought it would.
‘Jen, it’s me,’ I said. ‘Sweetheart, I’m sorry about everything. I’ve got lots to say to you but for now, let me just say this…’
I paused.
‘Do you want a job?’
I ended the call and sat back. As I’d hoped, my phone rang almost straight away.
‘What sort of job?’ Jen said.
Chapter 8 (#ulink_3fd6b6e1-82d9-513a-ad34-eb702731e648)
‘I’m not staying,’ Jen said, sliding into the seat opposite me. She looked tired and her hair was scraped back into a tiny bun.
I nodded. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy.
‘Drink?’
Jen shook her head.
‘I’m not staying,’ she said again. I poured myself a glass of wine, took a huge mouthful and grimaced at the acidic taste. We were in an old-fashioned pub down a side street near my office – I’d wanted to be sure no one from work would see me meeting Jen and as the only other customer was an older man in a creased grey suit with beer stains on the sleeves, I was fairly sure no one would.
‘Just say what you’ve got to say,’ Jen said. She fixed me with her unflinching gaze and I wilted a bit.
‘Firstly,’ I said, taking another swig of horrible wine. ‘I want to apologise. I should have told you about the offer from Mode as soon as they rang me. I was stupid and inconsiderate.’
‘And selfish,’ Jen said.
‘That too.’
There was a pause. Jen carried on staring at me.
‘I still want to launch The Hive,’ I said. ‘And I think this job is going to help with contacts and giving us an edge when we approach writers and financial backers.’
Jen shrugged.
‘Perhaps,’ she said.
I took a breath.
‘Being editor of Mode is my dream job,’ I said. ‘When I was a teenager, it was what I dreamed of. I couldn’t turn it down, Jen. I couldn’t.’
Jen looked at me for a moment longer.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know. I get it. I was just so hurt.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s what you do, Fearne,’ Jen said, a bitter edge to her voice. ‘It’s what you do. You pretend you need people, that you’re there for people, but when push comes to shove, all you really care about is your career.’
‘That’s not true,’ I said, even though it was a bit. ‘I care about you. I do. We’re a team, Jen, in work and out.’
A tiny, humourless smile worked its way onto Jen’s lips.
‘You’re never not working,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. ‘I’m sorry I ran out on you and our plans.’
Jen sighed.
‘All that work we’d put in…’
‘It still counts,’ I said. ‘We can still do it. In a year or so, maybe.’
I gulped the wine again. It was beginning to taste a bit nicer.
‘But for now I want to save Mode,’ I said. ‘And I want you to help me.’
Jen blinked at me.
‘Save it?’
I nodded.
‘You know I said it was my dream job?’
Jen picked up the wine bottle and poured some into her empty glass. I was pleased. Maybe she was staying after all.
‘Yes.’
‘Well it’s actually more of a nightmare.’
Jen had been perched on her chair, looking as though she might flee at any moment. Now she shrugged off her jacket and sat back. I almost wept with relief.
‘Spill,’ she said.
So I told her all about Mode and how it was haemorrhaging sales to Grace. How I had barely any staff, a shoestring budget and a defiant features editor. How I was trying to theme the issues and give ourselves an edge.
‘So we’re kind of forcing this issue into Back to Basics,’ I explained. ‘Next we’re doing body confidence, and then I’m thinking about feminism or something like that.’
‘Sounds pretty meh,’ Jen said. ‘It’s hardly groundbreaking.’
I stared at her.
‘That’s exactly my worry,’ I said with relief – she was already beginning to engage with the project I pulled my notes out of my bag and thrust them at her. ‘Look, this is what I’m planning. It’s all okay but I’m not sure it’s going to be enough.’
She smiled for the first time since she’d sat down.
‘You need something big,’ she said. She picked up the notes and leafed through them – I could almost see her brain working, churning out ideas as she read, and my stomach squirmed in excitement.
‘Jen,’ I said. ‘Come and work with me.’
She looked at me over the top of my scribbles.
‘What?’
‘I need a deputy. And I need someone who’ll tell me the truth, tell me when my ideas are hopeless and when they’re working. I need you.’
Jen lowered the notes slowly.
‘Thought you had no budget,’ she said.
‘All my staff have left,’ I said. ‘I’ll move some stuff around.’
She bit her lip and I sensed she was weakening.
‘Unless you want to stay at Happy,’ I said. ‘Must be nice being the boss at last…’
‘I hate it there,’ Jen said. ‘I’m slogging my guts out as editor, and no one’s said thank you, or told me I’m doing a good job. And they’re still recruiting to replace me.’
She paused.
‘And, I suppose I miss you.’
I grinned.
‘So are you in?’
‘This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.’
‘Of course not.’
Jen waved the notes at me.
‘This has got something already and I can make it better,’ she said. ‘But you need to promise me you’ll listen to my ideas, and not shout me down or pull rank?’
‘I promise,’ I said, so grateful she was listening to me that I’d have promised anything at all.
‘Then I’m in.’
I squealed in delight and reached across the table to hug her. She drew back and gave me a fierce look.
‘No hugging,’ she said. ‘We’re not at the hugging stage yet.’
‘Sorry,’ I said.
