Chapters (64)
- Cover
- About the Author
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- Chapter Thirty-Two
- Chapter Thirty-Three
- Chapter Thirty-Four
- Chapter Thirty-Five
- Chapter Thirty-Six
- Chapter Thirty-Seven
- Chapter Thirty-Eight
- Chapter Thirty-Nine
- Chapter Forty
- Chapter Forty-One
- Chapter Forty-Two
- Chapter Forty-Three
- Chapter Forty-Four
- Chapter Forty-Five
- Chapter Forty-Six
- Chapter Forty-Seven
- Chapter Forty-Eight
- Chapter Forty-Nine
- Chapter Fifty
- Chapter Fifty-One
- Chapter Fifty-Two
- Chapter Fifty-Three
- Chapter Fifty-Four
- Chapter Fifty-Five
- Chapter Fifty-Six
- Chapter Fifty-Seven
- Chapter Fifty-Eight
- Chapter Fifty-Nine
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgements
This is already awful. I have been weighed, measured and found keen. I’d completely forgotten about the hell of the first day of a new job. You’re being judged every time you breathe out. You realise that what you eat for lunch is weird. The way you eat it is weird. The number of times you need to go to the toilet is definitely weird. You stop being convinced of your own status as a human being.
Gingerly, I spring to my feet to greet Harri. My chair shrieks with distress, and Harri shakes her head. ‘You know what, stay there, we might as well get started. I’ll let these guys quickly introduce themselves and then we’ll get going.’ Harri already looks quite stressed. I hate myself for noticing that she seems to have aged over Christmas. I can see her elevens. I just read an article in one of the Sunday supplements about these elevens, the pair of short, vertical frown lines that form in the gap between our eyebrows, which apparently must be Botoxed into oblivion before they start to multiply into other numbers. This new knowledge has ruined faces for me, for ever.
I’m relieved when a voice cuts in and throws me off my own terrible train of thought. ‘I’m Akila,’ says Model Woman. I still can’t quite work out how old she is, she might be in her mid thirties. She has cropped, close-cut hair, and huge, round spectacles with expensive-looking, dark jade green frames. The flickering neon is draining most of us, but it makes Akila luminous, throwing her cheekbones into sharp relief. That woman is really well dressed, I think, even though she’s simply wearing jeans and a jumper. The jeans are a perfect inky indigo, and they look as though they are soft to the touch. Her electric blue jumper—cashmere?—is stitched, in shocking pink cursive, with the words ‘Queen of Queens’. The word regal has already formed in my mind before I’ve started reading the slogan. Immediately, I know I want to be Akila when I grow up.
‘I’m the audience and engagement manager. I’ve worked here and in the US, developing brand strategy at Glossier, MTV, Nordstrom—a lot of e-commerce, mostly beauty and fashion with some entertainment brands. We’re going to be evolving The Know into a brand too. It’s a big part of Harri’s strategy. This isn’t just a website. We want to build ourselves into our audience’s lives and it’s my job to make sure we’re delivering from Day One.’
This is the sort of speech that would usually make me hysterical with laughter or nerves. But Akila’s voice is so soothing to listen to—deep, smooth, but a little unpolished. It’s the sound of Mitcham High Street, but dry cleaned and ironed.