BooksBarbecue
Back Careering Save as PDF
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Chapter One
  5. Chapter Two
  6. Chapter Three
  7. Chapter Four
  8. Chapter Five
  9. Chapter Six
  10. Chapter Seven
  11. Chapter Eight
  12. Chapter Nine
  13. Chapter Ten
  14. Chapter Eleven
  15. Chapter Twelve
  16. Chapter Thirteen
  17. Chapter Fourteen
  18. Chapter Fifteen
  19. Chapter Sixteen
  20. Chapter Seventeen
  21. Chapter Eighteen
  22. Chapter Nineteen
  23. Chapter Twenty
  24. Chapter Twenty-One
  25. Chapter Twenty-Two
  26. Chapter Twenty-Three
  27. Chapter Twenty-Four
  28. Chapter Twenty-Five
  29. Chapter Twenty-Six
  30. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  31. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  32. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  33. Chapter Thirty
  34. Chapter Thirty-One
  35. Chapter Thirty-Two
  36. Chapter Thirty-Three
  37. Chapter Thirty-Four
  38. Chapter Thirty-Five
  39. Chapter Thirty-Six
  40. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  41. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  42. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  43. Chapter Forty
  44. Chapter Forty-One
  45. Chapter Forty-Two
  46. Chapter Forty-Three
  47. Chapter Forty-Four
  48. Chapter Forty-Five
  49. Chapter Forty-Six
  50. Chapter Forty-Seven
  51. Chapter Forty-Eight
  52. Chapter Forty-Nine
  53. Chapter Fifty
  54. Chapter Fifty-One
  55. Chapter Fifty-Two
  56. Chapter Fifty-Three
  57. Chapter Fifty-Four
  58. Chapter Fifty-Five
  59. Chapter Fifty-Six
  60. Chapter Fifty-Seven
  61. Chapter Fifty-Eight
  62. Chapter Fifty-Nine
  63. Epilogue
  64. Acknowledgements

For twenty minutes, I watch The Know’s social media accounts, refreshing the page every half a minute. Eventually, the tweet gets twelve likes, one from a company that makes hand sanitiser. (It’s a coincidence but I wonder whether it’s a passive aggressive sub-like, a cleaning brand calling me a dirty girl. But then, no one on Twitter is that subtle.) No drama, no fuss. I don’t know what I expected. Strangely, I’m slightly disappointed. It’s a little bit anticlimactic, after making myself so raw and exposed on the page. Well, the screen. I really wanted it to blow up, to piss off Tabitha. I suppose that does not say much for my journalistic integrity. This is the best case scenario, really. I mean, I feel a bit nervous about Louise reading it. I might just not mention it, and hope she’s forgotten.

At 6.18, even though everyone else is still frowning furiously at their monitors, I decide it’s home time. (It’s only fair, I’m pretty sure my commute is three times longer than anyone else’s.) With one arm through my coat, and my other hand clutching my phone, bag strap around my neck, pack-horse style, I burble a ‘See you tomorrow’ and make my escape. I’m perfect. I’m a superstar. I’m absolutely exhausted.

Chapter Nineteen

Good morning, Imogen

Imogen

I wake up the way that every wellness warrior says I shouldn’t; alarm jangling, one eye open, hand under the pillow, feeling for my phone because I shoved it there last night after falling down a Reddit rabbit hole. (‘AITA—I (M, 49) left my own wedding reception early to go surfing, and my new wife (F, 29) says she already wants a divorce?’) Weather—rainy, rainy, rainy. News—awful, awful, awful. Twitter—formerly famous nineties gameshow host was racist on Newsnight…but look! A bear is making friends with a kitten…and oh. Oh. What’s going on? I have more than twenty notifications, and everything is very slow to load. Maybe my Twitter is broken. I had that on Instagram, when it notified me about every follower I had gained in the last six months…OH MY GOD.

Miley Cyrus has quote tweeted my threesome piece. ‘Courageous, smart, relatable.’ Sealed with a wink emoji, of course. And Emily Ratajkowski. ‘THIS is the writing we need to read post #MeToo. Love @Imogen_Mou owning her complex sexuality.’