And, once again, I found myself going to see Jessica, despite my misgivings. Not only that, I was skipping work to see her, answering her siren call. I promised myself I’d work on the train down, and honestly had the best intentions. I’d packed a bag with printouts of five articles that needed proofing, and I’d planned to go through my pitch in-box and figure out the next month of commissions. But, at London Bridge, I got way too distracted by all the things to do and buy, and when my train flickered up on the digital board, I cradled a coffee, a pastry, a vegan sausage roll, Grazia magazine, that day’s Times newspaper, and a new posh notebook and pen. I collapsed onto the mostly empty train, setting out all my wares on the seats around me for the forty-five-minute journey. By the time I’d enjoyed my coffee, and wiped the croissant crumbs off my lap, there were only twenty minutes left. Not enough time to really concentrate so I stared aimlessly out of the window. It was strange, doing this journey to my old hometown after so many years, and I felt nostalgia crash over me as I stared out at this familiar moving view. My phone started ringing, jerking me out of my thoughts, and I saw it was my editor’s number.

Shit.

“Derek? Hi, how are things going?” I said, praying we didn’t go through a tunnel.

“Hi, Fern, I’m good. It’s Friday and all that. All well your end?”

I used my hand to cover the mouthpiece to drown out train noises. “Yeah, just going through my pitch in-box. I’ll send over anything good before the end of the day.”

“And ruin my weekend? Leave it ’til Monday morning, won’t you?”

I relaxed a little. As editors went, I had won the absolute lottery working for Derek and Gah!. He was chill about however I worked, as long as I made my deadlines and unique users targets. I didn’t want to be seen to be taking the piss, though.

“Monday it is. We’ve got a meeting at ten, don’t we?”

“Yes. That’s why I was calling actually.” I heard him shake some papers. “Basically, it’s good news, Fern. I read through your pitch and sample article for The Other Side of the Tissue Box, and it’s fucking inspired. I want it to be a vertical, for sure. So we need to chat about how you can juggle this with your editing role.”

A smile melted through my face. “Really? A vertical! You really think it’s a good idea?”

“Stop fishing, if I say it’s great, it’s great.”

“OK, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing too.”

“Sorry.”