The printworks, Manchester, taken from Wheel of Manchester by John Mcguire

This is the second installment of my 2013 challenge to write a section of my new novel every day (see earlier post).

Thank you for your support and comments so far and I’m glad you like Claire! I hope I manage to do her justice. I didn’t get much sleep last night (husband’s snoring and restless kids) so today’s will be a short post. I hope to get to grips with the story a bit more today and tomorrow as the children are in nursery (hurrah!).

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Back at her desk, Claire resisted the urge to put her head in her hands. Living in a glass office surrounded by advertising people had taught her self-control in a way her parents’ strictures on The Correct Way to Behave in Public never had. She had risen through the ranks quickly since arriving at AJC and that generally made people want to find out a person’s weaknesses.

Claire looked out through her glass wall at the Account Managers and Execs working hard at their desks. She could see Julia in close conversation with one of the other PAs. The sight made Claire’s stomach twist and she looked away. There was no doubt Julia had a fair idea what had been said in Carl’s office. PAs knew everything.

Besides, I saw the surreptitious look of glee she threw my way when she brought in the drinks. No doubt it’s all round the Company that I’m being demoted or forced out.

It was that, and only that, preventing Claire from typing her resignation letter and storming back over to Carl’s office. I could get another position by 5pm, she thought as she stared impassively at her computer screen, tapping in random letters while her mind churned at eighty-words-per-minute. But what reputation would follow me? I’d forever be the person who quit on the Coco Cola account. What would the gossips say? That I couldn’t hack a bit of dirt and hard work?

Advertising and Marketing was a closed group. Every day Claire ran into someone from a previous life – a boss, an underling-come-good, a client or supplier. She’d seen former lowly execs become Account Directors or move client-side and become Marketing Directors. You couldn’t be rude to anyone, no matter how much you ached to.

Claire gazed out the window at the city view, or what she could see of it. Manchester in February was a miserable place. It rained. When it stopped raining all you could see were more rainclouds building up on the Pennines. Not that she spent much time outside. The rain was a great excuse to drive the five minutes to work or to the shops from her city-centre apartment. When she wasn’t at the office or with clients she was tucked up warm in the latest wine bar or boutique.

No, the rain wasn’t a problem. Her thoughts dragged her unwillingly back over the last few months, filling her mind with unwelcome images. Flashes of Christmas and New Year filled her head like a TV review programme. Forced to give them attention for the first time, Claire realised they didn’t make happy viewing. She pushed the images away and looked back out at the rain.

Maybe it would be good to get out of Manchester for a while.

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