Page 52

I glance down to the Life Coach Handbook open at page forty, a section called ‘Your Boss Hates You’, and remind her that how she thinks can profoundly influence how she acts and feels. I tell her all about the wankers that I had to deal with on a daily basis and their unacceptable behaviours in the workplace. ‘It’s all about the mindset, Wendy, love. You don’t spend eight years amongst a group of lazy, self-promoting dickheads without picking up a few tips along the way. I would have killed for them to walk on eggshells around me.’

Wendy laughs and seems delighted to have found a kindred spirit and promises to be in touch to book more sessions with me as we draw to a close. I can’t help but realise that while I was helping Wendy to build confidence and identify some strategies to manage her staff positively, I on the other hand am very guilty of letting Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen get away with all sorts of terrible behaviour. I prompt myself to spy on her later this afternoon, to ensure she is not reading the Hola! magazine or chatting with her mother. Besides, we have a huge event to plan and I need her to bring her A-game. I must stay focused and not let my sister’s arrival or Oliver’s treachery distract me from the task at hand. But I keep experiencing searing flashbacks to the retreat, of Oliver and his beefy arms holding me tightly, and the way he kept looking at me.

I look around the office for some inspiration. Nidi has a ton of self-help books on how to be a successful entrepreneur and how to get the best from relationships dotted round the office to make the place (me) seem productive. I should read them. I sweep my gaze over the new, shiny, untouched covers. And I will, right after I’ve had a good look at the Ryan Rodney Reynolds’ appreciation groups to see who he is helping today. He is such a kind-hearted man. Rarely a day passes without him looking gorgeous. I mean, without him being compassionate and caring. No wonder he has almost 18 million followers. Every single one of them, like me, following him with interest, keen to learn from his benevolent way of life, not simply to judge him on his magnificent looks.

The more I think about it, the more I think that it is perhaps me with the terrible behaviour, not Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen. As though she’s reading my mind, my phone trills.

‘Mees Weston, it’s the one you call Boring Berry.’

Feck!

I watched Nidi get approximately nowhere with this man last week. He comes in every single day because he is lonely, and I am simply not in the mood. I have much to worry about and much finger-pointing still to do. Just as I’m telling her to send him away, he walks straight into my office and sits down.

‘Hello, Nell. I hope you don’t mind me just turning up like this, but I had nowhere else to go.’

I take one look at his bony frame and milky, sad eyes and feel a pang of sympathy. We’ve all felt lost and hopeless at some time in our lives. I scan the chapter on loneliness in the handbook while he shuffles over to the sofa like the stale pensioner he is.

‘Okay. Even though you’ve clearly turned up without an appointment, let’s see if we can close the gap between where you are in your life today and where you want to be,’ I say briskly, trying not to sound exasperated with him. ‘Now, tell me, Berry, what makes your heart sing?’

Boring Berry is taken aback. We spend an hour rationalising why no one ever visits him and why he never leaves the house other than to come to our office. I hold back my professional opinion that it is, of course, because he’s too bloody boring. But I’m going to get right to the heart of his fears.

Boring Berry looks at me. ‘I see. What you mean is, why am I just sitting around all day waiting for someone else to make life more exciting, instead of getting up and doing things for myself?’

I remind him that sometimes we need to be the instigators. ‘We need to issue the invitations to do things with family and friends. We need to reach out.’ I push a leaflet into his hand. ‘I picked this up for you after one of your sessions with Nidi.’

He looks down at the leaflet and back up at me, then down at the leaflet again.

‘I want you to join this group, Berry. It might not be your cup of tea, but I’ve explained that you are widowed and severely lacking in conversation. Just go along and have some fun with other people.’ I fix him a determined look.

His eyes go all watery, like old people’s eyes do, and he tells me today is the anniversary of his wife’s death. He says his heart aches without her, even after all these years, and that when he woke up this morning, he prayed to her to help him get through the day.

‘But today,’ he says, taking my hand unexpectedly, ‘I asked her to give me a sign that she is still here, watching over me, waiting for me.’

I dare to look into his wet face, as he explains, waving the leaflet at me. ‘I asked her to help me get back into playing bowls, like I used to before she… before she… and now here you are, giving me this, telling me to go and play bowls!’

I’m not sure where to go with this. I don’t really want to burst his bubble, and for all I know perhaps it was his late wife who put the idea into my head.

Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen watches Boring Berry leave, sniffing up the last of his tears. She glances in my direction. I would stake my life on her thinking that it is me with my terrible life coaching that has reduced him to tears.

‘Well, thankfully, apart from Jiff, Berry will be the last proper client I see before Nidi gets back,’ I say, relieved. Life coaching is a huge responsibility. People are relying on me to help them achieve their goals. Their life goals. For the one and only life they’ll ever have. I let out a gusty breath, feeling the enormity of the pressure deflate. I close my eyes and pinch my nose, grateful that Nidi will return in a few weeks.

‘Sí,’ Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen agrees. ‘The last one for today.’

An ominous prickle creeps up my back. I count to three in my head before speaking.

‘Meaning?’

‘It is this computer. It is allowing all the people to book sessions. Even the clients I tell not to come. See? It is the computer’s fault.’ She turns the monitor to face me, sits back and folds her arms accusingly. ‘It’s why the appointments book is much better. I will use the book instead.’

I stare at the computer screen showing a packed diary for tomorrow as anxiety sweeps me up. Names and times swim before my eyes. While Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen has been burying her head in the sand, clients have been booking sessions willy-nilly. There isn’t enough time left in the day to ring every single one of them and reschedule.

‘Some of these slots are double booked,’ I say. ‘The names on the computer don’t match the names of clients you have booked in the appointments book.’

‘Sí.’

She has a defiant look on her face. It is clear that Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen won’t be offering a solution any time soon.

‘And also,’ she says, moving the conversation on, ‘we have many bookings for the coach trip. People are excited to know where we are going. And if the coach will have air conditioning and toilets.’