ME & THE MONSTER

never o'clock

Mrs Taylor was the boss from Hell.

"God, my feet are killing me," she grumbled, bending down to massage her ankle. She was wearing designer scarlet stilettos. "And the night hasn't even started."

Then she turned to me, and smiled. It was the kind of smile you offer to a child, encouraging and fake.

"Are you looking forward to the dinner, Rae?"

"Um," I said. We turned around a corner and another street opened up before us. "Yeah."

She tried her hardest to be a cool boss, but it didn't really work. Laid-back and Mrs Taylor couldn't be used in the same sentence. Maybe it was her tone of voice. Mrs Taylor didn't talk, she boomed. Even when relaxed, her powerful voice carried over the others and made you cringe. She was a brisk whirlwind of activity, barking out orders, straightening our uniform, rushing to and fro to meet clients.

I wouldn't have been surprised if the woman didn't sleep. I imagined her sitting up all night at a desk in her fabulous flat, scheming and planning, expensively dyed blonde hair pulled back into a bun so tight her eyes popped out of her forehead.

She had a habit of turning up at the pub at unexpected times, to keep an eye on all of us, I suppose. I couldn't ever concentrate with her around. She'd lean forward, elbows down hard on the bar, sipping her drink with a suspicious little frown on her perfectly made-up face as if she expected it to be poisoned.

She scared the shit out of me.

"Lovely," Mrs T. said. "Because it's such an important event, Rae. You know Anker's has pubs all over England. All the big fish are going to be present tonight, so it's paramount that we make a good impression on them. I want you to be on your best behaviour. " She cocked her head to a side. I felt like her reprimanded pet Golden Retriever. "Understood?"

I tried not to scowl. "Yes, madam."

She'd somehow managed to discover where I lived – I suspected tongue-wagging Vanessa had something to do with it. She'd insisted on picking me up at my street. She claimed she was passing by anyway, and that this 'was the ideal way to strengthen the bond between employer and employee.'

I didn't know if I wanted that particular bond strengthened, but I couldn't very well refuse. I'd tried to cheer myself up by thinking she'd probably pick me up in some large posh car and I'd waltz to the restaurant – some fancy Asian place I'd never heard of – like a queen.

But lo and behold she'd turned up on my doorstep, carless. It seemed I was lumbered with her the whole way, a good twenty-five-minute walk. It was going to be torture. I just knew it was.

I hated events like this. I got so horribly tongue-tied that I couldn't bring myself to speak to anyone I didn't know, let alone any of the so-called 'big fish.' I tried to picture all the wonderful food I'd be eating, but my stomach was so tightly knotted with nerves I knew I'd only be picking at it. Thank badness the dinner was mandatory. That meant Vanessa couldn't wiggle out of it. I made a mental note to drag her to sit by my side.

It was a cold night. I burrowed myself deeper into my coat and saw Mrs Taylor look at me.

"Are you wearing that, Rae?"

Oh no. "Er, yes?"

"Right." She gave me a sharklike smile. A bus thundered past. I could see Mrs T.'s teeth gleam in the bright glare of the headlights. "I thought I said you should dress up? This is slightly – tacky, my dear. I don't want people to get the wrong impression of my employees."

I felt myself blushing with anger and embarrassment. "Sorry," I muttered. "It's my best dress."

She shook her head in a mildly amused manner. The hag. Did she think I was made of money?