The Wish List by Jane Costello Page B

the world that I was the sort of woman who placed non-recyclable
items in a bin designed solely for recyclable ones. And I am not that irresponsible.’
    He stands staring, as if waiting for me to finish. Which I wish I’d done after the first sentence.
    ‘That’s all,’ I conclude.
    ‘Thank you. Well, first of all, I apologise that your wheelie bin ended up in my garden – it must have been a removal man, because it wasn’t me. But I’m genuinely sorry
for the inconvenience. Second, may I say that of all the welcomes I’ve received since moving in – the cards, the friendly hellos, the bottles of wine – yours is, without doubt,
the most . . . memorable. And I say that as someone who received four jars of satsuma jam.’
    I open my mouth to speak, but he gets there before me.
    ‘As for you being reckless, irresponsible or anything remotely negative, I would never be so presumptuous about someone I hardly know.’ He holds my gaze meaningfully at the last
words.
    ‘Good.’
    He looks at me again and an awkward silence hovers in the air.
    I go to turn away, when he says something that makes my stomach flip over. ‘You know we spent the night together, don’t you?’
    ‘Yes,’ I hiss. ‘I also know you have children and are married and—’
    ‘Separated.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I’m separated. My wife and I aren’t together.’
    I straighten my back. ‘I see.’ This does alter things – and I’m relieved. But not enough to make me proud of having a one-night stand with my new neighbour. ‘Fine.
Good. But I’d still rather you didn’t mention . . . you know, to anyone.’
    ‘“You know”?’
    I narrow my eyes and focus on him so hard I could be about to fire lasers from them. ‘
You
.
Know
,’ I repeat, then spin on my heels and march away, dragging my
wheelie bin back to its rightful home.

Chapter 24
    I’m almost overjoyed to get to work on Monday morning. ‘Almost’ because, while I’m sick of hiding in my flat and relieved to escape from it, being at
Little Blue Bus Productions today only underlines my growing suspicion of one thing: I really should get out of this job.
    The irony is that Giles and I have a brilliant morning.
    We’ve finished the script on a new series and had a meeting with the animators, who were effervescing with enthusiasm as they started sketching out ideas. As Giles and I stood over the
shoulder of one, James, we smiled at each other like proud, but dysfunctional, parents.
    We achieved loads, were bursting with ideas and laughed so much – about everything from Giles’s comedy coffee spill when Denise from accounts walked in, to the slip of James’s
pencil that left a Bingbah looking like the bastard love child of a My Little Pony and Chewbacca from
Star Wars
.
    It was one of those mornings that reminded me why I’ve loved this job for so many years – the creativity, the buzz, the energy you get from talented people doing what they do
best.
    Then I got back to my desk.
    Perry had embarked on an emailing frenzy, something that sends ripples of terror round the office each time it happens.
    He goes underground for weeks, resulting in urgent and repeated requests going totally unanswered. Then you’ll log on and suddenly nineteen of the buggers will be sitting there in bold
type, sprinkled with random punctuation marks – Perry’s approach to exclamation marks can be compared only with that of a toddler with a tub of hundreds of thousands.
    The first in my inbox is a response to an email I sent in December 2010 asking if it’d be possible to leave early on Friday for a dental appointment.
    Course, no problem Emma! Not dentures, is it?!!!!! ;-) !!! :-/
    The second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh take me to the present day, authorising payments for stationery that’s been long recycled, holidays from which my tan faded months ago
– and issuing feedback on scripts that have not just been produced in the interim, but have also been aired,