Venus Envy by Louise Bagshawe

way down to Bank station. Seamus had been sweet, hadn’t he? Kissed me in the morning - I mean, he didn’t have any time. But I was upset. He hadn’t even suggested a quick one. And he’d taken the first shower, the bloody bastard. He didn’t really care.
    ‘AMAB, AMAB,’ I hissed under my breath, ‘bloody AMAB, All Men Are Bastards.’
    What if he thought I was lousy? Too fat? Too cold? Too poor? Too unkempt? Too - well, let’s face it, there were many candidates for what I could have been too much of. Or not enough. I was angry at Seamus,
     
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    but that didn’t stop me thinking it was still all my fault.
    I marched into the office doors like Boudicca on the warpath.
    ‘Man trouble?’ asked the girl on Reception triumphantly.
    I ignored her and shot straight upstairs. Jenny was back and there was a huge pile of new filing on my desk.
    ‘You’re better,’ I said lamely.
    ‘You’re late,’ Jenny observed. ‘You look tired. You haven’t been gallivanting about, I hope?’
    ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ I said glumly. ‘Well, Mr Mahon is - oh, hello, Mr Mahon.’
    My heart stopped. There was Seamus, walking towards Jenny, looking immaculate, a friendly grin on his face. He gave me the briskest smile this side of an NHS nurse. ‘Hi, ladies.’
    ‘Hi, Sea–er, Mr Mahon,’ I stammered.
    Seamus glanced at me in a thunderous frown, then turned his most dazzling smile on to Jenny. ‘So you’re better, Jenny, it’s not been the same without you. Why don’t you come into my office and we’ll go over the trip to Seville.’
    The two of them turned away from me without a backwards glance. I was left alone at my desk with nothing but my files for company, and of course the flashing phone, already lit up like NATO headquarters
    in World War Three. He didn’t love me. He didn’t care.
    I was useless in bed.
    I listlessly flicked through my latest Hello!. Sure enough, Dolores Mahon was there, this time attending Ulrika Jonsson launch party for her biography. She was wearing what looked like a far more expensive and flattering version of my pink Whistles dress.
     
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    Outside my window it was raining. I picked up the phone dully. ‘Good morning,’ I said robotically, ‘Hamilton Kane.’
     
    Seamus was stuck in meetings all morning. Jenny was the only person he let near him. God, I just wanted to get out of there, to break down and start crying.
    Keisha rang at eleven. ‘You looked like death
    warmed up when you came in.’
    ‘Hey, thanks for sharing.’
    ‘What’s the matter, was he that bad? Better to find out right away. And anyway, he’s married.’
    ‘Only technically,’ I said sullenly. ‘And you can talk. What about David, and that solicitor, and the copper, and You Know Who …’
    Her latest had been a very famous, very married World Champion boxer who had waited outside her Up and Running office at seven a.m. one Saturday morning, with the pathetic excuse that he wasn’t waiting for her, he was just up training.
    ‘Yeah. Well, never mind about that. We’re all going to a big party on Saturday night. In Kensington, for Versace … Snowy fixed it.’
    ‘Oh,’ I grunted, the flicker of excitement that had sparked sputtering out.
    ‘You can come, you’ll find someone better than Seamus.’
    I blinked back thick tears. Better than Seamus, right, Brad Pitt was going to be there and think how much
    prettier than Gwyneth Paltrow I was.
    ‘Sure, why not.’
    The phone trilled again. It was Snowy. ‘Tell me you are coming, darling … I’m sure Keisha will lend you something to wear.’
    ‘You hardly need me there.’
    ‘But I do! You’ll add some originality to the mix.’ ‘I will?’
     
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    ‘Oh yes, darling, all the people there are usually rich and glamorous, or beautiful, it can get very samey after a while. Do bring that director chappie, Oliver - oh, sorry, didn’t last, did it? Well, anyway, do bring your man, it’ll probably be a lovely change for him