Happily Ever After Read Online Free PDF Page A

door slammed and Alex came in.
    “Oh, hi, Elle,” he said, not looking at her, and slamming his man-bag down on the table. “How’s it going? Any luck today then?”
    “OK, thanks,” Elle said. “Yeah, I—”
    “I’m not staying,” Alex said. “Meeting some guys from work at the pub. Just stopped off to change my shirt.”
    “Oh, right,” said Elle, who found Alex’s obsession with sharp Ben Sherman shirts half tragic, half touching.
    “Hey.” He stopped and grabbed the paper from her. “Can I just check something? Were you looking at it?”
    “At the jobs, but it’s fine, there’s nothing in it,” Elle said, desperate to talk, even if Alex obviously wasn’t interested. “It’s a week old, anyway—”
    Alex ignored her and started turning the pages. “Our new print campaign for Cape Town should be in here somewhere, we rolled it out last week and the fucking muppets haven’t sent us any copies yet.”
    “But this is last week’s—”
    He ignored her, and struggled to turn the pages. “That’s fine. Where is it? Hey! There! How cool is that? Yeah, looks good.”
    Elle followed his jabbing finger. “‘Visit Cape Town, for a World of Possibilities,’” she read. “That’s great.”
    She nodded politely as Alex talked, and looked down again, her eye caught by something, she didn’t know why. And there, right in the middle of the Travel section, amongst ads for holiday lets in Cornwall and cheap flights to Thailand, she suddenly saw the following:
     
    Editorial Secretary Required for Established
Independent Publishing House
Enthusiastic Self-Starter / Graduate.
Must have office experience
Competitive Salary: £11,000
Please send curricula vitae by post to:
Miss Elspeth MacReady
c/o Bluebird Books Ltd, Bedford Square
     
    “What’s that doing there?” Elle asked. She snatched the paper out of Alex’s hand. “It’s—what’s it doing there?”
    “Don’t know.” Alex stared at her, annoyed. “Actually, Elle, I was looking at that.”
    “Sorry, Alex,” Elle said, clutching the paper to her bosom and looking at him imploringly, almost in a panic: what if he took the paper away, flung it out of the window, how would she get it back? “It’s a job, it sounds perfect…. I don’t know why it’s there, it’s in the wrong place…. Please, let me…” She stared again at the text. “‘Send curricula vitae … care of Bluebird Books.’” She bit her lip. “Bluebird Books—I’ve heard of them! They’re proper, they—they’re old!” She ran into Karen’s bedroom and scanned the precariously built IKEA Billy bookcase, crammed full of well-worn blockbusters, their cracked spines stamped with gold. “Yes, I knew it! They publish Victoria Bishop! And… Old Tom! They publish Old Tom. Well, Granny Bee would have been pleased.” She glanced at her watch. It was nearly five thirty p.m. Too late to catch the post. There was no telephone number, either. No, a voice inside her head said. You’re going to go for this. You’re going to do something about this, instead of sitting there feeling sorry for yourself.
    Elle bit her lip and marched back to the hall, pulled out a telephone directory, and thumbed through it, kneeling on the ground. Alex came into the hall and watched her.
    “Can I have the paper back now, please?” he said, reaching forward.
    “No! Just give me ONE SECOND, Alex, PLEASE!” Elle heard herself bellowing. Alex stepped back, annoyed.
    “You’re really starting to outstay your fucking welcome, you know,” he murmured.
    Elle jabbed her finger on the page, and started dialing. It was a week old, that ad—even if it was in the wrong place, whatwere the chances? “I’m sorry, Alex,” she said. “It’s probably hopeless, but I’ve got to give it a go—Hello?”
    “Good evening,” said a low voice, a girl’s. “Bluebird Books, how may I help you?”
    “Hello—yes. I—er—I just saw an advert in last week’s Evening Standard for the job of