Runaways Read online

  Copyright © 2018 Rachel Sawden

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

  Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do, than the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.

  - Mark Twain*

  (*This quote is usually attributed to Mark Twain, but the Internet has also said that he probably didn’t write this so… )

  To my Mom and Dad. Thank you for never telling me to get a real job.

  (Oh Mom and Dad, if you could skip chapters 27 and 28, that would save us all a lot of awkwardness.)

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Date: January 8, 2010

  Toronto, Canada

  Where would you go if you could run away? Trek the tangled jungles of Thailand? Camp under the constellations in the Australian outback? Or run wild with your lover on white sand beaches in the South Pacific?

  “Nowhere,” I whispered. My heels clicked on the linoleum floor, punctuating the spiel from my presentation echoing in my head. “I am exactly where I am supposed to be.”

  How could I not be positive? I was one of the lucky few to gain and maintain employment in the shadow of the Great Recession. Fresh out of university, I might add. Granted, my working unpaid for TMI Marketing during my summer years gave me a leg up on the competition. While my job consisted mainly of making coffee, filing papers, and having my ideas ignored, I worked my ass off for the past three years. And today was the day my hard work would pay off. It was the day it all would change. The career side of my five-year plan was on schedule.

  A fresh wave of adrenaline pulsed through me as I made my way down the hallway of very unflattering lighting to my boss’s office to discuss the presentation I’d given that morning. A discussion that would hopefully lead to a new position in the company. One where I could take on actual responsibility and express my creativity. Perhaps be involved in art direction. A business card with a title: Harper Rodrigues, Marketing Executive.

  I would actually manage my very own accounts.

  We had secured a new client, a travel website, Madcap Travels, who was looking to reevaluate their social media marketing plan and contracted my company to manage it. Myself and a colleague had made competing presentations for the job. Only one of us could gain the account. Only one of us could be promoted. Only one of us could win today, and I wanted it to be me.

  I had never been so excited about a project, and so damn scared about presenting.

  Inspired by my friends’ upcoming “gap year” travels, I created the Run Away campaign harnessing the power of this growing thing called social media. When Facebook became a buzzword a few years back, my father said it was just a passing fad used by horny college students too lazy to go to the bar and talk to each other. He may have been right, but once it had been opened up to anyone with an email address there were millions of lazy, horny people of all ages across the world skulking around on confined areas of cyberspace. And that is gold to a marketer.

  In a nutshell, the campaign would focus on incentivizing both amateur and professional photographers who were traveling the globe to connect and share their stories and photographs on social media platforms. Top entrants would not only gain recognition on the website but also chances to win prizes from partner sponsors such as airlines, tour companies, and hotels. I poured myself into this presentation. Putting myself in the shoes of one of the many runaways, I imagined my life living out of a backpack, seeing a new city every week, learning from other photographers, finding remote waterfalls and villages from the whispers of other vagabonds.

  It was what I hoped to do had I not abandoned my plans to become a world-famous travel photographer.

  It was what I could do if I abandoned my carefully crafted five-year plan and took off with Jade and Lana.

  It was what I wanted to do with my sister, Audrey, since we were little girls.

  It was what we could have done if she were still alive.

  Pausing with my gaze focused on the grain of the wooden door, I flexed my fingers and inhaled the scent of varnish. Her image filled my mind, and I imagined her telling me that whatever happened, I would be alright. Everything would be alright. God I missed her. She was my anchor, and I spent the past three years adrift I lost her, slipping into depression. With the help of therapy through that time I graduated university, gained employment, and surfaced from the depths. Waves of depression knock me down from time to time, but it’s been quite some time since I’ve drowned. My counselor taught me the keys to finding happiness again with two simple principles, gratitude and goal setting. Gratitude, as no matter how bad things get, we all have something to be thankful for, even if it’s just the fact that we live in a world where Brad Pitt exists. (Never underestimate the healing power of humour.) And setting goals to regain a sense of control.

  “Fail to plan, plan to fail” became my new mantra to handle the ebb and flow of my emotions.

  Raising my fist to the door, I set my jaw. As I rapped my knuckles on it, I repeated more affirmations. Even if I didn’t win the promotion, I was grateful for the opportunity. I was grateful to have a job. I was grateful for the breath in my lungs.

  “Come in,” my boss’s voice called.

  An acidic tang hit the back of my throat as I turned the knob and swung the door open. To my surprise, the HR manager, Karen, perched in a chair next to my boss, Ms. Hatching. I supposed it wouldn’t be too odd for the HR manager to be present if I were negotiating the terms of my promotion.

  It all seemed a little rushed, though. I had only just given my presentation a few hours ago.

  “Ms. Rodrigues,” Ms. Hatching said gesturing at the chair in front of the desk. “Please, take a seat.”

  I plastered a smile on my face, but there was something about her formal address that made me wary. Perhaps we were not about to negotiate my new contract.

  “Thank you very much for your presentation today. I can appreciate the amount of time and effort you put into it.” Ms. Hatching took a step forward and removed her glasses. “We have decided, however, that Victoria will be taking the Madcap Travels account.”

  I bit my lip as disappointment washed over me. But it wasn’t the end of the world. I still had a job. “I understand. So what does that mean for me?”

  On cue, my affirmations repeated in my head. I’m grateful for my life. I’m grateful for the breath in my lungs. I’m grateful for all of the wonderful opportunities afforded to me.

  “We are going to have to let you go.”

  I’m grateful for my…wait, what?!

  I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that I was having one of those horrible false awakening dreams. But when I opened them again, I was still sitting in the office. Karen wore a strong poker f
ace, and Ms. Hatching looked infuriatingly indifferent.

  Naturally I asked the reasons for why I was being let go. Phrases were tossed out like “creative eye” and “great ideas” along with, “control freak,” and “inflexibility.”

  I sunk deeper in my chair. My afternoon so wasn’t going according to plan.

  “I enjoyed your presentation, but it didn’t seem as if you took it entirely seriously,” Ms. Hatching said. “It seemed as if you were trying to line yourself up to be a content provider for the campaign than to run the marketing end of it.”

  My mouth hung open. Sure, who wouldn’t want to travel the world taking photographs? But that’s what made me perfect to run the campaign — I could see it from both sides.

  “The bottom line is we had to make cuts,” Karen cut in before I could make my case, “and given that you are the least experienced on the team made you a weak link.”

  “Weak link?” I sputtered.

  I’m grateful there’s a desk between us.

  Now, I want to say that I fought for my job. Any rational person would. When news of redundancies and unemployment became regular headlines I always thought that if I had been one of those unfortunate many, I would have refused to leave. Proved that I deserved my place in the company. Showed them the scars from when I had burned my hands with their cheap coffee, brought up how I went along with some of the most harebrained marketing ideas you can imagine (a cell phone built specifically for women, for our “small hands” and “delicate hearing.” Guess how well that went down in the test markets.); and endured the constant barrage of sexual harassment from the accountant, Pervy Percy.

  Reminded them that while the others lounged on beaches in Cuba or went skiing in Whistler I stayed behind picking up everyone’s slack, except on the anniversaries of Audrey’s birth and death.

  I want to say that I leapt from my chair after my proclamations of what an asset I was. How I bent over backwards at every opportunity. Told them that they did not deserve me, and any other company would thank their lucky stars to have me. I want to say that I strode from the room, gathering employees while waxing poetic about my new company manifesto. Launching a rallying battle cry, “Who’s coming with me? Who’s coming with me?”

  But alas, I did not have my Jerry McGuire moment.

  With shock shutting my senses down, she droned on and on sounding more and more like the teacher from Charlie Brown — wha wha wha whaaaa wha wha whaaaaa. My gaze zeroed in on a mock-up ad for a perfume brand on the desk for a new fragrance, Lover’s Embrace. At first, it looked like an abstract image, but it was a black and white bodyscape of two figures embracing. It was an image that the viewer would need to stare at for a while to see, like a sexy stereogram. The composition was striking, the lighting impeccable, the mood, sensual, teasing and playful. A pang of envy hit me each time I saw it. The photographer was an incredible talent. One day, perhaps, I could create images as beautifully executed. It was too bad that Lover’s Embrace smelled like an awkward hug.

  But advising the client of top and bottom notes was not my job. My job was to sell it. Or it used to be anyways.

  Used to be.

  “Harper, are you listening?”

  The sound of my name jolted me back to reality. I flicked my eyes to Karen’s. Stars danced in front of me. My vision became a tunnel, narrowing faster and faster. Karen’s cat-eye glasses spun in the center. Then everything went black.

  ***

  When I came to, three people stood over me. My vision focused as the scent of menthol burned its way up my nose.

  “I know CPR.” All of my muscles clenched when I recognized that voice. Pervy Percy. “I should give her mouth to mouth…as a precautionary measure.”

  “That’s not necessary,” my boss said with a huff. Never had I been more grateful to her. “Look her eyes are open.”

  I sat up, and both Karen and Ms. Hatching reached for my arms. As they pulled me to my feet, Percy reached for my torso. Thankfully they stepped in front of him before he could touch me.

  “Percy, we have this under control,” Ms. Hatching snapped, as I slumped into the chair.

  Giving a slight pout, he nodded and left the room. A welcome rush of cool air swept over me as the door swung closed.

  “Are you alright?”

  I nodded. Still feeling shaky, I took deep and deliberate breaths. The memory of the moments before I passed out washed over me. My life was about to change.

  “As I said, the company will give you a generous severance package,” Karen said, as I forced myself to focus. “But you must pack up your things and vacate the office immediately.” The moment she finished speaking there was a knock on the door. “Security is here to show you out.”

  Security? Were they expecting me to run through the office popping off staples screaming, “Yippy kay yay?”

  On cue, there was a soft knock on the door and it creaked open. The kind face of the gentle giant we affectionately called Security Steve peered around the door. I pushed myself to my feet, knees still wobbly, and turned by back on my former boss and colleague.

  “It’s just protocol,” Security Steve whispered when I passed him in the doorway.

  Mortified and humiliated by losing consciousness as I was losing my job, I needed to get the hell out of that office. Stat. Even though my feet moved as fast as my shaky legs would allow, the hallway seemed twice as long as usual. My desk felt so far away. The walls narrower. The fluorescent lights unbearably bright.

  When I reached my cubicle, I grabbed the first box I saw from my trash can and threw in the few personal items from my desk: my phone charger, five romance novels, my mail. Carefully I placed in it the last photograph of my family before we lost Audrey. As I gathered my things, none of my cubicle neighbours dared to look at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pervy Percy lurking in the shadows. Gaze on me, stirring his cheap coffee. Willing myself not to cry in public, with all of six-foot-four Security Steve looming over me I set my jaw and held my head high. Voices fell to silence as I passed through the hallway carrying my cardboard box. The usual idle chatter and gossip now turned to keyboards clicking.

  Standing in front of the silver elevator doors clutching the box to my chest, hot tears pooled in my eyes. A cough just behind me caught my attention and when I turned a single tear broke free. Pervy Percy stood there, watching the tear streak down my cheek. His eyes flicked back up to meet mine. Sympathy etched on his face. He reached out and my entire body went rigid as he enveloped me in his arms.

  “My days won’t be the same without you,” he whispered in my ear.

  With wide eyes, I searched for Security Steve, and mouthed “help!” A bear claw of a hand landed on Pervy Percy’s shoulder. “That’s kind of you, but I think that’s enough.”

  Slowly the creepy accountant released me, gave me one last lingering nod and shuffled off down the hallway. A ding sounded, and the doors to the elevator opened. Steve gestured to let me walk in first. I leaned back against the metal wall and once the doors closed I let out a loud sigh.

  After stewing in awkward silence for ten floors Steve said, “I know it sucks, and it’s too soon to see, but this could be a blessing in disguise.”

  I snorted a wry laugh. “Right, I never have to deal with Pervy Percy again.”

  A smile carved his face. Two floors later, the doors opened, and we stepped into the lobby.

  After removing my security pass, I held it up to him.

  “Seriously, Harper,” he said as the card disappeared in his grip, “this is the beginning of anything you want.”

  With a nod I didn’t quite believe in, we exchanged farewells and I crossed the bank of security turnstiles. It was then that I thought it odd that the company had made such a big decision within hours of my presentation. Crossing the sprawling foyer on the ground floor, I played the last few months in my head. As I pushed open the doors leading to downtown Toronto, the realization hit me: they had known for weeks that they were going to let
me go. Instead of telling me in advance, they made me go through all of that stress, all of that work, and now they were going to use my ideas.

  They used me.

  Like a wild moose freed from a trap, I tore through the streets, the sub-zero wind chill licking my burning cheeks. I pulled out my cellphone and dialed Adam’s number. If anyone could make me feel better it was him. He worked from home, so he should have picked up, but the call rang out. At Bloor and Spadina a face peered out from a shivering bundle of blankets next to the metro station entrance. An empty Starbucks cup sat in front of a sign that read, “Smile if you’re horny.”

  In spite of my mood, a smirk tugged at my lips. I took a better look at the hapless comic. He was perhaps in his mid-forties, or maybe younger. There was a glint of youth in his eyes, but stories of a harsh life written in his skin.

  Our eyes met.

  “Hey, you’re like the hottest girl I’ve seen all day.”

  My face flushed more and my smile widened. Even though I was having a bad day, at least I had a roof over my head. Stopping, I fumbled in my purse with my mitten-clad hands. I pulled out a five-dollar note and dropped it into the cup. He needed it more than I did, and this gal needed that compliment.

  “Thanks, doll,” he said with a nod.

  I descended the staircase amongst the crowd of commuters. Over the din of echoing voices I swore I heard his voice again, “Hey, you’re like the hottest girl I’ve seen all day.”

  I slumped in the cold plastic seat clutching the box containing my personal effects and fixated my gaze on a wad of gum on the floor. Anger bubbled in me as I thought of their reasoning of choosing Victoria over me. My boss didn’t say that she had done a better job than me; it was that she had more experience. Which meant that I could never get ahead in this industry without more experience — exactly what I was being deprived of. And I was about to join the unemployment line with others like me, most of whom would be more qualified and more experienced.

  I sighed and thought of my teenaged self, who constantly wished she was older, and looked forward to that miraculous time where she could call herself an adult. Times of independence and income, Sunday brunches and girls’ trips, Manolo Blahniks and museum openings, just like the women of Sex and the City. And as I crossed the stage at my university graduation, diploma in hand, I took my next step into life, looking forward to my newfound autonomy. Only to realize that I felt no more of an adult than I did beforehand, and that TV and movies cut out all of the worst parts of being a grown-up: bills, taxes, corporate bottom-feeding, random body parts aching for no apparent reason.