The Secrets Sisters Keep: A heartwarming, funny and emotional novel (The Devlin Sisters Book 2) by Sinéad Moriarty Page B
Authors: Sinéad Moriarty
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employment contract and we can look over it before you sign anything.’
‘Cool, I owe you one. I’d love to chat, but I have to go to the gym to buff up. The dudes that work there are very fit.’
‘OK – I won’t keep you from your busy schedule.’
As I walked into my office I wondered if my little brother would ever grow up.
N ine thirty . She’d better have been run over by a bus or struck down by a heart attack.
The doors of the lift opened and Wendy came panting down the corridor towards the conference room. ‘Sorry!’ she said.
I grabbed the file from her and glared at her. ‘The meeting was supposed to begin half an hour ago. I’ve been plying our clients with coffee and pastries waiting for you to turn up with the files. This is inexcusable.’
She blinked. ‘I’m sorry, Louise, but Freddy was up all night with croup.’
I held up my hand. ‘It’s not good enough. You’ve been late nine times in the last six weeks. We could lose this account because of you.’
Her face flushed. ‘It’s not my fault my child has croup.’
I really didn’t have the time or patience for this. ‘Neither is it mine. Having a child does not give you an excuse to be unprofessional. Five of the senior partners and ten of the junior partners have children and they do not repeatedly arrive late for work.’
Wendy’s eyes welled. ‘I’m on my own, Louise. Freddy’s dad isn’t around to help out. You know what it’s like being a single mum.’
I never discussed motherhood in the office and I never used it as an excuse to be late. I certainly wasn’t about to become her bosom buddy and bond over our shared lot. She could forget that. ‘Lots of career women raise their children alone. It does not excuse your consistent lateness. Sort out your childcare or we’ll have to look at your future here. Now go to the Ladies and freshen up.’
I turned to walk back into the meeting. ‘Bitch,’ I heard Wendy whisper behind me.
I pretended not to hear her. She was wrong: I wasn’t a bitch. Before I’d had Clara, I’d been a lot tougher. But having Clara and raising her on my own had forced me to admit how difficult it was for working mothers. I had made a mistake on a huge deal shortly after she was born. It had made me realize that I couldn’t keep going at the same pace and level at Higgins, Cooper and Gray, the firm I’d worked for in London. I’d had to reassess everything and had moved back to Dublin, for Clara’s sake. In career terms I had taken a step back, but not a big one, and I was happy with my set-up in Dublin. I had support so I was able to work full-time and enjoyed my job.
None of the other partners with children came to work late. Wendy, a junior partner, was not entitled to special treatment because she was a single mother. There were mornings when Clara woke up feeling sick and she would cling to me, begging me not to go to work. At times I had had to peel her off my leg and hand her to the child-minder. I had often fought back tears on the way to work, but I had chosen to work in a demanding profession and I knew that meant sacrifices. On those difficult days I was extra loving to her when I got home. Did I feel guilty? Of course I did. But I had to work to support my child and I also happened to like what I did. I loved the high energy of the corporate world. Having specialized in securitization, I had carved a niche for myself and things were going very well. But there was always a price to be paid for success.
How could women expect to break glass ceilings if they turned up late for work, complaining about sick children, bringing all their personal issues into the office? Women like Wendy felt the world owed them something. She’d never make it. I had seen lots of Wendys come and go. The stress would get to her and she’d resign or take a less demanding position within the firm.
Not every woman was ready for a serious career with all its demands, but I was and I wanted Clara to
‘Cool, I owe you one. I’d love to chat, but I have to go to the gym to buff up. The dudes that work there are very fit.’
‘OK – I won’t keep you from your busy schedule.’
As I walked into my office I wondered if my little brother would ever grow up.
N ine thirty . She’d better have been run over by a bus or struck down by a heart attack.
The doors of the lift opened and Wendy came panting down the corridor towards the conference room. ‘Sorry!’ she said.
I grabbed the file from her and glared at her. ‘The meeting was supposed to begin half an hour ago. I’ve been plying our clients with coffee and pastries waiting for you to turn up with the files. This is inexcusable.’
She blinked. ‘I’m sorry, Louise, but Freddy was up all night with croup.’
I held up my hand. ‘It’s not good enough. You’ve been late nine times in the last six weeks. We could lose this account because of you.’
Her face flushed. ‘It’s not my fault my child has croup.’
I really didn’t have the time or patience for this. ‘Neither is it mine. Having a child does not give you an excuse to be unprofessional. Five of the senior partners and ten of the junior partners have children and they do not repeatedly arrive late for work.’
Wendy’s eyes welled. ‘I’m on my own, Louise. Freddy’s dad isn’t around to help out. You know what it’s like being a single mum.’
I never discussed motherhood in the office and I never used it as an excuse to be late. I certainly wasn’t about to become her bosom buddy and bond over our shared lot. She could forget that. ‘Lots of career women raise their children alone. It does not excuse your consistent lateness. Sort out your childcare or we’ll have to look at your future here. Now go to the Ladies and freshen up.’
I turned to walk back into the meeting. ‘Bitch,’ I heard Wendy whisper behind me.
I pretended not to hear her. She was wrong: I wasn’t a bitch. Before I’d had Clara, I’d been a lot tougher. But having Clara and raising her on my own had forced me to admit how difficult it was for working mothers. I had made a mistake on a huge deal shortly after she was born. It had made me realize that I couldn’t keep going at the same pace and level at Higgins, Cooper and Gray, the firm I’d worked for in London. I’d had to reassess everything and had moved back to Dublin, for Clara’s sake. In career terms I had taken a step back, but not a big one, and I was happy with my set-up in Dublin. I had support so I was able to work full-time and enjoyed my job.
None of the other partners with children came to work late. Wendy, a junior partner, was not entitled to special treatment because she was a single mother. There were mornings when Clara woke up feeling sick and she would cling to me, begging me not to go to work. At times I had had to peel her off my leg and hand her to the child-minder. I had often fought back tears on the way to work, but I had chosen to work in a demanding profession and I knew that meant sacrifices. On those difficult days I was extra loving to her when I got home. Did I feel guilty? Of course I did. But I had to work to support my child and I also happened to like what I did. I loved the high energy of the corporate world. Having specialized in securitization, I had carved a niche for myself and things were going very well. But there was always a price to be paid for success.
How could women expect to break glass ceilings if they turned up late for work, complaining about sick children, bringing all their personal issues into the office? Women like Wendy felt the world owed them something. She’d never make it. I had seen lots of Wendys come and go. The stress would get to her and she’d resign or take a less demanding position within the firm.
Not every woman was ready for a serious career with all its demands, but I was and I wanted Clara to
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