It begins well: Jarrod pores over the completed spreadsheet, determinedly searching every figure, formula and underlying assumption for errors that aren’t there to be found. The proposal is faultless. I’m my father’s daughter in that respect, a perfectionist. Finally, he grudgingly signs his name, I courier the proposal to Derek, and this is where things go off track. Derek does not get back to me. The days pass and it becomes obvious that he intends to leave me hanging over the weekend. Not because he needs to think about anything further, I’m sure, but because he never misses an opportunity to demonstrate the extent of his power. By Friday evening, I’m anxious, frustrated and in an extremely bad mood. I jump from the tram and cross the road and the manicured gardens to the beach. Yearning for the smell of the sea, I inhale and my nostrils are obligingly filled with salty air and my head immediately feels lighter. The beach is busy with high school kids, still in their uniforms, and office workers stopping for a swim on their way home.
