‘No doubt Andrew Jarvis will be there,’ Terri says. ‘Randy little sod.’
‘Is that so?’ Richard knows Jarvis has a reputation for being a bit of a blowhard, but he hasn’t heard this particular nugget of gossip doing the rounds in the tea-room.
‘Oh yeah,’ Terri continues, her words acquiring a reptilian hiss. ‘Why d’you think he got through so many office managers? Can’t keep his hands to himself, that one.’
‘Alright, that’s enough,’ Richard says, even though he wants to hear more.
Terri gives an insulted little harrumph.
‘You were the one that asked!’
Richard flattens his palm and moves it down, as if pushing steadily on a button marked ‘calm’. He is immediately reminded of a supply teacher at his old school who tried and failed to gain control of an unruly class with exactly this gesture. He stands abruptly, claimed by an unsettled energy he cannot name.
‘Where are you going?’ she says. ‘We’ve only just started.’
‘You know what, Terri? The rest of it can wait. I need to call Gary. Please can you get me a goat’s cheese panini from downstairs?’
Terri stiffens. She doesn’t like that. She doesn’t like that at all.
‘Very well.’
‘And one of those blueberry muffins? Thanks so much.’
She huffs and puffs her way to the door, slamming it behind her. He listens as the thud of her footsteps recedes and he feels his shoulders drop. It’s not normal to be this scared of one’s own office manager. Hannah always said he had an Oedipal complex owing to the fact that his parents had separated when he was six and, unusually, his mother had been the one to move out. He said that was nonsense, even though hearing it made him want to cry, which maybe proved Hannah’s point.
But he must stop reminding himself of the things Hannah used to say! He perches on the ergonomic desk stool recently purchased for the relief of lower-back pain and, sliding one archive box across so that he can reach the keyboard, he logs in to his computer. He decides he will relegate Hannah and all her musings into a locked box in the corner of his mind. He has used this tactic before and finds it very effective. When his mother left, he did the same with all his happy memories of her. Locked them up. Pitched them into blankness, never to be revisited.Et voilà. Done.
On screen, his inbox fills up with unanswered emails. Gary has sent him five, each one containing a CapsLock subject heading followed by a bevy of exclamation marks. The most recent is headlined with ‘TV OFFER. PLZ CALL!!!!! URGENT!!!!’
Richard calls.
‘Riiiichaaaaard,’ Gary says, elongating the vowels unnecessarily. ‘How are ya, mate?’
There is a metallic twanging sound in the background.
‘Where are you?’ Richard asks. ‘It sounds like you’re … being pelted with bullets.’
‘Ha! No, don’t you worry mate. I’m just … er … just leaving an arcade.’
‘An arcade?’
‘Yeah. Slot machines.’
‘Oh, OK.’
‘Hang on, just gonna move somewhere quieter so we can have a proper chinwag. Bear with me, mate.’
Richard wishes Gary wouldn’t call him ‘mate’. They’ve only met in person once.
‘So,’ Gary says, breathing heavily. ‘We’ve got some corking offers.’
‘Great. That’s great news.’
He imagines a publisher has been in touch asking for him to write a memoir, full of inspiring turns of phrase that will impress the general readership with their lyricism. He’ll call it something Obama-esque, likeMy Father’s HopesorThe Potential of Possibility.
‘The first one is a podcast calledPolitical Chatter– they want you to go on as a guest and—’
‘No.’
