She reads the number out quickly, efficiently, the way people do when they are thinking about six other things atonce. I write it down on a scrap of paper, my handwriting already showing signs of fatigue.
“There you go,” she says. “Anything else?”
“No,” I reply. “That’s all. I appreciate it.”
“Good evening,” she says before the line goes dead.
I sit there for a moment, staring at the number.
This is fine, I tell myself.
This is purely practical.
I open the messaging app.
I type.
Delete.
Type again.
Me
Hi. It’s Chloe. Angela gave me your number just in case. Hope that’s okay.
I stop. Re-read. Add nothing. Remove nothing.
Just letting you know the feature will be running this Sunday.
That’s it. Informational. Neutral. Entirely above board.
I hover over send.
This does not make you desperate, I think. This makes you organised. And tired.
I press send.
The message disappears.
I put the phone face-down on my desk like it might do something dramatic.
AJ looks up from his screen. “You look like you’ve just made a choice.”
“Work,” I say.
He nods solemnly. “Reckless business.”
I shut my laptop, sling my bag over my shoulder, and finally stand up.
Whatever happens next can wait.
I have done enough for one Friday.
Probably.
Hadrian’s vivarium needs cleaning.
He watches me approach with the suspicious stillness of a creature who believes he is flawless and that any interference is deeply offensive. I lift the lid, remove the water dish, and start the methodical business of tidying. Fresh substrate. Clean glass. Everything returned to its rightful place.
