No problem. I’ll just have to give up sleep or something.
The afternoon is warm and bright as I make my way from the carpark and into the darkened building, avoiding the rickety lift by taking the stairs. Unusually exhausted by the climb, I pause as I reach the floor that E-Volve calls home as a paper aeroplane sails out of the open door to meet me. I follow the arc of its trajectory before it lands at my feet, the sound of Heather’s voice following it.
‘God, Jorge, I don’t know.’ By her tone, she sounds like she neither knows nor cares... whatever that was in response to.
I can’t be arsed with their arguing today.
I bend and pick up the plane constructed from a sheet of A4 lined paper. In Heather’s jagged hand, the wordHELPis scrawled along one wing and a doodled stick man image on the other, tongue hanging out of a grim line of a mouth and crosses where the eyes should be. I’m guessing Heather has had a long morning. Or else she’s planning on murdering Jorge.
A sick feeling of worry and dread wash through my stomach as I step into the office. A physical manifestation of an emotional concern this time. I haven’t felt this terrified since I’d got on the school bus at aged fifteen to find the local bad girl sitting there. She also happened to be the same girl I’d mouthed off to while hanging out in Leicester Square the previous weekend. In retrospect, potentially losing your job seems worse than two years of being tortured.
The golden beams of the sun dance merrily through the grimy windows, cutting lines across the floor and giving dust motes space to dance. Heather and Jorge sit at their desks at opposite ends of the space, both tapping away on their respective laptops.
‘But you said you forwarded it to me,’ Jorge grumbles, lifting his specs from his nose before almost pressing it up against the screen.
‘Yeah, I did.’
‘Well, I can’t find it.’ His answer betrays his barely concealed exasperation, and he doesn’t so much slam his mouse down as put it down very forcefully. ‘This is ridiculous.’ Pushing away from his desk, he stands.
‘Have you checked your junk?’ Heather’s reply is oh, so innocent. Too innocent. Something is up... or down as my gaze dips to his crotch where his fly is blatantly open.
Juvenile, Heather. Very juvenile.
‘Where’s boss babe?’ I ask as I put my bag on the back of my chair, but not before pulling out my phone.
‘She’s not in yet,’ she answers as I start my laptop, the sick feeling dissipating at a rapid rate, only to resurface almost immediately as Olivia’s name flashes up on the screen of my phone.
Shit.
‘Hi, Olivia.’ My voice is so high it could probably summon canines.
‘I’m not coming today.’ She launches into why immediately without a greeting or a question. ‘I’m ill.’
Two words. A lifeline. My silver lining to her great grey cloud.
Abstractly, I consider the fact we’re both ill as a worrying coincidence. What if it was something in the hors d’oeuvres, and more people are sick? That might get E-Volve into the newspapers for no good reason. I decide not to mention the fact that I’m ill, too. There’s no need for both of us to be worrying right now.
‘Oh, how awful. I’m so sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?’ God, I sound like a creeper. A super creeper. But I’d creep all the way to Hampstead if it meant I got to keep my job. Especially after the morning I’ve had.
‘No. Nothing. I’m going back to bed. If there’s an emergency—’
‘Don’t worry. We’re on it. You can rely on us.’ Even with my super-fake perkiness, the words feel hollow. I wish I could wipe Friday from both our memories. Well, parts of it. There’s one thing for sure; if I get to keep my job, I’ll never let her down again.
‘Great.’ God, she sounds anything butgreat.But I know how she feels.
‘You’re sure I can’t get you anything? Soup from the bakery?’Bluergh. ‘Something to settle your stomach?’
‘No. I’m just going to crawl back into bed. But call if—’
‘I will. Feel better soon, boss babe. Relax. We’re on the job.’
With a mutteredbye, the call cuts off.
‘On the job?’ Heather repeats. ‘I thought that meant sex.’
‘She sounds awful,’ I murmur, placing my phone next to my laptop, choosing to ignore her ridiculous question. Was it even a serious one? But I meant every word—Olivia can rely on me. I’m going to be the most diligent employee there ever was.
‘Hey,’ Heather almost shouts, making Jorge pause at the door to the tiny office kitchen. It’s eleven o’clock. Times for elevenses. But it’s almost as if it’s eleven o’clock every hour where Jorge is concerned. If there was any justice in this world, he’d be the size of a house. Instead, his skinny jeans are falling off his equally skinny arse. ‘Aren’t you going to ask us something?’ She gestures back and forth between the two of us with a finger.
