‘You don’t sound too cut up about it. More inconvenienced.’
Should I say the split was months ago, or does that make me sound an even bigger loser? I go with something else entirely.
‘I’m a private sort of person.’ My eyes rise briefly again, but I can’t hold his gaze. ‘A private person who works in a goldfish bowl.’
‘What is it about that lot? I mean, gossip is a given for any office, but they are by far the nosiest bunch of bastards I’ve ever met.’
‘You’ll get no argument from me.’
‘So you’re going stag?’
‘I’d rather perform a frontal lobotomy on myself with nothing but this spork.’ I hold it up in front of me before stabbing it back into the container before managing to swallow a mouthful of watercress and onion.
‘But others will be there. From the office, I mean. You don’t like your teammates?’ he asks when I don’t answer.
‘I like some of them. I tolerate others. Some of them I can’t stand.’
‘That sounds pretty familiar. We can’t like and be liked by everyone.’
‘I don’t know. You seem to manage it okay.’
‘Ah, but I’m such an affable soul.’
‘Are you? Or is it that you’re just more adept at manipulating people?’ Was that too harsh? It sounds harsh, though he doesn’t deny it, and his posture stiffens a touch.
‘Maybe you don’t even realise you’re doing it. Honestly, I wish I could be a little more velvet glove myself.’ But I’m more likely to slip on the velvet gloves to strangle someone than be able to go out of my way to be nice to someone who doesn’t deserve it.
‘It’s not such a bad place to work,’ he replies mildly.
‘Apart from the gossip. And my boss.’
‘Haydn, isn’t it? He’s the head of marketing?’ I nod. ‘And a bit of a dick, I’m guessing?’
‘That is a vast understatement,’ I reply with a sigh. ‘He’s always had more dick in his personality than he has in his pants. I mean, not that I’d know, but I can surmise. Anyway,’ I add, hurrying on, ‘for some reason, he’s gotten worse lately.’
‘Something happened?’
‘Well, he’s always had a very high opinion of himself, but we had a bit of a bust up a few months ago, and let’s just say that he got a little personal.’
‘Ah.’ Archer places what’s left of his sandwich on the bench, turning to face me.
Ah? Ah what?This is usually the point in the proceedings where people, upon being told my boss has is an awful prick, they pull theirwhat the fuck face.
Where is hiswhat the fuck face?His understanding? His empathy?
‘You don’t seem surprised. Do you know about this already?’ And if so, who told you, so I can end them this afternoon in a tragic photocopier accident.
No, officer. I have no idea how the photocopier came to land on his or her head. Or how it made its way from the stairwell down.
Stretching out his long legs, he folds his arms across his chest. ‘It just answers a few questions. Remind me again,’ he says, tilting his head like a therapy dog, ‘why you feel like you have to go to this wedding?’
‘It’s complicated,’ I almost growl.
‘But it’s somehow linked to falling out with your arsehole of a boss?’
He’s astute. And I don’t like it.
‘Because Haydn will think I’ve stayed away to avoid him, and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.’
