‘No, unfortunately. We’ve had casual scholars giving these lectures in the past, and we’ve implemented a policy about reuse of their work.’
That was actually a very good, very sensible policy. Universities had a nasty habit of paying casual academics to do work once, then either recording their classes or taking their teaching materials and reusing them in many subsequent semesters without paying them again. Sadie and I had both advocated for the implementation of a similar reuse policy when we were in the precariat.
That didn’t particularly help us in the present moment, though. I had to resist taking Sadie’s hand and holding on for dear life.
‘Don’t worry, though! There’s also some fun stuff hidden in here!’
There wasmore?
Vargas scrolled down the spreadsheet on her screen. ‘We had to do some creative accounting and spin some of this as service, but we’ve managed to get you both some unit development hours, so you can do some of that work we actually hired you for. We want to put together some new units for the semester after this one: one on popular fiction, one on Shakespeare. And guess who we want to write them?’
She beamed. Sadie looked nauseous. I could only assume I did too.
‘You two being an item really was a bit of a blessing, if you ask me.’ Vargas leant back in her chair in satisfaction. ‘We managed to palm off our new modernism unit on one of our existing staff, but God only knows who we would have got to write the Shakespeare unit if you hadn’t been a package deal.’36
She gestured from me to Sadie. We both forced another nervous laugh.
We were silent as we walked back down the corridor to our cupboard, Professor Vargas having swept past us to the lift on her way out (‘Off to work from home this afternoon!’) and a promise to see us at the pre-semester School of Humanities meeting the next day (‘Invite should be in your email!’).
I opened our office door. Sadie and I both stood in the doorway again, regarding the tiny space, the cell we’d have to spend so much time in, far more intimate and far more permanent than the bed we were temporarily sharing.
‘How about we go and get lunch?’ Sadie said.
I was fairly sure that if I tried to eat anything, I would throw up, but I agreed anyway.
We found a table in a corner of a café in the next building over. Because semester hadn’t started yet, it was quiet, and we sat there in abject, shell-shocked silence for several long minutes, extremely mediocre chicken wraps held limply between our fingers.
‘Fuck,’ Sadie said at last.
‘Fuck,’ I agreed heavily.
‘What the fuck.Howthe fuck. Just – fuck.’
She put her wrap down on top of its cardboard container and pressed two fingers into the space between her eyebrows. ‘Just when I thought this week couldn’t get any worse.’
‘Hey!’ I said, initially repressing but then leaning into the flash of hurt, because even if I was as panicked as she was, I had punching-bag duties to perform. ‘You obtained a precious jewel this week, Shaw. How dare you?’
I flipped her the marital bird, the way she had in the airport. She made a sound that was halfway between a scoff and a snort, and I was congratulating myself on some top-notch spousing when shesighed. ‘Here are some words I thought would never come out of my mouth,’ she said. ‘Jonah, you are by far the best thing that has happened to me this week.’
Oh.
Wow.
Her week has been unbelievably shit, I told myself, trying to beat back the rising heat in my cheeks.It’s not like you have any competition.
Sadie picked up her wrap again and took a bite. ‘Imagine how much work they would have tried to heap on me if we hadn’t pushed for partner hire,’ she said, somehow still the most beautiful woman in the world with a mouth full of chicken and avocado. ‘I would have drowned.’
‘Now that would have been an achievement,’ I managed. ‘First person in the world to have drowned in a cupboard.’
The sound she made this time was more distinctly a snort of amusement, but it was followed by another sigh. ‘We still might. Fuck, Jonah.’
‘Fuck,’ I agreed again.
‘And the fact they want us to do it alltogether, too!’ She took another bite of her wrap, a few crumbs flying out of her mouth. ‘What the fuck is that about? I know we’re—’ she flipped the marital bird back at me, ‘but come on. Everyone knows collaboration is more work than just doing it yourself.’
‘Maybe it’s a strategy.’ I took a bite of my own wrap. ‘They’re hoping we’ll drive each other up the wall and split up, so they can fire me.’
She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘That would explain the cupboard.’
