I’ve never thought of myself as particularly trailblazing.
Mostly I think of myself as somebody trying to get through shifts, pass assessments and occasionally remember to buy washing-up liquid.
But suddenly I picture Samantha older.
Walking into meetings.
Getting introduced as the female engineer. The female manager. The female whatever.
And I hate how familiar that feels.
“I’d quite like her biggest workplace issue to be somebody stealing her yoghurt from the office fridge.”
Amanda reaches over and squeezes my arm.
Josh studies me for a second.
Then he nods once.
Slow.
Decided.
He picks up his mug and says, in the same tone somebody might use to discuss weekend weather:
“Right.”
I narrow my eyes.
His mouth edges upwards.
“I’ll call the editor.”
3
Chapter 2
AJ
There are, in myexperience, two kinds of people.
People who rinse the sink after making tea.
And people who apparently believe a communal kitchen is an abstract concept that cleans itself through positive thinking.
I stand in the newsroom kitchen and look at the state of the sink.
Somebody has abandoned a mug containing approximately half a centimetre of tea and what appears to be the remains of a digestive. Another person has left a spoon balanced across the edge like they intended to come back and complete the experience later.
The dishwasher is open.
Open.
Not full.
Just open.
Like a warning.
