I’d also kind of thought that it was going to be very short term. Twelve months in I’d get a review and salary raise, two years in I’d have built up the kind of experience that would set me up nicely for promotion, a big fat hike in my wages, or the chance of a more senior position with a different company.
Didn’t happen. Instead there was a global downturn. Nobody saw that one coming, well, I’m sure somebody will say they did. But I certainly didn’t when I started work full of optimism and plans. And the prospect of an economic downturn, a mega one, was definitely not something that had occurred to me.
No way did I expect being home 24/7 when I signed the lease. Nor did I expect to have that scary feeling that there was always the chance the company could close down and there would be no other job for me out there. Nobody is recruiting right now; they’re laying people off. Or downsizing.
So, no surprise then that my annual review, marking two years which should have been last month, was moved back to later in the year. Much later. And nobody is talking about pay rises.
I do actually like my job, I don’t want to move, but the money is pretty shit. Okay, I saved some money when I was working at home – no train or bus tickets to buy, no mega meal deal to buy at lunch time, no after-work drink (or three) with Lou. But it was pennies really, and now we’re back in the office I’m paying out again.
I could be here for another twelve years, not twelve months.
But a frozen salary has to be better than a cut, or the sack, doesn’t it?
To be honest, my housemates are all okay. They’re cleaner than the students I used to live with, and there’s less hard partying. But people have an annoying habit of borrowing without asking and I do have the smallest room in the place.
‘Hey, Alice.’ The confident twang hits my ears just before the rap on the open door and makes me jump. Zoe has a habit of bowling in before knocking if something needs immediate attention. Most things do with her. She’s a do-it-now kind of person. ‘You couldn’t look at my laptop, could you? It’s doing that thing again, where my emails go weird?’
In this place sharing is caring, there is no concept of personal space.
She drove me nuts the first time she was furloughed and bored. Second time round I could lock the door of Kat’s room and I was harder to find – she’d stop off and chat to somebody else instead. ‘Sure. Can you just give me five minutes, Zoe?’
‘It’s like urgent? They’re on like my phone, but not my laptop?’
I do need to install a lock on my door. Or buy a shed.
Or learn how to say ‘go away’ politely.
I think actually I’ve just hit the nail on the head; if I’m going to live how I need to live in my home – I need to work out how to erect boundaries. At work, the divider between me and Jamie is pretty low, so my plants and stuff actually worked really well at putting some distance between us. I could hide behind things. It didn’t actually stop me knowing he was there, lusting after him and what might have been though, did it?
I sigh inwardly. Putting a lock on the door here would be just the same. More of a sticking plaster than an actual solution.
‘Have you tried just turning it off and back on? Honestly, I know it sounds naff, but it nearly always works.’
‘Really?’ She is standing in the doorway of my room, arms folded, her head tipped to one side. She doesn’t look, or sound, convinced. She also doesn’t look like she’s going to go away.
I’ll help her. Just this once because right now I can’t think straight. But then I need a plan. How do other people do it? Stop people walking all over them, stop people invading their privacy? Hmmm.
‘Hang on. I’ll come.’ If I don’t, she’ll just wait for me, peering over my shoulder and then I’ll feel awkward and not get anything done anyway.
Five minutes later, after hitting the refresh button and checking the internet, I hit the ‘flight mode’ button on her laptop and everything pings back into life. Bloody hell, how many emails does this girl get?
‘Oh wow! Thanks, jeez what the fuck is Elsa moaning about now?’ She’s already loading up emails with one hand, applying mascara with the other, and has forgotten I exist.
‘It’s the flight mode button, you must have hit it by mistake.’
‘Not been on a flight, girl. Don’t like all the germs and stuff. I did not turn her hair green! What the fuck’s she on about?’ She peers at her reflection in the mirror, then picks up her lipstick and waves it about. ‘What are people like? She’s always got an angle for money off, stupid cow.’ Our gazes meet briefly. Then she smiles, a big broad smile that makes her look stunning. Girls like Zoe always make me feel conflicted. I should be madly jealous of their casual beauty, but instead I want to just beg them to value it while it’s still there, but not too much. Sometimes it just makes me a little bit sad when I watch Zoe putting her make-up on (which she spends a lot of time doing).
My sister Darcie was born pretty, more than pretty. She’s always been gorgeous, even when she was screaming blue murder because Mum wouldn’t let her have the latest designer jeans. I just looked ugly-angry if I was upset.
As a teenager, Darcie had long legs, silky hair, a perfect English rose complexion. It was all so effortless; as though she’d been given the best genes and what was left had been shared out amongst the rest of us. None of us were jealous, because she was just Darcie. Our sister, and, if that was her thing, then hey, why not?
She was scouted by a modelling agency when she was thirteen and all of a sudden changed from a girl who liked make-up and clothes, into a girl who obsessed about them. Her looks became everything. The most important thing. And suddenly they mattered so much that she lost her confidence in them.
The thing that had been her blessing became her curse. She was always checking that we thought she looked okay.
And then, when she was sixteen, she had acid thrown in her face by the boyfriend of some girl who was jealous of her.
One quick, nasty confrontation about something that wasn’t even important, and Darcie’s life changed. How can it be fair that standing up for yourself, denying rumours can change your life in such a bad way?
She was lucky that there was a woman there who knew what to do, she was lucky that not much hit her – just splashes. She was lucky that the ugly streak down her cheek and one arm soon healed and the scarring wasn’t deep on the outside. She was unlucky that it was on the inside.
Darcie didn’t feel lucky, and she didn’t feel pretty. She didn’t feel anything. She didn’t want to hear that beauty came from within. She’d completely forgotten that she was clever, funny, kind, that we all loved the girl we knew – not the image.
My heart ached so hard for her, I wished it had been me it had happened to. It wouldn’t matter for me, because I wasn’t the beautiful one. I could have coped, I’m sure I could.
She flunked her exams, lost her friends because she didn’t have the confidence to go out, withdrew even from us.
Then one day my sister marched into the lounge, announced that she had been accepted on a beauty course and was going to teach people how to cover their scars and feel beautiful on the outside as well as the inside.
That was it. Darcie was back. Bigger and stronger than ever. My God, I love my sister. She’s amazing.
‘You okay, Al? You look kinda thoughtful.’ Zoe has stopped applying mascara and is watching me through narrowed eyes.
‘I’m fine, glad we got it working! See you later.’
‘I’ll do some highlights for you, if you like? You know, like caramel? Your hair’s so gorgeous and shiny, and with your big brown eyes you’d really rock a cute Audrey Hepburn fringe, you could really work the look! I could cut into it a bit; you know, give you a modern take? You should do more with it, it could be gorge!’
‘Brill, thanks! I did have a fringe when I was a student, but you know…’ I shrug and try not to stare at her room. It is twice the size of mine. It has space for a desk and a chair, and i
t’s the furthest room from the top of the stairs. There is no passing traffic. ‘I better get back.’
I tug my shiny hair tighter through my ponytail band self-consciously and head back to my box room. Bumping into Harry, who is heading for the bathroom. It’s hard not to bump into him, he’s quite broad – which the corridor isn’t.
‘Okay?’ He nods, not waiting for an answer as we squeeze past each other. We’re practically grinding hip bones, but it’s fine. Why couldn’t bumping into Jamie have felt like this? Like nothing. Normal.
It’s one thing to realize I have to not use my desk as a second home, but turning my home into a second office? Permanently? That’s going to be a hell of a lot trickier.
I roll my sleeves up. This is just like any project. Totally doable.
It feels like only hours ago that office life resumed and I’d been able to pull the boxes out from under my bed and the bottom of my wardrobe, and put most of the stuff back on my dressing table/desk/general dumping ground. Honestly it had been like living out of a suitcase on holiday. Now it looks like it’s all going back.
I grab my laptop. This needs Amazon, eBay and, very possibly, Ikea-type solutions for small spaces. I must be able to find some kind of drawers or shelves that occupy inches but store tons of stuff. Tardis style. Cheap.
Where’s an office supplies client handing out freebies when you need one?
Chapter Six
Friday
‘Shit, no! This can’t, I can’t…’
Yesterday was not the worst day of my life. Today is.
Oh My God NO. I’m having palpitations; my heart is pounding so hard I feel faint.
After making a good start on sorting my room last night, I have arrived at work knowing I can make this work.
It’s not like I’ve lost my job or anything really drastic like that. I just need to make some minor adjustments to my life. Simple.
Then I powered up my computer and opened the email. Like you do.
I need a drink. A double gin.
‘What?’ Lou must have heard my gasp and detoured on the way to her own desk.
She rests her chin on my shoulder, but I hardly notice. I’m rooted. Staring at the list they’ve sent out with the ‘new arrangements’. If I stare at it hard enough, it might change.
‘I, I…’ I can’t get the words out, so just wave wildly at my monitor.
‘Oh shit, the list! I’ve not seen that yet!’ She is peeling her jacket off as she speaks. Lou works to the ‘just in time’ principle and tries to arrive at her desk on the dot of nine o’clock. ‘Oh hell, no, you’re working different days to me. Oh God.’ She leans in closer. ‘And you’ve got Friday afternoon.’
Have I? I hadn’t noticed that bit.
‘That is SO shit. Oh, I’m sorry. But I’ve got Monday, and that’s pretty shit as well. At least you can have a lie-in, hun.’
I hadn’t noticed the days, or the fact that her days were different to mine. I am all hot and clammy despite the air con. I peel my top away from my chest and try and let some air in. ‘It’s not that, it’s…’ I point.
I will be sharing my life, my desk with…Jamie. This is far too intimate, far too much. Shit. I will be sitting on the same office chair. My buttocks will be resting on the exact same spot that his toned bum has. I will be wriggling on the spot… Oh God, no, it doesn’t bear thinking about.
I take a few of those short breaths that are supposed to make popping babies out less painful. It doesn’t work, I feel dizzy. I must take slow, long yoga breaths.
‘Are you okay?’ Lou gives me a strange look. ‘You’re blowing down my neck.’
I clamp my mouth shut.
I can’t breathe. Partly because my nostrils can’t cope. Lou doesn’t seem to notice. I could pass out on the spot and nobody would realize, because they are all looking at the list.
‘Haha, you’re sharing with Jamie fucking Lowe! You lucky cow.’ She finally voices the thing I have spent the last few minutes obsessing in my head about.
Luckily ‘Jamie fucking Lowe’ is not at his desk to witness my meltdown, or Lou’s loud voice. ‘Are you okay, Alice? You’ve gone pale.’
I don’t feel pale. I am burning up. ‘Fine,’ I squeak out and let out all the air that couldn’t exit via my nostrils.
Calm, Alice, calm. There is an upside to this. You won’t have him sitting opposite you every day of the week. You will be able to expunge him from your life, your vivid imagination. Okay, that didn’t happen last time you worked from home, but that was different. You knew you were coming back.
And then you did come back, and the moment you saw him he reverted to ‘Mr Perfect Gig-kiss’.
I take a deep, steadying breath. Yoga, not birthing style. OMG, how can I forget him when I’ll know he has touched everything I am touching?
‘I’d love to delve in his drawers to see what’s in ’em.’ Lou chuckles. ‘He’s hot, admit it!’
I am admitting no such thing. Nobody knows about what happened. Nobody ever will. Lou doesn’t know about ‘the kiss’, or the corridor crush, nobody does, and nobody needs to because it is embarrassing and stupid, and meaningless. ‘He’s okay, I suppose.’ I shrug. ‘But I won’t be the one seeing him, so it doesn’t matter.’ I. Will. Just. Be. Sitting. On. His. Chair.
‘You’ll be able to run your fingers over his keyboard.’
‘Lou!’ I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Shut up, you idiot!’ Talk about conflicted feelings.
‘Stroke his mouse…’ Her voice has taken on a sultry tone as she strokes the back of my hand to illustrate.
‘Stop it!’ I flick her away. ‘That’s freaky!’
‘Not sexy?’ Her grin mega-wide, she sniggers.
‘Shh!’ I glance around to check he’s still not in the vicinity. I’m worried she might start stroking him as well.
I’ve got it! I can ask if we can swap days, desks, anything! If Lou wants him, she is welcome.
‘Result, though. That means I’m in the same days as him; more time to try and get my wicked way!’ Well at least Lou is thrilled.
She winks suggestively, then her eyes widen as she looks at the list again, and her grin broadens. ‘Oh yay, I’m sharing a desk with Sal. That’s so ace, means I don’t have to see her judgy face looking at me every day, and I can keep my Chris Hemsworth calendar on display cos she’s got a crush on him too.’
She’s just reminded me that it is worse than the ‘touching his stuff and sitting on his chair’ thing. I feel sick. Jamie and I couldn’t be more different.
Jamie is Mr Neat and Tidy. His desk is completely clear apart from the stuff he’s using. He’ll want a clean desk policy, and I wouldn’t trust him with my stuff anyway. I don’t trust him enough to share anything. I really am screwed, no way can I keep things here.
‘Oh shit, look! Forget Hemsworth. I’m going to be sitting at Jamie’s old desk, opposite you! Get that! I’ll be able to keep an eye on him for you.’ She winks, then sobers. ‘Oh come on, don’t look so mis, Alice. How about going out at lunchtime? Last chance we’ll get.’
‘Brill, yes, fantastic. Oh bugger, I said I’d meet Soph, but I can ask her to—’
‘No worries, she’s funny. I like your little sis, the more the merrier! But shit, I can’t believe we’re working different days. Who am I going to moan about the dragon to now?’ She gives me a quick hug.
I snap out of my Jamie-mist and process what she’s been saying.
I’m not just losing my desk; the more important thing is that I’m losing the only real friend I’ve got here. And I had actually overlooked that point, because I’d been too busy worrying about the prospect of sitting on Jamie’s still-warm chair and panicking about a load of ‘student tat’ as Dave called my stuff. I’m an idiot.
‘Oh shit, no. Oh, Lou, I’ll miss you.’ Tears prick at my eyelids. I will. Lou is funny. She’s the type of person without a filter, who says the most outrageous things. But she also says kind things. She spreads niceness around
without a thought. Lou is the person who will instantly spot that you’ve had your hair done (even if it was a 2mm trim), or lost a couple of pounds in weight, or look like you need cheering up. She circulates the office in a way that the dragon lady would love to call time-wasting, but in fact makes people happy and more productive.
All offices need a Lou.
In fact, all people need a Lou in their lives. Even if she does sometimes lead you astray because she loves a good party so much.
I scan the list again. I’d been really, really looking forward to being back in the office surrounded by my colleagues. I’d even missed the annoying ones. And now half the people I really like aren’t even in on the same days that I am. I can change my attitude to the hot-desking, but this is something I can’t change.
Who will I gossip with if Lou isn’t here? And who will annoy me, if Jamie isn’t there to do it? This is going to be so strange.
‘Come on, Al, better get our arses into gear. There are some boxes over there for any stuff we might want to take home! Lunch at 1pm?’
‘Sure!’ Actually, there’s a very odd atmosphere in the office today. Some people are laughing and joking as though it’s the last day at school before the summer holidays, other people are quietly packing their work lives away with trepidation, unsure of what’s coming next.
Right, let’s do this. I grab a bankers box from the stack by the water cooler and bang it down decisively on the corner of my desk.
My desk, which according to the office plan, is going to be ‘our’ desk.
I have to admit, it scares me. We all need one place in the world we can call our own, don’t we? Our safe space. And this was mine.
So I’ll just have to create another one, won’t I?
But I know in my heart that wiping this completely clean isn’t really an option. It’s part of me, my work, I can’t operate in a vacuum. I’m not that person.
It all started when throw-it-in-the-bin-Dave decided to help me declutter. He doesn’t like mess, and he doesn’t understand why things are important to me. Why they’re more than just useless objects, random junk. Anyway, I rescued some stuff he’d mentally assigned to the bin – and brought it to work. It’s just mine here. Safe. And then I realized that when I looked at my personal bits and bobs, the office faded out a bit and I could think beyond the boring client specifications. I mean, when you’ve had a horrible meeting, how can you not feel better when you look up and see the wonky-donkey that you spotted when you were in Greece, and it was so bad it was good? Before I knew it, I was bringing more stuff in, all the things that I didn’t want marauding sisters, boyfriends and housemates to touch – and looking at it made me feel good.
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