Hot Desk

by Zara Stoneley

  One of the guys jokingly labelled me ‘ideas Alice’ and it stuck; he started a trend of people arriving at my desk, saying a word and asking what the first thing that popped into my head was.

  They’re not really ideas, they’re feelings.

  Luckily the dragon lady started to huff and puff and ask what was going on, because I was started to feel as hassled as I am at home. The space I called my own wasn’t any longer. Which was flattering for about two days, then just intrusive. Anyway, they went away. Or emailed.

  I do need to sort through properly. Decide what I can hide in my one tiny pedestal and what I might get away with leaving on the desk.

  This would have been so much easier if I’d been sharing with somebody like Lou. We would have agreed to leave at least some stuff. Or would we? Would even Lou really want Rodney, my rampaging plant? I bought him on impulse to celebrate my first day at work. I guess I’d wanted something to brighten up my desk and make it more ‘me’. He’s a spider plant and if I’m totally honest he has got a bit (okay, a lot) wild and out of control, and spawned loads of babies who are reaching out triffid style – which is not ‘me’. I hope. But it was the first step in making my workplace more homely, making my mark on the big, empty, sterile space.

  Rampant Rodney also helped block out Jamie.

  I sneak a look under my eyelashes in his direction. Now I know some people say, ‘tidy desk, tidy mind’, but I tend to think more along the lines of ‘empty desk, empty head’.

  Our desks look so different it’s unbelievable.

  So actually, the fact that he does not remember our kiss is a bonus. We would never have been compatible, it would have been disastrous. Two dates in we would have realized, and it would have been so much worse, because people would know.

  I try to make my face soften, because I know I’m frowning. On Jamie’s desk there is nothing.

  Although no, that’s wrong, there is some non-essential stuff on Jamie’s desk. A football coaster, and a…well, I’m not sure what it is. A thing. Like a bobblehead. I narrow my eyes, what exactly is it?

  I suddenly realize I’m starting to lean his way. Any second now, he’ll catch me looking and I don’t need banter, I need to sort my desk and do some work. I haven’t done anything yet. And I need to clear my desk. Now.

  I put the box on the floor, then put one hand on the edge of my (for now) desk and scoot my chair back a bit so I can lean down and toss my handbag under my desk decisively, and come eye to eye with…

  Shit! I grab my hand back to the safety of my chest at double-quick speed. My heart is literally pounding, so I drop both my trembling hands into my lap because the frantic beat is making me even more queasy than just the sight of the spider.

  Oh my God, how did I sit down without seeing it?

  I was so obsessed with the email I’d been oblivious to anything else. But, really?

  It is nestled between the Spanish Beanie Bull that my eldest sister, Lucy, bought me when we were on our first family trip abroad (to keep me quiet while she sneaked a snog with a waiter whose dodgy Spanish accent seemed to be tinged with a Brummie one), a rather raggedy Christmas reindeer that Darcie’s daughter Tilly made at school for me, and a pop-up birthday card with cats on it that my first proper boyfriend gave me. We were still at school and he was sweet; he bought me cuddly toys and hid love heart sweets in my pockets when I wasn’t looking. Whenever I need to create a webpage that will give people that first-love feeling, I look at that card.

  But how could I miss something so gross? Right next to my feel-good card? Making my pulse race for all the wrong reasons. My heart still has the jitters, my skin is crawling, and a scream is bubbling up in my throat.

  Okay, I know a fear of spiders is totally irrational. Especially when they’re clearly not alive, or even real, and are encased in clear plastic. It is a computer mouse, with a spider in it. I know that.

  ‘Everything okay, Alice?’ Jamie is staring straight ahead at his monitor and I know he is laughing at me inside. I can see it in his eyes. Hilarious.

  How can I have even thought we could compromise? Work out an arrangement. How can I dare leave my stuff out on my desk if he’s going to be sitting here when I’m at home?

  I can’t trust him not to ruin everything.

  ‘I suppose you think this is funny?’

  He shrugs and grins. ‘First there was Spiderman, now there’s Spidermouse! He can take care of our desk when we’re not here.’ He puts an emphasis on the ‘our’. Ahh, so he’s seen the list. I swallow to try and lubricate my dry throat.

  I glance back up. Jamie meets my eye. It’s a challenge and it flicks something inside me.

  This isn’t just about a stupid spider and a stupid desk. This is about me, and my frigging life. Nothing is safe at home, I’ve hardly got room to breathe with all the comings and goings in my room, I’m being squeezed on all sides and this is the last straw. It’s a horrible thing on my lovely desk. He’s invading my space before I’ve even cleared it.

  I’ve rearranged my life to accommodate everybody else, my whole work life is supposed to now be crammed into a stupid little office pedestal which is about as inspirational as a squashed slug. Enough is enough, why should it be me that makes all the allowances? Why can’t people listen to what I want?

  I cross my arms and glare. ‘Move it.’

  ‘What?’ He had been leaning forward, his forearms resting on his desk, his head tilted to one side as he smiled. The smile fades.

  ‘You think you’re so bloody funny, well, you’re not. It’s immature, it’s stupid, it’s…’ Inside I’m so angry I’m shaking, I can’t think straight. ‘It’s pathetic. I don’t leave crap on your desk, so don’t do it on mine,’ I snap.

  He frowns, looks shocked. ‘Sorry, Alice. I didn’t mean to…’ The normal confident, smooth tone has a hesitant edge.

  Shit. What am I doing, shouting at a colleague? Shouting at the person I’m going to be sharing a desk with? It’s not professional. It’s not me – I’ve always been the negotiator, the appeaser, the one in our family who keeps the peace.

  ‘Alice? Do we need to talk about this?’

  I don’t want to look into his eyes. So instead I look at his arms. His skin is a pale golden brown, the lightest shadow of hair brushing over them like down all soft and touchable and…

  ‘We do. But I’ve got to go and get something off the printer first.’ I walk off stiffly, heading for the ladies’ toilets first so that I can stick my head under the cold tap.

  I’ve fucked this up. I’ve overstepped the mark. We’re supposed to be sharing and I’ve upset him. But how can we share if I can’t trust him? Argghhh!

  Chapter Seven

  Jamie isn’t sitting opposite me when I get back. He is sitting at the desk next to mine and, before I get a chance to say anything, he has scooted his wheelie chair closer and his hand is on the arm of mine. Moving away would be a good idea at this point, but I can’t.

  I am stuck. Partly by my inability to do anything but twitch, partly because he has a pretty firm hold. With his firm, strong hand. ‘Are you okay, Alice? You seem really wound up.’

  ‘Well it’s a bit worrying, if the company is having to make cutbacks like this and—’

  ‘I meant about sharing a desk.’ I know he did. But I’m not going to say so. ‘With me.’

  ‘Well can you blame me?’ I try and move away. Being this close to him is making me all hot and bothered. I take a closer look at the desk. The spider has gone.

  ‘Sorry about that.’ He must have seen where I was looking. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say sorry for shouting. But I stop myself. Yesterday, I resolved to be better at putting up boundaries, learning how to say no to people, and ‘go away’. Today, with Jamie, I need to make a start on that. I need to stand firm.

  ‘Fine. Anyway, sharing is better than being sacked and not having a desk at all, eh?’

  I’m sounding a bit for
ced and jolly hockey sticks. Partly because my teeth are gritted – he won’t let go of my bloody chair! I’m paddling away like a duck and not moving.

  ‘But is it? I mean, you love your desk, don’t you? All this, er c…’ He falters. I wait. Staring hard at him. If he calls it clutter or, even worse, crap, I really will lose it. An image of me kicking his wheelie chair and him shooting past his desk and out of the office door flashes through my head. It is scarily realistic.

  ‘Cute stuff.’

  Oh. Didn’t expect that. It stops me (and my killer stare) in my tracks. Is he being funny? I frown at him. Is there a follow-up killer line to take the piss?

  ‘It’s like seeing inside your home!’ There’s the hint of a smile, but he’s not all twinkly-eyed. He leans in slightly. ‘Or your head,’ he says softly. This is weird, and strangely intimate. It’s a good job the office is pretty empty.

  I laugh nervously. ‘You wouldn’t want to see inside my head.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  Shit. I gulp and try to act normal. And not like I want to touch him so much my fingers are twitching. If I sit there with clenched fists, he’ll really think I’m bonkers though, and probably go back to his normal jokey self. I’d like to hang on to the nice Jamie for just a few more minutes. After all, it could be the last time I see him.

  Which is good, definitely good. Seeing him day in day out is not healthy. It’s like having a box of Maltesers open on your desk with one left in and being expected to resist it. That kind of torture is stressful.

  ‘I can see you in some sweet cottage, with lots of stuff.’

  Uh-oh, hang on, he thinks I’m like some old spinster in a dilapidated cottage surrounded by stuff. A hoarding old woman. Great.

  ‘My home doesn’t have spiders!’ I say pointedly.

  He chuckles. ‘How do you manage that, then? Some kind of magic?’ His eyes are twinkling, but in a strangely intimate way.

  No, not intimate. He is not being intimate.

  Christ, Alice, when will you ever learn? Fancying Jamie is like fancying the last bottle of Baileys in the supermarket at Christmas. You know the moment you make a move, a hundred other people will make a lunge for it and you will be left empty-handed and disappointed. Or you will grab it first then get home and find it is five years past its sell-by date and rancid.

  You will be broken-hearted.

  Christmas can be like that. Cruel.

  Must not think about stuff like that. Or being attracted to Jamie. ‘Conkers,’ I say decisively. ‘That is how I do it.’

  ‘Conkers?’ His tone is disbelieving. ‘Are you winding me up?’

  ‘Nope. I put them in the corners of windowsills and rooms. Spiders don’t like them.’ I give him a stern look. ‘I must remember to bring more in,’ I add, trying to soften the words. Wondering again if I should apologize. It’s hard breaking a lifelong habit.

  He grins before I can, deep dimples forming at the corners of his mouth. Why have I never noticed them before? They’re making me feel warm and funny inside.

  ‘I don’t think you’ve got room for anything else.’

  ‘No.’ I pause and remember. ‘Everything has to go!’ I sound like some kind of mad sales lady. Last day! Everything must go! Grab your bargain buy now before it’s all binned! Gone for ever!

  ‘Does it?’ He finally lets go of my chair and I rocket back into one of the large fake plants that are scattered around the office, then bounce back towards my desk.

  He moves back a few inches and looks slightly self-conscious. ‘Is it me you have a problem with, or the whole sharing thing?’

  I sigh. ‘It’s not you.’ It isn’t, not really. ‘Though I don’t trust you not to mess with my stuff!’

  A smile teases at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘But you’re right, I do love my desk, I do like having my stuff on it, but…’ I fold my arms. ‘I can’t now, can I? So that’s that. It’s fine, it’s not important. We’re supposed to be working, after all. It is an office.’

  He shrugs. ‘You should still be able to add personal touches if you want, if they help you work.’

  ‘Not that you want.’

  ‘Well no, but everybody is different. I think it’s cool being able to work at home. I mean, what could be better than being paid to work from your own pad half the week?’ His half-smile invites a reply. ‘Cool, eh?’

  I nod.

  ‘I mean, result! I’ve already worked out how much I’ll save on petrol, plus not having to buy crap coffee and sandwiches for lunch when I can get a meal deal from the supermarket or just grab a tin of beans, and, double bonus, all that extra chilling time instead of a boring commute.’

  ‘True.’ I bet he doesn’t share a place with mad, noisy people.

  ‘Anyway, leave some stuff out if you want, it doesn’t bother me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really! I’m not completely anal about tidying up, it’s just I don’t see the point. I just have what I need on the desk.’

  ‘You need that, that bobblehead thing?’ I think this is the longest conversation I’ve had with Jamie since we bumped hips in that pub. Maybe it’s because he knows he won’t have to talk to me ever again.

  ‘Hey, leave Elvis out of this!’

  ‘Elvis?’

  ‘If I tell you this, you have to promise to keep it to yourself.’

  I’m intrigued, and, let’s face it, I’m not going to turn down the chance to share a confidence with him, am I? I nod.

  ‘Joke from when I was a kid, first time I got my hands on some hair gel I quiffed up my hair. I thought it was cool, my sister thought it was hilarious. She started to call me Elvis and it stuck. She gave me that when she went to uni, so I wouldn’t forget her. Some chance of that!’

  ‘Haha, I can just see you with a quiff!’ It makes me feel a bit better. Is that why he told me?

  ‘Look, seriously, leave stuff if you want! I’m cool with it. My mum collects cr—’ He stops himself. ‘Crochet animals.’

  ‘You were going to say crap!’

  ‘No I wasn’t!’

  ‘Crochet animals? Really?’

  ‘And stuff I made for her at school or found on holidays when I was a kid; seashells, you know, bits and bobs.’

  I can’t help it, I smile. Even though I know he was about to say crap.

  ‘She likes frogs, God knows why, but she collects frogs.’

  ‘Frogs?’

  ‘Not real ones! Glass ones, pottery ones.’

  ‘Crochet ones?’ I can’t help it. My turn to tease, for once.

  He smiles back. The way the corner of his mouth lifts is quite sexy. Oh lord, I promised myself I would not find him sexy.

  I would not stare.

  But he’s never chatted to me like this.

  ‘One crochet one. Though it could be knitted, I’m not exactly an expert.’ I could swear there’s the hint of a blush on his cheeks. ‘I’d better shut up, I’m talking drivel now. But, anyhow, I’m just trying to say feel free to leave a few bits. Your desk is who you are.’ There’s a pause. I think he must have seen the gleam in my eye and wants to make this less personal. ‘But not pink stuff, or that fluffy thing, or, oh my God, what is that?’ He’s moved closer again. ‘Bloody hell, nobody’s true self is reflected in a weird blue-legged duck thing with beady eyes.’

  ‘That’s Mabel!’ I grab her protectively. ‘She’s a Blue-Footed Booby.’ This bit he definitely won’t understand. ‘I’ve adopted her.’

  ‘Adopted?’ He frowns. ‘Sorry, not getting this at all, you’ve adopted a toy?’

  He flinches slightly, I think I might have given him what Lou calls my ‘withering look’. I must not sigh, it’s not his fault. ‘Not the toy, you idiot. I’ve symbolically adopted the bird. I make a donation to support conservation work and I get this as a kind of thank-you, I guess.’

  ‘And the koala? The one giving the bird the hug of death.’ He points at the small koala.

  ‘Yes, and the koala. I like anima
ls, okay? They need protecting.’

  ‘Sure, me too. Just never seen a bird like that before! I’ve always been more of a puppy and kitten man.’

  ‘A puppy and kitten man?’ Must not think of him cuddling cute puppies. Nope. Bad image.

  ‘Well, er, if I was going to buy a cuddly toy that is, for my er, niece or nephew. Not that I’d buy them for me or anything.’ He coughs. ‘Sorry, why do I sound such a dick all of a sudden?’

  ‘You don’t.’

  His eyes brighten.

  Oops, better be careful here or I will be getting unreal expectations. ‘Well, no more than normal. I better get on with packing, it’s okay for you to yak on, you’ve not got any to do!’ I look at his desk pointedly, and then drop the blue-legged bird into my box.

  ‘Is that any way to treat an endangered species?’

  ‘Do you really want her on my, our, desk?’

  ‘If she’s going to sit quietly behind the plant, then why not?’ He shrugs.

  ‘You don’t mind me leaving Rodney? But…’ I look from him to the plant and back again.

  ‘Rodney?’

  ‘The plant! I can cut some of the babies off if you like, tidy him up?’ I lean into the box and pull Mabel out, replace her carefully on the desk.

  ‘Babies?’

  ‘Babies!’ I pull the sprouting end of the plant off and hold it out. ‘He’s yours, to love and protect.’

  ‘I’m not sure I…’

  ‘Not ready for responsibility, eh? Ah, is that why you haven’t got any plants on your desk!’