Hot Desk

by Zara Stoneley

  Subject: OFFICE ATTENDANCE – FRIDAY

  * * *

  Dear all,

  * * *

  After much consideration, it has been decided that office attendance on a Friday will be at the discretion of each individual. Please ensure that if you attend the office, you do so in your allocated time period.

  * * *

  If you work at home on a Friday, mark your progress sheet to indicate this, unless you have had holiday approved.

  * * *

  Regards,

  Diane

  Wow! My heart had lurched when the email bounced into my inbox with a loud ping, and I’d been crossing my fingers on one hand as I’d clicked it open with the other. I mean, what kind of thing had she cooked up now? But this is good. I think. Well, definitely not bad.

  I don’t actually want to work at home on my in-office-allocated Friday afternoon. Partly because working at home is still kind of awkward – what with the smell of bacon (makes me feel starving), orgasm noises (very distracting) and general interruptions – even though it’s much better than it was.

  Not to mention the fact that my mum has said working from bed will lead to a bad back in a few years (how did she guess I do that some of the time?). It is kind of nice to have a bit longer in bed, and although I like getting the bus into work and people watching, I reckon I could get used to doing it less often. After all, it is always the same people, and most of them don’t seem to have lives that are any more exciting than mine – so I can skip a day and not have missed much. Apart from the girl with blue hair and the guy who tries to chat her up. He’s been trying for weeks, and that is interesting. He’s working through all different approaches and I reckon he’s getting closer to cracking it – or being told to bog off. Either way, I’d be upset if I missed the big turning point.

  But, anyway, apart from that. If I don’t go in on a Friday afternoon, I won’t know if Jamie has left me a funny note, will I? I’ll have to wait until Tuesday!

  Oh no, what am I thinking? Since when was a note from Jamie part of my reasoning? Part of my weekend.

  Sugar.

  Why do I care? I don’t care! They’re just jokey notes that he would leave for anybody.

  The only reason I will be going in this afternoon is that it is easier to work there, and I’ve got to chat to my client, and the sound of a hairdryer on full blast and Jack shouting ‘take that, twat face’ is not conducive to a professional image.

  Thanks for sandwich, hold the mayo next time? J

  WTF? You have to be kidding me? Jamie bloody Lowe is back to his normal, annoying self. He’s eaten the leftover sandwich I’d kept for lunch. I didn’t bring anything else in and skipped breakfast as well! Bugger.

  And what does he mean, hold the mayo? Is he a complete heathen, as well as Man U supporter?

  I stare at the neat pile of crumbs at Mabel’s feet. Then grab the note and tear it up into tiny bits, with some ferocity, and am just about to drop them into the bin when I have another idea.

  Okay, call me petty, but he has EATEN MY SANDWICH! It wasn’t just any old sandwich either, it was a special cheese and fancy chutney one, with a use-by date of today. I’d double-checked when I left it last night. I would have taken it home or binned it if I’d thought it would be rank today.

  On Wednesday I’d been ultra-organized and bought myself two sandwiches. I’d eaten the salmon and cream cheese one at home, as it was closest to its use-by date, and it’s a bit dodgy keeping fish stuff like prawns and salmon, isn’t it? It’s warm on the bus and I wouldn’t trust putting it in our office fridge for even the morning. It’s opened and closed (and opened and not closed for ages) more frequently than a chain smoker lights up. It can’t be the proper temperature, so chicken and fish don’t go there as far as I’m concerned.

  Cheese is fine.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Sal is staring at me. I nod, then try and smile, which is pretty hard when your teeth are clamped together, and you want to kill somebody.

  I wait until she is looking at her monitor again, then drag open the top drawer of his pedestal. I can’t let this go. Ha to you, Mr Neat and Tidy, see what you think about this!

  The confetti-sized scraps of paper are falling from my hand when I see it. A second note!

  Gotcha!!! It is safe and sound in the fridge! You’d left it on the desk, hope it’s still edible? Office is pretty cold overnight, so should be okay J x PS Have a good weekend.

  OMG, he knew I’d be straight in there, checking out his drawer! Although if I hadn’t, and I’d just seethed and swore about him, I wouldn’t have discovered that he was just being nice. Kind.

  Shit. Bugger. I scrabble madly to try and gather up the bits of paper. Has being scared about sharing my personal space turned me into a nasty cow? This is not me, retaliating. It really isn’t.

  This is all my own fault anyway; I should have remembered to put the sandwich in the fridge myself before I went home. Why on earth didn’t I?

  ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry.’ I stop muttering under my breath and slow my paper-gathering to a steady pace, as Sal peers at me again. Nothing going on here, lady, go about your business.

  Shit, shit, shit. I’m going to have to take out all his stationery, and I shouldn’t. It’s his stuff, what if I put it back in the wrong place? It’s one thing to open a drawer and borrow a pen, or biscuit, but to take everything out, tip it upside down, and put everything back?

  I’d kill somebody if they did that to me.

  What did I say about enjoying coming into the office, and being more productive? Productive, my arse! I’ve got absolutely nothing done. And now my phone is buzzing.

  Shit, it will be my client. Wanting that professional phone call!

  I slam the drawer shut, sending paper scraps flying into the air, brush my hair off my face with both hands, take a deep breath and lift up the receiver.

  ‘Hi, Alice Dixon here. How can I help?’

  I cannot believe it is nearly time to go home! I’ve had a lovely chat with Maria, who runs the animal rehoming centre. This project really is ace. And why on earth did I think I couldn’t cope without my old desk?

  All I need are Mabel, the penguin and supportive notes from Jamie and my imagination works fine.

  It’s all about having the right things at the right time. Obviously.

  We touched on Blue-Footed Booby birds, conservation, lost dogs and orphan kittens and she sent over adorable photos as we chatted, and we tweaked the colour scheme, improved the font and designed a new fundraising page as we went. It was so exciting, and I got so carried away I hadn’t realized the time. I haven’t even eaten the flaming leftover sandwich, which basically means I’m starving as I’ve not eaten all day.

  Oh God. I glance down and am quite shocked to see the mess under the desk and remember what I did.

  I head to the tiny office kitchen and my sandwich is in the fridge, exactly as Jamie said it would be. Which is lucky. I munch on it as I head back to my desk, and the guilty feeling magnifies. I’ve been unfair.

  Why do I always assume the worse? Just because so many people take advantage of me, doesn’t mean he will. He never has. Okay he’s been annoying, and introduced spiders into the mix, but he’s never crossed the boundaries, invaded my personal space.

  Plonking myself down on my chair, I stare at the penguin nestled next to Mabel. It is looking back at me with a shocked expression on its face.

  ‘Stop it!’ Gawd, now a penguin is trying to send me on a guilt trip. But I do feel guilty. I deserve it.

  What can I do to make up for my nasty reaction? I suppose one good thing is, he doesn’t know. Well, not unless I leave any bits of his note around.

  I scrabble under the desk, grabbing pieces. Why did I tear the note into such tiny pieces? Why couldn’t I be normal and settle for tearing it in half like a normal person would?

  My mobile phone pings and I jump and bang my head on the desk, then back out quickly, hoping nobody has seen. I rub my head as I pick up
my phone.

  It is a text from Soph. Am in the bar on the corner. Fancy a drink? Have brought a dress of yours that I forgot I had and not got time to take it to your place. Soph x

  She had time to go there when she wanted to borrow it.

  It’s taken a few days for things to completely thaw between me and Soph, but I think everything is okay again now – and she is actually offering to give me stuff back unprompted. This is positive.

  Sure. Where you rushing off to? A x

  Got a hot date with the vegan to discuss the morality of sausages!

  Do sausages have morals? You came clean with him?

  Sort of! S x

  How can you ‘sort of’ tell somebody you fed them something they are against eating? Alice x

  Hurry up! I’m thirsty!! S x

  You mean you didn’t? A x

  I kept it hypothetical. Are you coming or not? S x

  I scribble a note to Jamie. Sorry, had to empty your drawer out, sandwich-related incident. He won’t know what that means; he’ll think I dropped some mayo in or something. Hope I’ve put everything back in the right place. Hope you had a good weekend. Alice.

  I glance at the second note he left me.

  OMG, how did I not see that? Hell, he put a kiss on the note! A kiss!!

  My first kiss, well apart from the real one of course, but I’m trying not to think about that. This is a new start! Did he mean it? As in mean it.

  Shit no, definitely not. It was probably just a habit and he did it by mistake.

  I am dithering, I am also being silly. Totally silly. I must ignore the stupid jittery feeling of excitement inside me. It is a friendly note, that just happens to have an X after his name.

  I can’t leave that in the office, what if the office cleaner plucks it from the bin and tells everybody? Or pins it up on the noticeboard?

  It deserves to be kept safe, private. I pick it up, stuff it in my pocket and then grab my handbag. Then hesitate. Should I add a kiss to the note I’ve left for him?

  Too much?

  Oi! Hurry up! My phone pings with a message from Sophie. I glance back to check I haven’t left anything behind – like incriminating scraps of paper – and make a dash for the lift, just before the doors close.

  When I emerge in Reception, she is standing there. Impatiently.

  She shoves a bag at me, I have a quick peek – it is my dress. ‘Come on.’ She links her arm through mine. ‘I need some advice on vegans.’

  ‘But I don’t—’

  ‘You’re better at finding stuff on Google than me.’

  ‘So you don’t just want me to come for a drink because you love me?’ I say, slightly hesitant.

  ‘Oh, Alice.’ She rolls her eyes at me. ‘That’s just a given. Now will you fucking hurry up, I’m meeting him in less than an hour.’

  ‘You really like him, don’t you?’ I grin triumphantly.

  Sophie colours up and shrugs as though she doesn’t care.

  ‘Oh my God, my burger-munching sister has fallen for somebody who only eats plants!’ She’s a meat and carbs on the side girl, meat and two veg at a push, definitely not veg and veg.

  ‘I don’t think he does, that’s what I need to check.’ She grabs my arm and practically drags me out of the building.

  I wonder what kind of an afternoon Jamie has had?

  ‘What’s that?’ Sophie plucks something off the seat, as I stand up to go and order another round of drinks at the bar.

  I half turn. ‘Dunno, not mi…’ The word dies on my lips as a flash of yellow catches my eye and I realize that it is mine! Oh shit. I lunge at the scrap of paper she’s waving in her hand, but she’s too quick.

  ‘Oh my God, it’s a love note!’

  ‘It is not!’

  ‘There’s a kiss!’

  I try and swipe it again, but she jumps up and holds it high above her head. There’s a flutter of panic in my throat. What did it say? ‘Give!’

  Soph does not ‘give’. She grins. Did I say my little sister can be evil? ‘I thought you were going to get some drinks?’

  ‘I thought you were in a rush to meet triple-veg-guy?’

  She wiggles a bit in her seat, but doesn’t give me the note.

  ‘Haha! I know what you’re up to, you’re just trying to stop me asking about him. You must really fancy him.’

  ‘He’s cute,’ she says, avoiding eye contact, which could mean anything.

  I wait until she glances up. We look at each other. Like we used when we were kids, and she was deciding whether to push her luck or not.

  This time though, we’re even. I hold out my hand. I used to do that quite often as well. ‘Give.’

  She reluctantly puts the crumpled note on the palm of my hand and I form a fist, screwing it up even more, then shove it into my pocket. Properly in this time. I’m going to have to get the iron on it, or my mini flower press which I’ve had since I was ten years old and kept just in case pressing flowers became a hobby again later in life. See, it might come in handy, it was worth keeping!

  ‘Wine?’

  ‘Gin,’ she says. Heck, she must be keen, I’ve never seen her this nervous about meeting up with a guy before. ‘Hey.’ She stops me as I turn away. ‘That is from Jamie, eh?’ I eye her suspiciously, but her look isn’t teasing, it’s genuine. ‘Opposites attract, eh? Like me and Daz.’

  So vegan-boy has a name. But Daz? ‘He was just being nice, it isn’t like that.’

  She smiles, sits back. ‘So why did you keep the note?’

  I don’t know how to answer that. So I go and get the drinks.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Friday, again

  I can’t believe that it’s the end of April and we’re several weeks into our new way of working. The days have sped by and even on a Friday I can’t wait to go in for the afternoon. Which is slightly crazy. It’s always quiet – as it’s optional – but I like it.

  ‘You look happy,’ Sal says, slightly disapprovingly, as I grab a coffee and waltz past her and round to my side of the desk.

  ‘Sorry.’ I suddenly realize I am humming out loud, I’d thought that was still in my head.

  ‘No problem.’ She sort-of smiles. ‘It’s a nice day, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is!’ I grin back. We’re nearly into May and the April showers seem to have finished early, the sun is out and there’s a real feel of good things in the air.

  I put my coffee down on the desk and sit down. And look expectantly at Mabel. She is not holding the message of the day. Nothing on Rodney’s pot either. Or on the mouse. Or monitor. Or under the desk. Or, I get up and look down, under my bum on the chair. I put a hand casually on my bottom, as though I’m smoothing my skirt down (in case anybody is watching) to make sure the Post-it isn’t stuck to it.

  I’m sticky-note-free.

  I am in a note-free zone.

  There must be some mistake. I’ve missed it, or it has fallen off on the floor. I start to move things, I even pick up (yes, I touch) the dreaded Man U coaster.

  The feel-good factor of the day fades a bit, and I frown.

  How can there not be a note? There’s always a note! There’s a hollow feeling in my stomach and I realize that half the reason I enjoy Fridays (actually look forward to them) is to read the Post-it notes that Jamie leaves for me. Sometimes he is teasing, sometimes just reporting back if something funny has happened in the office, sometimes he’s eating my snacks or leaving me new ones, and sometimes he’s just plain being nice.

  Whatever they say, I look forward to them.

  The feeling of disappointment is totally out of proportion.

  Oh no, what if he’s ill? What if there is something wrong? Has he even been in the office this morning?

  Nothing has moved. I double-check. I scrabble around in my pedestal, even lifting my notepad up and rooting about in the pens. I slam it shut. Open his, look under Mabel. I even move Rodney to the side and check under the pot, getting more frantic each second. I must slow down. I mu
st not get worked up.

  I prod the soil to see if it is dry. Jamie often waters him on a Friday morning.

  It is damp. But is that just damp from another day? Did I water him yesterday? Oh God, I can’t remember!

  ‘Are you okay?’ Sal’s concerned tone snaps me out of my activity.

  I blink at her, and nod.

  What is wrong with me? Why does this even matter? Since when did the notes become the highlight of my day? Oh bugger, bugger, bugger. Arghhh. I want to scream and bury my head in my hands, but that would bring Sal scurrying round.

  Shit, I’ve been humming as I walk through reception for the first time ever, because I’ve been excited about heading for my desk.

  Now I know why.

  This has nothing to do with work. It’s to do with Jamie. I’ve spent the last two years carefully detaching myself from him – well at least making sure he’s not aware of my lustful thoughts that are well under control, thank you.

  A flutter of panic starts up in my chest and makes me feel all twitchy.

  I have also looked forward to leaving notes for him. This is the road to disaster. I have been FLIRTING with him, and he knows nothing about me, apart from the contents of my desk, and now my biscuit preferences.

  And I know nothing about him. Well apart from the fact that he like to eat his Jaffa Cakes top to bottom. And I know he hates mayo on his sandwiches, loves beef and mustard, and prawns are a no-no. I warned him not to touch my prawn roll once, because for one I love prawns and, secondly, there was loads of mayo – as far as I am concerned, the two are a marriage made in heaven. Apparently not, according to Jamie. They make him want to vom because it reminds him of the time his mate gave him a maggot sandwich when they went fishing. He never went fishing again. Or ate a prawn sandwich.

  I know his mum keeps ‘stuff’.

  Sugar, I don’t know ‘nothing’ – I know lots of little stuff that I didn’t know about Dave by the time we’d progressed to sex. And not even after that.