Hot Desk

by Zara Stoneley

  But I don’t know if he has a girlfriend. I don’t know if he really is a neat freak, or if he has to have control of everything. I don’t know if he forgot our kiss because he was drunk, or because he didn’t fancy me, or just kisses lots of girls.

  I don’t know anything important. I leave kisses on the notes, I save some he’s left for me in the bottom of my handbag because they make me smile when I’m on a working-at-home day. I am too involved. This will be more of a disaster than the forgotten kiss and the corridor body bump.

  All I know is that I like the side of Jamie I’m meeting through his notes. He’s not being annoying, like he was in real life. He’s being kind and funny.

  Maybe he’s just a complete commitment-phobe who can only cope with a message-type relationship.

  I check out my biscuits; none are missing.

  He must be ill.

  Except the note I left him yesterday, stuck to his packet of biscuits, has gone. So he must have been in this morning, but—

  A chill runs through me as I remember.

  Oh shit.

  I bury my face in my hands. The bloody note. I was trying to be funny, but then had seconds thoughts and nearly went back to rip it up, but somebody stopped me at the lifts and was telling me what Lou had been up to the day before. It was funny, I got into the lift with them, totally engrossed, and forgot all about it.

  The trouble is our little messages had started to get a bit more personal, a bit more, well, like we were sharing a private joke. And I’d got carried away.

  What had I said? Something ridiculous about if we (we!) had children would they be marooned (red and blue, get it?). We’d swapped a string of bad football jokes.

  This was the worst yet, but I’d thought it was funny.

  And then there was the note about how he’d make a brilliant dad one day – after he had tied a mini balloon to Mabel for her birthday.

  He’s been in this morning; he has just not responded to my notes.

  Oh my God, that was what did it. Shit. It was too much. I’m not funny at all. I’ve overstepped the mark. What kind of person goes on about kids to a workmate?

  I have spoiled this for ever. What did Soph say about opposites attracting? They don’t, they scare the fuck out of each other. The last thing a commitment-free guy like Jamie wants is to think about fatherhood.

  ‘Will we be actually working this afternoon?’ Dragon Lady has snuck up on me undetected and is looking pointedly at my monitor.

  Fuck. I jump guiltily. ‘We will!’ I say brightly, shuffling the keyboard and mouse into their proper positions, and double-checking there isn’t a note hidden underneath. ‘Just getting my thoughts in order; the animal rehoming centre said they would be in touch with you later today, they’re thrilled with the new website. Visitors have already increased, and they’ve only got the holding version.’

  ‘Good.’ She seems slightly mollified as she strides off, then pauses. ‘Well done.’ Wow, a nice word! She takes a step back and glances down at my desk, ‘How amazing, we can see some of the desk surface, it is obviously helping with productivity.’

  Why does she have to temper every compliment with criticism? Has nobody told her it is bad for staff morale, and their bloody productivity?

  ‘Splendid,’ I chirp out, instead of asking what school of man-management she went to, hammering wildly on my keyboard to try and look super-efficient. ‘Silly cow,’ I mutter once she’s three desks away and annoying somebody else.

  I stop typing ‘kjfalursljnskanjcbeettfvkjlsfjlsh1t’ and open my emails.

  From: Lowe, Jamie

  To: Dixon, Alice

  Date: 30 April 2021, 11:30

  Subject: Hot Desker

  Oh my God, an email! He’s forgiven me. I duck my head down as I realize that I’m grinning like a loony and might attract unwanted attention.

  Hey desk buddy!

  * * *

  Say hi to the menagerie for me! Wasn’t in this morning and I know they’ll be missing me. Rodders has been watered and rotated; he was getting lopsided leaning towards the light.

  * * *

  Have a good weekend.

  He doesn’t mention my note, or our children, thank goodness. He really will make a good dad one day, though. I’m pretty erratic about watering and rotating. Rodney is the only houseplant I have ever had that has survived more than a year, because spider plants are pretty indestructible. They survive. Jamie is disciplined. Logical.

  I close the email feeling slightly sad and open up the website I’ve been working on.

  We can move on from this; he has forgotten it already. Like he forgot the kiss that I have obsessed about for the last two years. One day, when I’m an old granny, or old spinster, I will be obsessing about the summer of notes.

  An emails pings in and I open it automatically, my mind still occupied with the moving banner I’ve decided to put on the website. Is it too twee if a little dog is pulling it across? Yes definitely, this is serious, we don’t want too cute. We want the people driven to adopt to have love, desire, commitment for life. Not be lured in by gimmicks.

  I’m still thinking hard and don’t focus on the email straightaway. Then it sharpens up.

  Sorry, forgot to say. Our children will need my discipline and order, as well as your generosity, chaos and creativity! Will they be mixed up, or just plain all-round amazing?

  Wow, the relief that he’s still talking to me, properly, is so massive I actually laugh out loud. Then hide behind my monitor when Sal perks up. I’m still smiling though.

  Amazing! I type back. How can they be anything else?

  I know he’s only messing about, teasing, but I don’t care. I am not going to over analyse this. I am going to go with the flow.

  Should I have lasagne from the freezer tonight or go mad and order a pizza? Delivered? I rather feel like I have triumphed today – on the work front, and on the Jamie front, and should treat myself. I deserve it! In fact, I am feeling rather smug as I stride into the house. Shouting hi to Jack, who grunts and waves briefly before shouting, ‘Hell yeah, take that, you suckers’ at the TV. I don’t think his lifestyle is healthy. He needs to get out more. But what the hell, who am I to judge? He is happy.

  ‘You look happy!’ Zoe says, moving Harry’s wellies from the middle of the passageway to the side, holding them with the tips of her manicured nails. ‘Good day at the office?’

  ‘Fab!’ I am definitely having pizza. The works. A meal deal with garlic bread, and possibly cookies. Or should I raid my snack cupboard, if nobody else has, that is? Although I have to say, apart from one time when a packet of biscuits had gone – but money had been left in their place along with a note saying ‘desperate circumstances, sorry’ – my belongings have been left untouched.

  ‘Oh, Al, that guy came by looking for you?’

  I look at her, I am puzzled. ‘Jamie?’ How does he know where I live?

  It’s her turn to frown. ‘Dave? Who’s Jamie? A new one?’

  ‘Dave?’ It takes a moment for the name to sink in. Why would Dave be here? I’ve not heard from him for ages. Well, like three weeks. Since I told him we had to break all contact, since the sandwich incident with Jamie.

  Jamie. I feel the smile twitch at the corner of my mouth. I’ve not missed Dave at all, not had the slightest urge to call him.

  Dave must either be very bored, or there must be something really wrong. But that’s not my problem, is it? He must have somebody else, somebody close who can help.

  ‘I thought it was over between you two,’ says Zoe.

  ‘It is,’ I say firmly. See, I am feeling firm as well as happy. I have a positive outlook. ‘I’ve told him not to come here, please don’t let him in if he does.’

  Why on earth didn’t I tell my housemates not to let him in? Except it hadn’t really occurred to me. He’d listened. He’d moved on. No need.

  ‘Oh.’ The tone of her voice stops me in my
tracks. ‘Er, sorry, Al, I didn’t realize. I thought you guys were back together again after he brought those flowers round?’

  ‘We aren’t, he was just trying. Was it you who let him in?’

  She shrugs and looks guilty and I feel sorry. Bugger. Things had been going so well at work, and here that this had never occurred to me. Since my outburst things had improved no end, and I was slowly working out how my room needs to be organized.

  ‘He said you were expecting him, and he, er, well he went to drop something in your room. Is that a prob?’

  She looks so upset that I give her an impromptu hug. Shit, I’m going to mess up again and make her hate me. ‘Don’t worry, no harm done! But please don’t let him in again.’ All my housemates have been great lately, and I’m being OTT again. This doesn’t have to be a big deal, I’m over-reacting.

  ‘Sure thing, you should have said!’ I should. ‘He’s very persuasive, though.’

  He is. I know what he’s like. He’s one of those smooth-talkers that has the confidence to barge his way in anywhere, and he’s so totally convincing it’s really hard to close the door in his face. ‘I know, sorry.’ Shit, I have to get out of the habit of keeping saying sorry.

  ‘Isn’t it a bit weird, the way he won’t listen?’ I nod. ‘If it was me, I’d threaten him with the police or something.’

  I head up the stairs. She might have a point. I am not going to let him ruin my good mood, though. He’s done enough of running my life, or should that be ruining my life. Enough.

  I throw my bedroom door open, a small swirl of dread in my stomach and my heart thumping, expecting a room full of flowers or something gross.

  OMG, he has tidied up. I realize my hand is over my mouth. My ex, who I have not spoken to for weeks has made my bed.

  I feel sick. This is so, so wrong.

  He used to make the bed when we were together. I’d do it quickly, then he’d adjust everything. Straighten the sheet, adjust the pillows an inch or two.

  At first it seemed sweet, his attention to detail, then it started to annoy me. I didn’t want somebody correcting everything I did, suggesting it wasn’t good enough.

  Now he’s still doing it and anger bubbles up inside me. He’s also straightened up things on my workspace. I can tell. Minor adjustments so that things are more uniform.

  I’d forgotten he was quite this bad.

  I’m just about to cave into the impulse and jump on the bed and mess up all the sheets when I see it. The note.

  I love reading the notes from Jamie. Jamie is light, teasing, fun. But getting one from Dave is totally different. I don’t want him back in my life. It’s too complicated – it would make it too easy to fall back into my old ways, to start to rely on him again. Then he’d let me down or start telling me what I should and shouldn’t do.

  Like the way I should make the bloody bed.

  Sorry I missed you. Thought I’d pop in for a catch-up, see if you wanted to come to Joe’s wedding with me?

  Ha! He wants a plus one, that was what this is about. Dave can’t be seen as single, can he? I thought it was a bit weird, even for him, to suddenly appear again after so long. Stalkerish, which he isn’t.

  Had a bit of a tidy-up while I waited – thought it might make it easier for you to work. See, this is what I saw as good about Dave at the start. I thought he did these things for me. Other people thought he was wonderful as well (so helpful, you make such a good team, a keeper!). The perfect, caring boyfriend. It took a while for me to work it out, but it wasn’t about loving me, it was about shaping me into the person he really wanted. He wasn’t just rearranging my stuff, he was rearranging my life.

  Maybe relocate some things to give you more space? I could take some to my place?

  And re-bloody-locate? Where the fuck does he think I can move stuff to, even if I wanted? And ‘take them to his place’ means chuck them out. I know him too well.

  If he has thrown a single thing out, I will kill him.

  Arghhh, I hate the man! And he honestly thinks I will go to his mate’s wedding with him? He’s mad.

  It would be so much bloody easier to just ditch this place for now. Do what Mum suggested and move back home – at least until Dave has decided to leave me alone. Or, oh my God, what an amazing thought, move in with Jamie. Jamie doesn’t mess with my stuff, he’s just thoughtful and sweet. He gives me space, I can trust him…maybe he has a spare room? I actually feel lighter inside just thinking about that.

  Bloody hell, pull yourself together, girl. Move in with Jamie?

  I reach for my mobile. I need to ring Lou. I can’t talk to Soph when I’m this wound up. I know she’s my sister, but I don’t want her rushing round to help (I know she will) and telling the whole family (I know she’ll do that as well). I know they mean well, but I need to have a rant and I need to make my own decisions. Mum would definitely suggest I move back. But that would be so wrong.

  This is my room, the space I’ve fought to make my own – and I have to sort it out myself.

  I don’t want to worry them. I do need to let off steam though.

  Or do I?

  I slowly put the phone back in my pocket. I don’t need Lou, or anybody to help me through this. There’s a much better way to let off steam! I’ll re-sort my room, unmake my bed. I need to erase Dave and push on. This was going well.

  Maybe I’ve been a bit wishy-washy with Dave, maybe I’ve unconsciously hung back a bit because he’s always been my safety-net, my security blanket? This time I will do it properly. I don’t need his shoulder to cry on. I’ve got this.

  What am I waiting for? I need to get this done and earn my pizza.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Saturday

  I have not slept well, which is bloody annoying. I like my sleep at the weekends. I like to go to bed late after a good movie or book and climb into bed knowing that there is no alarm going off in the morning. That I have hours in bed.

  Instead I am wide awake, and it is 5.30am The birds are tweeting, but not even Harry is up cooking bacon.

  You’d have thought that after my frenzy last night, putting my room back to normal, I would have been exhausted, that I would have collapsed and slept solidly.

  Nope.

  I lay on the bed, fully clothed, thinking about Dave. I crawled under the duvet an hour later hating Dave, and I have woken up thinking about fucking Dave. He is doing my head in. I need a better plan.

  I lie flat on my back and try not to scream.

  We split up ages ago, why does Dave still think he can use me when it suits him? He is still treating me like his girlfriend. No, it is worse than that. There’s a rush of hot and cold through my body as I realize. I blink. He is treating me like I belong to him. Like a possession.

  He’s not decided it should be over, so in his head it isn’t.

  Honestly, this being firm in my private life is a minefield compared to work. I upset Soph when I said no, sent my housemates into a tizzy and felt like I’d been sent to Coventry (which was horrible) when I asked them to leave me alone, but blocked and ranted at Dave and not made the slightest impression.

  He thinks he is in control. And, in a way, he is. I’m allowing him to be. I’m thinking about him, which is exactly what he wants.

  My whole frigging time with him was about compromise – but all one-sided. I took my stuff to work, because he didn’t like it here. I let him rearrange my stuff. I snuck stuff back out of the trash, rather than playing hell with him for putting it there.

  I let him make the bed the way he wanted to, dip my light because it was too bright in his eyes – which meant I couldn’t see to read in bed, so stopped trying.

  Why the hell did I do that? Was I scared that I’d be lonely without the noise, chaos and constant interruptions of my family home, and then student living? Had I been frightened that my own company wouldn’t be enough, that I needed to hang on to somebody who I knew (haha) would be there for me?

  Or maybe it’s just been easier
to let Dave get away with walking all over me, than risk him going – even though I’ve known for a while he isn’t the one for me.

  I did really hate it when I upset Soph and she wasn’t talking to me, and when my housemates gave me a wide berth, were super quiet and stopped knocking on my door. It was nearly as bad as the constant interruptions and invasions of my privacy. Nearly.

  So, I obviously do like, need, some background buzz, to know people are there. I’d never make it as a hermit. But some things I can do without.

  So much of my stuff was at work because Dave didn’t approve of it (and everybody else who liked to ‘borrow’). It’s no way to live, is it?

  I am not going to mope; I am going to put this right. I am getting out of bed. While I was putting my room back in order, I was plotting.

  Step one is to throw out everything connected to him. Why on earth didn’t I do that when I was rearranging my room ready for working at home? Step two is to make sure everybody is crystal clear about not letting him in, and I’ll work out the rest later.

  An ASBO would be nice, but I don’t think you can get those for annoying exes who you haven’t told to piss off clearly enough.

  The only person who can change this, who can make things happen, is me.

  I stand in the shower and let hot water bounce off my already warm skin, force myself to relax. The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs stops me dead, my entire body stutters. I stop soaping myself and strain to hear who it is, where they are going.

  Oh God, I wish Jamie was here. I feel kind of chilled when I’m around him.

  Safe.

  Bugger, why am I thinking such stupid thoughts? I think I need to turn the shower on to cold setting. And it isn’t that I’m not safe. I’m just angry, and frustrated.

  Anyway, logically it is somebody going down, not up. So it definitely isn’t him. I force myself to take deep, steadying breaths. But I still feel on edge. Since when am I the type of person who is constantly listening out for trouble?