‘You’re only joining them for the Isle of Wight loop,’ I remind her. Martin has already briefed me on this one. ‘And it’s on a weekend. I don’t work weekends.’
‘It’s not work,’ Katherin insists, gathering her notes and packing them into her handbag in an entirely random order. ‘It’s a lovely Saturday sailing trip with one of your friends.’ She pauses. ‘Me,’ she clarifies. ‘We’re friends, aren’t we?’
‘I am your editor!’ I say, bundling her out of the meeting room.
‘Think about it, Tiffy!’ she calls over her shoulder, unperturbed. She catches sight of Martin, who is already making a beeline for her from over by the printers. ‘I’m not doing it unless she is, Martin, my boy! She’s the one you need to talk to!’
And then she’s gone, the grubby glass doors of our office swinging behind her.
Martin turns on me. ‘I like your shoes,’ he says, with a charming smile. I shudder. I can’t stand Martin from PR. He says things like ‘let’s action that’ in meetings, and clicks his fingers at Ruby, who is a Marketing Exec, but who Martin seems to think is his personal assistant. He’s only twenty-three, but has decided it will further his merciless pursuit of seniority if he can seem older than he is, so he always puts on this awful jocular voice and tries to talk to our MD about golf.
The shoes are excellent, though. They’re purple Doc Marten-style boots, with white lilies painted on them, and they took me most of Saturday. My crafting and customising has really upped since Justin left me. ‘Thanks, Martin,’ I say, already attempting to sidle back to the security of my desk.
‘Leela mentioned that you’re looking for somewhere to live,’ Martin says.
I hesitate. I’m not sure where this is going. I sense nowhere good.
‘Me and Hana’ – a woman in Marketing who always sneers at my fashion sense – ‘have a spare room. You might have seen on Facebook, but I thought maybe I should bring it up, you know, IRL. It’s a single bed, but, well, I guess that won’t be a problem for you these days. As we’re friends, Hana and I decided we could offer it for five hundred a month, plus bills.’
‘That’s so kind of you!’ I say. ‘But I’ve actually just found somewhere.’ Well, I sort of have. Nearly. Oh, God, if L. Twomey won’t have me, will I have to live with Martin and Hana? I mean, I already spend every working day with them, and frankly that is plenty of Martin-and-Hana time for me. I’m not sure my (already shaky) resolve to leave Justin’s place can withstand the idea of Martin chasing me for rent payments and Hana seeing me in my porridge-stained Adventure Time pyjamas every morning.
‘Oh. Right, well. We’ll have to find someone else, then.’ Martin’s expression turns cunning. He has smelled guilt. ‘You could make it up to me by going with Katherin to that—’
‘No.’
He gives an exaggerated sigh. ‘God, Tiffy. It’s a free cruise! Don’t you go on cruises all the time?’
I used to go on cruises all the time, when my wonderful and now ex-boyfriend used to take me on them. We’d sail from Caribbean island to Caribbean island in a sunny haze of romantic bliss. We’d explore European cities and then head back to the boat for incredible sex in our tiny little bunk. We’d stuff ourselves at the all-you-can-eat buffet and then lie out on the deck watching the gulls circle above us as we talked idly of our future children.
‘Gone off them,’ I say, reaching for the phone. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to make a call.’
2
Leon
Phone rings as Doctor Patel is prescribing meds for Holly (little girl with leukaemia). Bad timing. Very bad timing. Doctor Patel not happy at interruption, and makes her feelings clear. Seems to have forgotten that I, too, as night nurse, should have gone home at 8 a.m., and yet am still here dealing with ill people and grouchy consultants like Doctor Patel.
Hang up when it rings, obviously. Make mental note to listen to voicemail and change ringtone to something less embarrassing (this one is called ‘Jive’ and is far too funky for hospice setting. Not that funk does not have role in place of sickness, just that is not always appropriate).
Holly: Why didn’t you answer? Isn’t that rude? What if it was your girlfriend with the short hair?
Dr Patel: What’s rude is leaving your mobile on loud