This Man Confessed

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The look I flash all of my work colleagues the second I walk into the office makes them cautiously put their heads back down to work. Mindless chit-chat and feigning happiness is not something I can be bothered to do today. I need to focus on getting through the day as quickly and as quietly as possible. Interacting with anyone is a risk I can’t take. I might explode, and then all of my fury will be wasted.

I’m left to work in peace, my only distraction being my racing imagination, which is flicking from what Jesse will be doing now, to what I’m going to do to Matt. I’m surviving fine, until Patrick perches on the edge of my new desk. I see him before I hear him, which has absolutely never happened. The creak that I usually get in warning is absent, and it throws me a little. I grew rather fond of the familiar sound of my boss perching on my desk, even if it did make me hold my breath and pray for reinforced wood.

‘Flower, update me. We’ve not spoken for a few days. My fault, I know.’

I don’t need this. My brain is awash with everything, except work, and I’m dreading the Mikael question. I’m living on borrowed time here, I realise that, but I can’t broach this now. ‘There’s not a lot to report, really.’ I continue composing the email that I’ve been working on for the last hour. I’m two lines in, and it’s only a simple sample request to a manufacturer.

‘Oh, everything’s in order, then?’

‘Yes, everything.’ I sound short and terse, but I’m trying my best not to be.

‘Are you okay, flower?’ My boss’s concern is clear, when he should actually be telling me to buck up and answer him properly.

I stop typing and turn to face my cuddly bear of an employer. ‘I’m sorry. Yes, I’m fine, but I’ve got a heap of things I want to get done before the day’s out.’ I mentally applaud myself for blagging my way through that whole little speech. I did sound fine and like I was keen to get on, something Patrick will never argue with.

‘Excellent!’ He laughs. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ll be in my office.’ He lifts from the desk and for the first time in four years, it doesn’t creak, but I still wince anyway.

‘Ava, I’m sorry to bother you,’ Sal’s apprehensive voice almost makes me feel guilty.

‘What’s up, Sal?’ I look up at our plain-Jane, turned office siren, and force a smile, until I see the plaid skirt. It’s back, and I was so busy throwing cautionary looks at everyone when I arrived this morning, I hadn’t noticed. I also hadn’t noticed the lack of polished nails or scoop neck top. Or the face that looks like it’s just been dealt the most dreadful news. She’s been dumped.

‘Patrick has asked me to run through all of the invoices due for payment. Here’s a list.’ She hands me a printout of clients. ‘All of the highlighted sections are due within a week, and he’d like you all to gently remind your clients so we get the payments on time.’

I frown and cast my eyes over the spread sheet. ‘But they’re not due yet. I can’t remind them when they’ve not even forgotten.’ It’s embarrassing enough chasing overdue invoices.

She shrugs. ‘I’m just the messenger.’

‘He’s never asked us to do this before.’

‘I’m just the messenger!’ she snaps, and I recoil in my chair. Then she bursts into tears. I should be jumping up and soothing her, but I’m just sitting here, watching her wail all over my desk. She’s snorting and sniffling, attracting the attention of everyone, including Patrick, who has ventured from his office to see what the commotion is all about, but he retreats hastily when he spots Sal in tears. Tom and Victoria sit tapping their pens, neither one of them coming to aid me in my distress. And I am distressed. I don’t know what to do with her, but as no one else seems to be willing, it’s down to me to sort her out. I slide the spread sheet into my tray and stand, taking Sal’s elbow and leading her into the toilets, where I stuff her hands full of tissue and wait silently for her to pull herself together.

After a good five minutes, she finally speaks. ‘I hate men.’ Is all she says.

It makes me smile. I think every woman on the planet has said that line at some point in their life. ‘Things not too good between you and…’

‘Don’t say his name!’ she blurts. ‘I never want to hear it again.’

It’s a good job because I can’t remember it. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘No.’ she spits, rubbing away at her cheeks. There is no make-up transferring onto the tissue. She has well and truly returned to boring Sal. ‘Never!’ she adds on a filthy look.

I’m relieved. My brain wouldn’t absorb it, even if she did tell me. I’d be listening, but not engaging. ‘Okay,’ I rub her arm in a gesture to suggest that I understand when I’m actually more relieved.

‘He’s here, then he’s not. He calls, then he doesn’t. What does that mean?’ She looks at me expectantly, like I might know the answer.

‘You mean he’s messing you around?’ I’m engaging.

‘I’m on call when he wants, so yes. I sit around waiting for him to ring me, and when he does want to see me, it’s lovely, but all he wants to talk about is me. My friends. My job.’ She sniffles a bit more. ‘When will he want to have sex?’

I cough on a laugh. ‘You’re worried because he hasn’t tried to get you in bed?’ That’s a rarity. She should be pleased.