I will sort it. I will. And I won’t ring Dave, because he really is part of the problem.
But for now, it’s a huge relief that I won’t have to carry a bulky box all the way home.
It’s time to go.
Chapter Nine
Saturday night
HOT DESK CONTRACT
* * *
Section 1 – This contract is drawn up between Alice Dixon and James S Lowe and will be adhered to by both parties for the duration of their desk share period.
* * *
Section 2 – Private vs Public
* * *
2.1 Personal belongings – it is agreed that belongings sitting wholly within the personal space on the desk surface will not be touched or tampered with in any way by the other party. To include, but not limited to, strange stuffed toys, weird plants, assorted objet d’art and objet de nature-things, stuff made out of paper and stuff that ‘I haven’t a clue what to call it, but it has a meaning’.
* * *
It is agreed that the top, locked drawer of the pedestal is ‘very personal’ and shall not be tampered with, even if the keys have been accidentally left in.
* * *
2.2 Public space – it is agreed that the central area of the desk (as per the demarcation) be freely accessible by both parties. Anything left in this area is deemed ‘public property’ and as such can be abused, borrowed, defiled or otherwise interfered with without penalty. If any party leaves themselves logged into their personal account they may be considered ‘fair game’ and screen savers and other such personal settings may be altered at will. Essential computer-use items such as keyboard settings, short cuts etc. which may cause a complete breakdown of the party involving screaming and possibly tears if the dragon lady happens to be in the vicinity, are declared out of bounds, and come under the terms for ‘personal belongings’.
* * *
2.3 ‘The Grey Area’ – remaining pedestal drawers (see above, top drawer) hereby come under the heading of not entirely personal property, and as such should not be looked at, tampered with, drooled over, eaten or interfered with except in hours of need. This has been agreed as a matter of necessity, as essential stationery items and food may be held in these areas. In the case of impending starvation (hereafter referred to as ‘the munchies’), or urgent requirement for (not restricted to, but including) hole punches, Post-it notes, rulers and scissors, pedestal drawers will be considered fair game and plundered as necessary. Leave things unattended in the grey area at your own risk.
* * *
Section 3
* * *
3.1 Penalties – excessive entry into the other party’s pedestal (e.g. finishing off a packet of Hobnobs or Pringles more than once) may be considered ‘out of order’ and may lead to a period of being ‘locked out’. A second offence will result in the injured party being allowed to name a forfeit (extent to be agreed – no forfeit to include sex acts, illegal substances, keep-fit activities or any other form of total humiliation without prior agreement. Note 1, it should be born in mind that ‘total’ is open to interpretation according to morals and life experience).
* * *
3.2 Forbidden items – neither party to add items to their personal area that may cause offence or upset to the other party e.g. spiders. Exceptions – football merchandise.
I fall asleep with the contract on the pillow next to me, and a smile on my face.
Chapter Ten
‘I’ll have that last Yorkshire pudding if nobody wants it.’ Sophie is already leaning in and spearing the fluffy golden blob of yumminess as she speaks.
‘Hey! You had the last slice of beef as well, you piggy! Go halves!’ Lucy, the oldest of my sisters, is usually quite restrained, but she’s preggers again. It makes her hungry, and quite touchy if I’m honest. Her unborn offspring is obviously already the demanding type – following in the footsteps of twins Brad and Leo. I swear she must have been delirious on gas and air, or whatever pain relief they’d pumped into her, when she decided on names for the terrible twosome and sent Dan scurrying off to register them at the hospital. She loves her movies and I reckon she was dreaming about the romance and daring of Ocean’s Eleven, and The Wolf of Wall Street. Instead she was left with Fight Club and the sinking of the Titanic. I mean, I do love my nephews, they can be cute and funny. But at times just seeing a photo of their cherubic faces reminds me to check my contraception is 99.999 per cent effective.
Luckily Dan has taken them on an adventure for the day, to give Lucy a rest. He’s also taken Darcie’s new boyfriend Tom with him, for some brother-in-law-ish bonding. I reckon that about scuppers all hope she ever has of him proposing.
‘Let her, love, she’s eating for two.’ Mum’s tone is mild, but even Soph the spoiled youngest knows better than to ignore it. You don’t drag four girls through their teenage years successfully without an edge of steel.
‘More like three or four.’ Soph reluctantly cuts the Yorkshire roughly into two, and hands over the distinctly smaller portion to Lucy.
‘You sure you can spare that much?’ Lucy’s pregnancy hormones are very different to the gooey forgiving ones that Darcie has promised will appear post baby birth. Apparently then she will be soft and lovely, nature’s way of stopping her from eating her annoying offspring.
‘Ooooh! Sarky!’
‘Has she told you about feeding that vegan a proper pork sausage?’ interrupts Darcie, spooning some veg onto her daughter’s plate (not that anybody is going to argue over kale – I mean, who ever thought it was a good idea to eat kale?) and trying to head the conversation off in another direction.
I quietly finish off the gravy and wonder what my desk is going to look like when I next see it again. On Tuesday. After trying to work at home on Monday. I don’t know which day I’m dreading most.
‘What vegan?’ Lucy is eyeing up our plates slightly manically, trying to decide if there is anything worthwhile to nick while we’re distracted. She waves her fork optimistically at the roast potato on my plate.
‘Sure.’ I push the plate closer to her and watch her wolf it down. If she’s eating for the baby, I think she needs to seriously reconsider how much she loads on her fork or she’s going to have one hell of a job pushing this one out. It is going to be enormous.
‘It doesn’t matter what vegan.’ Darcie rolls her eyes. ‘He was a vegan, just any vegan, who thought the tofu was the tastiest he’d ever had. Did she tell you, Al?’
I shake my head and forget all ideas about trying to work out how I’m going to cope with hot-desking.
It’s hard to concentrate on anything when I’m at Mum and Dad’s for Sunday lunch. It was always like this when we were kids. Slightly manic, very competitive, everybody jostling for attention. ‘I don’t think so.’ I suppose I should be thankful the terrible twins, and the two guys aren’t here as well. Then it really would be chaos – except once a certain level of disruption is reached, nobody seems to notice if I stay quiet.
‘She didn’t say anything, she let him eat a whole sausage.’ Darcie emphasises the word ‘whole’ as though a nibble might have been acceptable.
‘Isn’t that a bit, like, well immoral or something?’
‘I did say something,’ Soph says, finishing off her dinner and putting her knife and fork down with a clatter and a sigh. ‘I said it was better than any tofu, ever, anywhere. I didn’t lie! Anyway, I did tell you, Al. You were just busy worrying about losing your job.’
‘Losing your job?’ Dad frowns and everybody stops talking and stares. It’s the first time he’s spoken for a while. He’s like me, he keeps his head down and lets real-life distractions fill his head. I bet you any money that while vegans have been the topic of conversation, he’s been working out how to repair the leaking garage roof. He tunes in when important stuff crops up though. ‘You never told us you’d lost your job, love.’
‘I haven’t lost it. I just thought I might, that we all might.’
‘Apple crum
ble?’ Mum is spooning out pudding and clearing plates at the same time.
‘Please.’
‘What do you mean you thought you all might?’ Lucy leans back, resting her hands on her bump. Wow, that is one helluva big bump. What if it is all baby, and no water? ‘I thought they were still doing okay at your place.’
I shrug. ‘Not as okay as they need to be.’
‘She’s got to desk share!’ Sophie announces, commandeering the ice cream. She’s barely got a spoonful out when Lucy grabs the tub.
‘No way are you hogging that ice cream! Desk share? Wow, that’ll be cosy, just like home!’ Lucy, as normal, has hit the nail on the head.
‘And work at home,’ Sophie adds. As though I am incapable of speaking for myself. See, she wants to share absolutely everything – including my thoughts.
‘Oh.’
I don’t think I even need to be here, I can hardly get a word in.
‘So, who are you sharing with then? Do you know?’
‘Have you got room to work at home, dear?’ Mum says before I get chance to answer. She sits down and frowns with concern.
‘He’s called Jamie Lowe, and no, well yes, I coped before so I’ll work something out.’ I smile brightly to reassure her. She worries about us, all of us, she doesn’t need my concerns on top of everything else.
‘You know you can always come here, Alice. Don’t you? You could use your old room, couldn’t she, dear?’ Dad nods.
‘Jamie Lowe!’ Sophie’s shriek stops the discussion about my bedroom dead. Which is good in one way. Much as I love my parents, working here would be harder than in my place. Plus, Soph is here and would either be bothering me more than normal or seeing what she can ‘borrow’. But it is hard to say no; Mum means well and misses the chaos of us all being there. I know she does.
The not-good-bit is Soph yelling out Jamie’s name at full volume.
‘Who’s Jamie Lowe? Is he hot?’ Lucy has lost interest in picking at leftover food and is all eyes. She’s at that stage in pregnancy when she thinks everybody else must want to be pregnant. Just mentioning a man’s name gives her hope that I might be about to join the club.
‘You shouldn’t even be thinking about hot men in your state,’ Darcie says. ‘Is he?’
‘No, he’s not, he’s…’ I’m getting all flustered.
‘You are kidding? Seriously, you’re sharing with the guy who won over the Chocs’n’Cheese lot? That Jamie Lowe?’ Sophie’s eyes are wide, and I can tell she’s trying not to laugh. Why on earth did I tell her about that?
I forget my embarrassment and feel myself start to bristle. I’d wanted to work for that client so much, and somehow Jamie persuaded our team leader that he’d be the better bet. I am convinced that this is because he flirted with their account manager, then managed to casually drop into the conversation the fact that his father was their main wine supplier.
He got a big budget, cheese and wine hampers, and bubbly and chocolates – I got basic package staplers and paperclips for a stationery start-up. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with staplers, but it’s hard to make a website for office essentials look sexy, especially when you’ve got days as opposed to weeks to do it in.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that, at that moment, I wanted to poke one of my client’s super-sharp pencils up his nostril.
Deliriously happy, prestigious clients also mean brownie points; pencil sharpeners don’t. And in five months’ time we’ll both be due our (very delayed) annual review. If he gets promoted and I don’t, I will be livid. It would be so unfair.
He can’t not even know I exist as a woman and get a pay rise better than mine this way.
‘Yes, that Jamie Lowe! He cheated; he practically shagged his way to the job!’
‘Really?’ Soph’s eyes are glowing. ‘He is hot then?’
‘No, he’s not hot, he just, just…oh, okay, he might not have shagged her but, well, his dad…’
‘Shagged her?’ says Lucy with a note of hope in her voice.
‘No, he used his dad unfairly.’
‘Would you have used our dad if he’d been in the biz?’ All eyes are on me.
Luckily, I do not have to answer this question as it is now Darcie’s turn to pipe up again.
‘Oh, shit no, it’s him!’ Darcie yells. My heart lurches, as I half expect him to walk into the room. Luckily, I do not spin round and embarrass myself further. ‘I know who you mean now! He’s the one who completely redecorated her Christmas tree, isn’t he, and hung a disco ball above her desk?’ She is grinning.
I hate my sisters.
‘Cool!’ Tilly looks impressed. I am not.
‘Well he’s a brave man!’ chimes in my father. ‘Nobody messes with our Alice’s baubles unless they know she’s either scared of them, or,’ he pauses, ruffling my hair, ‘likes them an awful lot!’
‘I don’t like him!’ I avoid meeting Dad’s gaze and glare at Sophie. ‘I knew I shouldn’t tell you anything about work!’
Honestly, does everything have to be shared in this family?
‘Oh dear, love, have you had to take all your bits and bobs home then?’ Mum spoons extra pudding into my bowl. She knows how frustrating I’ve always found not having a space of my own, but four kids in a house this size had always been tricky, and I’d always tried not to complain. She squeezes my hand. She also knows that it hasn’t exactly worked out how I expected in a place of my own.
‘I’ve left some things.’
‘So, it’s not too bad?’ She still looks concerned.
‘No, no, not at all.’ I am determined to convince myself, as much as Mum. ‘And he was quite nice about me leaving things out, and I’ve put other stuff in my pedestal at work. It’ll be fine, honest.’ I squeeze back and smile.
‘Well that’s good.’ She pats my hand. ‘And you’re sure you’ll be able to manage working at home?’
‘Of course I will!’ I cross my fingers under the table.
‘I hope you’re not going to let Dave interfere with your work; you’re doing so well, Alice. We’re so proud of you.’
She is looking even more concerned. I know she’s never been exactly over the moon about Dave, but she never said much. Apart from when he announced during a family dinner that he thought my home needed a makeover, and didn’t they agree.
If he was looking for support, it backfired. Mum was not amused. She told him quite firmly that you are with somebody for who they are, not who you’d like them to be, and without my things I wouldn’t be me.
‘We’ve split up,’ I say. She frowns. She’s heard it before. ‘For good, I’ve not spoken to him for ages.’ Better not to mention the flowers. Better to change the subject. ‘It will be fine working from home, I just need to be organized.’
As I say the words, I realize they are true.
That’s it, isn’t it? I have to be organized, but, more importantly, I have to set boundaries. ‘And be firm with people.’
I glance over at Sophie, who is looking gorgeous in my jumpsuit. I have to decide what is important in my life, what I don’t want to share. Then I have to stand up for myself.
Actually, Jamie’s jokey contract has just given me an idea. I need the same kind of thing for home. Maybe not written down, but in my head – for my own benefit.
That thought about making my home, my home? Well I know how to do it. I need a whole life contract.
No visitors during work time (unless I invite them), nobody in my room messing with my stuff (unless I invite them), no borrowing stuff, no making me feel like my space is not my own.
‘Is that my necklace? I wondered where that had gone!’
Sophie grins. ‘It goes brilliantly with this jumpsuit, you’re a genius, big sis!’
And I don’t have to cave into flattery.
‘I know.’ I smile brightly. ‘And I need it back, I wanted to wear it today.’
Soph raises her eyebrows.
I hold out a hand. ‘Please.’ Soph has always been the
baby of the family, the one I loved, shared a room with, shared my stuff with to keep her happy and quiet. I’ve never grown out of the habit, but she’s not a baby now. And I need a place of my own, time to call my own, things that are just mine, more than ever.
‘What? Now? You’re kidding?’ She blinks.
I nod. I must stick to my guns. I mean, if I’m going to do this, I have to start now don’t I? Step 1 was Jamie and the spider. I must up my game. I will have boundaries. I will not be taken advantage of and walked all over.
Not even by my lovely little sister.
‘Fine. Have it.’ Sophie scowls, unfastens the clasp and drops it with a clatter on the table. ‘Why didn’t you say so before?’ Her tone is cold.
‘Because you just took it, I didn’t know!’
‘You never complained before!’
‘You shouldn’t just go in my room when I’m not there.’ I try and keep my tone mild. But we glare at each other. We both know that she’s always gone in there. I felt sorry for her when I moved out and she was still stuck at home, so I wasn’t firm enough about what was important to me.
But she’s got her own room now, hasn’t she? ‘I don’t borrow your stuff without asking.’
There is an uncomfortable silence. And then she stands up.
‘And I guess you want this.’ Before anybody can say anything, she unzips the jumpsuit and lets it slither down and pool around her feet. She steps out, spins round and stalks out, slamming the door behind her.
‘Oh dear,’ says Lucy, leaning over to take her nearly empty bowl. She licks the spoon. ‘I can’t remember the last time my stomach was as flat as that.’
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