A Day at the Office

by Matt Dunn

  'You finish?' he said, his thick accent making it sound more like an accusation than a question.

  The tallest one grinned. 'No, we're from Sweden,' he said, in perfect English, and the rest of the group burst out laughing. Julie couldn't stop herself from joining in. Sadly, she realised, it was the first good laugh she'd had for a while.

  As the waiter sullenly cleared their plates, her iPhone beeped - Philip, probably, wondering where she was, checking up on her, even though what she was up to was none of his business. But instead, when she glanced down at the screen, the number displayed was Sophie's.

  Julie found herself hoping it was good news, but she feared the worst. Sophie would hardly be texting her already unless she was a really quick worker – although that lingerie had been pretty stunning. She opened the message, and almost did a double take as she read it.

  'Nathan didn't send you that Valentine's card,' it said. 'It was Mark.'

  Calum sneaked another guilty look at his watch, though it was unlikely Mia-Rose would notice seeing as she was sitting in the next booth along with her back to him. This way, he'd reasoned, they could still talk, but when (or if) Emma appeared, she wouldn't see him sitting with another woman and be put off. He'd felt really awkward asking her to move, but Mia-Rose had understood, though as the minutes ticked by Calum had begun to feel worse about his request, certain as he was by now that Emma wasn't going to turn up at all, and worried Mia-Rose would think he'd made her up just to avoid her sitting at his table.

  Suddenly, he heard what sounded like a glass breaking behind him, and reminded himself not to look round, worried his back couldn't take the twisting. 'Are you okay?' he called over his shoulder.

  'I'm fine,' said Mia-Rose. 'That's just my phone telling me I've got a text message.'

  'It's not from Emma, is it, by any chance?' said Calum, glumly, and Mia-Rose laughed.

  'My mother, would you believe? Asking what time I'll be back.' She laughed again. 'Honestly!'

  'You still live at home?'

  'There's nothing wrong with living at home, Calum,' scolded Mia-Rose.

  'No, I wasn't inferring... I mean, I do too. Well, with my Mum. She's not so well.'

  'I'm sorry to hear that.'

  'Thanks. It's not terminal. Unless you get her talking about it, that is, and then you'd think her days were numbered. She just needs a bit of looking after from time to time. And it was just easier.'

  'Well, I think it's sweet,' said Mia-Rose.

  Calum brightened a little – perhaps Emma would feel the same way - if he ever got the chance to tell her, that was - though he had to consider perhaps she'd been and gone already. Maybe she hadn't liked the look of him – even though he had been careful to sit up straight so she couldn't tell he wasn't quite as tall as he'd said. Perhaps, as he'd initially feared, she'd already seen him talking to Mia-Rose, and had dismissed him as just like all the rest. With a final glance towards the door, then at his watch, then his phone, then the clock on the wall, he let out a long sigh.

  'What's the matter?' asked Mia-Rose.

  'She's not coming.'

  'How do you know?'

  Calum swivelled round in his chair, wincing with the effort, then pulled up his cuff to expose his watch. 'Because it's six-thirty,' he said, tapping the dial with his index finger. 'And we'd arranged to meet half an hour ago.'

  'And you're positive she's not here already?'

  'Unlikely.'

  'I might as well come back and join you, then.' Mia-Rose got up from her booth and sat back down in front of him, and despite his depression, Calum was grateful not to be sitting there alone. 'What are you going to do?'

  Calum shrugged. 'I don't have a clue. I really thought...'

  'What?'

  'That she was someone special.'

  'Maybe she's just shy. Maybe she feels awkward about how the two of you are meeting. Maybe she's sitting at one of these tables hoping you'll recognise her, and waiting for you to make the first move.'

  Calum looked dejectedly round the restaurant. It was quite busy now, and apart from the two of them there were a few couples, and a number of groups of girls, though none of them seemed to be looking in his direction. No change there, he thought.

  'But how can I find out? I can hardly go up to every girl in the place and ask if she's called 'Emma', can I? Even if I did, she could still lie, and say 'no'.'

  Mia-Rose thought for a moment. 'Have you got her mobile number?'

  'Well, yes.'

  'Then I'll tell you how you can find out. Send her a text. Then if any of the girls in here looks at their phone... Bingo!'

  'No, I couldn't. That'd be...'

  'Making the first move?' She nodded towards his mobile, which was sitting on the table in front of him. 'How about it?'

  Calum stared at his phone, then peered at the other diners, and realised it wasn't such a bad idea. 'Okay. But what should I write?'

  'Easy.' Mia-Rose picked his mobile up. 'What's her number?'

  'It's on speed dial. 142.'

  '142?'

  'Today's date.'

  'Nice touch.' She tapped on Calum's phone for a second or two, then handed it back to him. 'Here.'

  'What?'

  'You should be the one to actually send it, don't you think?'

  Calum took his phone, and stared at the message. Mia-Rose had written, which said simply 'Surprise!'

  'Surprise?'

  She smiled. 'Because it will be.'

  He held his breath and pressed 'send', and almost immediately, the sound of breaking glass came from Mia-Rose's handbag. He watched, wordlessly, as she fished inside, removed her mobile, and smiled at the screen.

  'But...'

  Calum stopped mid-sentence. He'd spotted the initials stuck on the back of Mia-Rose's phone case. Two silver letters. M-R.

  Emma.

  With an embarrassed smile, Mia-Rose reached across the table and gently closed his freshly-shaven, carefully-moisturised, gaping-open jaw.

  Julie read the message a third time, just to be sure of what it said, then she quickly dialled Sophie's number.

  'Are you sure?'

  'Positive. He just told me.'

  'And it wasn't just some...' Julie searched for the right phrase. 'Pillow talk?'

  Sophie decided not to admit the only pillow she'd seen was the one she'd been resting her injured foot on. 'Chance would be a fine thing. No, I poured my heart out to him and told him how I felt, and what I'd done, and he... Well, let's just say he set me straight regarding today.'

  'I'm sorry, Sophie. But you're sure the card came from Mark?'

  'Yes.'

  'And the balloons, and the chocolates?'

  'Well, I'm guessing they weren't from Nathan either, so there's a pretty good chance. Apparently Mark's had a thing for you for ages.'

  'Oh. Right.'

  As Julie processed that particular piece of information, she heard what sounded like an ambulance siren, then Sophie came back on the line. 'Listen, Julie, I've got to go.'

  'Where are you? You sound... Strange.'

  'I'm at the hospital.'

  'The hospital?'

  'It's a long story. Anyway. I just thought you ought to know. About Mark. And I'm sorry.'

  'For what?'

  'For giving you the wrong information. I hope I haven't spoiled your day.'

  'Not at all,' said Julie, though she wanted to add quite the opposite.

  She ended the call, and sat staring at her half-empty plate. So Mark did like her, and yet earlier she'd gone in and warned Nathan off... She felt foolish, then even more so as she realised to her horror that Nathan could have thought she'd been giving him a message for Mark.

  She glanced at her watch. Six-thirty. Maybe she could go and catch him at the bowling, but if Nathan was going to be there, that might be a little awkward. Or would it? Perhaps they could all have a good laugh about it, and then she'd suggest she and Mark go on for a drink, and then...

  Her train of thought w
as interrupted by the arrival of the next-door table's dessert order, and Julie looked at the plates hungrily as the waiter tried to remember who'd ordered what.

  'Who's the tart?' he said, and Julie felt herself blush. She'd be, if she did anything more with Mark, and the last thing she wanted was to end up feeling just as guilty as she had after the Christmas party. There was something - or rather, someone - she needed to sort out first, and while she and Philip had never had the final 'divorce' conversation, and Valentine's Day perhaps wasn't the most sensitive time to do that, she knew she didn't have any choice. Not unless she wanted to risk completely pissing Mark off - and that, she somehow knew, would be a huge mistake. She just had to hope the lawyer in Philip wouldn't take her to the cleaners, though Julie reminded herself that was unlikely. He hadn't taken her anywhere in ages.

  She gathered her things together, then turned round and tried to attract the waiter's attention from where he'd gone back to the far corner of the restaurant to read his copy of The Evening Standard. She tried noisily clearing her throat, but to no avail. Eventually, she took a deep breath and shouted 'Hey!', and the waiter looked up reluctantly.

  'Hello?' she said, then she waved. 'Over here!'

  He put his paper down on a nearby table and ambled over towards her. 'You want something?'

  Julie nodded. 'The bill, please. Quickly.'

  The waiter gave her a look that inferred she'd just asked for his first-born, and sloped off towards the counter, while Julie fumbled in her handbag for her purse. When, after five minutes, he was still jabbing at the till's buttons while cursing in a language Julie didn't recognise, she found a twenty-pound note in her purse and dropped it onto the table, then made her way quickly out of the restaurant.

  She pushed her way through the early evening crowds and towards the Underground, wondering what on earth she was going to say, and how she could possibly start a conversation like the one she was planning on having. Maybe Philip would be drunk, but even if he wasn't, she was sure they'd have a row - it was all they seemed to do nowadays. And if she had to move out... Well, that's what she'd have to do. As to where she'd go - well, Julie would cross that bridge when she came to it.

  As usual, the station was jammed - the evening rush-hour was in full swing, and Julie knew she stood little chance of getting on the first train. Just her luck - according to the announcer, it was a Chiswick train, too. She sighed as the crowd inched forward, gauging the number of people on the platform ahead of her with the amount of space on the train, and simultaneously readying herself for the ten-minute wait before the next Chiswick-bound one turned up.

  She managed to get about a foot away from the doors before they began to close, and glared at the train as it left, envious of those passengers on their way home, but at the same time, grateful for the extra few minutes it would give her to think. Relax, she told herself. That was the most important thing. To approach this in a calm, composed manner. Not to get overexcited. To keep her cool.

  Though when she spotted Mark Webster in one of the carriages, a determined expression on his face, Julie almost had a heart attack.

  Chapter 11

  'It's just in here,' said the nurse, wheeling Sophie through the ward and into a small, blue-curtained cubicle. 'The doctor will be along shortly to take a look, and then we'll get you X-rayed.'

  She nodded, and the nurse disappeared, so Sophie sat her in her wheelchair to wait. A flimsy green hospital gown was hanging over the chair on the corner, and Sophie wondered if she was supposed to put it on. Gingerly, she stood up, then poked her head out through the curtains - the two other patients she could see were both wearing them, so she began to undress. Balancing awkwardly on her good foot, she removed her skirt and her blouse, placing them carefully over the back of the chair. She felt ridiculous, standing there in the bustier-and-knickers combination that had looked so nice in Selfridges, but seemed more than a little out of place in the cold starkness of the A&E department, and almost wanted to cry again. This certainly wasn't how she'd seen her evening going.

  She regarded the gown suspiciously. It looked like it wouldn't quite fasten round her, and she was just debating whether it would be best to have the gap at the front or at the back when she heard the swish of the curtains being parted. She wheeled round, just as the best-looking Indian doctor she'd ever seen stuck his head through the gap.

  Sophie stood there, mortified, as the doctor looked her up and down, then to her surprise, he swept the curtain completely open, revealing a group of his colleagues behind him.

  'Very funny,' he said.

  As his colleagues looked on in surprise, the doctor walked towards her. 'And what's your name?'

  'Sophie,' said Sophie. trying desperately to cover herself with the gown.

  'Sophie, eh?' The doctor turned and gave his colleagues a knowing look. 'And where exactly does it hurt, Sophie?'

  'It's my...'

  The doctor held a hand up. 'No, don't tell me. It's your chest.'

  'My chest?' Sophie shook her head. 'No, it's my foot.'

  'Your foot.' The doctor grinned. 'And you just had to strip all the way down to this because you had a sore foot, did you?'

  'I just thought...' protested Sophie.

  'I'll bet you did.' The doctor turned to face his colleagues, most of whom were looking anywhere but at Sophie - something she was extremely grateful for. 'So, which one of you was it?'

  As they stared blankly back at him, a tall, spotty man Sophie thought was probably younger than she was cleared his throat. 'Which one was what?'

  'You know! The one who arranged the stripper?'

  'What stripper?' said the man.

  'This stripper,' said the doctor, turning back towards Sophie. 'The one with the bad...' He looked down at Sophie's foot, noticing for the first time the bruising that had begun to develop on the top of it, then his face went pale. 'Oh my god. I'm so sorry.'

  As his colleagues tried hard not to laugh, the doctor took a quick step backwards and yanked the curtain shut. Sophie gratefully took the opportunity to slip the gown on, and was sitting on the bed by the time she eventually heard the doctor say 'knock knock'.

  'Yes?'

  'Are you decent?' he said, from the other side of the curtain.

  Sophie looked down at herself. That, she knew, as she thought about how she'd tricked Nathan earlier, was a matter of opinion. 'Just about.'

  The doctor opened the curtain a few inches and slipped in through the gap. 'I'm so terribly sorry,' he said sheepishly, closing the curtain carefully behind him. 'It's just, well, today's my birthday.' He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. 'And I'd heard they were planning to play a trick on me. So when I saw you standing there in your... Well, dressed like that, I just assumed...'

  He couldn't look at her, and while Sophie knew she had every right to feel insulted, in truth, after the evening she'd had, she found it a little funny. And she was a little flattered, too - while the money she'd spent in Selfridges she'd hoped might get her more than simply being mistaken for a stripper, she supposed his reaction meant she couldn't have looked too bad.

  'That's OK,' she said. 'It can't be any fun to be working on your birthday. Or to have a birthday on Valentine's Day.'

  'How do you mean?'

  'Well, having to send cards to other people when it's your special day.'

  'Oh, I didn't send any...' The doctor stopped talking. 'I'm sorry,' he said, still a little embarrassed. 'It was your foot, wasn't it?'

  'Yes,' said Sophie, with a smile. 'My foot.'

  He knelt down in front of her, and Sophie couldn't stop herself from letting out a short laugh.

  'What's so funny?'

  'I'm sorry. It's just... This. It would be most girls' idea of a result.'

  'What would?'

  'A good looking doctor, down on one knee in front of them on Valentine's Day.'

  As the doctor reddened even more, then turned his attention to examining her injury, Sophie almost pinched herself. It was the
stuff that dreams were made of. Or at least, it would have been, if her foot hadn't still been throbbing.

  'We better get you to X-ray,' said the doctor, whose name, Sophie saw from his badge, was Doctor Jonesh. She caught her breath. Now there was a sign - it was nearly the same as hers. She repeated it a couple of times under her breath, and liked the sound it made. More importantly, once they were married, she could still (nearly) be Sophie Jones. She wouldn't even have to get new business cards. Just add an 'h' onto her existing ones.

  'Is there anyone here with you?'

  Doctor Jonesh's voice snapped her out of her daydream, and she suddenly felt guilty. Ten minutes ago, she'd still hoped she and Nathan might have something, yet now, she was already contemplating being a doctor's wife. 'Yes. They're waiting in the, you know...'

  'Waiting room?'

  'Right.'

  'Okay. Well, you'd better warn them they might be there for a while.'

  Sophie swallowed hard, and sat heavily back down in the wheelchair. 'Sure.' she said, though she knew she couldn't count on Nathan still being there when she came out. Not after how she'd behaved.

  Doctor Jonesh called for the nurse, who wheeled Sophie through to the radiology department. As they passed through reception, as she'd feared, Nathan was nowhere to be seen, and Sophie realised she shouldn't be surprised. He'd probably be on his way back to Anti-Valentine's, and she couldn't blame him. Suddenly, she heard someone running up behind her.

  'Sorry, Soph. Just had to make a phone call. And nice outfit!'

  'Thanks a lot,' said Sophie, sarcastically. She'd blown a hundred and thirty pounds, and this was what Nathan ended up noticing her in.

  He nodded down at her foot as he kept pace with her wheelchair. 'What's the diagnosis?'

  Sophie gave what she hoped was a brave smile. 'Just off to X-Ray now.'

  'Want me to hang around? I can give you a lift home afterwards if you like?'

  Sophie thought about this for a second. As appealing as holding on to Nathan for the forty-minute journey back to Harrow was, she already felt guilty enough, and wasn't sure she wanted to put him out any more. And besides, if her foot was broken, then riding on the back of a Vespa might not be the safest way to travel.