When I arrived at the office it seemed that Nick was still in a peculiar mood. But rather than looking depressed, like he had yesterday, he was bouncing around the office as if his legs had been replaced with springs.
‘Morning, Si!’ he shouted as I stepped out of the lift, almost running across the room towards me.
‘Morning, Nick,’ I said, slightly bemused by the wild change in his demeanour within the course of twenty-four hours. Maybe she had gone back to him. They might have sorted things out. He had that hysteria about him that could only be the result of hours of make-up bonking. His smile was electric – it was as if someone was tickling his neck with a feather duster.
He looked good. I mean, he always looks good, but since he and Chloe split up he had sunk into this strange quagmire, which seemed to involve a ban on razors and the inability to use an iron. I guess that’s what people used to say he was like after Amelia, too. This morning he was wearing a skinny-fit black shirt and a pair of grey trousers. He looked really smart. Yup. This was definitely woman-related. He was wearing aftershave again. The one that makes me want to bury my face in his neck and stay there until the world stops fighting and the price of petrol drops.
‘What’s with the grin, eh?’ I asked as I sank into my chair and started leafing through my diary.
‘Oh, nothing, Si. I want to talk to you later, by the way.’ He started fiddling with my phone cord awkwardly.
I slapped his hand away. ‘Stop doing that, you’re going to twist it up. Why, what’s up?’
I couldn’t face another counselling session, telling him to make things right with Chloe if he truly loved her and all that jazz. It was hard to tell him to do something I so desperately didn’t want to happen.
‘Nothing much. Can we go for dinner tonight? You know, a nice restaurant or something? Get a few cocktails in.’
I stared at him, directly into his eyes. He looked so wild and strange it felt appropriate to hold his hand and pull him towards me, whispering into his ear this time. ‘Nick, what’s happened? Do you need to take a day off sick? Are you smoking weed again?’
‘No, Sienna, for God’s sake. Can’t we just go for a drink?’
‘Yes, of course, but you just look bizarre today . . .’
As he pulled his face away from my ear, he was smiling like a demented clown. He smelled so good it hurt. I couldn’t cope with all this again. Not again.
‘Just chill out, I’m fine. Just want to go for a bite to eat, yeah?’ he reiterated, poking his right foot at the bottom of my chair and pushing one of the wheels round.
I slapped his leg gently, accidentally feeling his muscles. Wowzers.
‘All right, if Dad’s OK we can go out,’ I said, finally giving in.
‘Wicked,’ he replied, before twitching a little and prancing off into his office like an imp. Weirdo.
I thought it was just Nick acting oddly. But then Lydia walked over. She was also behaving utterly bizarrely. It must be a Friday thing.
‘Hello gorgeous,’ she purred, leaning over my desk and twiddling her hair with a strange smile on her face. She looked like she had big news. On the scale of ‘I’m pregnant’ or ‘I’m taking part in next year’s Big Brother’ – you know, life-changing stuff.
‘Hello, you, how’s it going?’ I said, half concentrating on my diary and half concentrating on the ample bosom that was spilling from her top. God knows how men coped – I was well and truly distracted.
‘I’m great, thanks,’ she said. Then she glanced behind her before wheeling up an exceptionally squeaky chair too quickly, accidentally slamming it into the table leg, and knocking over my precarious filing system in one swoop.
‘I heard about you and—’ she started before Nick suddenly reappeared and interrupted us, grabbing Lydia by sharply yanking her away mid-sentence. The chair was left turning on its own in the middle of the room.
Me and who? I watched them scurry into his office and the door was closed hard, causing the blinds to rattle loudly against the glass. Whatever. I’d find out later.
As I fired up my computer I tried to remember what I had on today. My diary was pretty bare . . . it could end up being quite boring. Still, there did seem to be this odd frenzy going on with the people around me. Dad was planning trips round the world, Nick was verging on hysteria and Lydia knows about me and someone, or something . . .
I got up slowly and strolled over to Dill’s fish tank, right in the middle of the office on top of a filing cabinet. He would be normal. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t have the memory for violent mood swings. I leaned forward and peered into the glass, my nose gently bumping against the smooth, cool surface. Dill looked so lonely, I thought, watching him swim around the murky water, past the small pink castle covered in green gunk. He also looked hungry, so I picked up a pinch of fish flakes between my thumb and my index finger and sprinkled them onto the surface. He immediately darted up and started grabbing at them with his little mouth. How cute. The office strip lighting was reflecting against his body, showing flashes of luxurious gold every time he moved. I almost fell into a trance staring at our office pet when I saw a face on the other side of the glass. A face so familiar to me, yet through the layers of glass and water it was stretched out to almost unrecognisable proportions. Dill rushed towards the face squashed up against the glass of his tank and tried to touch it with his mouth.
‘Nick, you’re so silly,’ I said, refusing to move away from the tank because something about this was so cool. It was my romantic fish tank scenario, except with mildew, algae and, well, my friend Nick.
‘I know,’ he said, peeling his features from the glass and rubbing his cheek. ‘Sorry I pulled Lydia away like that,’ he continued, his voice quite muffled now.
‘Yeah, why did you do that? I thought she was about to give me some gossip,’ I replied, in a slightly louder voice this time.
Suddenly his face disappeared and materialised next to me. It made me jump. ‘So what’s the news?’ I asked, turning to face him.
‘Er, nothing,’ he said, scratching his head with a pencil before casually slipping it behind his ear. It fell straight out the other side and dropped onto the floor. He never does that. What on earth is going on?
‘Anyway, Sienna, I was thinking that maybe we could go to Amis tonight, yeah?’
Amis. Amis is a very posh restaurant and bar. Posh as in lots of cutlery, finger bowls and serviettes crafted into the shape of woodland animals. Holy shit.
‘Amis? Really? Don’t you just want to go to the Sheep’s Head or something like that? I hear the Naughty Step has a two-for-one happy hour . . .’ I said, tilting my head to one side and looking into his eyes. They had an extra sparkle about them today; the definite tinge of a lunatic.
‘No, no. Let’s go to Amis. I’ll book a table for eight, OK?’
‘Er, OK. Sounds great,’ I said and watched him walk away from me and disappear into his office.
Oh God, what the hell was I going to wear? And would I have enough time to go home, get ready, and get back into Balham for dinner? Lydia looked over to me and put her thumbs up before pulling her fingers over her mouth to imitate a zip. Hmm.
At around lunchtime Chloe sauntered over to my desk. She also seemed edgy. Her hair was very curly today; she had taken out her trademark plaits. She was wearing a navy blue shirt and leggings.
‘Hello, Si,’ she said as she sat down beside me. She started to pick the remnants of pink varnish from her fingernails. I felt like an agony aunt for the hysterical. Go on. Roll up a chair. Be weird. Maybe I should get a box of tissues, some potpourri and a home furnishings magazine.
‘Hello, Chlo. You OK?’ I asked, really hoping she wouldn’t give me an honest answer and just say ‘Fine.’ I’d decided to have no real involvement in her break-up with Nick. It was a dangerous place to be treading, and I wanted nothing to do with it apart from being there for Nick, whenever he needed me. My loyalties lay with him.
‘I’m great, thanks. Ant ask
ed me to tell you he wants to see you this afternoon at three for a meeting.’
‘Oh no. It isn’t bad, is it?’ I asked, suddenly seeing myself in a dole queue.
‘No. I can’t tell you, though, because I don’t know what it’s about. He just asked me to notify you of the meeting,’ she said, biting her bottom lip and looking at her lap.
‘Chloe, are you OK?’ I asked, suddenly aware that she seemed tearful.
‘Yes, yes. I’m just . . . I’m just . . . Don’t worry,’ she said, whipping her head to look over at Nick’s office and then disappearing almost as soon as she’d arrived. I decided not to follow her.
A meeting with Ant at 3 p.m. I really hoped I wasn’t going to get fired. I’ve been trying so hard lately. All I wanted to do was stand out, but what with everything at home I felt like I was sinking slowly under piles of washing, ironing and pencil shavings. I was often late because I had to take Dad to the doctor’s or the hospital. Sometimes I had to call in sick just to stay with him at home. Maybe that just wasn’t OK any more . . .
I picked up my phone and dialled Nick’s line. ‘Nick, what’s going on? Why am I meeting Ant at 3 p.m. today?’ I asked, whispering and ducking my head below the partition so no one could see me. I fiddled with a silver photo frame Elouise had bought me a few months ago; it had our names engraved on it.
‘I have no idea what it’s about, Si.’
‘Come on.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Nick . . .’
‘Sienna, I don’t bloody know, OK?’
‘Nick. You’re his right-hand man. Please tell me, am I going to get fired?’
‘I have to go, there’s someone at the door,’ he said in his joke robot voice that I usually found so funny, but not right now.
‘Nick, I know full well there’s no one at your door, I can see your office right in front of me and if you hang up I’m going to—’
And that was it. I was cut off. Unfinished. Unresolved. Bugger.
I was in a state of anxiety for the rest of the day. My stomach churned. My hands trembled. What would I do if I lost my job? How would Dad and I cope? These thoughts kept flying around my head until I was finally sitting in front of Ant. He had his feet up on the desk and was leaning so far back in his chair that I felt an accident was imminent. This was not the body language of an axeman, I considered, but that was a short-lived comfort.
‘Right then, Sienna. Do you want some tea?’ he asked, putting both arms behind his chubby neck.
Tea. That’s never good. Tea is a drink used to calm people down. Like for example, ‘Here, have a cup of tea – oh, and by the way, your rabbit died at the hands of a demonic, rabid fox last night.’
A box of tissues was sitting in front of me, a flash of white poking from the top and flaring out invitingly as if to say ‘Go on, it’s been a while, have a cry, use me.’
‘What’s going on, Ant?’ I questioned, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, which must have been as obvious as daylight.
‘Right, well. This won’t come as a surprise to you, Sienna, because quite frankly your performance here has been’ – oh God, I thought, he’s seen how preoccupied I’ve been – ‘exceptional,’ he started.
Did I just hear that right?
‘I have a job for you, a new one. We need a new editor for SparkNotes. The current editor has announced her intention to leave the company to travel. I want you to replace her.’
Me? Sienna? I almost turned around to see if anyone else was in the room. Maybe there had been a horrible case of mistaken identity. My stomach plunged with excitement and I stared at his forehead for a while.
‘Sienna?’ he nudged, pulling his feet away from the desk now and shuffling forwards in his chair, his elbows on a pile of paperwork.
‘What, really? Definitely me?’ I muttered before realising I should show a little more confidence in myself.
‘Of course, Si. You’re a star. You probably want to check the details of the job and everything, but I’m sure you know what it entails.’
Of course I know what it entails. It’s a job I’ve been coveting like Brad Pitt’s bottom ever since I arrived. It means being the editor of a music magazine read by 500,000 people. Editor at the age of twenty-five, and my own team of journalists. Surely this must be a mistake. I couldn’t help but wonder if Nick had had something to do with this . . .
‘And of course it involves a pay rise for you, and a car, too,’ he said, pushing a sheet of paper towards me with a figure on it much higher than I had imagined. ‘I think this will be a great opportunity for you. I really do. I can’t think of anyone more suitable to run this publication for us,’ he concluded, folding his arms over his belly.
Oh wow. My mind started whizzing through the possibilities. I could do the things I’d always wanted to do – get more social media going, create branded features, inject some more enthusiasm into the journalists by actually listening to them and inspiring them . . .
This was incredible, and completely out of the blue. Chloe had said this job would be up for grabs back at the Christmas party, but I’d never thought it would come to anything. I’d never really imagined it to be a possibility . . .
‘Ant. Thanks so much. I don’t really know what to say!’
‘Say yes, maybe?’ he said, with a nervous grin.
‘Yes, yes! Of course!’ I shrieked.
‘Brilliant. Well done,’ he replied, handing me a wedge of documents.
‘Now get out of here,’ he said, chuckling to himself and picking up the phone.
I scuttled out of the office, unsure about what to do next. All I wanted to do was jump for joy. Start making plans. Start my new life. Tell my dad. I just couldn’t wait to tell him. I saw my father and me as a team, and I had just scored a home run for us. For us.
Nick must have known. I guess that was what he was hinting at when he mentioned dinner tonight. I scuttled back to my desk, grabbed a Post-it note and with a thick black biro I wrote five words:
India. Fiji. Uganda. Argentina. Thailand.
Nick
Tonight my life is going to change. I’m going to tell the girl of my dreams that I love her.
I’m not going to rush into it and tell her everything I’ve buried deep for so long over the photocopier in the stationery room. Timing is key.
I took a razor to my chin and removed the small forest of facial fluff that had grown all over it. Then I got the iron out and ran it over the garments that had built up in a pile in the corner of my bedroom. This included my red and white striped shirt. The one I’d worn to Florida that time Sienna and I covered the gaming fair. The night we lost all our cares in a strip of uptown bars. I was going to wear it tonight.
I’d felt nervous when I woke up this morning. What if Pete was wrong? What if he was playing a prank? What if I told her and she laughed at me? Oh God, this was terrifying. Aftershave might help, I thought, as I stood in front of the mirror, looking at a terrified me.
Ross had well and truly calmed me down at the pub last night, but this morning I was back to square one.
‘She loves me, Ross,’ I’d said hurriedly, as soon as Tom realised that he’d got pissed too quickly and had to leave at 9 p.m., walking into a bar stool on his way out.
I’d been itching to say something all evening, but I couldn’t in front of Tom. His premature drunkenness was perfectly timed.
‘Who? Your mum?’ asked Ross, starting to chuckle before patting me on the back. Oh, the ‘your mum’ jokes – popular at school, rife at university, still unavoidable in later life . . .
‘No, well yes, she does, but I’m talking about Sienna,’ I said, rolling my eyes in frustration.
‘What?’ cried my friend, who had only just stopped laughing and was now staring at me in shock. His time at the gym now saw him looking quite a lot like one of those jumbo Toblerone bars you can buy in airports. I could almost hear the buttons on his top shrieking in fear before they tore away from the fabric and pinged into shir
tless oblivion.
‘Yes. Is it that hard to believe?’ I joked.
‘Well, a little. After five years? Are you sure about this?’
Thanks a lot, Ross. You could be a bit happier for me. Was it really that hard to believe? Maybe all the muscles he’d developed lately were stopping the blood flowing to his brain properly and rendering him emotionless.
‘Yes. Well, it’s utterly bizarre. She’s friends with this homeless guy called Pete and after work today he was hanging around my car.’
‘Right . . .’ said Ross dubiously as he played with a ring of water on the table, left by the condensation from his glass.
As I spoke I realised how ridiculous this story sounded. ‘At first I didn’t recognise him. I thought he was going to mug me or something, so we had a bit of an embarrassing scuffle, but anyway—’
‘You tried to beat up a homeless man?’ He arched one eyebrow questioningly, starting to grin from ear to ear.
‘No, no, no. Well, I guess, almost. For God’s sake, let me finish. I realised it was him and I let him in my car, and he told me,’ I concluded, throwing both hands in front of me and sitting back in my chair with a look of elation.
‘Sienna has loved you for five years and she told a tramp and not you.’ The eyebrow twitched again as he assessed me. ‘You need to tell me more.’
So I told him. Everything. The whole conversation. The slops of Coke, the dirty boots on the newly cleaned dashboard, the horn-beeping joy of it all.
And then he softened. ‘Fucking hell, Nick. This is huge. I’m so, well, happy for you, mate,’ he said with a smile. I could tell he was confused and I didn’t blame him.
Usually when I met up with Ross it was to discuss something awful or humiliating I’d done, which I think, in a way, gave him great pleasure. But for once things were going my way and I hadn’t done something that would have my mate pissing himself at my expense. Now all the stars had aligned for me (for once) and he was unsure of what to say next.
‘So you’ve told her how you feel, right?’ he asked, shoving a handful of peanuts into his mouth.
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