by Blake, Rosie
‘I scared you,’ I managed, almost dropping my bag in relief.
‘Hmm. Good point,’ he said, noting my pale face.
A second passed and then we both began to speak at once.
‘I just thought I’d pop in and check on—’
‘I can’t believe you are back in the office on your holi—’
Immediately, we fell into a self-conscious silence and I ambled awkwardly across to my desk.
‘Right, let’s start again,’ he said. ‘How was your holiday and why aren’t you still on it?’
‘Holiday was lovely, thank you, and I only popped in to pick up the post. You know, and just make sure everything was okay,’ I explained.
‘Well, it is okay. I don’t expect you to come back here at Christmas, Nicola,’ he said. ‘Go home, have fun, be merry, etc, etc …’
‘Okay, fine.’ I laughed, putting up my hands in mock surrender. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘Time for a coffee?’ he asked, slinging his coat over his arm.
‘Um, no thanks. I’m fine. I just, um … drank.’
I reached for my bag and bashed the corner of my head on my desk.
‘Ow!’ I flinched.
James hurried over. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, rubbing my head where it had knocked the corner. ‘Ow,’ I repeated, tears stinging the back of my eyes. Oh, brilliant. Was I going to cry like a baby in front of my boss? Wonderful. The humiliating notion thankfully made the tears retreat. I smiled weakly at him.
‘Best get on then,’ I said heartily.
James grinned. ‘Right … I suppose I’ll be off then.’ He paused to in the doorway. ‘Unless …’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, if you really are set on making yourself useful, you could help me with a task I’ve been putting off for weeks.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I’ll show you,’ he said mysteriously, bolting through to his office. ‘Wait there.’
I heard him scuffle about, dragging something heavy across the carpet. Then there was a thud, followed swiftly by a ‘Bollocks.’
‘Er, are you alright in there?’ I called.
‘Yeeesss fiiine,’ he grunted. ‘Hold on.’
‘Okay,’ I mouthed, tapping the top of my desk.
There was a load more rustling and what sounded like sellotape being removed, and then finally James called out in a triumphant voice: ‘Alright, come in!’
I edged open the door curiously and found James proudly patting the top of a large rectangular cardboard box, with a makeshift bow made of sellotape perched on the top.
‘Ta-da!’ James announced. ‘Happy Christmas! Don’t say I never give you things.’
Perplexed, but delighted, I rushed forward. ‘Oh, wow, you shouldn’t have …’ Then I spotted the writing on the side of the box – Office 4-door Filing Cabinet – and stopped short. ‘Ah … you really shouldn’t have!’ I exclaimed, slapping James on the arm.
It was an odd moment in my life. Physically assaulting one’s boss was not something I’d tried before. James looked as surprised as I felt, and then, rubbing his arm in an over-the-top panto gesture, he started roaring with laughter.
I gestured with my hand. ‘I’m so sorry, James, I …’ but the movement of my hand was too much for him. He shielded his face.
‘Stop, Nicola. Please don’t!’ And then, grinning at me, he lowered his arms. ‘I can’t take another beating,’ he whispered shakily.
I pouted, hands on my hips.
‘Fine,’ he huffed. ‘I suppose I might have deserved the slap.’ He handing me a pair of scissors. ‘Now cut the sellotape, Nicola. Don’t get me with those, I don’t want to spend the New Year in A & E.’
I cut the tape and, together, we ripped open the cardboard until its remnants were scattered all about the floor. It looked like we were building an extension onto the office, not a filing cabinet. There were slats of wood, packets of bolts and screws and random metal objects littered everywhere.
‘Ah, flat-packed furniture,’ James sighed. ‘My favourite type of furniture.’
I picked up one of the many clear packets. ‘I’ve never seen so many nuts.’
‘Quite,’ James agreed.
I looked up sharply, convinced he was mocking me, but he smiled innocently back.
After ten minutes of pointlessly clanging various pieces of metal against various pieces of wood in the vain hope they would suddenly all make a filing cabinet, James had run to get coffee while I was left scooping the instruction manual out of the bin, where it had been flung in the first five minutes by a frustrated James. By the time he returned with two cappuccinos, I’d successfully attached Part A to Part B with Screw J. I was pretty smug about it too.
‘Brilliant! We have clearly earned a rest,’ James said, sitting on the carpet and leaning back against his desk to sip at his coffee.
‘We?’ I queried with a raised eyebrow.
‘Fine, Miss Winner of the Flat-Pack Furniture Assembly of the Year Award, you have earned it.’ He handed me my cup.
‘So,’ James said. ‘How come you’ve run back here so soon? Bad Christmas?’
‘No, not really. Just exhausting Christmas, the usual kind, I imagine.’ I smiled.
I told James about my family. My opinionated, yoga-loving Mother, and Guy, constantly glued to his mobile. I told him about my bat-obsessed brother and his delight over the present I’d gotten him – an enormous framed picture of a Cyttarops alecto (Short-Eared Bat from Brazil). James reciprocated with tales of his mad aunt who’d spent the entire Christmas dinner asleep in her mashed potato.
‘Oh dear,’ I laughed, noting that in amongst all the goings on James hadn’t spent Christmas with Thalia Queen of Fashion. Not that I cared, either way.
‘I didn’t realise you had a niece and nephew,’ I said, imagining James at home, not James the boss of the office.
‘I haven’t been a very hands-on uncle,’ he admitted. ‘I’m always a slight loose end with children. It’s been ages since I was one and I’m never quite sure what they like doing. I mean, I liked building train sets and playing Scalextric but kids today …’ He shook his head as if he were an old age pensioner. ‘It’s hard to tell what they’re into, isn’t it? My nephew was given a Wii for his Christmas present and started talking about its WAP capabilities and its something dual function. I was completely lost.’
‘I’m pretty sure most of them love to do anything that involves running around and getting dirty.’
‘Sounds about right … So Nicola Brown,’ he rubbed his hands together and frowned at the many metal and wooden pieces lying on the floor between us. ‘I suppose we’d better try and build this thing.’
4.36 p.m. and the filing cabinet resembled a giant wooden jigsaw puzzle and a pile of scrap metal. It could probably pass for some kind of abstract modern art sculpture. As for holding files? No way.
‘Hand me the thingy,’ James said, waving his hands at me.
‘What thingy?’
‘The thingy that goes on the wood thingy.’
‘You’ll have to be more precise, I’m afraid,’ I said, quite enjoying his frustration.
‘Fine, you know, the thingy that screws onto the corner bit of the wood thingy,’ he said in an exasperated tone.
‘What, a cross dowel?’ I peered at the instruction manual. ‘Part L.’
‘Is Part L the metal bit shaped like an “N”?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then yes,’ he said, sounding relieved. ‘That’s the one.’
‘I haven’t got it, you must have it.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Maybe it’s by one of the Part H’s over there.’
‘It’s not, I’ve looked.’
‘Well, I don’t have it.’
‘It must be here somewhere,’ James grumbled, manoeuvring himself onto his knees to scan the carpet.
‘You’re sitting on it,’ I observed, scooping it away in time.
&
nbsp; ‘How embarrassing,’ he coughed. ‘One doesn’t normally like to sit on one’s cross dowel.’
‘Indeed not,’ I agreed.
After what seemed like an eternity, the last bloomin’ dowel had been put in the cabinet and we had performed the Opening Doors Test, which essentially involved exactly that. They all opened and therefore we deemed the test an enormous success.
We sat back and observed our handiwork for a few minutes. I hopped up and patted it on the top. ‘You know, every time I put a file in it I will feel—’
‘—Nervous it’s going to fall to pieces in your hands?’ James interjected.
‘No,’ I laughed. ‘Proud is the word I was going for.’
‘What’s the time?’ James asked. It had gotten dark outside.
‘Um …’ I checked my watch, ‘ten to six.’
‘Christ. It would have been quicker to have built one from scratch!’
‘Hmm, maybe I’ll learn,’ I mused, thinking about the new year carpentry class Mark and Carol had drunkenly persuaded me to sign up for.
‘Learn what?’
‘Oh,’ I blushed. ‘I’m heading to a carpentry class next week to, er, learn how to … carpenter … things.’
‘Carpenter things, I see.’ He nodded.
‘You know, make stuff out of wood.’
‘Yes, Nicola. I got that.’
‘Of course. Thought so. Just checking,’ I giggled.
‘Right,’ said James, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. ‘Can I drop you off anywhere?’
‘No thanks, I live just up the road,’ I said, my face feeling flushed by the central heating.
‘Sure?’
I nodded.
He reached for the door, opened it and then paused, spinning back around to face me. ‘Time for a drink?’
‘Oh, I can’t. I have a da … a thing,’ I said, suddenly regretting my planned catch-up with Dan.
‘A thing,’ he repeated. His face dropped slightly and I wished again that I was free.
Noticing his jumper, I wondered if it had been a Christmas present from Thalia. It looked so appealing and soft and I felt the sudden urge to reach out for it. It made his eyes look almost navy. Heat surged through my cheeks.
James cleared his throat. ‘Well, thank you for today. I would have hacked it to pieces hours ago without you here to help to, er … build it. I didn’t know my nubbin from my oojamaflip. See you in January, Nicola,’ he said in slightly too-loud a voice.
‘See you!’ I said, matching his hearty tone, waving an Allen key at him for good measure.
Before he left he turned around. ‘And make sure you stay away from the office until then,’ he grinned warmly.
‘I will.’
‘Happy New Year.’
‘Happy New Year,’ I said, waving the damn key again.
From the window, I watched as he walked up the street, his head down against the cold. A small smile crept over my face. I felt a sudden surge of love for Christmas. I ran across the room clutching the Allen key and kissed the filing cabinet.
Chapter Twenty-Three
My good mood didn’t fade and I was humming as I got ready for the casual date with Dan that evening. I pulled into the cinema car park and found a parking space. In the Ford KA next to me two teenagers were snogging and I tried not to catch their eyes as I checked my make-up in my rear-view mirror. They can’t have been more than seventeen, and the very sight of them made me feel ancient. They would have thought me old, of a different generation, maybe even past it. I mean, I was turning thirty for goodness’ sake. What could I possibly have in common with them? They were born at the end of the 90s, when I was reading Evelyn Waugh, experimenting with liquid eyeliner and listening to Enya.
Fortunately, the boy was far too concerned with attacking his girlfriend’s bra strap to give me a moment’s thought. I made a concerted effort to close my door quietly and sneak away before they could accuse me of dogging.
I pushed open the heavy revolving doors of the cinema and instantly the sickly sweet smell of popcorn hit my nostrils. The sound of children racing from arcade, to sweet shop, back to arcade, their harassed parents calling out to them, and the hubbub of a hundred people milling around, surrounded me, assaulted my ears. The whole world seemed to have descended on this one cinema complex for the evening and I carefully navigated my way past one family’s hot-dog-related argument and a group of pre-pubescent boys debating whether 12A really meant they had to have an adult with them. As I joined the mammoth queue for tickets, my mobile rang. I pulled it out from my handbag.
‘Hello,’ I answered, leaning over and cupping my hand to my ear, barely able to register any answer due to the sound of crowds around me.
It was Dan. I could just make out his voice above the noise. ‘I’m here already. I was a little early so I got on with it! I’ll wait for you in the foyer by the toilets.’ He hung up.
Oh phew, I thought, manoeuvring my way out of the queue. No need for me to line up for another fifteen minutes, crushed uncomfortably against perfect strangers. I looked around for Dan’s location by the toilets and spotted him, with a slightly nervous expression on his face, holding a bucket of popcorn and a bag of sweets. He hadn’t really changed since university. He was good looking in an American sitcom sort-of-way, lots of teeth and smooth, tanned skin. Like he had just come off the slopes. I took a deep breath, put on a smile and approached him.
‘Dan!’ I waved.
He looked up and waggled three fingers at me from underneath all the foodstuffs he’d purchased. ‘Nicola, hi.’ We wandered over to screen two, where a burly man waited to collect our tickets.
‘Tickets, please,’ he said, stretching out his hand.
I turned to Dan with an expectant smile.
‘Tickets,’ I repeated. ‘Do you want me to take some of that stuff?’ I offered.
‘Oh, um, I got myself a ticket but um, I, didn’t, well, I didn’t think … I thought you would get, um …’ Dan stuttered.
I looked at him in exasperation. The ticket man let out a loud sigh. Quite, I thought.
I headed back to the heaving queue of people and called over my shoulder to Dan, ‘Give me five minutes.’
Dan looked sheepish when I returned. ‘Great. Sorry, Nicola, so thoughtless of me,’ he muttered, leaning in to give me a belated kiss of greeting. I hadn’t anticipated this manoeuvre and the kiss landed in between my chin and lower lip.
The ticket man didn’t even try to disguise his mirth. He was still chuckling when he handed me back my ticket and waved us both through to the screen.
When we were settled in our seats, Dan clearly decided to try and make up for the ticket debacle by leaning over and listing his thoughts on many of the recent releases to have hit the cinema. It was like being in the presence of Jonathan Ross on speed. I could barely keep up as he rattled through all the latest movies he’d seen, why American blockbusters were obsessed with the Middle East, why animated films had such weak scripts but such brilliant effects, why he liked the IMAX experience but it wasn’t appropriate for this type of film. The trailers began, and still, Dan continued in a steady stream of patter. He had run out of films to comment on and had now moved on to critiquing all the adverts to appear. He knew all the words to the latest Orange one. He clearly went to the cinema a lot.
‘Hmm, yes, I’ve heard this film has had excellent reviews,’ I replied to his latest barrage of commentary.
My reply seemed to relax him and he settled himself into his seat without another word. I squidged down in my seat and exhaled slowly, feeling better. I felt my stomach rumble and realised I hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime. I looked over at Dan’s items neatly placed on the armrest and reached for the popcorn. Yummy, I lifted a handful of delicious sweet popcorn to my mouth, inhaling the smell. It was wrong, but so, so right. Caroline would have applauded at my indulgence. Ooh look! He had pick ‘n’ mix. I loved pick ‘n’ mix. I still got a cheap thrill on entering the supermarket a
nd filling a little bag with fizzy cola bottles, pieces of fudge and pink shrimps. I always walked out without purchasing them, of course, but just choosing them was often enough of a buzz. I peered in to ascertain his sweet selection. Brilliant. Dan had excellent pick ‘n’ mix taste. I reached for a sweet in the shape of a smiley face. Suddenly Dan’s hand appeared from the semi-darkness and batted mine away.
‘Sorry, Nicola, but there isn’t really enough,’ he explained.
‘What?’ I whispered back, too amazed to register what he was saying.
He leaned in towards me. ‘I just didn’t get very much so …’ he trailed off and I was left looking startled, my hand still hovering over the bag.
Was he denying me sweets?
He moved the bag away. He was!
I stood up so suddenly that the couple sitting behind us started muttering grumpily. Dan gave me a curious look.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
I didn’t have the nerve to whisper anything truly cutting. Instead, I hissed, ‘I need food.’
Dan nodded and reached for his bag of pick ‘n’ mix.
The ticket man gave me a quizzical stare as I pushed past him into the foyer. Grabbing the shovel, I heaped mountains of sugared sweets into the bag.
‘That’s six pounds forty please,’ said the man behind the counter.
Good, I thought as I handed over a crisp tenner. Should be enough. Deciding I was thirsty too, I added a bucket of lemonade to my collection and stalked back into Screen Two, laden down with MY treats.
I arrived just as the opening credits started. I sat down, determinedly staring at the screen so I couldn’t catch Dan’s eye, and placed my drink and bag of sweets in between us to create a food wall.
It was a good film. Lots of explosions and action involving attractive, if often sweaty, men who you’d choose to sleep with only after you’d given them a good wash. I shovelled sweets into my mouth to keep up with the quick-fire special effects and the pace of the dialogue. Parched, I reached for my drink. It wasn’t in the cup holder. Confused, I glanced down by my feet, but it wasn’t on the floor. I turned round slowly. I couldn’t believe it. Yes, this was outrageous. My lemonade was being SUCKED ON BY DAN.