Hygge and Kisses

by Clara Christensen

  ‘I guess we just have to wait and see,’ she said mildly. Hayley’s wrinkled nose conveyed her dissatisfaction with Bo’s response, and she turned back to face Natasha. Bo dropped onto her swivel chair and started up her computer, keen to put Natasha and Hayley’s preoccupation with redundancy out of her mind.

  By half past nine, Ben had still not arrived at this desk, and a growing unease began to gnaw at the pit of Bo’s stomach. At quarter to ten Bo heard her phone ring from the depths of her handbag. She retrieved it, to see an incoming call from Ben’s number. Perplexed, she put the phone to her ear, her hand cupped over it for discretion.

  ‘Hello,’ she said quietly, acutely conscious of her colleagues’ proximity on the other side of the desk-dividers.

  ‘Hi, it’s me.’ Ben’s voice had the tinny, echoing quality that indicated he was using his phone hands-free. She could hear the thrum of a car engine and the distant roar of passing traffic. ‘Listen, babe, gotta take a rain check tonight,’ Ben said, sounding stressed. ‘The shit’s hit the fan with the Milton Keynes client. Matt’s there already. I’m on my way there now. I’ll probably have to stay the night . . .’ Ben trailed off and a pause followed, during which Bo stared blankly out through the window at the anonymous figures sitting at their desks in the building opposite. She wondered, idly, if any of the people she could see were also conducting a secret affair with a colleague.

  ‘Right,’ she replied flatly, sensing that he was waiting for her to say something.

  ‘It’s a pain in the arse,’ Ben’s continued. ‘Client thinks he knows more about the software than we do –’ Ben broke off mid-sentence, then she heard him mutter ‘wanker’, although whether he was talking about his client or another driver was unclear. ‘And the M25 is a fucking nightmare.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Bo murmured. She could hear the rhythmic click of the indicator and the surge of the engine, and could picture Ben impatiently pushing his foot to the floor of his nippy Audi. ‘Don’t worry, it’s fine,’ she replied in the blandest tone she could muster, with a glance at Hayley, who had returned to her seat directly opposite Bo’s. A crackle, then the line abruptly went dead, whether because Ben had hung up or because he had lost signal she wasn’t sure. She sat with the phone to her ear for a few seconds longer, before mumbling, ‘Okay, bye,’ down the silent line. Then she dropped her phone back inside her handbag, hearing the reproachful rustle of the foil-wrapped brownie as it landed.

  She feigned interest in her monitor, inwardly raging with hurt and disappointment. She was simultaneously angry with Ben for cancelling and cross with herself for allowing him to do this to her, again. She had foolishly read some non-existent significance into his suggestion of dinner at Pizza Express, in the hope that it represented some sort of turning point in their relationship, the moment when they progressed from just having fun together to being a ‘proper’ couple. Whereas, in reality, it had been merely an off-the-cuff suggestion that he hoped would soothe the waters between them. He had probably known he would need to cancel all along, she thought bitterly.

  The morning wore on, and Bo’s wretched mood persisted. She was quiet and subdued, tapping away at her keyboard whilst achieving hardly anything.

  ‘You okay, hon?’ Hayley asked, placing a mug of tea on Bo’s desk at eleven o’clock. ‘I’m sure you’ll be all right; they wouldn’t let you go’ she said reassuringly, mistaking Bo’s withdrawal for anxiety about her job.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Bo answered lightly, arranging her face into a pleasant smile. But inside, she was seething.

  When an email pinged into her inbox from the head of human resources, asking if she could pop in for a chat, Bo did not feel unduly alarmed. If anything, she felt relieved to have an excuse to escape the concerned looks of her colleagues, not to mention the relentless, torturing thoughts about Ben that showed no signs of abating.

  *

  Half an hour later, Bo sat in a cubicle of the ladies’ loos, dabbing her eyes with toilet paper. The HR manager, a jowly, middle-aged blonde called Cheryl, had worn a mask of professional sympathy as she broke the news that the company directors had taken the difficult decision to let Bo go. Bo had sat in blank-faced shock, hardly taking in a word that was said to her, cursing her stupidity for not paying more heed to her colleagues’ warnings, and aware of the irony that only an hour earlier she had thought a cancelled date with Ben was the worst of her worries. With a voice tinged with professional regret, Cheryl had reassured Bo that this was not a sacking and explained that a company-wide reorganisation meant that Bo’s current role was no longer required. Financial conditions meant that all departments would need to make efficiencies, she added.

  ‘Efficiencies?’ Bo had repeated dumbly, feeling her chin start to wobble. Cheryl had tilted her head sympathetically and in a deft, well-practised movement, passed a box of tissues across the desk.

  After allowing Bo a few moments to compose herself, Cheryl had pressed the tips of her fingers together and glanced down at the open lever arch folder in front of her. Bo tried to concentrate as she listened to the details of her redundancy, but her mind had started to race with thoughts about her future, how long it might take her to find another job, and whether she would be able to afford her rent payments. Cheryl rambled on about severance packages, notice pay, and share option refunds, but the words were like white noise to Bo’s ears.

  ‘And we will of course, provide you with a good reference,’ Cheryl concluded, with an encouraging smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ Bo replied meekly, at a loss for anything else to say.

  Cheryl closed her lever arch file and handed Bo a copy of the severance agreement. ‘If you have any questions, do just pop in,’ she said, coming around the side of the desk to steer Bo by the elbow towards the door.

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ answered Bo obediently.

  Bo allowed herself ten minutes of hot, silent tears in the toilet cubicle, before blowing her nose on a strip of toilet paper and telling herself sternly to get a grip. Worrying about her future would have to wait till she got home. Her immediate priority was not to embarrass herself in front of her colleagues. She took a deep breath and unlocked the cubicle door, peering out gingerly to make sure the bathroom was empty, before stepping up to the row of washbasins to check her reflection in the wall mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy, her make-up had run, and there were pink blotches across her neck. She splashed cold water on her face and did her best to wipe the smudges of mascara from underneath her eyes.

  ‘You’re fucking kidding me!’ said Hayley. In spite of Bo’s efforts in the bathroom, Hayley had spotted the tell-tale signs that Bo had been crying before she had even reached her desk, and had sprung to her feet and practically pinned Bo against a filing cabinet. A dramatic gasp had greeted Bo’s announcement that she would be leaving the company on Friday.

  ‘I can’t believe they’ve let you go, Bo. I thought you were the safest of all of us!’ Hayley said, her mouth forming an ‘o’ of scandalised outrage. Bo couldn’t help but think that Hayley’s shock seemed disproportionate, given her certainty a few hours earlier that redundancies in their department were inevitable. ‘I mean, you’ve been here longer than either me or Tash. Doesn’t that count for anything?’ Hayley ploughed on, looking over her shoulder at Natasha, who was hovering behind her, looking grave.

  ‘Obviously not,’ Bo murmured bitterly, trying to compose her face into a stoical mask to conceal her discomfort.

  ‘I knew something was up when Claire phoned in,’ Hayley muttered conspiratorially. ‘I’m sure Rosie’s already had chickenpox. She just didn’t want to be around when you got the news. Guilty conscience,’ Hayley’s eyes narrowed in disgust, but Bo felt numb. Even if Hayley was right about Claire’s absence, Bo didn’t have the energy to feel aggrieved about it.

  ‘I think I’d better get on. I’ve got to make a start on my handover notes,’ she said, faintly apologetically. With a final pitying pout and lung-crushing hug from Hayley, Bo was released from
the filing cabinet. She cast a surreptitious glance around the office on her way back to her desk. All around her, heads were lowered and keyboards were being tapped. Everyone seemed absorbed in their work, but the uncharacteristic lull in conversation and averted eyes merely confirmed Bo’s suspicion that everyone within earshot had heard her conversation with Hayley, and that news of her redundancy would be common knowledge within seconds. Cheeks burning, Bo sat down and busied herself with sorting through the contents of her in-tray. Her one consolation was that at least Ben hadn’t been in the office to witness her humiliation.

  *

  That evening, Bo and Kirsten sat on the sagging tartan-print sofa in their living room, a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and two glasses on the coffee table in front of them.

  ‘Oh, Kirst, it was excruciating,’ Bo groaned, taking a sip of wine, while Kirsten glanced over Bo’s contract and severance agreement with a professional lawyer’s eye. ‘Can you believe I actually thanked the HR manager?’ She cringed. ‘Like I was grateful to her or something. I mean, what kind of loser says "thank you” for being fired?’ Kirsten looked up from the paperwork to give Bo a sympathetic smile.

  ‘Don’t stress about it, Bo. I’m sure that’s what everyone does, in those circumstances.’ Her eyes returned to the page. ‘And besides, you haven’t been fired, you’ve been made redundant. Big difference.’

  ‘Of course,’ Bo said drily. ‘At least they’ve promised me a good reference. That’ll make all the difference.' Bo slumped listlessly against the sofa arm, cradling her wine glass between both hands.

  Bo’s rather maudlin mood was interrupted by a distant rumble of drums followed by the EastEnders theme tune reverberating through the ceiling from the upstairs flat. Their neighbours had bought a state-of-the-art television in the summer. Bo had seen the set arrive in a John Lewis lorry one Saturday morning in August, and her heart had sunk slightly at the sight of the multiple boxes of speakers and sound bars being carried up the steps to the front door. Since then, Bo and Kirsten had become intimately familiar with their neighbours’ viewing habits, which centred largely on soap operas and medical dramas.

  ‘Well,’ Kirsten said at last, flipping the stapled A4 sheets back into position, and pushing her glasses back onto her head, ‘The good news is, what with your share options refund, redundancy and severance pay, you could be in line for a decent pay-off.’

  ‘Just as well,’ replied Bo morosely, leaning forwards to slosh more Cabernet Sauvignon into her glass. ‘It might have to last me for months. I can’t see another job coming along before Christmas.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Kirsten said, doing her best to stay upbeat, despite her friend’s resolutely downcast mood.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Bo countered. ‘Another couple of weeks and we’ll be into Christmas party season. Nobody will be doing interviews or making job offers until well into January.’

  Kirsten sipped her wine in supportive silence. ‘What did Ben say?’ she asked tentatively.

  Bo inhaled sharply. ‘I haven’t told him yet. He was in Milton Keynes all day.’

  In truth, Bo had considered calling Ben from the toilet cubicle, in the hope that he would know what to say to console her, or even just be willing to listen to and reassure her. She had pulled her phone from her bag and found his number, but then she had remembered their conversation that morning as he drove to Milton Keynes, his stressed, impatient tone, and the blasé way he had cancelled their dinner plans. How would he react if she interrupted him at his client’s office, tearfully distraught, to tell him she had been made redundant? At best, he would be evasive and brittle, telling her not to worry and that he would call her back later. More likely, he would screen her call and let it go to voicemail. She had stared at his number on her phone, until eventually the screen went dark, and then she had dropped the phone back inside her bag.

  ‘I dare say he’ll find out soon enough anyway,’ Bo said, resigned to the fact that she would be the subject of office gossip for the next few days.

  ‘Wouldn’t you rather tell him in person?’ Kirsten asked tactfully. Bo leaned back against the sofa and took a long slug of wine.

  ‘I’m not sure I would,’ she replied. ‘He’s all about having fun, isn’t he? Consoling your girlfriend through redundancy wouldn’t be many people’s idea of fun. Least of all, Ben’s.’

  Chapter 6

  Bo stood in front of the reception desk, a fake smile on her lips and a bunch of flowers under her arm. Her colleagues milled around, clutching bottles of beer and watching patiently as she peeled open the bright yellow envelope Claire had just handed her. Sorry You’re Leaving, the card announced in a sparkly font. The inside of the card was scribbled over with the bland farewell messages from her co-workers: ‘Best of luck for the future’; ‘We’ll miss you’; ‘Keep in touch, Bo!’

  ‘Thanks everyone,’ Bo murmured appreciatively, taking out the John Lewis voucher which had been tucked inside the card. The ceremonial presentation of card, flowers and voucher took place, as was office tradition, at six o’clock on Bo’s last day. It was the final hurdle to be faced at the end of a week which had seemed to drag on for ever, managing to be both mind-numbingly boring (thanks to the drafting of a comprehensive hand-over document) and an exercise in forbearance, as she endured the well-meant but occasionally misjudged sympathy of her colleagues.

  Bo had been dreading the leaving do all week, knowing she would have to smile politely and reassure her colleagues that she was sure everything would be fine, whilst knowing that they were all thinking thank God it wasn’t me. Now the moment had arrived, she was relying on the company’s beer supply to help her get through it, and was already onto her fourth bottle by the time Claire said a few words of thanks and thrust the card and flowers into her hands.

  From her vantage point by the reception desk, Bo had a clear view of Ben. He was standing by the water cooler amid a group of fellow account managers. He was sipping from a bottle of Sol with his back to her, although every now and then she caught him glance over his shoulder in her direction. Things had been tense between them since his return to the office on Wednesday. As she had anticipated, he had heard news of her redundancy while still in Milton Keynes, and had texted her from his client’s office:

  Just heard you’ve been culled, Blu-ray. Gutted. Won’t be the same in the office without you.

  Even though she had told herself not to expect much by way of support from Ben, Bo nevertheless felt a twinge of irritation at the glib tone of his message which, as she dutifully worked on her handover notes, she duly nursed into something more akin to rage. It was not just his flippancy that riled her, but the fact that Ben seemed only to be thinking about her leaving in terms of how it would affect him, rather than what it meant for her. She left the text unanswered and, when he returned to the office the following day, she pointedly avoided him, ignoring his intranet messages and walking away if he attempted to follow her into the kitchen or the lift. Sensing her frostiness, Ben had reacted in kind, and by Thursday they were in a mutual sulk and had ceased to communicate at all. Now he seemed determined to spend the duration of her leaving do with his back to her.

  Bo stood in front of the curved reception desk, flanked by Hayley and Chloe.

  ‘Account management might be next in line, apparently,’ Bo heard Hayley say at her shoulder, and her attention instantly snapped back to her surroundings.

  ‘Who’d’ya think’ll go?’ Chloe said, her eyes wide. Hayley, relishing the role of office know-it-all, tossed her dark hair back over her shoulders and glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot.

  ‘My money’s on Charlotte,’ Hayley whispered. ‘She lost a client last month.’ Bo’s eyes flicked back to the cluster of account managers around Ben. Charlotte was standing to his right, blissfully unaware that her professional shortcomings and possible redundancy were being discussed just a few feet away. She was a mousey, insipid-looking girl who had joined the company a year earlier as a junior a
ccount manager. Bo had never really paid her much attention, finding her timid demeanour made her easy to overlook.

  ‘Poor Charlotte!’ Chloe sighed pityingly. Then Hayley’s eyes narrowed and she leaned closer in. Bo and Chloe instinctively mirrored her body language, until all three heads were almost touching.

  ‘I know,’ Hayley agreed, ‘and just as things were getting interesting on the office romance front, too.’ There was a glint of mischief in her eye.

  ‘What do you mean, interesting?’ Chloe asked breathily, her stencilled eyebrows climbing up her forehead. Hayley smirked, gratified by her response.

  ‘According to my sources,’ she whispered gleefully, ‘Ben made a pass at her.’

  ‘At Charlotte?’ Chloe gasped. Hayley nodded. Bo looked between the two of them, feeling as if the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped.

  ‘When?’ Bo asked in the mildest, most disinterested voice she could muster.

  ‘Tuesday,’ Hayley intoned sombrely, before taking a swig from her beer. ‘While they were staying at that Travelodge in Milton Keynes.’

  ‘In Milton Keynes?’ Bo repeated dumbly. She had not been aware that Charlotte had been in Milton Keynes – she was certain Ben hadn’t mentioned it. Hayley gave a faintly bitchy grin.

  ‘I know, not very glamorous, is it? Anyway,’ she went on triumphantly, ‘she friend-zoned him. Not interested, apparently.’ Hayley grinned and Chloe gave a short cackling laugh.

  Bo had a strange feeling of dislocation, as if the floor had just shifted beneath her and she wasn’t sure if she was still upright. She stared across the room at Charlotte and felt as if she was seeing her with fresh eyes. Charlotte was standing between Ben and Matt. She looked subdued and faintly uncomfortable, and kept glancing at the clock above the door as if she was wondering how soon it would be acceptable to leave. Bo forced herself to try and appraise Charlotte’s looks from a male perspective. Although she was undeniably at the mousey end of the spectrum, Bo had to admit that she was not unattractive, perse. As if sensing she was being watched, Charlotte glanced sideways and caught Bo staring at her. She gave Bo a vapid smile, to which Bo responded with a slow half-nod of acknowledgement.