by CJ Morrow
In the toilet, Ella felt alternate waves of sickness and dizziness roll over her. When she came out she felt herself sway a little. Sam was waiting for her in the hallway. She had her coat on and she was holding Ella’s.
‘Shall I give you a lift home now?’
‘Oh, I’m going now then? Good job I didn’t drive, eh? The walk here did me good and it had stopped raining when I came round. I could walk home, if you’re tired.’
‘I’m fine and it’s raining again now,’ Sam said, steering her friend out into the night.
‘This is such a lovely house and you’ve got a drive, so lovely,’ Ella slurred as they piled into the car. Sam replied with a patient nod and a half-smile.
‘So,’ Sam said once they were off the drive, ‘what are you wearing tomorrow, for Pink Day?’
‘I don’t know.’ Ella threw her hands up in the air theatrically. ‘Can’t pretend I don’t know like I did last time when I turned up head-to-toe in black. You should have seen Barbie’s face. Gladys’s face. Ha ha. Love it.’
‘Just stick to Gwynnie.’
‘Might. Might not.’ Ella wiggled her head about, laughing. She knew she was drunk and she suspected she was being an irritating drunk.
‘You’ve got plenty of pink stuff. What about that nice dress you wore last week when we went shopping?’
‘I’m not wearing that to work. Why should I? It’s too good for work. I’ve got work clothes for work and they’re not pink.’
‘Be careful,’ Sam said as Ella almost fell out of the car. Once she reached her front door, Ella turned and waved to her friend. Sam looked back and smiled but she looked sad. After Ella had fumbled her way into her place she sent Sam a message.
Sorry hun. Have I made you sad? xxx
The reply took a while to come back, after all Sam had to get home first, Ella reasoned. It simply said: I’m fine Ella. Sleep well.
That was a bit cold, Ella thought, as she dropped her phone on a chair.
Ella didn’t sleep well; she tossed and turned, got up twice for the loo and a drink, and slept right through her alarm. When she awoke with a start and saw the time, she jumped out of bed and stubbed her toe. Great, it was going to be one of those days.
She just had enough time to shower and dress. Pink Day. Oh damn it. She threw her wardrobe door open where everything was crammed in tightly because there wasn’t enough space, and fished around for something pink and suitable. She was not going to wear her nice dress to work. Finally she spotted a bright orange top and toning leggings in a darker shade – an outfit she’d never worn because it had been one of those impulse sale buys that seemed like a good idea at the time. It had languished in her wardrobe for two or three years, always threatening to take itself off to the charity shop.
Perfect, Ella thought, then out loud, practising. ‘Gladys, I’m colour blind.’ She’d have to be careful not to say Gladys to Gwynnie’s face. Ella sniggered at the prospect. Oh, it was tempting.
She dragged a brush through her hair, grabbed her keys and coat and dashed for her car. She hoped she had some painkillers in her desk drawer because her hangover was starting to kick in now. Ouch.
As expected everyone else was already at their desks when she arrived. She sidled into her seat and waited for Gwynnie to comment, but she didn’t. Nobody said a word, not even hello. Ella glanced over at Ben and Kevin; Ben looked up and caught her eye, offered a quick smile, a nod. Ben and Kevin were both wearing pink shirts, and pink ties. They were definitely pink, yet somehow they didn’t look right. Ella screwed her eyes up to see better. There was a patchy quality to them, almost swirly. Oh dear. The hangover was really kicking in; maybe she’d better find those painkillers now.
An hour passed and no one spoke; there was furious tapping on keyboards then a meeting request popped into Ella’s inbox. It said, Team Meeting, 10.30am. Great, thought Ella. Two minutes later an email from Ben arrived entitled Team Meeting; under it just two words – ‘Can’t wait’. Ella replied, ‘Ditto’.
Just before the meeting was about to start Ella got herself a cup of tea and took it into the meeting room, she was first there.
‘You’re keen,’ Gwynnie said, coming into the room behind her.
Ella gave a quick smile in return; suppressed the urge to call her Gladys.
‘Are you all right? You look a bit peaky.’ Gwynnie’s eyes scanned Ella’s face.
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
The others came in; Tiffy shone like a diamond, all flashing teeth and sparkly eyes. Yuk. Ben and Kevin just looked weary. Now that Ella was getting a better view of their shirts she could see why they had looked strange earlier; they were white shirts that had been through the washing machine with something red, hence the streaks. The shirts were hideous, so were the ties, but the trousers, some old chinos that had also been through the wrong wash – hideous.
‘Like your uniforms,’ Ella heard herself say as they sat down.
‘Well, I’m pleased you brought that up Ella,’ Gwynnie pounced. ‘Because I’m quite concerned about your clothing. It’s Pink Day, not Orange Day.’
Ella looked down at her clothes then made a show of looking around at everyone else’s.
‘I don’t have any orange clothes so I’m really glad it’s not Orange Day.’ Ella placed great emphasis on the word glad and thought she saw Gwynnie wince.
‘Is that some sort of joke?’
‘What do you mean?’ Ella frowned; worried for a minute that Gwynnie had cottoned onto the glad joke. She saw Ben and Kevin both look away; Ben was actually biting his lower lip.
‘You’re wearing orange.’
‘I’m not. Am I?’ Ella looked down at her clothes. ‘Oh. You know I’m colour blind. I thought this was pink. I’d be glad to go home and change if you think I should.’
‘Oh. No. I didn’t realise that. Well, no. At least you tried, I suppose.’ Gwynnie forced a thin smile but her face was thunderous.
Despite her victory Ella’s heart was racing. She couldn’t quite believe she’d had the nerve to say glad twice.
‘Let’s get on with the meeting.’ Gwynnie tapped a pencil on the table. ‘First I’d like to commend everyone for getting into the spirit of Pink Day, especially Ben and Kevin, I realise pink isn’t a boy’s colour, but it does help you get in touch with your feminine side and think outside the box.’
‘And the ties are a nice touch, Gwynnie,’ Tiffy added.
Boys. Ben was a married father of two and Kevin played rugby every weekend. How could they stand it? Ella was incensed on their behalf. Why didn’t they say something? But they didn’t, they just stared ahead and kept their faces blank.
‘I think it’s important for us all to get out of our comfort zones, to make the shift into the unknown, to allow our creativity to come to the fore…’ Gwynnie continued, but all Ella heard was ‘blah, blah, blah…’
No one said anything as Gwynnie gabbled on. Ella wanted to point out that Gwynnie wasn’t out of her comfort zone; she always wore pink, every damn day.
Gwynnie wittered on some more, used a few more stupid pseudo-management-speak words and finally stopped, rounding up her speech with a question. ‘Does anyone have any other creative ideas for creative days we could have to make us more creative and productive?’
‘I’m been thinking,’ Tiffy said.
‘Yes?’ Gwynnie smiled sweetly at Tiffy.
‘What about…Think Day?’
How stupid, thought Ella. Idiot. Just wait until I get hold of that desk troll.
‘Think Day. How would that work?’ Even Gwynnie was struggling.
‘Well, on Think Day, we could all think of a way we could do our job differently, better.’ Tiffy smiled brightly.
And that, thought Ella, gets paid more than me. Ben’s pen rolled off the table and onto the floor, he bent to pick it up, fumbling down on the carpet longer than he needed to. Ella could see his shoulders shaking.
‘Well, thank you Tiff. We’ll give that some thought. What ab
out you Ella, any suggestions?’
Ella had several ideas – she’d thought them up in bed the previous night, probably before the effects of the wine had worn off. Dandruff Day – because Gwynnie did have a bit of a problem in that area; Long Lunch Break Day – everyone would enjoy that; but her favourite was Laxative Day – but only for Gwynnie and Tiffy.
‘Ella?’ Gwynnie said, tapping the pencil on the table.
‘What about Smile Day?’ Ella said and saw Ben bite his lower lip again and suck in his cheeks. Kevin’s face was still a blank canvas, his eyes staring off into the distance, glazed and unfocused.
‘And how would that work?’ Gwynnie said.
Tiffy gave a little scoffy cough.
‘Well,’ Ella said, wishing she hadn’t started this. ‘If we smile when we’re on the phone, especially to a customer, we’ll sound happier, and that makes it better. Doesn’t it?’ What rubbish.
Gwynnie tilted her head and pursed her lips. ‘Well, maybe you have something there. Would you like to write up a proposal for that, so I can consider it.’ She smiled at Ella. It wasn’t a question; it was a command.
Ella swallowed. Serves me right, she thought. She waited a few seconds before replying, made it look as though she was considering her reply. ‘Okay.’ Ella smiled. ‘I’m glad it’s worth your consideration.’
Gwynnie definitely winced that time.
‘Why are you fighting them?’ Ben asked, later over lunch.
‘Yeah, you’ll never win,’ Kevin said, undoing his tie and stuffing it into his shirt pocket.
‘What do you two clowns look like?’ Ella laughed. ‘Look at you.’
‘The irony is, she doesn’t even see it,’ Ben said. ‘Why don’t you do what we do? We’re almost enjoying ourselves.’
‘I can’t. I just can’t. She’s got my job. She treats me like dirt. She implies that I’ve been off on a jolly – I was nursing my mum on her deathbed for God’s sake. And she’s got that Tiffy – who’s incredibly thick as well as a Gwynnie suck-up – on a higher salary than me. I can’t see the humour in any of it. I just can’t.’
Ben and Kevin looked away, embarrassed. Then Kevin looked at his watch, made a comment about the time and stood up.
They walked back to the office in subdued silence.
Gwynnie and Tiffy were waiting for Ella; Gwynnie stood up as she approached.
‘We’ll take our lunch break now you’re back,’ Gwynnie said. ‘We’re going into town.’ She smiled a smile that was more like a grimace.
‘I’m ready Gwynnie,’ Tiffy Troll said and Ella watched the pair prance down the corridor and out of the office.
She waited five minutes.
Then she opened the drawer where stinky Ruben’s old cardigan lived and pulled it out. She walked around to Gwynnie’s desk where Gwynnie had left a half drunk cup of water. She tipped a little out and used the smelly cardigan to dab it up. The smell induced Ella’s gag reflex; wet wool. Wet stinky wool. She wiped Gwynnie’s desk all over with odour of dead Ruben, including the keyboard, then repeated the process on Tiffy’s desk. Finally she stuffed the stinker back in her drawer, closed it firmly then went to wash her hands.
On her way back she called into HR to see Sam. She wanted to tell her all about it, but Sam wasn’t alone in the office so she couldn’t.
‘That’s not very pink,’ Sam said.
‘No. I’m colour blind.’
Sam raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, or laugh. ‘Were you all right this morning?’
Ella made a don’t go there face.
‘Come out with us tonight. The band’s playing down The Swannie.’
Ella thought about the band. Charlie was lead singer; he said it made a nice change from his job as a management accountant. Then there was the silent drummer – silent because he rarely spoke – ‘I speak through my drums,’ was the only thing Ella had ever heard him say. There was Steve on bass guitar; older than the rest, he claimed he’d once jammed with Status Quo.
Then there was Nathan.
‘I don’t know.’ Ella shook her head.
‘Oh come on. Keep me company. You can drink lime and soda with me; cheap night and we can have a laugh. Come on.’ Sam gave Ella puppy dog eyes.
Ella thought of Nathan.
‘Okay.’
Two
Ella didn’t stick to lime and soda. She lasted twenty minutes before she went to the bar and bought a bottle of wine. She came back with three glasses - one for Steve’s wife and one for the drummer’s friend. But she ended up drinking most of it herself.
‘You should have seen their faces,’ Ella said, explaining for the fourth time how Gwynnie and Tiffy had reacted. She’d told Sam all about the dog cardigan. ‘Tiffy actually gagged. Said she was calling the building manager about the smell. Gladys just looked white all afternoon. Ha ha ha.’
Sam shook her head, but she laughed anyway.
‘It was funny, Sam.’
‘You should be careful. You really should,’ Sam whispered but she had tears in her eyes from laughing.
Ella went to the bar again but this time she did buy lime and sodas; Sam was right, it was a cheap drink. She picked her way back to the table now, the carpet was sticky and the air, though not smoky – because it was banned – still had that air of nicotine and tar about it.
‘Why do they play here?’ Ella asked as she sat down. ‘It’s such a dump.’ She looked around her at the knocked about chairs, the tatty tables.
‘Because it pays well and they’re the star band,’ Sam said, taking a sip from her drink and frowning. ‘No ice?’ she asked when Ella queried.
‘Run out. Says it all really. How long ‘til they’re on?’ Ella checked the time on her phone, nearly nine. They’d been there over an hour and Charlie’s band hadn’t even played yet. So far they’d listened to a pair of teenage lads doing a bad impersonation of One Direction and a country and western singer, complete with yee-haa boots and a Stetson, murder Dolly Parton’s Jolene.
‘Soon. I hope. I’m getting ridges in my back from this chair.’
Ella looked around the pub again: thirty year old swirly carpet, mock beams, yellow stucco (a contrast to the dirty grey stucco outside), dark stained wooden bar, postcards of pop stars from another century, Formica tops on every horizontal surface. Tonight it was crowded – it was usually crowded – the drinks were cheap and there was entertainment most nights. In an age when pubs were closing every week, this one thrived, maybe because it had so few rivals. But it was still horrible.
‘They should demolish this place and start again,’ Sam said, eerily echoing Ella’s thoughts.
Ella wondered how she’d feel when the band finally did come on. The last time she’d seen them or even been in The Old Swan was New Year’s Eve and that had ended in disaster. Not for them, for her. She cringed at the memory.
‘So which one of you is pregnant?’ The drummer’s friend turned a gappy smile in their direction. She looked from face to face. Ella looked down at herself, she was wearing jeans and a top, both fairly fitted. She didn’t think she looked pregnant.
‘I am,’ Sam said. Ella glanced at her, and saw the irritation in Sam’s face, evidently as insulted as Ella was.
‘Don’t show,’ the drummer’s friend said. ‘When I had my first I blew up like a whale. That’s what they called me, sperm whale.’ She laughed loudly at her own joke. ‘Hardly showed at all with the second. But number three, well, I nearly exploded.’ She threw her arms out, made a sound like an explosion.
‘I wish she would now,’ Ella whispered in Sam’s ear as she turned away.
Sam, ever the diplomat, smiled benignly.
‘You dames want a drink?’ The drummer’s friend stood up. She was rake thin and very tall. She wore a silver vest which shimmered in the pub’s stark fluorescent light, and heavy gold chain necklaces. A tiny bow-tie tattoo lay across the base of her throat. ‘We could share a pitcher of BomberZong. I didn’t like that wine stuff you got.’ She glar
ed at Ella and flared her nostrils.
‘That’s kind,’ Sam said. ‘But no thanks.’ She patted her stomach to make the point.
‘Oh you can have a couple, don’t hurt ‘em. Have a Guinness, good for you.’
‘No thanks.’
‘You?’ The drummer’s friend nodded at Ella.
‘I’ve had enough. Thanks anyway.’ Ella forced a smile.
They watched as the drummer’s friend walked towards the bar, her black jeans impossibly tight, the outline of a cigarette packet in the back pocket. Her bare arms were yellow white, her shoulders pushed through her skin like a coat hanger.
‘Where did he find her?’ Ella whispered. ‘She’s scary.’
‘Says the person who wiped down her colleagues’ desks with a dead dog’s blanket.’
‘They deserved it, they really did.’ They both laughed. ‘And what’s with calling us dames? Do we look like drag queens?’
Steve’s wife smiled over at Ella and Sam, then pulled her chair closer to them.
‘You’re looking well, Sam. Everything good? Haven’t seen you in a while, Ella.’
‘Yes. Great.’ Sam replied.
‘What’s your new friend’s name?’ Ella asked, after glancing round to make sure she wasn’t on her way back.
‘I don’t know. I haven’t asked. She just turned up and said she was with the drummer. She at the bar?’
‘Yes, gone to get a bucket of something toxic.’
All three made a face.
It was a while before the drummer’s friend came back and as she drew nearer they knew where she’d been from the overpowering stench of stale cigarettes. She carried a tray which she almost dropped onto the table.
‘Here,’ she said, putting a pint of Guinness in front of Sam.
‘Oh, no thank you, not for me. I don’t even like it.’
‘You have it then, chubs,’ she said to Ella. ‘Me and her’ll have this.’ She took the jug of vibrating pink BomberZong and plonked it in front of Steve’s wife. The three women opened their mouths in disbelief and exchanged glances. Ella was about to object to being called fat when the drummer’s friend sat down, leaned back, fanned herself with a beer mat, complained she was hot then pulled her dirty blonde hair up away from her neck. A skull and cross bones tattoo wrapped itself around the top of her spine. Everyone saw it; no one said a word.