by Betty Balaba
I didn’t want to be that person that woke up with dead eyes because I felt I didn’t have a choice any more. But how did I know what else was out there? And did I just feel this way because my life had been forced to change? I guessed that time would tell.
I decided that a low profile was best on my first day back. Walking over to my desk, it was as if time had paused. Then greetings started tumbling towards me like shoes off a collapsing rack. I was left trying to catch up with each hello as it bounced ahead of me. “Hello!” “Welcome back.” “Great to see you.” “You have been missed.” I tried responding to all of them but some people had to make do with a bemused smile. No one said anything about the way I looked but there was no way they hadn’t noticed. It had been three weeks since I’d been in the office and I knew by now I had really put on weight. It was the kind of office that would notice a paper clip in the wrong place, not to mention the unexpected appearance of two stone of human flesh.
Sophie wasn’t at her desk, for some reason. I smiled as I put my coat away and switched on my computer. I knew the office so well: if Sophie wasn’t at her desk, then she would be at her second role as unofficial photocopier technician. Approaching the photocopier room, all I could hear was the slamming of the paper feed. Then a kick. I couldn’t help smiling at the idea that Sophie – artisan that she was – was losing her touch. Standing at the door opening, I could see Greg and Sophie pulling out a jammed piece of paper from the side section of the machine.
“So everything is working well as usual!” I announced with a smirk. Sophie looked up and squealed, then lunged at me with a huge hug.
“Sanity returns!” she cried. I hugged her back.
“How I’ve missed your dulcet tones!” I said, without really meaning the irony. I had missed her.
Greg sheepishly waved at me.
“Hi Becca,” he said. “I hardly recognized you.”
There it was, finally: an acknowledgment. Sophie let go of me very slowly. She glanced at me and stared at Greg in accusation. He shrugged, then blushed.
“What? I was just saying Becca looks different.” Turning to me he continued, “And you do…” He tried to add an awkward laugh but it trailed off pretty quickly into a nervous glance.
It was clumsy and rude, sure. But what could I say? It was not as if he was lying. Okay, he could have been more tactful but this was Greg. Tall, scarfed and tactless.
“Do not listen to him," Sophie snapped.”There’s just more of you to hug." She said it in her best baking-show-host voice, stretching her arms out to embrace me again. If it was an attempt to make me feel better, it didn’t work. I put my hand up to wave off their comments but didn’t quite manage it.
“Well,” I said. “I’ll leave you two to sort out the jam or nothing will ever go smoothly in this office ever again.”
Stepping out of the room, I turned to see Sophie hitting Greg over the head with a roll of copier paper.
When I approached my desk, Emma was already hovering next to it. I knew the moment she saw me: her eyes widened for a fraction of a second and then she was all smiles.
“Ah,” she said. “I thought you must be back because your computer was on.”
“Yup!” I said brightly. “Ready to get stuck in!”
I sat down and could feel her eyes scanning me subtly. Greg’s comment had made me even more paranoid, as if it were possible. I was wearing a long pleated navy skirt with a baby pink shirt that I of course had not tucked in. Outside the shirt was a thick navy belt, accentuating what had once been my waist. If you hadn’t seen the way I used to dress, it would pass as elegant. But if you had – as I had, of course – you’d know the person before you was hiding in a cloth shroud. And not only her body, but her personality too. I am not sure why I had even bothered adding the belt, as my waist had long been buried under inches of hospital pudding fat.
Catching her eye, we both smiled: me, because I had caught her look, and her, because she was embarrassed that I had done so.
“I like your belt,” she said, by way of a kindly escape plan. I’d bet half my salary that she would barely be able to describe it if I asked her! But still, it was a thoughtful departure from her usual style.
“Thank you!” I said, keen to get onto work topics. She obviously felt the same.
“Shall we grab a coffee in half an hour and I can fill you in on what has been happening around here?”
“Sounds great.” And it did sound great. All I wanted to do was get on with focusing on work and leave all these horrified looks behind. Once she had left, I went through my emails. It didn’t look like much had been happening around here. After all, it had been the summer and not much happened in August. Things always just ticked over.
My half-hour coffee ended up being fifteen minutes at the round table in the kitchen, with Emma mainly confirming what I had already noticed. But also emphasising that we were going to get busy because there was a conference coming up. This hadn’t been on the schedule of activities posted in the strategy meeting earlier in the year. It was Emma’s bright idea to include it – neatly forgetting that she had originally thought it wasn’t worth going to.
“If you research the benefits of the conference… um, and see which areas I could speak on, that would be great!” she said. But why go to a conference which you hadn’t thought was worth it? And why did I have to research her speech topics? My time off must have affected my patience as I was already starting to feel irritated. Already I could picture doing all the research only to find out that she had changed her mind again.
“Of course, I’ll take a look,” I mustered, hopefully without sounding rude.
Lingering in the kitchen after she left, I suddenly felt hungry. I spotted the toaster. Or maybe I spotted the toaster then felt hungry. Anyway, it was definitely time for elevenses somewhere in the world. I popped four pieces of bread in the toaster. I put the dial up, not wanting it to be too light; which left me hovering. I went back to my desk to put my notepad back – not wanting to get melted butter all over it for the hundredth time – and was about to go back to the kitchen when Sally from HR approached.
“Good to have you back.” She said.
“Thanks…” I said.
“I just wanted to check everything was okay with you and your mum?”
“It’s sweet of you to ask,” I said. “She should be out of the hospital soon I hope, and then go to physio.”
“That is good news.” She was about to leave but turned back before she had taken a step.
“And will that, er, affect your schedule at work?” Okay, so where was this heading?
“Hopefully not!” I deflected her. “But if it does, I’ll let Emma know.”
“Good,” she said. “We are just thinking of you…” I’m sure she was!
“Thanks,” I said again. It sounded like that was the only word I knew today: Thanks. Thanks. Thanks. Sally walked to Emma’s office but ended up meeting her between my desk and her office. She looked over her shoulder and I concentrated on typing an email. I acted busier than the Tube at rush hour.
“I have spoken to Becca and she thinks her schedule will be okay,” I heard.
“I can’t believe her mother has been in hospital for this long,” replied Emma. “There is no way I would do what she is doing. Hell! My mother would have to just get on with it.”
“I know,” said Sally. “I would be run ragged.”
“Fair play to Becca. But it’s getting too much. Surely her mother understands that?” Emma leaned in closer. “She’s a better daughter than me.” Sally laughed harshly. “I wouldn’t do it either. Anyway, she will keep us posted.” They leaned closer together. I ducked closer to my screen and could still just hear. I had always had good hearing.
“It is taking a toll though. Have you seen her?” I’d never heard them gossip before, let alone about me.
“I know, it looks like she has been eating for England,” Emma playfully hit her.
“And Scotland an
d Wales,” Sally whispered back.
I felt like the blood rushing to my face, thankfully still hidden behind the monitor. Everything on my desk seemed out of perspective all of a sudden. I tried to tell myself it was good to have things clarified; and to know what I had been suspecting for so long. Emma was nice but she also had a horrible streak. Like a dog that convinces you to befriend it then can’t resist going in for a nip. I stood up and they dispersed like the floor beneath them was suddenly a hundred degrees. Talking of which, what was that smell?
I ran to the kitchen but I was too late. The fire alarm was already going off across our entire floor. It was so loud it must be penetrating to the next building. Still I couldn’t help trying to wave away the smoke with a tea towel; ridiculous as it looked, like someone chasing an invisible fly. I started coughing. Bloody hell: it was my first day back! Sophie raced in and promptly collapsed on a chair, laughing hysterically.
“Well I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” I said crossly.
“You certainly know how to make your presence felt,” she teased. I went to the window to try and open it. “Don’t waste your time,” she laughed. “They don’t even open.” Ridiculous! Why have windows where not a single one opened? I managed to pull the toast out of the toaster and throw it in the bin. Greg sidled in.
“I might have known it would be the terrible twins…” We laughed like old times, but I was nervous. I had barely done a stroke of work since being back in the office, and now this! Clare came in.
“Everyone out! We have to congregate at the meeting point.” Clare was a fire marshal: a job she took very seriously. I just knew she must have been Head Girl at school; she had that way about her.
“You’re joking! It’s just burnt toast,” said Sophie, partially defending me.
“That may be the case,” said Clare curtly. “But the alarm has gone off and now we have to follow the procedure.” Holy cow! Now I would be the talk of the building, never mind the office. Greg, Sophie and I made our way to the lifts before Clare shouted after us. “Use the stairs!”
I groaned and Greg grinned at me.
“The exercise won’t kill you, Becs!” he said and I gasped, throwing him a pretend growl. As we made our way down six flights of stairs, the voices seemed to crowd around me. “What happened? I hope it’s just a drill!”
When we reached the meeting point, we had to wait until the building was completely emptied. Hardly keeping a low profile on my first day back…
“Apparently the alarm went off on the sixth floor,” said someone standing near us.
“Oh really?” asked Sophie with all innocence. Greg just rolled his eyes. As for me, I just ignored them as if they were speaking a foreign language.
When everyone’s name was ticked off and we were heading back upstairs, Emma came up to me.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “These things happen…” She was laughing. I grinned back; although it worried me a little that she felt the need to say it. When I reached my floor, most people were congregating at the reception. I thought I better fess up: to the few that didn’t already know, that is.
“It was me!” I said. “I’m sorry some of you got a little extra fresh air this morning…”
There was laughing and mock telling-offs.
“Do not do it again, Johnson! Some of us like being chained to our desks!” Hilarity all round. Well, it had been an interesting morning, and maybe it let off some of the pressure from before I’d left. But part of me was nervous. It wasn’t the sort of thing which ever used to happen at work.
Chapter 11
Photos and New Possibilities
I finally settled back in at work. Before I knew it, the days had merged themselves into two solid weeks. It’s always like that when you get back from a break. Still, I couldn’t believe it. Now it was the second Friday back. To celebrate the weekend, Sophie and I had arranged to go for an early dinner before I had to go back to the hospital. Oh yes, the visit schedule had resumed just as before.
Tucking into my fried calamari – we had opted for an Italian near the office – I noticed Sophie was studying me. She hadn’t wanted a starter.
“You never used to like to eat much fried food,” she said in a hushed tone. “But yesterday you even had deep-fried Snickers with your fish and chips at lunchtime!”
“I was just trying the Snickers as I had never had a deep-fried one,” I said confidently. “I wanted to know what all the fuss was about.”
But she kept looking at me. “It never used to be your thing.”
I shrugged. “Nothing wrong with trying something new…” The waitress arrived with the garlic bread. Four slices, to be precise. “Have some…” I pointed at the bread to Sophie.
“I’m okay, thanks,” came the inevitable reply. I ate in silence for a few moments. I knew Sophie wanted to say something to me. I didn’t know what – but I wished she would just spit it out. By my third slice of garlic bread, we were talking about the weather like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. Wiping my mouth, I picked up the last slice.
“Do you really want that?” she blurted. My hand froze in mid-air.
“What?” I said, more in shock than confusion.
“I said…”
“Yes,” I replied curtly. “I heard what you said.”
“This isn’t you!” she said.
But I kept eating. Let her get it out. She seriously had something to say. Sophie continued like a shackle had been lifted from her thoughts.
“I’m hungry!” I said. “Do you think I have a problem?” I didn’t wait for her to answer. “This isn’t a problem,” I stumbled on. “It’s a life-style choice. So, I have put on a little weight. I’ll take it off but it won’t be as if I haven’t enjoyed myself!”
“Do you really call this enjoying yourself?” she whispered. I finished my mouthful and was about to speak but she cut in. “You know you are bigger than me now, and you have never been anywhere near my size!”
“I didn’t think it was a competition, Soph.”
The waitress cleared my plate. Okay, my plates.
“Becca,” she insisted. “I care about you. This isn’t you! You’re eating too much! Your style has even changed! You’re no longer dressing how you want. You used to love clothes and now you’re hiding behind them! That’s the only way to describe it. You are no longer the Becca who loved life and found joy from everything. You radiated happiness. Now it’s like… you’re just acting at being cheerful.”
I took a sip of my ginger ale and noticed my hand was shaking. I was annoyed. Who said she could judge me? Of course I was annoyed with myself. But it wasn’t like I was harming anyone else.
“It is not like I killed anyone.”
Sophie looked me straight in the eye.
“You are making a good effort of trying to kill yourself. Sorry if that sounds dramatic but the essence of you is… disappearing.”
Wow, just wow. I ought to walk out, I thought dinner would be a nice, fun thing to do; but now it just felt like a source of indigestion. I should have gone straight to the hospital. But right then the food arrived. My stuffed crust pizza, with tons of cheese, and her… caesar salad. I saw her looking at my pizza. The cheese was still bubbling, I felt a thrill of ownership. I certainly wasn’t going to offer her any of it, anyway.
“What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t tell you the truth?” she pressed on. “I’m worried about you. I want you to look after yourself. Stop putting all this rubbish in your body.” But she eyed my pizza tellingly. “You’ve lost your joie de vie.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. I knew it wasn’t Sophie’s fault that I had put on weight and I didn’t have to take it out on her. I knew she cared about me, and decided to lighten the mood instead.
“Speaking French now, are we?”
She couldn’t resist a smile and return to our old repartee.
“One of my many skills.” We both laughed. “Look,” she said. “I don’t want to upset you.
But you are my friend and I just had to say something. I know you do not welcome these comments but…”
“No, I welcome them,” I said, doing the interrupting for once. “Like a politician welcomes a persistent interviewer.” I smiled, letting her know there were no hard feelings.
“Flashes of the Becca I know and love!” She said. And, on that cue, I tucked into my pizza.
“It looks good,” she said.
“It is!” I said. “And I am not giving you any no matter how childish that sounds.” I looked up and found her smiling indulgently at me like I was eight years old.
“Seriously,” she said. “Is there no one who can help you? No relative who could sit with your mother in hospital so that you could get some rest?” I shook my head and she didn’t press the matter. After a few more bitefuls, she continued. “Even I could come and help you at weekends so you could get a break. It’s been months Becca. Months! I don’t think I would have been able to cope! It would take its toll on anyone…”
I felt that familiar tell-tale sting behind my eyes. Then my chin started to quiver. No, no, no! I was not going to cry. Sophie was too much. It is one thing for someone to listen to what you’re going through. Some might sympathise. Some think there but for the grace of God go I. Others offer whatever platitude they think will do. But it is quite another thing for someone who knows you so well to tell you they can see you are struggling. Only just about coping… then the very offer of help is the thing that risks pushing you over the edge.
But it was touching that she offered. Only a true friend would have done so. I took a deep breath and steadied myself.
“Thanks Sophie. It will be okay. But it really means the world that you offered.” She touched my hand. “I’m here if you need me.”
I squeezed her fingers.