from Patrick.
Still on for drinks after work? I’m finishing up here now, can be at Global for 5 p.m. x
Oh god. Patrick! I’d forgotten. I’d agreed to meet him. I was desperate for a drink, too. Hadn’t had a chance to celebrate my new job all week, and I really, really wanted a little time to unwind. My mind began to race.
Good conscience: I can’t go out! I have four and a half hours’ work to do tonight.
Bad conscience: Unless I can fit it all in at the weekend somehow? I’ll be refreshed and can work better at the weekend.
Good conscience: Patrick might want this to be a date. I don’t know if I want that. It’s really much more sensible to stay home and do my work.
Bad conscience: He is kind of cute. I really need to learn to let my hair down. It’s just one night. I’ve got the rest of my life to be sensible.
In the end, guess which voice in my head won? The good conscience…? Yeah, right!
As soon as the clock hit five, and Tegan told me she was heading off to the hills, for a weekend of white-water rafting with her girlfriend, Anya, (WTF, Tegan? Seriously?) I grabbed my belongings and raced down to reception to meet Patrick.
I saw him standing outside, in a tight, white T-shirt, with his sunglasses on, running his hand through his thick blond hair. We’d had a bit of a heatwave this week, and Patrick looked like he was one of those people whose skin instantly tanned, their hair bleached, and they looked like they’d been at the beach all their lives. In other words, he looked great. Really great.
I, on the other hand, had been stuck indoors working all day and night. My skin was so pale it was almost translucent. I’d still barely been finding the time to eat, and my clothes were hanging off me at awkward, unflattering angles. Today I was wearing a stroppy denim dress, which was really too hot in this kind of weather, and I could have used a deodorant before hugging Patrick, if I’m being honest with you.
‘Rose,’ he said, holding me tight as we hugged. When I pulled away, he was beaming. ‘Check you out! Miss Global! I can’t believe you work here!’ Patrick seemed genuinely pleased for me, which was nice. It felt like a real relief, actually, to meet an old friend after a week of new faces – even if I’d only known that ‘old friend’ for the last month.
‘I’m so pleased to see you, Patrick,’ I said. ‘Now let’s go and get ourselves an enormous drink.’
We linked arms, and, like a pair of giggling schoolgirls in search of our first cigarette, we stalked the streets looking for a bar that was a) not too busy, and b) affordable. The latter of those requirements wasn’t too easy downtown. Eventually, we settled on a rather out-of-place-looking tiki bar, which was advertising its happy hour from five until seven. It was relatively quiet inside in spite of that. Presumably, I thought, as we walked towards the giant menu hanging over the bar, high-powered business types prefer going for a flute of champagne over a ‘scorpion bowl’ or flaming rum.
Sometimes you can go into a tiki bar and the décor is relatively subtle. In this case, it wasn’t. This was like a Polynesian theme park. On the walls hung various ‘tiki god’ masks and carvings, alongside tropical murals and decorations. The female staff wore grass hula skirts over their jeans, and the male staff wore garish shirts with palm trees on them.
It wasn’t exactly a ‘classy joint’, but Patrick seemed happy enough, and got himself a Red Stripe. I went for a Mai Tai. The waiter told us he’d bring it over to us.
‘So,’ Patrick said, as we sat at a table by the window. ‘How was your first week? Did you miss The Chronicle?’ he gave me a cheeky wink, to show he was joking.
‘It’s very different to The Chronicle,’ I told him. ‘It’s different to any place I’ve ever worked. It’s so big. And the boss–’
‘Redmond?’ Patrick asked.
‘Yeah. He’s something else.’
‘He
Still on for drinks after work? I’m finishing up here now, can be at Global for 5 p.m. x
Oh god. Patrick! I’d forgotten. I’d agreed to meet him. I was desperate for a drink, too. Hadn’t had a chance to celebrate my new job all week, and I really, really wanted a little time to unwind. My mind began to race.
Good conscience: I can’t go out! I have four and a half hours’ work to do tonight.
Bad conscience: Unless I can fit it all in at the weekend somehow? I’ll be refreshed and can work better at the weekend.
Good conscience: Patrick might want this to be a date. I don’t know if I want that. It’s really much more sensible to stay home and do my work.
Bad conscience: He is kind of cute. I really need to learn to let my hair down. It’s just one night. I’ve got the rest of my life to be sensible.
In the end, guess which voice in my head won? The good conscience…? Yeah, right!
As soon as the clock hit five, and Tegan told me she was heading off to the hills, for a weekend of white-water rafting with her girlfriend, Anya, (WTF, Tegan? Seriously?) I grabbed my belongings and raced down to reception to meet Patrick.
I saw him standing outside, in a tight, white T-shirt, with his sunglasses on, running his hand through his thick blond hair. We’d had a bit of a heatwave this week, and Patrick looked like he was one of those people whose skin instantly tanned, their hair bleached, and they looked like they’d been at the beach all their lives. In other words, he looked great. Really great.
I, on the other hand, had been stuck indoors working all day and night. My skin was so pale it was almost translucent. I’d still barely been finding the time to eat, and my clothes were hanging off me at awkward, unflattering angles. Today I was wearing a stroppy denim dress, which was really too hot in this kind of weather, and I could have used a deodorant before hugging Patrick, if I’m being honest with you.
‘Rose,’ he said, holding me tight as we hugged. When I pulled away, he was beaming. ‘Check you out! Miss Global! I can’t believe you work here!’ Patrick seemed genuinely pleased for me, which was nice. It felt like a real relief, actually, to meet an old friend after a week of new faces – even if I’d only known that ‘old friend’ for the last month.
‘I’m so pleased to see you, Patrick,’ I said. ‘Now let’s go and get ourselves an enormous drink.’
We linked arms, and, like a pair of giggling schoolgirls in search of our first cigarette, we stalked the streets looking for a bar that was a) not too busy, and b) affordable. The latter of those requirements wasn’t too easy downtown. Eventually, we settled on a rather out-of-place-looking tiki bar, which was advertising its happy hour from five until seven. It was relatively quiet inside in spite of that. Presumably, I thought, as we walked towards the giant menu hanging over the bar, high-powered business types prefer going for a flute of champagne over a ‘scorpion bowl’ or flaming rum.
Sometimes you can go into a tiki bar and the décor is relatively subtle. In this case, it wasn’t. This was like a Polynesian theme park. On the walls hung various ‘tiki god’ masks and carvings, alongside tropical murals and decorations. The female staff wore grass hula skirts over their jeans, and the male staff wore garish shirts with palm trees on them.
It wasn’t exactly a ‘classy joint’, but Patrick seemed happy enough, and got himself a Red Stripe. I went for a Mai Tai. The waiter told us he’d bring it over to us.
‘So,’ Patrick said, as we sat at a table by the window. ‘How was your first week? Did you miss The Chronicle?’ he gave me a cheeky wink, to show he was joking.
‘It’s very different to The Chronicle,’ I told him. ‘It’s different to any place I’ve ever worked. It’s so big. And the boss–’
‘Redmond?’ Patrick asked.
‘Yeah. He’s something else.’
‘He
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