have been unable to detect any faults. There is no record of this number having sent you an SMS since 23 December.
Best wishes,
Orange
On day sixteen of my post-dump incarceration, Leonie told me it was time to go back to work.
‘No chance,’ I said, appalled. ‘Are you mad? Although, while we’re on the subject, I’ve been wondering what you told ITN.’ I gnawed listlessly at a horrible polenta cake Stefania had put through my cat flap last night.
Leonie started giggling. ‘I told them you had gynaecological issues. It worked a treat.’ She added quickly, ‘They didn’t ask a thing! You could probably take six months off before they dared to probe any further.’
‘Well, thanks, Leonie. It’s always good to have your colleagues chatting in the staff kitchen about the state of your vagina.’
‘That’s the spirit, Franny! Knock ’em dead, my girl!’
I glowered at her. She held my gaze. ‘Fine, you can have the rest of the week off. But if you don’t go in on Monday I’m telling them you have a perfectly healthy minge. Perhaps you could start things off by coming to Gin Thursday tomorrow night? We could do it in a pub near here, maybe.’
A few hours later, my phone rang. I shot out of my coma like a (smelly) firework.
Let it be Michael let it be Michael, oh, PLEASE GOD, YOU TOTAL BASTARD, CAN YOU PLEASE DO SOMETHING DECENT AND MAKE THIS BE MICHAEL?
‘Oh, hello Dave,’ I said, disappointed, sounding deeply masculine. Sixteen days of joints and muteness had left me with a voice like Frank Butcher’s.
‘Er … Fran? Is that you?’
‘Yup. Sorry about the voice,’ I said croakily. ‘Just had a joint.’
‘Where the fuck are you, you wee skiver? What the fuck’s going on?’ Dave sounded quite concerned.
I wondered if he’d heard the vagina story. ‘Er, I’m just not too well,’ I said vaguely. I heard Dave drag at his cigarette.
‘Just tell me what the fuck’s going on,’ he said eventually.
‘Michael left me. Well, he asked for a three-month separation but, yeah, essentially he’s left me.’
There. The first time I’d said it.
Dave whistled. ‘Fuck. Seriously? Oh, Fran, that’s terrible. Are you OK? Christ, you poor thing. Is someone looking after you?’
My throat was smarting but I hadn’t the energy to cry again. ‘Dave, I can’t talk about it. I’ll come back soon. Goodbye.’ I ended the call. Talking to Dave was like talking to Dad – if I started crying I’d never stop. I hugged a sock of Michael’s that I’d found under the bed and rolled over on my front, longing for a painless death.
Chapter Eight
March 2008
Sent: Tue, 18 Mar 2008 18:30:28 GMT
From: INTERNAL TAPE LIBRARY [[email protected]]
To: O’Callaghan, Frances [[email protected]];
Subject: Change of department
Dear Frances
We notice that you have been performing the below searches on a regular basis:
SEARCH TERMS : ITN REPORTS: Michael Slater + Kosovo
SEARCH TERMS ITN REPORTS: Michael Slater + Mitrovica
SEARCH TERMS ITN REPORTS: Balkans + Michael Slater
According to the internal phone list you currently work on the Entertainment and Culture news desk. Should we change your user profile to Foreign Affairs and increase your access to the Balkans collection?
Please advise us accordingly and state which linemanager we should contact for authorization.
All best,
Steve
TAPE LIBRARY
Sent: Tue, 18 Mar 2008 18:32:47 GMT
From: O’Callaghan; Frances [[email protected]]
To: INTERNAL TAPE LIBRARY [[email protected]]
Subject: RE: Change of department
Importance: HIGH
Hi Steve
No need to contact anyone. I won’t need to look at the Kosovo archives again. My line manager is very busy so please do NOT contact her about this.
Many thanks!
Fran
Michael came home at the beginning of spring. The day when London emerges from its winter hibernation and everyone capers around excitedly in parks full of daffodils and sunshine.
I was at Gatwick and I was a
Best wishes,
Orange
On day sixteen of my post-dump incarceration, Leonie told me it was time to go back to work.
‘No chance,’ I said, appalled. ‘Are you mad? Although, while we’re on the subject, I’ve been wondering what you told ITN.’ I gnawed listlessly at a horrible polenta cake Stefania had put through my cat flap last night.
Leonie started giggling. ‘I told them you had gynaecological issues. It worked a treat.’ She added quickly, ‘They didn’t ask a thing! You could probably take six months off before they dared to probe any further.’
‘Well, thanks, Leonie. It’s always good to have your colleagues chatting in the staff kitchen about the state of your vagina.’
‘That’s the spirit, Franny! Knock ’em dead, my girl!’
I glowered at her. She held my gaze. ‘Fine, you can have the rest of the week off. But if you don’t go in on Monday I’m telling them you have a perfectly healthy minge. Perhaps you could start things off by coming to Gin Thursday tomorrow night? We could do it in a pub near here, maybe.’
A few hours later, my phone rang. I shot out of my coma like a (smelly) firework.
Let it be Michael let it be Michael, oh, PLEASE GOD, YOU TOTAL BASTARD, CAN YOU PLEASE DO SOMETHING DECENT AND MAKE THIS BE MICHAEL?
‘Oh, hello Dave,’ I said, disappointed, sounding deeply masculine. Sixteen days of joints and muteness had left me with a voice like Frank Butcher’s.
‘Er … Fran? Is that you?’
‘Yup. Sorry about the voice,’ I said croakily. ‘Just had a joint.’
‘Where the fuck are you, you wee skiver? What the fuck’s going on?’ Dave sounded quite concerned.
I wondered if he’d heard the vagina story. ‘Er, I’m just not too well,’ I said vaguely. I heard Dave drag at his cigarette.
‘Just tell me what the fuck’s going on,’ he said eventually.
‘Michael left me. Well, he asked for a three-month separation but, yeah, essentially he’s left me.’
There. The first time I’d said it.
Dave whistled. ‘Fuck. Seriously? Oh, Fran, that’s terrible. Are you OK? Christ, you poor thing. Is someone looking after you?’
My throat was smarting but I hadn’t the energy to cry again. ‘Dave, I can’t talk about it. I’ll come back soon. Goodbye.’ I ended the call. Talking to Dave was like talking to Dad – if I started crying I’d never stop. I hugged a sock of Michael’s that I’d found under the bed and rolled over on my front, longing for a painless death.
Chapter Eight
March 2008
Sent: Tue, 18 Mar 2008 18:30:28 GMT
From: INTERNAL TAPE LIBRARY [[email protected]]
To: O’Callaghan, Frances [[email protected]];
Subject: Change of department
Dear Frances
We notice that you have been performing the below searches on a regular basis:
SEARCH TERMS : ITN REPORTS: Michael Slater + Kosovo
SEARCH TERMS ITN REPORTS: Michael Slater + Mitrovica
SEARCH TERMS ITN REPORTS: Balkans + Michael Slater
According to the internal phone list you currently work on the Entertainment and Culture news desk. Should we change your user profile to Foreign Affairs and increase your access to the Balkans collection?
Please advise us accordingly and state which linemanager we should contact for authorization.
All best,
Steve
TAPE LIBRARY
Sent: Tue, 18 Mar 2008 18:32:47 GMT
From: O’Callaghan; Frances [[email protected]]
To: INTERNAL TAPE LIBRARY [[email protected]]
Subject: RE: Change of department
Importance: HIGH
Hi Steve
No need to contact anyone. I won’t need to look at the Kosovo archives again. My line manager is very busy so please do NOT contact her about this.
Many thanks!
Fran
Michael came home at the beginning of spring. The day when London emerges from its winter hibernation and everyone capers around excitedly in parks full of daffodils and sunshine.
I was at Gatwick and I was a
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