How to Get a (Love) Life by Rosie Blake

how her Christian/Ed mix might morph into a real person. ‘That’s just great.’
    ‘Yes, not too big, but you know, not … insubstantial.’
    ‘Good for him.’
    ‘So, do you like the sound of that, er, kind of build?’
    ‘Build?’ I furrowed my brow.
    ‘Yes – in a man. It might be defined as Muscular or Around Average for a man.’
    ‘I’m sure it suited him,’ I smiled. Caroline had clearly developed quite a crush on this Time Team extra.
    ‘Good. So that’s a yes,’ she said, suddenly tapping something out on her keyboard.
    ‘Er … what’s a yes?’ I asked.
    She paused. ‘That you like average, muscular sort of men.’
    ‘Right,’ I repeated, narrowing my eyes.
    Caroline nodded happily and went back to her work.
    Later, as I ate Monday’s snack of choice: uniform sticks of celery with a bottle of Goji Juice health drink, Caroline suddenly piped up.
    ‘Eyes.’
    She’d been so unusually quiet in the past hour that I’d practically forgotten she was there.
    ‘Hmm?’ I looked up.
    ‘Eyes. Are you bothered?’ she asked, finger hovering above her keyboard.
    ‘Bothered by eyes ? What?’
    ‘Do you like men’s eyes?’
    ‘Well, I usually prefer men to have eyes, Caroline, but I still don’t really get why you’re asking …’
    ‘Oh, sorry, I just mean do you care what colour people’s eyes are, um, usually. Like, in general.’
    ‘No, Caroline,’ I exhaled slowly. ‘I am a fan of all eye colours. They are all equal in my book. I don’t dislike one type of eye. I am not eyeist.’
    ‘So people can have any colour eyes, in your book?’ she added.
    ‘Yes, they can go mad and buy coloured contacts for all I care. It’s a free country, after all.’ I shook my head. Caroline was quirky, but she’d really been excelling herself in the last few hours.
    ‘Right. Good. So you don’t mind people having any coloured eyes … and that includes men, does it?’
    ‘Yes, women, men, children. Are you regularly in contact with people who have issues with eye colour?’ I asked in an exasperated tone.
    ‘No, no, no,’ she said breezily, tapping at her keyboard. ‘I’m just curious. I prefer blue myself, but I just wanted to see what, you know, other people liked.’
    ‘Right,’ I said, distracted by the ringing of the telephone. I answered with the usual patter. ‘The Sullivan Agency, Nicola speaking.’ Moments later I was rifling through my out tray for a contract that should have been signed first thing that morning. I gulped and jumped up. James was, thank goodness, in the vicinity so all I needed to do was ensure he signed it and then I could courier it over. How had I forgotten this? I scolded myself. I’d allowed all this personal commotion to distract me from my work.
    I knocked timidly on the door to James’ office and waited. He was probably doing something horribly important and I hated rushing in and imposing administrative duties on him. I could hear him talking on the other side of the door. He didn’t have a meeting so I assumed he must be on the telephone. I looked at the contract in my hand. I had to have it signed and sent out in the next half an hour. There was just no time to wait. I took a breath and knocked again a little louder. I heard a quick, ‘Come in’, and pushed open the door. James was pacing up and down the room, talking into a blue vase that he had looped around his neck with some kind of frayed ribbon. My brow creased in panic. He was saying things like, ‘Well just order something in suede then’ and ‘Peter Jones is a great idea’ into the vase. I hesitated. What was happening? Why was my boss speaking rapidly into a piece of handblown glass that was precariously balanced around his neck? I knew he was stressed and busy but had he finally tipped over the edge? Should I run for help? Maybe I should get Caroline, at least? Oh God. Caroline is useless in a crisis. There was nothing in the office guidelines to cover a moment like this. I knew