waiting,' I say automatically. 'I have to go.'
'Who is it?' She just had to ask, didn’t she?
'Some guy. You don’t know him. He…works at the local paper.' Inspiration! 'I’m putting in a lonely hearts advert. You know, ‘social leper with mother issues seeks similar’. I’m considering writing a book on how not to find the man of your dreams. Must go. Bye.'
I cut her off. I’ve never done that before. It’s strangely liberating.
No time to appreciate it though. Have to call Will.
I hit speed-dial. It’s a great invention.
'Knightley.'
'Will?'
'This isn’t the greatest time, Mel.'
Oh no. She’s there. He’s doing it now.
Now I’ve lost it. Who proposes in an office, for goodness sake?
'I just have one really quick question.'
'Okay?'
'Are you planning to propose to Natalie?'
Silence. Then Will mutters something. I can’t make it out properly, but it sounds like ‘Not you too.’.
'Who told you that?' he asks.
'Brittany,' I say.
'No doubt she heard it from my mother,' Will says. He sounds irritated.
'Yes.'
Will sighs. 'Mel, my parents are just trying to dictate my life. No need to panic.'
'I wasn’t panicking,' I say quickly. 'I just wanted to stay up to date with the situation.'
I can hear Will smiling.
'If it changes, you’ll be the first to know,' he says. 'After her, obviously. Is that okay? Because I’m swamped with work today.'
'That’s okay. See you later.'
'Bye.'
I hang up. Then I breathe a sigh of relief. He’s safe.
Although, after her? Is it incredibly selfish and unreasonable of me to want to be first?
Yes, it is.
Is being selfish and unreasonable such a bad thing?
'Melanie?' An only vaguely familiar voice breaks into my somewhat incoherent thought patterns. I snap back to reality and look around. There’s no one there.
'Melanie?'
The world goes cold. It’s finally happened. I’ve gone mad.
'Melanie?'
Oh no, I haven’t. It’s Cynthia.
Hold on a minute, Cynthia never talks to me.
'What?' I ask. What’s happened? Has the building caught fire or something?
'I was wondering,' Cynthia says quietly. Even her voice is beige-coloured, 'how you would feel about taking time off work tomorrow?'
Strangely enough, I feel pretty good about it.
'For what?' I say, my attention now firmly caught.
'I’m afraid my mother passed away at the weekend,' she says, eyes down. 'The funeral is tomorrow and I was wondering if you would come with me?'
I don’t know what to say. Random thoughts are floating in my brain. Cynthia has a mother? Cynthia’s mother died and she still came to work? Cynthia’s asking me to be her support when we’ve barely exchanged two words in all the time I’ve been here?
Cynthia’s getting me out of half a day’s work?
'Okay,' I say, that last thought at the top of the pile. 'Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.'
I can’t believe she’s so calm. If it was my mum…
I suddenly feel a little better about Saturday.
**
I almost regret agreeing to go when I realise that it means going to ask Martin for permission. Time off versus avoid Martin. It’s a very hard one to call.
I trail up to Martin’s office anyway. I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t worn my knee-high boots. I’ll probably have to sit – or, worse still, stand - through an hour-long lecture on the importance of practical footwear before I can even ask.
Outside the door I take a deep breath, steel myself and knock.
'Enter.'
I go in. Then I stop and stare. It’s straight out of The Brittas Empire . I used to love that show. He’s even got one of those name bars that are shaped like Toblerones. 'Martin Marcus Murchison: Manager’ it says.
It’s moments like this that make you really appreciate being dumped.
'Ah, Melanie,' he says, leaning forward and resting his clasped hands on the desk. 'What can I do you
'Who is it?' She just had to ask, didn’t she?
'Some guy. You don’t know him. He…works at the local paper.' Inspiration! 'I’m putting in a lonely hearts advert. You know, ‘social leper with mother issues seeks similar’. I’m considering writing a book on how not to find the man of your dreams. Must go. Bye.'
I cut her off. I’ve never done that before. It’s strangely liberating.
No time to appreciate it though. Have to call Will.
I hit speed-dial. It’s a great invention.
'Knightley.'
'Will?'
'This isn’t the greatest time, Mel.'
Oh no. She’s there. He’s doing it now.
Now I’ve lost it. Who proposes in an office, for goodness sake?
'I just have one really quick question.'
'Okay?'
'Are you planning to propose to Natalie?'
Silence. Then Will mutters something. I can’t make it out properly, but it sounds like ‘Not you too.’.
'Who told you that?' he asks.
'Brittany,' I say.
'No doubt she heard it from my mother,' Will says. He sounds irritated.
'Yes.'
Will sighs. 'Mel, my parents are just trying to dictate my life. No need to panic.'
'I wasn’t panicking,' I say quickly. 'I just wanted to stay up to date with the situation.'
I can hear Will smiling.
'If it changes, you’ll be the first to know,' he says. 'After her, obviously. Is that okay? Because I’m swamped with work today.'
'That’s okay. See you later.'
'Bye.'
I hang up. Then I breathe a sigh of relief. He’s safe.
Although, after her? Is it incredibly selfish and unreasonable of me to want to be first?
Yes, it is.
Is being selfish and unreasonable such a bad thing?
'Melanie?' An only vaguely familiar voice breaks into my somewhat incoherent thought patterns. I snap back to reality and look around. There’s no one there.
'Melanie?'
The world goes cold. It’s finally happened. I’ve gone mad.
'Melanie?'
Oh no, I haven’t. It’s Cynthia.
Hold on a minute, Cynthia never talks to me.
'What?' I ask. What’s happened? Has the building caught fire or something?
'I was wondering,' Cynthia says quietly. Even her voice is beige-coloured, 'how you would feel about taking time off work tomorrow?'
Strangely enough, I feel pretty good about it.
'For what?' I say, my attention now firmly caught.
'I’m afraid my mother passed away at the weekend,' she says, eyes down. 'The funeral is tomorrow and I was wondering if you would come with me?'
I don’t know what to say. Random thoughts are floating in my brain. Cynthia has a mother? Cynthia’s mother died and she still came to work? Cynthia’s asking me to be her support when we’ve barely exchanged two words in all the time I’ve been here?
Cynthia’s getting me out of half a day’s work?
'Okay,' I say, that last thought at the top of the pile. 'Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.'
I can’t believe she’s so calm. If it was my mum…
I suddenly feel a little better about Saturday.
**
I almost regret agreeing to go when I realise that it means going to ask Martin for permission. Time off versus avoid Martin. It’s a very hard one to call.
I trail up to Martin’s office anyway. I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t worn my knee-high boots. I’ll probably have to sit – or, worse still, stand - through an hour-long lecture on the importance of practical footwear before I can even ask.
Outside the door I take a deep breath, steel myself and knock.
'Enter.'
I go in. Then I stop and stare. It’s straight out of The Brittas Empire . I used to love that show. He’s even got one of those name bars that are shaped like Toblerones. 'Martin Marcus Murchison: Manager’ it says.
It’s moments like this that make you really appreciate being dumped.
'Ah, Melanie,' he says, leaning forward and resting his clasped hands on the desk. 'What can I do you
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