broke the silence. ‘Holy macaroni, Roars,’ she hissed across our office. ‘I am, like, absolutely busting for a waz. What the faahrk do you think they’re
arguing about this time?’
‘Just the usual, I expect,’ I said. Noonoo frowned over from her desk with a finger to her lips; clearly she too was hoping to hear something from the direction of the
lavatories.
‘Saahriously, can’t they have their stupid rows somewhere else?’ whispered Ticky furiously. ‘I am, like, this close to actually buying a chamber pot for our office. And
don’t even think I am joking.’
‘You could always get a catheter,’ I suggested helpfully.
‘Yah, thanks, Roars, can we just, like, stop talking about wee, it’s making me more desperate.’
‘So I shouldn’t mention waterfalls or gushing taps or anything?’
‘Roars, you faahrking cow,’ said Ticky, wrapping one leg over the other and squeezing them together tightly.
At last, after twenty-six minutes, the door to the ladies’ swung open and Amanda emerged. She glared around the office as if challenging anyone else to dare argue with her, but no one
would meet her stare; all eyes were fixed with unlikely dedication upon computer screens. Flickers kept his face impassive, but marked his triumph with an under-the-table air-punch of victory.
‘Come oooon, Martha,’ hissed Ticky, bouncing up and down in her seat, legs still crossed. ‘Pull yourself together and get out of there or I’m going to have to go
in.’
The door opened again, more slowly this time, and Martha emerged, her downcast eyes and slumped shoulders telling us, as if we didn’t already know, that she had been defeated once
more.
Ticky leapt out of her seat and ran to the loo, closely followed by Noonoo, who had obviously also been holding on for too long. They sped past Martha without even looking at her. In fact, out
of a combination of sympathy and fear, no one ever properly looked at Martha when she emerged from one of her bathroom battles. She had been known to snap furiously at any attempt to speak to her
after one of Amanda’s dressing-downs.
So I was pretty surprised when she stopped in the doorway to my office, raising her red-rimmed eyes from the beige office carpet. I waited for her to speak first, in case this was a trick and
she was just looking to shout at the first person who made the mistake of attempting to open a conversation. Behind her back, Flickers held out a palm to his office-mates, demanding his
winnings.
‘Rory,’ Martha said finally.
‘Hi, Martha,’ I said.
‘Rory, it turns out that I can’t make it to Seaton Hall on Monday after all,’ Martha said, pressing her lips together and pausing for a moment. ‘Amanda – Amanda
suggested that someone else can be more easily spared from the office.’
‘Oh, Martha,’ I said. I knew she’d been working on this feature on the Duke of Delaval’s restoration project for months. Even without the leverage of an aristocratic
background, she had persuaded him to allow Country House an exclusive preview of Seaton Hall before the official press day, when the usual crowd of gravy-train-boarding journalists would
troop from room to room in a recalcitrant pack.
Martha looked up at the ceiling instead of at me. ‘I specifically asked that it should be you who replaced me.’
‘That’s really kind of you, Martha,’ I began. ‘Are you sure?’ Martha jealously guarded her country house visits, and having been forced to give it up, I feared she
would be more critical of me than ever.
Martha straightened up, shaking her head a little and smoothing her black skirt, its cheap fabric shiny with age. ‘It is enough that Amanda is sure,’ she said, suddenly brisk and
efficient. ‘It’s too late to change the schedule so you’ll have to stick to the one I’ve already set up. Train Monday morning at seven-thirty, meet the photographer there.
Staying overnight at the Delaval Arms on the estate, coming back
arguing about this time?’
‘Just the usual, I expect,’ I said. Noonoo frowned over from her desk with a finger to her lips; clearly she too was hoping to hear something from the direction of the
lavatories.
‘Saahriously, can’t they have their stupid rows somewhere else?’ whispered Ticky furiously. ‘I am, like, this close to actually buying a chamber pot for our office. And
don’t even think I am joking.’
‘You could always get a catheter,’ I suggested helpfully.
‘Yah, thanks, Roars, can we just, like, stop talking about wee, it’s making me more desperate.’
‘So I shouldn’t mention waterfalls or gushing taps or anything?’
‘Roars, you faahrking cow,’ said Ticky, wrapping one leg over the other and squeezing them together tightly.
At last, after twenty-six minutes, the door to the ladies’ swung open and Amanda emerged. She glared around the office as if challenging anyone else to dare argue with her, but no one
would meet her stare; all eyes were fixed with unlikely dedication upon computer screens. Flickers kept his face impassive, but marked his triumph with an under-the-table air-punch of victory.
‘Come oooon, Martha,’ hissed Ticky, bouncing up and down in her seat, legs still crossed. ‘Pull yourself together and get out of there or I’m going to have to go
in.’
The door opened again, more slowly this time, and Martha emerged, her downcast eyes and slumped shoulders telling us, as if we didn’t already know, that she had been defeated once
more.
Ticky leapt out of her seat and ran to the loo, closely followed by Noonoo, who had obviously also been holding on for too long. They sped past Martha without even looking at her. In fact, out
of a combination of sympathy and fear, no one ever properly looked at Martha when she emerged from one of her bathroom battles. She had been known to snap furiously at any attempt to speak to her
after one of Amanda’s dressing-downs.
So I was pretty surprised when she stopped in the doorway to my office, raising her red-rimmed eyes from the beige office carpet. I waited for her to speak first, in case this was a trick and
she was just looking to shout at the first person who made the mistake of attempting to open a conversation. Behind her back, Flickers held out a palm to his office-mates, demanding his
winnings.
‘Rory,’ Martha said finally.
‘Hi, Martha,’ I said.
‘Rory, it turns out that I can’t make it to Seaton Hall on Monday after all,’ Martha said, pressing her lips together and pausing for a moment. ‘Amanda – Amanda
suggested that someone else can be more easily spared from the office.’
‘Oh, Martha,’ I said. I knew she’d been working on this feature on the Duke of Delaval’s restoration project for months. Even without the leverage of an aristocratic
background, she had persuaded him to allow Country House an exclusive preview of Seaton Hall before the official press day, when the usual crowd of gravy-train-boarding journalists would
troop from room to room in a recalcitrant pack.
Martha looked up at the ceiling instead of at me. ‘I specifically asked that it should be you who replaced me.’
‘That’s really kind of you, Martha,’ I began. ‘Are you sure?’ Martha jealously guarded her country house visits, and having been forced to give it up, I feared she
would be more critical of me than ever.
Martha straightened up, shaking her head a little and smoothing her black skirt, its cheap fabric shiny with age. ‘It is enough that Amanda is sure,’ she said, suddenly brisk and
efficient. ‘It’s too late to change the schedule so you’ll have to stick to the one I’ve already set up. Train Monday morning at seven-thirty, meet the photographer there.
Staying overnight at the Delaval Arms on the estate, coming back
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