Chapter Forty-Three #2
‘I’m going to get Jamie to walk you out, Sasha,’ Ellie said.
Walk you out, such a sweet way of saying that Sasha wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone, to go to her desk, have access to the company’s systems. Sasha nodded and stood as Ellie dialled an extension and spoke to Security.
We stood, looking at each other; for a moment I thought she was going to ask for a hug, and I was relieved when she didn’t.
Despite her apology, things had fundamentally changed between us, and if she was asking for affection from me, I wasn’t sure I could give it.
I tried to smile again, and managed it this time, because I saw her smile back in answer, as though we were doing a muted call and response. ‘All the best, Sash,’ I said.
The door opened, Sasha nodded, and went with Jamie.
When it closed behind them, Ellie gave a little huff of relief. ‘Sorry if that blindsided you,’ she said. ‘I just didn’t want to tell Katrina, when I called to get you. Didn’t want her to feel strange or for the rumour mill to get started.’
‘Nice try, but I predict everyone knows by now,’ I said, with a rueful smile. ‘And it’s good that I’m here, because I need to discuss one more thing with you.’
‘What’s that?’ she said, checking her calendar. ‘I’ve got five minutes before my next Venice-related HR issue to deal with. What on earth went down out there – no, don’t tell me. Is five minutes long enough?’
‘It is,’ I said. ‘It’s my resignation. I was going to email, but as I’m here, I may as well do it now.’ I took out my phone, opened my email, typed a few lines and pressed Send. I smiled at the aghast look on her face. ‘Do you need to call Jamie? Have me escorted out?’
It was EKArts policy for senior members of staff who resigned to go on ‘gardening leave’ the moment they handed their resignation in.
A clean break, with no access to ongoing plans or – more importantly – financial systems. Ellie postponed the meeting she’d been due to have and came with me herself, carrying a cup of coffee and watching as I put my out of office on and shut down the computer, then handed her my work phone.
The wide-eyed, mouth-open expressions of the team in the main office were something to behold.
‘Bye, guys,’ I called to them, my coat looped over my arm, thermal cup refilled with fresh coffee.
‘I’ve just resigned. It’s been great working with you all.
’ I gave them my best, brightest smile. Inclined my head towards Ellie, then walked towards the lift with her.
As I walked, I tried to take it all in, so I could keep it in my memory, this place I had spent so much time in, whiling away some of the best and worst hours of my life.
Hours when perhaps I could have been building a life – although it wasn’t worth worrying about that now.
It was both exactly like every other place I’d worked in, and also different: its own special micro-climate.
I breathed in the particular scent of the place, the lavender cleaning fluid used by cleaners in the early morning, combined with that semi-industrial office smell – carpets and ink – and the aroma of late breakfasts: croissants, breakfast sandwiches, coffee and tea.
The sound of the lift chime as it opened; the quality of the light inside, artificial and faintly jarring.
In the mirrored lift, as I chatted to Ellie, I saw the shadows beneath my eyes, looked up at the real light as I exited, this glass, faceted building, bright like a diamond but somehow not healthy, in a way.
Half artificial light, half greenhouse light, too bright, no happy medium.
I made to shake Ellie’s hand, but she embraced me, lifting her coffee cup as she looped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she said. ‘Coffee sometime?’
‘Absolutely,’ I said, ‘I’d like that.’ If we ever get time, I thought. Unlikely. I smiled at the security staff, exchanged a few words, and handed in my badge.
I suppose I could have gone for a tea somewhere, maybe taken a walk in the park, or (justifiably) gone to the pub for a celebratory (or compensatory) drink.
Instead, I went home, rattling my way on the northern line to Oval.
As I sat there, dazed, I could identify no emotions other than relief, amazement that I’d finally left EKArts, and quite a large dollop of uncertainty.
The memory of Esme’s email still stung: a bruise I couldn’t help pressing.
I’d love to think leaving would have caused a crater-like impact on the company, made her think a little, but I had the creeping feeling that it wouldn’t have mattered at all.
Right now, she was shrugging it off, nonplussed, perhaps a little perturbed, but with her eyes pinned on the future, looking for new people and new opportunities.
All of my obligations had evaporated, and the realisation was so dizzying and puzzling, that I almost missed my stop.
At Oval, I stood there on the empty mid-morning platform, putting my coat on, and thought of all the urgency of those emails, now hitting the brick wall of my out-of-office reply.
The late nights, the YouTube scripts, the spreadsheets with their ever-evolving formulae, the long meetings where, occasionally, someone would hit the table with their fist, or trade passive aggressive comments.
All of this had very suddenly departed from my life.
There was a hole where the main business of my life had been.
Wilting, I walked home from the tube, my steps becoming slower and slower.
By the time I reached home I could admit to myself that I was completely exhausted.
Opening the door, surprising Pebble in the act of sharpening her claws against the sofa arm, I took off my coat, dropped my bag, curled up on the sofa and fell asleep.
When I woke briefly, stripes of sunlight on my face from the open blinds, I found Pebble had curled into the back of my legs.