Chapter 12
As the emails from Jimmy ping through, I dump my head on my desk and wonder, not for the first time, why I chose to run up over thirty grand’s worth of debt studying languages.
It was something to do with understanding the rich culture of others and communicating with the world.
It was nothing to do with trying to chat up influencers to do sponsored live-streams.
‘Zo?’ Nicole tries.
‘Hmm,’ I say into the desk.
‘How’s it going?’
‘It’s not,’ I mumble as I raise my head. ‘Why doesn’t everyone agree to speak the same language?’
‘Because then we’d be out of a job. Also, being trilingual is the most impressive thing about me.’ Nicole picks up her desk plaque (English, French, Japanese) and smirks.
‘No, it’s not. Your legs are the most impressive thing about you.’
‘You want to run your potential podcast ideas by me?’
‘I don’t have any ideas. You know why? Because all the best ideas are already taken. I can’t believe Jimmy thinks it’s this easy to make and grow a series from scratch.’
‘You don’t have time for this. Doesn’t he realise we’ve got a massive campaign coming up?’
I push myself away from my desk and stretch my arms above my head. Apart from walking to the staffroom fridge and back at lunchtime, this is the most I’ve moved since I got in at eight this morning. ‘Why do we work here?’
‘I work here because I can’t be bothered to get another job. I don’t know what you’re doing. I can hear the cricks in your neck from here,’ she says with concern. ‘You’re young, why are you so creaky?’
‘Sleep deprivation can affect the development of your bone cells and marrow.’ The word marrow suggests a spongy yellow substance, which makes me feel nauseous.
‘You’re still not sleeping?’ Nicole asks.
‘I sleep perfectly well between the hours of one a.m. and five a.m.’
‘Cut the caffeine, hon.’ She nods at the empty Coke can on my desk.
‘You’re right. I’m going to switch to drinking camomile tea. In fact, I’m going to make one right now.’
‘Good for you,’ Nicole says as she returns to typing.
As I walk towards the staffroom, I check the messages on my phone and see I’ve been added to a group chat called ‘Running for Kasie’. The icon for the group is a photo of Kasie I’ve never seen before. In it she’s dressed up in a rich-blue dress and has her full-force cheesy smile on.
Like me, Kasie had one close-in-age brother, though the Okoro siblings were different in that they had a warm and fully functioning relationship with each other.
Alex had entered the marathon ballot twice before, once with no luck and the second time he had to pull out as it clashed with the due date of his first baby.
He always said he was going to try again.
While it’s great he’s finding a focus for his energy, the messages in the group are jarring.
The sickly-sweet encouragement, the repetition of words such as inspirational, proud and honour.
The staffroom is empty. I grab a mug from the cupboard then search for teabags, though the constant buzzing in my pocket is distracting.
Before managing to hit silent I catch sight of the notification: twelve new messages, then sixteen, then twenty-four, the group swelling with platitudes and love from everyone.
Then there’s me, standing alone, saying nothing.
I click away from the group and compose:
Me: Remember when we watched the tail end of the London Marathon from outside that pub in Tooley Street? How amazed we were seeing all those people hobbling towards the finish line with broken toes. We ate burgers and promised to donate later. I don’t think I did. I know you would have.
Kasie: Undelivered.
‘Zo? Are you in here?’ Nicole’s voice is outside the cubicle. I didn’t think I’d been sitting in here for long enough that she’d come and look for me. I open the door and head towards the sink, shocked by my smudgy reflection. ‘I’m fine.’
She squares up to me.
‘I’m fine,’ I try again. It’s no good. I can’t muster the energy to put on a front. ‘I’ve been added to a group chat I don’t want to be in.’
‘I hate when that happens. I got added to my daughter’s school summer fair group and now I’m doing an online course in balloon animals.’
It softens me and I try to smile at her. I bring up the group and hand my phone over. Nicole’s eyes go back and forth over the screen.
‘I can’t leave this group, can I?’
She blows her fringe up. ‘I wouldn’t. Have you sent anything yet?’
‘I don’t know what to say. I feel like everyone is waiting for me to say something.’
Nicole goes into a stall, pulls off some loo roll and shoves it at me. ‘Should I write something for you?’
‘Please.’
She types quickly then flips the screen my way.
Me: So great you’re doing this. With you every step of the way. x Zoe
‘Thank you.’
‘What are you doing tonight?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What are you eating? Do you have dinner?’
‘I have Ready Brek,’ I say.
Nicole steps forward and hugs me. ‘You pitiful young woman, come home with me. Let me care for you.’
I pull away because I don’t want her to feel sorry for me, I don’t want to be a burden. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re not fine. You’re a mess.’ She steps back and stares. ‘For fuck’s sake, you lost your best friend. You’re allowed to fall to pieces.’ At this, Nicole momentarily breaks, her eyes well and she goes to get more tissue. ‘You’re setting me off too.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Now we’re both doing that thing of being women crying in the toilets at work.
Nicole turns to the mirror and wipes under her eyes.
‘I wear too much eye make-up to weep like this,’ she jokes.
‘Zoe, I think today you need to go with this and be sad, and tomorrow you can go back to pretending you have everything under control.’
And through my tears, I say, ‘Sounds like a plan.’
Nicole’s house is small, colourful and chaotic. Every space is filled with piles of washing, toys and random paraphernalia. The fridge flutters with papers and a big wooden dining table is stacked with recipe books, homework and drying lumps of clay, which is explained to me as Tia’s ‘artwork’.
Nicole sweeps clear some space and gestures for me to sit. ‘It’s a tip, I know. It’s the kids. No, it’s me. My place has always looked like this.’
We eat pasta bake with the children, who have sprouted into tall, moody preteens since the last time I saw them.
When they disappear off to play on their devices, Nicole gets the wine out and fills me a glass, almost to the brim.
We chat around lots of topics, keeping it light, then it comes, as I knew it would, to Nicole’s monthly lecture.
‘You can leave. You’re not obligated to stay working at Chat forever. ’
‘I’m not as career focused as I once was and the idea of going for job interviews right now doesn’t make me happy.’
‘I can see you’re not enjoying your work.’
The casserole dish is crusted with burnt cheese, which I pick off and eat.
‘I love my work,’ I say quickly, because despite the long hours and often insane workload, I do mostly enjoy what I do at Chat.
‘At least, I used to love it, I think. It’s more that, now, I’m not quite feeling it in the same way.
It’s all the social media stuff, it can get a bit—’
‘Dull, I know, I do it too.’
‘I don’t know why I don’t enjoy it anymore. There seem to be a lot of things I don’t feel excited about in general.’ The admission slips out before I catch it.
‘You tell me not to worry about you,’ Nicole says, ‘yet—’
‘I shouldn’t have said that. It sounds worse than it is. I promise I’m okay. A bit flat, that’s all.’
‘What about travelling?’ Nicole rises from the table to fold washing. ‘Once you have kids you can’t travel in the same way. You can still go to Cyprus for seven days all inclusive, but you won’t be going to Tokyo and getting the bullet train to Kyoto.’
‘That’s a wildly specific example. And I’m sure your children would love Japan; it has some of the fastest internet speeds in the world. You should go.’
Nicole pairs up football socks with a snort. ‘Sure, the next time it’s my turn to prune the money tree.’
My face heats. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’
‘No, I’m being a bore. I don’t want to do this obvious single mum thing where I voice loads of regrets, though I do wish I would have done more stuff before. You –’ she nods my way – ‘have so much freedom.’
‘Doesn’t mean I need to be travelling the world or climbing the career ladder. I should also have the freedom to do nothing.’
Nicole stops to inspect a stain on a shirt. ‘Bullshit.’
‘Why is there all this pressure? I feel like there’s a tick sheet somewhere I’m not privy to. Everyone’s always asking me what I’m doing next.’
‘People want to see you happy.’
‘I am happy,’ I complain. ‘Happy living my life. Like this. Out on a Friday night. Drinking pinot noir with you.’ I pull a giant avocado plushie onto my lap.
‘Zo, if it wasn’t for my two beautiful bundles of joy, I would not be stuck here, at home on a Friday night, drinking this piss with you.’
‘Hey,’ I protest.
‘No offence.’ She swipes the casserole dish from in front of me and wedges it into the packed dishwasher.
I’ve not looked at my phone all evening yet now I take it out I see there are over 200 messages in the marathon group.
‘Stop reading them,’ Nicole says as she pulls a frozen cheesecake from the freezer and chucks it, along with two forks, onto the table.
‘They’ve already raised over seven thousand pounds.’
So much money in such a short space of time. It’s shameful that I reacted so negatively to it.
‘Send me the link to the fundraising page.’
‘You didn’t even know Kasie.’
‘So? I know you and you’ve got great taste in friends. Now, give me a minute, I’m going to check my children aren’t being groomed online.’
Once Nicole leaves the room I read several messages from Cian.
Cian: Your parents’ YouTube channel is my new favourite thing.
Cian: You got name checked. You’re famous! Hang on. Eric, Eartha, Emilio. Is Zoe your real name?
Me: Apparently there aren’t any nice girl names that begin with E.
Nicole stops in the doorway. ‘What’s funny? Not the marathon group?’
‘It’s Cian.’
‘Who?’ She refills her wine.
‘Cian. From work.’
‘You’re messaging with Cian.’ She dips down to slurp from her overfilled glass then snaps up. ‘Why?’
‘We hang out,’ I say, slightly confused at her reaction.
‘Since when? He didn’t tell me you hang out.’
Wait. What? ‘Why would he have told you anything? How well do you know him?’
She takes her time opening the cheesecake box, then sticking her fork in.
‘Nicole?’
‘Yes?’ She shoves some cheesecake into her mouth.
A small part of me feels guilty for how I am when I’m with Cian, like where do I get off being happy and not wanting the time to go by too quickly? Perhaps that’s why I feel uncomfortable with Nicole knowing about our bubble.
She takes another forkful and eyes me with suspicion. ‘Are you aware he was meant to get married?’
‘No. He proposed, and she said no. Not that it matters. Because we’re just friends.’ I tuck my arms tightly around the plushie.
‘He was devastated,’ Nicole says, this time really staring at me. ‘Him and Vic were together forever.’
‘Vic? How do you know her name?’
‘Because I met her. She came for drinks once. She destroyed him when they broke up.’
I sit back in the chair and try to process this.
Vic, the woman who didn’t want Cian, the woman who destroyed him.
I’ve tried not to think of Cian in the aftermath of his breakup.
I don’t want to think of it. It’s bad enough knowing he was in a relationship with someone he loved so much he wanted to marry her.
It’s crazy how jealous I am of her. And now I know her name and that she went out drinking with Cian and his work friends, it makes it worse.
‘You fancy him, don’t you?’
‘Fancy.’ My voice comes out high. ‘Where did you get that word from?’
‘The olden days,’ she fires back. ‘You do, don’t you?’
‘Does it matter? My life is on pause. And his whole adult life he’s been someone’s other half and then he’s single for the first time and has this accident. He’s not on the market for a girlfriend. He just wants to sleep around.’
‘With you?’ she says. ‘Cause I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You do work together.’
‘No, not with me. He wants to sleep with other women, as soon as he can walk again.’ I hate that this is the truth. ‘So, while yes, we have fun together and he’s—’
‘Attractive?’ she offers. ‘If you’re into that loud, tall, big nerd type.’ Nicole throws her head back and crows. ‘Why didn’t I think of this before? He’s one hundred per cent your type.’
‘I don’t have a type,’ I bark back, offended. ‘Do you think Tia will let me keep this plushie? I’ve grown very attached.’
‘You do have a type.’ Nicole reaches over and pulls the plushie away. ‘Even Ikenna, with all his suaveness and designer suits, still looks like the sort of guy who likes trains.’
‘He likes planes,’ I admit. ‘Both of his parents worked at Gatwick Airport. Anyway, it doesn’t matter if I . . .’
‘Fancy,’ she fills in. ‘Fancy Cian.’
‘Yes, fancy Cian. It doesn’t matter. We’ll only ever be friends. For so many reasons.’ Reasons, yes, I love reasons to not be with someone.
‘I agree, admire from afar. Don’t let it be any more than that. Don’t get me wrong, I love Cian, but a decade is a long time. You’re too good to be someone’s rebound.’