Chapter 4 Leave the misfortune. Take the cheesecake
Leave the misfortune. Take the cheesecake
When you are unlucky, you learn not to tempt fate. You do not say things like ‘Oh, it’s been a minute since my phone was stolen from me’ or ‘I’ve never had a nosebleed’. Statements like this invite a challenge, which is why I tend to keep my opinions to myself.
‘We are out of oat milk. Would you like almond?’
Typical.
‘Can I have normal?’
‘That will be ￡5.65,’ says the cashier at the coffee shop.
Bloody hell, for a coffee? Central London, eh?
My phone struggles to pick up a signal in this cafe, on the ground floor of a high-rise building a couple of minutes from work.
The reviews look great, and all the bakery goods are separated with glass containers.
I click my tongue when my phone refuses to pay and pull out my wallet like a loser.
But a card flashes before me and taps on the contactless icon.
‘You love that move, huh?’ I ask instead of saying thank you to Toby.
‘Morning, Fuko.’ He smiles.
After ordering an almond croissant and a double Americano, Toby gestures out the door, and I try to walk away from him as he bites into his deadly pastry.
‘So...’ he says, stretching the o to its limit. ‘About the club.’
‘It’s honestly fine. We don’t have to talk about it.’
I really would prefer we didn’t.
‘I really don’t know how to express how sorry I am.’
He is wearing a simple work shirt and a casual blazer.
Not a hint of bold fashion taste, which Sashka and Leon informed me was an authentic Versace.
Shows how little I know about the capital L luxury world.
His hair is cut short, blond in the fluorescent lights of the office, but now in the sun, some ginger red is coming through.
If you look closely, there are some freckles around his nose. It’s a nice nose.
‘It’s honestly fine. We really don’t have to talk about it,’ I say again.
We enter the building that is saved as my work address on my map app.
A pine fresh scented cleaner fills my nose.
The floor-to-ceiling windows let me see the quarter-zips and chinos that I used to make fun of but that now welcome me in a tight corporate embrace.
The skyscrapers reflect the early morning sun, stacking on top of each other forming a ladder.
A career ladder up which I’m about to take my first step.
I want to take it in, feel like, despite my luck, I will not be a bum to society any longer.
This is just the beginning.
‘I just really wouldn’t have rubbed myself all over you if I’d known it was you,’ Toby whispers in my ear sincerely and apologetically.
The moment is gone. I go to the reception and ask for my ID badge. They check the name and ask me a couple of security questions. I try not to glare at Toby Lewis, but him jumping out of my way suggests that maybe my face betrayed me.
As I tap my ID card on the lift, a little giddy excitement squeaks in my throat from having my face and name be used on a tool that opens the metal carriage’s doors. Toby gingerly walks in and presses the Close button.
‘Alexandra seems nice.’ He shrugs his shoulders like a schoolboy.
Alexandra? Only her parents call her that.
I look at him. His brow is quizzically raised. I guess we are talking about it.
‘Yeah, she really is,’ I agree and then realise something that my drunken/high mind never thought about. ‘Were you at the club by yourself?’
‘No, I was with a friend, but she saw someone she fancies and left me alone.’
The blonde girl that left with the man with the cleanest of fades, perhaps. Was Toby there looking to hook up as well?
My mind flashes how his hands felt on my hips. His cologne is filling the lift. A slight shiver runs down my spine when I hear him open his mouth to ask a question.
‘Would it be weird if I asked her for a coffee?’
Me? My eyes round in complete surprise.
Oh, he is talking about Sashka.
Woah. What are you thinking, Fuko? That was weird.
Sashka and Toby. She asked me to feel him out.
I collect myself for a moment before giving him my answer. ‘No, I don’t think so. But like... can I be frank?’
‘Of course, but I think Fuko suits you more.’
The amusement is intertwined with annoyance at myself for finding it funny, but my genuine need to convey my thoughts to him overrides both.
‘Please don’t be a wanker with her. She deserves the best after everything that happened to her.
Even if it’s the first date and you are not feeling it, just be normal about it.
But if you are feeling it—be clear. Just...
’ I take a deep breath. ‘Please, please, please, don’t be a dick. ’
The doors open, and I step out. Toby is deep in thought, dragging behind me.
I don’t know what he could possibly be thinking, but he looks as if he is really considering everything, from Plato to Sunday Times crosswords, on whether it is possible for him not to be a massive penis regarding my best friend. ‘All right, I’ll ask her for Saturday.’
‘Attaboy.’
I walk out of the lift too quickly.
‘Fukoh, hi.’ A hand appears in front of mine to shake it. It’s attached to a bald man with thick-framed glasses. A flannel is sticking out from his jumper in a dishevelled manner that might be an attempt at looking effortless. ‘I’m Steven. We’ve met.’
‘Oh yeah, I was there when we did.’ I shake it back.
Toby chuckles and walks away to the nearest empty desk; Steven tilts his head in confusion.
He then leads me on a tour of the office.
Adzo is the only one on this floor with her own private section; everyone else seems to do hot-desking.
Steven introduces names in quick succession that I will not remember and will have to reintroduce myself to later.
But everyone seems nice; bright smiles shine through the nerves of the first day.
A couple of ‘you will do greats’ and ‘let me know if you need anythings’.
There is more to SIMPO than digital marketing. They have a very strong IT team, PR and crisis teams, a traditional advertising division, and a rights team. All very exciting and foreign to me, but I am preparing myself mentally to ask many clueless questions over the next couple of months.
IT has given me my work laptop, work phone, and some documents to sign that roughly sum up to ‘please do not steal from us by the end of your contract’.
Steven speaks in an extremely animated voice, mentioning his previous work on multiple occasions, even if it was a stretch to turn the conversation to his lane.
Like when a woman from HR was talking about the compulsory training that all new starters must complete, Steven told us about how the optometrist campaign was now on the curriculum at some university that begins with the letter K that I immediately forget the name of.
Interesting character, he is. Talks a lot about money. And not only his own.
‘Julie spends her winter holidays in the Alps, about ￡2000 a person.’
But overall, really knowledgeable about his stuff.
‘The kitchen is here. Seana usually makes some desserts. I believe Seana got a 5 percent raise three months ago,’ Steven continues.
He points out the window to where the fire assembly point is. ‘By the pub, so feel free to grab a pint if there is a fire. I will not stop you if I can’t see you. That reminds me of when I worked at...’
The tour was finished, but we stand by the window for the next ten minutes as Steven reminisces about the dawn of marketing as an industry, talking about neither the pub nor the fire. For a man that talks about ‘wasting no time’ on LinkedIn, he’s the biggest time-waster I’ve ever met.
When I am finally free, I plop my stuff on the desk next to Toby with a heavy sigh.
‘Steven?’ His lip twitches into a grin.
‘Steven.’ I nod.
Not a bad man but can talk your ear off.
‘How’s the office?’
‘I like it.’ I plug all of my equipment into the sockets under the table. ‘It is a bit of a maze.’
‘Tell me about it. Once a worm told me to come inside and meet the missus.’
Labyrinth. I laugh. There is a lot of British culture I do not know or missed out on due to living in Japan (who is Tracy Beaker, why is she crying?), but Mum loved Bowie and I love films. So we have seen Labyrinth, despite all the horrible nightmares.
‘Maybe I should’ve gone the other way, straight to the castle instead of this minimally paid job.’
Toby Lewis looks up at me in slight surprise but quickly flashes a proud smile. ‘Ay, nice one.’
He checks his watch, wiggles his mouse, and turns back to me. ‘Are you ready for your tour of the office?’
I look up, as if to check whether there are hidden cameras. ‘I literally just had one.’
‘Nah, you had Steven show you around. I’m going to give you a proper one. Leave your stuff, grab your badge.’
He takes me around the computers, pointing out which ones are okay to use, and which have, and I quote, ‘weirdly sticky keyboards’. I shudder at the thought.
‘Does that mean you touched every single one of them to make a list?’
‘I wish I could say no.’ He pouts. ‘But yes. That was the task I set out for myself one afternoon. A good rule of thumb is to avoid the design team’s desks. They are under so much stress that I think they have energy drinks seeping out of their pores,’ he whispers.
I drop a glance behind us and see a team of six hunched over their laptops. It’s uncertain whether they have ever left this building.
‘So, what about those screens in the corner?’
‘Broken.’
‘What about calling facilities management to fix th—’
‘Do. Not. Ever. Call. FM.’ He squeezes my shoulders and gives me a small shake with every word. His tone isn’t playful; his eyes are filled with genuine fear and dread.
‘Okay. I won’t.’
‘Good. It might just save you.’ He lets go of me and leads me to the printers.
‘This one doesn’t work.’ He points to the one on the right. ‘But we are too scared—’
‘To call FM?’
‘Exactly, so we use that one.’ He grabs my hand and pushes it down on a scanner, closing the lid on it. ‘You press this button, wait a second, and voila! Perfect copy of your hand.’ The piece of paper shoots out and flies across the corridor. ‘Huh, it’s never done that before.’
Something tells me that the printers and I are going to be at constant war. Toby continues his version of important information about our surroundings. He leads me down the stairwell into a little closet that has a No Entry sign.
‘Uh,’ I hesitate.
‘What?’
‘It says not to enter.’
‘So?’
‘Well. There’s probably a reason for that.’
‘Yeah?’ He leans on the door, a perfectly symmetrical smile appearing on his face, arms crossed over his chest. ‘Give me your best theory for that reason.’
My tongue clicks against the roof of my mouth. ‘It’s, uh...’—I rack my brain—‘where FM people keep their... people.’
‘People?’
‘Yes. There are cryogenic chambers for all the members.’
‘It’s just the one guy, actually.’
‘That’s what they want you to believe. They are all clones.’ I nod, convinced of my own theory.
Toby laughs and covers his mouth, as if surprised by his own reaction. A lock of his hair drops into his eyes. He brushes it away, not noticing that I am staring at him.
Why the hell am I staring at him?
‘All right, open sesame.’ Toby pulls on the door and lets me in.
It’s a room akin to a closet, but a massage chair occupies the middle of it, an open box of tissues on the floor beside it.
The walls are lined with shelves filled with printing paper, loo rolls, tea bags and instant coffee.
A tower of first aid kits teeters against one wall.
Toby notices my confusion and explains, ‘Those are out of date.’
‘So they just keep the old ones here? Can first aid kits expire?’
‘They do, but I reckon they’d still be good to use if you were waiting for an ambulance. But I’ve never seen an ambulance here. This place is so tedious sometimes that I really would like some action.’
‘How did you even find this place?’ Is that a fax machine in the corner?
‘I like to wander. Want to try this bad boy?’ He rubs the leather of the chair.
‘Absolutely not. I do not like the proximity of the tissues to the seating. Someone definitely sat on it with their naked buttocks.’
‘Ew. Why would you say that?’ He pulls his hands away and wipes them on his trousers, too worried to use the tissues.
I giggle and walk out, opening the doors back to the office with the lanyard. He grumbles and leads me to the kitchen. There is good coffee that someone hides in a brown sauce bottle, and Toby likes to steal it. On the counter, there is a round tin with a ‘help yourself’ note.
‘Oh, yes, baby,’ he whispers to the tin too intimately, making me feel as if I’m intruding on something. ‘Let’s see.’
The lid pops, revealing a single remaining square of cheesecake. ‘Last one’s on me.’ He gestures towards our laptops and waits for me to sit down properly. ‘Seana made it, so you know it’s good. I hope you’re ready to get your mind blown.’
‘Seana... The one with the 5 percent salary increase?’
‘Ugh, Steven.’ He tuts and shakes his head.
‘Thanks.’
I did miss breakfast, so I bite straight in. Seana has money, and her hands are made of gold. God, is she married? Because I am ready to go down on one knee. It is the best cheesecake I’ve ever had. The biscuit base is crunchy and sweet.
Huh, why is it so crunchy?
‘How is it?’ Toby leans on the desk, waiting for my response.
‘I feel like it will make at least one of your wishes come true,’ I say, reaching for my bag and throwing its embarrassing contents on the ground in a frenzy.
‘Huh?’
‘You know how you wanted some action? Can you call 999 for me?’ I smile, stabbing myself in the leg with an EpiPen, as I feel my airways closing up. ‘I’m going to bet she used that 5 percent to buy almonds.’
I don’t know what’s more embarrassing, having an allergic reaction on your first day and being carried away in a stretcher, or getting a message from your best friend hours later, telling you that her date for this weekend has collected your extra absorbent period pad and extra pair of socks from the office floor and will return them next time you’re in.
Either way, a terrible first impression, Fuko.