Chapter 9 Tricky tricky FM tricky
Tricky tricky FM tricky
‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,’ Fawzia keeps repeating.
‘It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine,’ the two of us say back.
The girl who was on holiday in the Bahamas quit her job to marry a digital nomad she met three weeks ago and become a reiki therapist. Fawzia is so busy with press releases that she doesn’t have time to fill this role.
So Toby and I are sitting together over a lunch break, making job ads for the position, and going through HR to get the job description and pay grade.
‘Welcome to internships. You never know what your next job is going to be. Recruitment today, bin woman tomorrow,’ Toby says with a slightly cheeky tone.
He is being normal today, not overly flirtatious. I’ve heard from Sashka that the date on Saturday went well. I was probably imagining things last week. Work was stressful and new; my period was coming; Saturn was returning; blah-blah, honya-rara.
My phone is on the desk in front of me, with a silent amulet attached. Since getting this job, I haven’t heard the bell ring. I don’t fully believe in it... but I don’t not believe in it, which is why I insist Toby check over everything twice. Then, I ask him to press the Send button.
‘Fuko, you will have to be a brave girl one of these days and send things yourself.’
‘I know, and that will happen. I just don’t want things to go wrong right now,’ I say, remembering the faux pas with the POs.
And because I want Fawzia to be impressed by me. Her being impressed might secure me this job, so I can’t let my bad luck ruin this right now. Later, fine—but not right now that my brain is steaming at all the different forms and requirements.
‘How would my pressing the buttons impact the outcome?’
‘Because you have better luck.’
‘Right, and you have?’
‘Small misfortune. Unless the bell rings.’ I point at my phone.
The comment startles Toby so much that he pushes my laptop away from me, his laptop away from him, and leans towards me, as much as is socially acceptable. ‘What could you possibly mean by that?’
He is getting bored and needs something to do. Recruitment is so tedious that even I, in desperate need of a win, bite on the bait to take a break. ‘I have small misfortune. Unless the bell rings.’
‘Pardon, sorry, can you repeat that again? Because I think I just heard you be... insane?’
‘All people have inherent fortunes. I have always had small misfortune.’
‘I need more. You are scraping the surface. Please proceed.’ He reaches out to my elbow and pulls me to face him.
I sigh; he looks eager and annoying.
‘Bad and good things happen to everyone, but there are patterns that help me recognise if someone has big luck, small luck, small misfortune, or big misfortune. I have small misfortune, as I’ve said three times now, which is why I keep socks in my bag, because even if it’s sunny, rain will get to me.
One time, a crate of water bottles fell off a truck and completely flooded my shoes. ’
‘Right.’ He thinks it over, assessing whether he is satisfied with the answer. ‘And the bell?’
‘Is a gift from a monk. It rang before I got this job.’
‘And never again?’
‘Nope.’
‘And you think I’m lucky?’
‘Yup, I just don’t know if it’s big or small luck.’
‘Wow, what is your reasoning? Did you guys see my mum’s socials?’
We did. ‘I don’t know what you mean. But snatching the last slice of cheesecake, hopping onto the Tube before the doors close, getting a date with a Ukrainian model. And that’s only in the last few weeks.’
‘Those are so trivial.’
Ugh, sure, for someone lucky they might be.
‘And your knee healed quickly. You said so yourself. I just need more time to fully figure you out.’
The mention of his knee makes him tense, but he smiles, dropping his shoulders, seeing the silent question on my face.
‘Let’s figure it out, then.’ He scavenges his pockets and pulls out a ten-pence coin. ‘But we need some stakes.’
‘I’m not that hungry right now.’
‘Not what I meant, something small.’
‘How about... The loser calls FM to get rid of the printer,’ I suggest.
The printers have been pissing me right off. Every day, we form spiralling queues just because there is only one machine that’s working. Even if I lose, at least it will get done.
‘Fuko, no. That’s too great a risk.’
‘Heads.’
‘Fuko...’ His voice tapers, as if he is about to let go of my hand whilst I’m hanging off a cliff.
He throws the coin. Tails. One-nil Toby. Toby decides the best of three. He chooses heads. Heads. Two-nil Toby.
He suggests best of five, but I roll my eyes.
I log in a call as Toby bites his nails.
It might be my imagination, but as soon as I submit a complaint, the temperature drops by about 10°C. I swear I can see my breath all of a sudden.
‘Did somebody call FM?’ Adzo bellows from the office.
‘Fuko did!’ Toby throws me under the bus.
Gasps. Cries. Prayers.
‘God be with you, child,’ whispers in the wind.
What have I just done?