Chapter 20 Promise Fuko one thing, Toby. don’t take her home until she’s drunk.
Promise Fuko one thing, Toby... don’t take her home until she’s drunk...
‘You’re firing me?’
‘Putting you on temporary leave.’
Adzo and Steven have cornered me on this bright and early Tuesday morning, before the office was even halfway full, and asked me to follow them. They have informed me that there were three discretions that happened that breach my working terms and conditions:
IT reported that someone tried to log into my phone when I was locked away in Judgement, which is a major security concern—okay, fair.
The jeans man was an important person (and a fucking snake) that needed to be let in regardless of dress code—how was I to know?
Someone posted a picture of John sliding his hand down my back at the event—now that is actually ridiculous.
‘That is actually ridiculous.’ I tell them so, dismissing the photo. ‘He tried to poison me.’
‘It’s not that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, Fukoh,’ Adzo clarifies that any of those things is a firing offence.
‘We are not firing you, Fukoh.’ Steven reassures me that unpaid temporary leave is not the death sentence I think it is at this stage of the internship. ‘We just need to conduct some IT investigations. We will contact you by the end of the week.’
‘We also got some feedback that, despite you being very capable and intelligent, you seem to struggle to ask for help. That’s not how this company operates. We all rely on each other. We need to discuss the next steps with management.’
Their tone is soft, and their eyes are kind. But I can’t help but get angry at the sight of their faces feigning compassion.
‘It’s pronounced Fuko, actually.’ I take my bag and leave the office.
The sweet scent of Adzo’s perfume turns sour, the need to throw up growing inside me. I get my phone out and ask Leon whether he is free to meet me later today.
Leon: Today after work?
Fuko: Yeah. That’s fine. Thank you. I’m sorry.
Leon, despite his disapproval, has been more than willing to talk to me, even called me to check whether I am all right after everything that went on. We tried to meet up twice over the weekend, but something always went wrong.
Something always goes wrong with me.
How am I going to tell Dad that I’ve been fired? He is going to have a massive go, or worse, he will try to cheer me up. I would prefer a massive go. I deserve it.
Leon’s work finishes a lot later than mine. I have what, ten hours to kill?
As I aimlessly walk from one end of the borough into the next, I stop off by the markets, free-to-enter galleries, bakeries, and coffee shops.
Does Toby know what happened?
Think about baby foxes. Baby foxes around the parks and green parakeets. How did green parakeets end up in London?
I have also realised how hard I am trying to not think about Toby, how harshly I interrupt my thoughts about him and substitute them with anything else.
Will he try to reach out?
Charger. I need to find a charger to make sure my phone works to contact Leon later. Is there a cafe around here?
The lights are taking forever to turn green. There is no traffic, but I don’t go, freezing at the memory of a freckled face next to mine.
Toby almost kissed me at work.
Think about that girl from the coffee shop. I hope she broke up with that man.
I come to the pub closest to Leon’s work about three hours before his finishing time.
It is full of middle-aged men. There are two women in the corner that take puffs of their vapes and blow out bubble gum– and watermelon-scented air.
I get myself an Asahi. The Japanese beer really is everywhere now.
Why was Toby in Japan?
Think about the prices of a pint in central London.
‘Sorry, miss, we seem to have run out. It will take me a minute or so to fix it.’
Of course the beer tap would run out on me. ‘Take your time. I’m in no rush,’ I say with a polite smile, but this minor inconvenience becomes the final nail in the coffin.
A thought slashes through, the one that has lain dormant for months.
I could reach out to John.
His last text asked me to come over at two in the morning three months ago, which was a week after I’d done exactly that.
God, I am pathetic. I am genuinely considering this.
John would want to take my mind off things, but he’d also apologise and try to get back together, and I’d only be on board with the first one.
There is something so disgusting in searching for arousal from your own degradation. And yet I cannot stop thinking about it. It would let me kill, what, two hours, depending how in shape he is?
Dirty slut.
Great. Mood killer.
I look around. The composition of the room would make for a great setting for a show or a film about a disgraced lawyer. There is a copy of the Articles of Union on the wall—maybe the 1st of May is the day this story begins, or maybe it is a hint about when it will end.
Or maybe I am thinking about it the wrong way.
The main wall has William Morris wallpaper, but the reflection in the mirror from different angles shows the modern high rises.
I could play with visuals. Father of textiles and socialism vs.
conglomerates and capitalism. Maybe a bit derivative and tired, but such an easy thing to set up here.
‘Would you like another pint, love?’ the pub worker asks me politely.
‘Um, I think, I am all right for now, thank you,’ I say and swig the rest of my beer.
His face changes after he hears my voice. ‘Where are you from?’
The man means so well. I know he does, it is not his fault that an innocent comment brings out years of insecurity.
Of course I know that I am different. But for some reason, my accent and face are the wrapper of a sweet that is always brought up to highlight that I don’t belong.
Why would I want to belong fully if there is only half of me that is welcome, but the other half makes the whole different?
‘Japan,’ I say.
‘Oh really? Good beer.’ He laughs and points at my glass.
‘On second thought, I will have another one, please.’ I hand him my empty glass.
He smiles and brings a card reader with an automatic service charge included. God bless this country, for the devils are running it.
Do I do it? Do I text John?
His ass grab was one third of the reason I’m fired.
Maybe I just need more beer, and the thought will go away.
I’ve killed about two hours and three pints when a voice interrupts me from above and stops me from making a massive mistake. No, not god, or Leon, but to my absolute shock—Toby.
‘Fancy seeing you here.’
‘How did you find me?’ I ask, completely lost for other words.
‘Would you believe me if I said fate?’
‘You know I wouldn’t.’ It was my luck.
‘I think you would accept my concept of fate if you knew what I know.’
‘Will you tell me?’ I bite.
‘I don’t know. That will depend on multiple factors.’
‘What are they?’
‘Can I sit?’
‘And second?’
‘Will you go on a date with me?’
A beat. Oh, ha ha, no that was just my heart. Easy mistake to make.
‘One of them is a yes.’
‘I hope it’s the date one.’
‘Toby.’ I sigh, and he sits on an empty chair. ‘I just got fired, and I am waiting for Leon. He might be quite upset if he sees me with you.’
‘You are on temporary leave, and something tells me that it will work out for you. And I am not talking about a date immediately. I can wait.’
‘You were literally dating Sashka less than a week ago.’
‘About ten days ago, yes.’
‘Toby.’ My face is now in my hands.
‘It wasn’t right, Fuko. She can hate me, she can hate you. But I did what I felt was right.’
My mind is blank; the beer is sitting funny with me.
‘What are you doing here?’ I pry again.
‘I live next door actually. I come here for a pint every now and again, and I saw your sad face in the window.’
‘You live around here?’ I look out. ‘But it’s high rises with, like, concierge services.’
‘And a cinema.’
‘And a cinema? How the hell can you afford that?’
‘It’s my uncle’s building.’ He pretends to whisper.
‘Oh.’ I laugh in disbelief. ‘You were waiting to whip that one out, weren’t you?’
‘Oi-oi.’
‘Enough. And I’m allowed to be sad. I was fired.’
‘Please, you’re on temporary leave.’
‘That’s basically being fired.’
‘I promise you it will work itself out.’
‘No, things don’t just work out for me, Tobias.’
‘It’s Toby.’
‘Tobias.’
‘Fukoh,’ Toby blurts out a retort.
‘Oi! That one’s not fair or funny. Yes, it’s a foreign name, and I’m a foreigner. I guess I just don’t belong here.’ My voice rises as I rile myself up for a fight.
‘What?’
Someone already asked me about my accent at this pub.’
‘What accent?’ Toby asks with genuine confusion.
‘My Japanese one.’
‘You do not have an accent, Fuko. You look different from an average Brit, that’s true. But you’re as English as they come. The Irish, the Welsh, and the Scottish will have an adverse reaction to your speech, unfortunately.’
That did manage to sadden me and cheer me up. My determination for a fight withers the longer Toby smiles at me. I smile, but a text from Leon flashes on my phone.
Leon: I am so sorry. I promise it’s not you, but Sashka asked to meet after work and...
The rest of the text is cut off.
‘You’re all right?’
‘Point proven. Things just don’t work out when you are me.’ I show him my screen and ask the barman for another pint. Toby orders one as well.
‘How many have you had?’
‘This will be my fourth one.’ I feel my cheeks flushing red from the alcohol.
‘Then I need to catch up.’ He takes five big gulps and downs his beer. A streak from the corner of his mouth runs down his neck.
It was weirdly hot, but I try not to think about it.
‘I am going to regret this tomorrow morning,’ he says ordering another one.
We spend hours talking about everything.
My childhood, his dance classes. Our families.
He changed the subject quickly when I asked about his parents.
Maybe they are actually spies. I tell him about my gay sister and how I don’t really know what to do.
He says that I should probably not do anything and wait for her to come to me.
He says his sister is always in some sort of trouble, didn’t even finish uni, can’t keep a stable job or a relationship.
That he is worried about her because their parents might give her shit about it.
And then we start talking about luck. About my forgotten Momotaro Dentetsu gambling/train game and how it only rains when I do not have an umbrella on me. About how it was my small misfortune that brought us together when he walked in on me naked.
‘It was fate.’ He shakes his head dismissively.
‘There was nothing fateful about a man walking in on me. That was bad luck.’
‘Tomato, tomato.’
‘Actually, when I think about it, a lot of bad luck has happened around you. Maybe you’re my bad luck charm. Fainting, stuck on a Tube, stuck in the club...’
‘Being stuck in a lift. Oh, wait, that sounds a lot like fate.’
‘Are bad things also considered fate in your world?’
He gets quiet, as if this question was never meant to be asked. ‘Especially the bad things. You just have to accept them. But nothing about you is bad, Fuko.’
‘So what, you believe that we are meant to be together?’ I bat my eyelashes, ignoring the clench in my chest from him saying my name.
‘That we are meant to... something. I just don’t know what yet.’
He sounds serious, as if I am the oblivious one. The conversation up to this point has been so normal and friendly that I forgot that at the beginning of it he asked me on a date. But now he keeps looking at me in a way that makes me cross my legs.
His arm is on the back of my chair. What if I let myself sink into it, let myself be closer for just a moment? But instead, I deflect, ‘See, your concepts are lacking. You have no evidence. I have years of empirical observations.’
He sits with that knowledge, really considering it. He glances up at the apartment building that stands threateningly above us, overwhelming the city with its might.
‘Hmm, perhaps, but as I said earlier, I know something you don’t.’
‘What is it?’
‘Come with me, and I’ll show you.’
The glimmer in his eye is a gentle flicker of candlelight, a will-o’-the-wisp that leads lost travellers astray,
Six beers down, one major upset with three minor ones, and two beautiful eyes staring right through me. Who am I to say no?