Chapter 25 Fuko dances by herself. That’s why she only plays sad electronic music
Fuko dances by herself. That’s why she only plays sad electronic music
I’ve never let myself actually feel my feelings for Toby before, I realise that, when the floodgates (previously locked by remorse and humiliation) burst open.
My room becomes a prison cell, containing a deranged and sleepless weirdo, mumbling and swaying side to side.
I forgot what it was like, fancying someone.
Last time that happened, I was going into year eleven, when a boy from a different school and I got a job at the tennis courts over the summer.
He was quiet and mysterious. There was a soft, sensitive side to him.
The three months I spent dreaming about a romance with him (probably mixed with intense teenage hormones) made me completely irrational and unpleasant to be around.
He was my first kiss. A week afterward, he told me that I had helped him understand his sexuality, and that it was unfortunate I wasn’t a dude.
I’ve never been in a position where a boy (of the pretty and kind variety) professed to me, but I used him for my own pleasure, and then abused my free speech to hurt him so badly that I am scared to ever face him again.
When the night breaks, I start to remember what it felt like to be in his arms. The intensity of the heat that rose in me when his hands were on me. How perfect it felt to be with him. Fuck. You really messed this up, Fuko.
My phone is back in my hand for the fiftieth time since coming to bed. Young and spritely 1 a.m. flashes on my screen. I consider dropping a controversial ‘u up?’ text to Toby, but I don’t even have his number to apologise. Would he accept my apology?
Yes, he did go to Sashka and try to patch things up for me, but what if she misunderstood that gesture, and actually it was just to clear his own conscience, nothing to do with wanting to be with me?
I replay his speech to me, again and again.
Then the memories of the next day break into my mind—how easy it was for me to dismiss him; it felt almost natural.
His face drops in my mind, and I start feeling as if I do not deserve a second chance.
To deal with that, I try to convince myself that I don’t even like him that much, but instead I cry myself to sleep night after night.
On Friday morning, Leon messages to invite me to hang out with him in the evening, which does take my mind off things.
In his texts he apologised; I apologised.
We gossiped about his new client, chose a film to watch, and sent a few short funny videos from social media.
The casual talk with a close friend improves my mood by a lot.
Hanako and I sit in the living room, looking through possible courses that might be available through clearing—the leftover spaces of the universities’ buffet.
Her first choice of uni is York and the second is Southampton.
When I ask her why she chose those, she just shrugs her shoulders and says, ‘Reverse alphabetical order, innit?’
I think about it for a moment. ‘What about W? Warwick, Westminster?’
‘I am not going to those.’ She scrunches her nose.
‘Warwick is like in the top ten unis.’
‘Yeah, exactly. Not for me.’
I sigh. ‘Why did you pick architecture?’
‘Psycho-Pass had cool buildings.’
‘The anime? Hanako, maji henjin.’ A shiver runs down my spine in embarrassment and disgust.
‘Urusai yo.’ She shoves my head away by holding my mouth shut.
After about ten minutes of bickering, me in Japanese, her mainly in English, we return to making a list of unis that she could call on the results day if she doesn’t get into her first or second choice of uni.
I am still not sure about her choice of a degree, as she has never showed any interest in drawing or buildings, but she thinks it sounds cool, so who am I to break her dreams?
I’ve sent her to buy some rice when an e-mail with @ comes through. I feel my blood pressure rise as I scan through the text. No indication of the outcome of the investigation, only an urgent request to come to the office either today or first thing on Monday.
My anxiety could not possibly take a whole weekend of uncertainty.
I get dressed, frantically wait to let my sister in the house, and rush to the Northern Line station after she is back.
It takes about fifty minutes from my house to get anywhere in London.
I debate whether I need to do something brave or entertaining to appease Madam Fortuna but then talk myself out of racing a stranger up the escalator.
That’s more dangerous than brave. SIMPO’s decision is already made, so there is not much point trying to change anything.
As I am standing by the glass doors of the office, Sue the receptionist notices me but doesn’t say anything. I wave, she waves back. I smile, she smiles back. I walk in and say, ‘It’s been a minute.’ She responds, ‘Yeah, a minute.’
What a beautiful friendship we have built: I say, she repeats.
A deep breath is not deep enough when I call the lift. What if Toby is there when the doors open? He isn’t. The metal box is empty. I throw a quick glance at the emergency light that has been lying dormant ever since we got stuck here.
As if preparing for a dive, my breathing has now stopped, only willing to resume if I see a fluffy head of hair or a tweed blazer or reach my destination—Steven and Adzo. But Toby is nowhere to be seen.
‘Fuko.’ Steven clasps his hands and tilts his head in a friendly gesture, making him look like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. ‘So good to see you.’
His smile is too wide, tone too genuine. He pronounced my name right. Something is wrong.
Steven leads us to Adzo’s office. He closes the door behind us, as Adzo is finishing up her call.
‘Sorry, have to run,’ she says to the person on the other end. ‘Fuko, good to see you.’
That’s exactly what Steven said. Exactly the way Steven said it. What’s happening?
I sit down on the chair she is pointing to, close to the edge of the seat, as if I am ready to run away if I see even a slight sign that they might be possessed.
‘This is going to be quite a difficult talk.’ Steven props a chair next to me.
He looks at me over his glasses. Really looks at me. It feels as if he is one thought away from holding my hand to announce some bad news. I hear my nervous heartbeat in my ears. They are about to fire me in the most sadistic way. Or maybe they’ll rip into me like hyenas.
Adzo starts, ‘Fuko, we are sorry’—and I might faint in front of her like two months ago—‘that we put you on temporary leave without knowing the full story.’
Huh?
‘Pardon?’ Huh?
‘Fawzia told us,’ Steven explains with a solemn expression.
Huh?
The confusion on my face is being misconstrued right in front of me. They think my rounded eyes are from horror and fear finally alleviating. I know this because Adzo actually does reach out and squeeze my hand. She had to half stand, half sit, but fully stretch over her desk to reach me.
‘Sorry, I am not sure’—I glance at them, scratching under my knee with the free hand—‘what you mean?’
Adzo lets go of me and returns to a more natural-for-humans sitting position. My back is currently unbelievably straight.
‘It came to our attention that we may have, perhaps, accidentally put you on leave without knowing the full story.’ She shakes her head in managerial pain.
‘Right,’ I say.
‘We didn’t know... the extent.’ Steven uses his hands as if he is juggling words in the air to find the right one.
‘Right,’ I repeat.
‘If we had known that Toby, Mr. Lewis, Toby Lewis,’ Adzo says, finding the right way to address Toby, ‘was displaying some inappropriate behaviours at work... We wouldn’t have gone about it the way we did.
We take concerns of power harassment very seriously at SIMPO.
Please do accept our deepest and sincerest apology. ’
Translation: Please do not sue us.
Oh my god. They think that Toby was sexually harassing me. They can’t fire the person that they assume was sexually harassed—that’s a lawsuit waiting to be lost. I could get my job back because of the company’s policy.
‘I am sorry, I think there is a big misunderstanding.’ I shake my head furiously, shooing away the selfish thoughts. ‘There hasn’t been any sexual harassment.’
‘Even if there wasn’t, until HR have done a proper investigation, Toby is suspended.’
‘Suspended?’ Like in school? This is not right. ‘I kissed him. He didn’t do anything wrong!’
‘Fuko,’ Steven says, dropping the mawkish sweetness, ‘it doesn’t matter. He is your supervisor, and until we know for sure what happened, he is off work. If what you say is true, there is nothing for either of you to be concerned about. We will get it sorted. We promise.’
This is the first time Steven has appeared to be a person and not a money calculation machine, and it works wonders at calming me down.
The rest of the meeting is about me returning to work next week, as the IT team uncovered that the woman who tried to log into my phone was a bar worker who thought my phone was hers and put it back.
No corporate espionage has taken place, which is mildly disappointing—can you imagine me being involved in anything spying related?
The steps I take out of the office are slow and frazzled. Fawzia pssts at me from her computer.
‘You threw Toby under the bus?’ I lose my cool with her.
‘I didn’t.’ She hushes me and pulls me down to sit in the spinny chair next to her. ‘It was Toby’s idea.’
It’s as if a fuse blows in my skull, because my eye starts twitching and a ringing hums right into my eardrums. ‘What did you just say?’
‘He came to me yesterday and suggested that they can’t fire you if they think you were a victim.’
‘A victim? It was consensual,’ I screech. ‘He might lose his job.’
‘Oh please, pretty boy will be fine. HR will check to find out if it’s consensual, but the company cannot fire someone if there is even an ounce of doubt that it can be considered retaliation.’