Chapter 5
Work Life
At lunch, I make my way to the break room.
Anders is a big believer in cross-fertilisation, which is why working from home is unusual and everyone comes to the office.
He believes two people chatting over coffee can unlock long-sought solutions.
So, despite the premium attached to office space in London, we have a break room.
It’s a cosy space with half-height panelling in dark grey, with co-ordinating sofas and armchairs all softened by assorted greenery.
Ignoring the comfy seats, I take a chair at one of the tables closer to the kitchen. It’s an ingrained habit, probably from years of boarding school, but I need to sit up to eat.
It’s not long before I’m joined by Rob aka the Rat Boy (even though Peter, his pet rat, long ago went to the great rubbish dump in the sky). Ever since the day he first gave me advice on dealing with Effie, I’ve often sought his opinion. We’ve developed a relationship of mutual regard.
“How’s my little friend?” he asks as he puts a pot of instant ramen down and pulls out a chair. He has the most abysmal nutrition, but I have to remind myself it’s his choice.
His question refers to my daughter. Some people might find his interest creepy, but I think of him as Effie’s unseen guardian angel.
They’ve never met and probably never will.
But he has a vested interest in her from all the troubles I’ve shared.
His motivation is easy to understand. He doesn’t want to see another child suffer the same misunderstandings that littered his own childhood.
“She’s found a reptile book.” For once, I let my inner shudder show as he sucks in a forkful of noodles. “She’s completely besotted.”
“Atta girl,” he says. He takes another mouthful, chews and swallows before he adds, “Snakes are cool. Did you know some snakes can reproduce asexually?”
“No, I did not.” A part of my mind slithers off to Friday’s conversation with Anders and his reproductive desires. Maybe that’s what Anders needs – the ability to clone.
Five minutes later, Rob is still talking about snakes.
I let him rattle on while I concentrate on my chicken salad sandwich.
He moves on to the lifespan of pythons (decades) as I peel my fruit, and I harden my resolve — we definitely won’t be getting one as a pet despite Effie’s pleading.
She’ll be gone in fourteen years, and I’d be left with the repulsive thing.
Ginny drops into the chair beside me and Rob tails off mid-sentence.
When she pulls her mane of auburn hair out of its tie and shakes it loose, he almost swallows his tongue.
His eyes never leave her as she pulls her hair back and replaces the tie.
Poor Rob is smitten. But even if Ginny wasn’t involved with her boss, Piotr, I’m not sure she’d ever look at him that way.
“Uh!” she groans as she gives her ponytail a couple of tugs and slings it over her shoulder. “I thought that meeting would never end! Bloody Scarlett! Thinks she can do everybody else’s job better.” She rips open a chocolate roll. She eats her lunch items in a random order. I don’t understand it.
Rob snorts his agreement. I have some sympathy, although I’d never admit it.
Scarlett is our partnership manager, responsible for building relationships with external partners.
Supposedly she’s good at her job but while she may be fine at shmoozing deals, she’s less great at collaboration internally.
She should be the bridge between marketing, where Ginny works, programming, which is Rob’s remit, and production. But two of those three can’t stand her.
Although after she negotiated great terms with one of our technology providers, Anders thinks the sun shines out of her arse.
I’m surprised he didn’t ask her to marry him.
I’ve no doubt she’d have leapt at the chance.
My mind pictures the baby the two of them might produce.
It would probably grow up to be Darth Vader. I snort too.
Everyone looks at me. My timing is off. It’s a little too late to be a reaction to Ginny’s comment.
“Care to share?” Ginny hooks up one eyebrow.
Definitely not. Then I’d have to explain the proposal from Anders, and the fewer people here who know about that, the better. There would be assumptions, then looks, then whispers and my entire authority would be undermined.
I’m saved by the arrival of Nur, her assistant Chloe in tow.
As they join us, Rob sucks down his chocolate bar and gathers his rubbish.
“Ladies,” he nods at us in a charming, old-fashioned manner and escapes.
A group of four is more than Rob can tolerate in a social situation, even with Ginny as one of them.
“He’s such an odd bod,” Chloe comments as she opens the Tupperware container of leftovers Nur passes her.
She’s one of Anders’s foundlings. She’d spent a short time in care before she came to us because her mother has a degenerative disease.
Now she looks after her younger brother even though she’s only a teenager herself.
Her story aroused every motherly bone in Nur’s body and since then, she’s had an astonishing amount of leftovers every dinnertime, which she brings in for Chloe’s lunch.
“You could say that about everyone in Cerium, including us,” I laugh. The incidence of quirky characters in this game studio, from the boss down, is high. I don’t know if it’s typical of the industry because I’ve never worked for another studio. But here, it’s definitely true.
Rob’s departure leaves space for Steve. Unlike Rob, who keeps his head down, careful to avoid inadvertent eye contact as he exits, Steve ambles into the break room, stopping at random tables, a word here, a joke there, a fist bump or two.
Steve is a producer. Producers bring everything together — creative, technical and business — to make a successful product.
Which really means they bring everyone together.
Instead of moving on when they get to us, Steve pulls out the empty chair and drops into it with the casual ease of someone who is confident of their welcome everywhere.
As they sit, Ginny winks at me. The others return Steve’s greeting with a warmth Rob could only envy.
Everyone regards them as a nice person, not averse to bribing support staff with a packet of chocolate fingers when they want something expedited.
It probably makes them the most popular individual in the company. After Anders.
But as Steve slides a tray of sushi and a bottle of kombucha onto the table, I wrap up my lunch debris and stand up. Noticing my departure, they look up.
“Have a great time tonight,” they say.
Eyebrows furrow around the table and all heads turn to me. “What’s happening tonight?” Ginny asks.
This is why I hate to lie. Lies breed. One little lie leads to more and more.
Steve blithely answers for me. “Cora’s going to a birthday dinner with a good friend.”
“Who?” Ginny demands, scepticism painting her tone. Over the course of our three-year acquaintance, she’s aware of most of my friends by reputation.
“No-one you know. See you later.” I rush my farewell and hurry out of the room, even as I hear Steve being interrogated.
My phone vibrates. A quick glance at the screen shows a text from Ginny. Is it a date? Are you FINALLY going on a date?
I’m careful not to open the message or in any way indicate I’ve seen it. Plausible deniability.
My curtailed lunch break isn’t just due to Steve. There is a critical business meeting this afternoon and I want to make sure everything is set up and ready for the heads of studio, publishing and marketing, production and technology.
With arms full, I let myself into the meeting room.
After depositing bottles of fizzy and still water on the table, I lay out glasses.
Platters of doughnuts are strategically positioned next to flasks of tea and coffee on the side.
I make sure the tech is working before standing back to give everything a last visual check.
I’ve long since learned to trust my intuition. If something feels off, it usually is.
Marnie is the head of studio, which incorporates art, audio, design, and narrative.
She is the first to arrive. At fifty, she’s the oldest person in the company.
She asks about my day as she takes her seat.
The others file in, each with a greeting, a nod or a smile.
Anders arrives, talking into his phone, but he casts a grateful smile in my direction.
Last comes Piotr, Ginny’s boss and lover, the head of publishing and marketing, and trailing in his wake is Scarlett.
“Cora, good to see you,” Piotr smiles and moves past me to grab a doughnut and make himself a tea.
“Coffee,” Scarlett says to me as she enters. “Black, no sugar.”
I’m a little surprised by the curt instruction but I limit my reaction to a quirk of an eyebrow. I pick up a cup and fill it. Just as I put the drink in front of her, Anders ends his call and attention shifts to him.
“Thank you, Cora,” he says as I shut the room door and take a seat at my laptop.
He always says it. But this time, his words act as a trigger, and a tendril of warmth sneaks down my spine, spreading through my body.
It’s an odd reaction on my side. Maybe it's the contrast between his words and Scarlett’s behaviour.
I drop my gaze to my computer in case the heat is showing in my face.
This is not the place to appear affected.
“You all know why we’re here,” Anders starts. “We have to finalise our go live. No more delays. We have to hit whichever date we decide in this meeting.”
Yes, we do. Because we’re running out of money.
“We’re ready,” says Scarlett, tossing back her glossy nut-brown locks. She looks around the room, challenge in her gaze. The implication is clear. It’s their fault.
Her words are like telling a mafia family there’s a mole. Consensus disappears.