Nell （Present）
NELL
PRESENT
I arrive at the building where Drop In, the charity I work for, is situated.
Taking my keys from my bag, I unlock the security door, checking that a regular isn’t hovering nearby, waiting to be let in even though the doors don’t officially open until nine.
Sometimes it happened and I always allowed them in. To my relief, there’s no one waiting.
In the reception area, I switch on the light, lock the door behind me and wait until the silence settles on my shoulders like a warm blanket. This is my territory. This is where I feel safe.
The charity’s offices are simple. There’s a reception desk and behind that, the main room where computer stations have been set up on the left-hand side, a kitchen area to the right and two smaller rooms, one we use for workshops and the other for coffee and conversation.
We’ve had two workshops running this week, one on returning to the world of work and the other on acknowledging and dealing with grief.
Both were oversubscribed and the feedback has been excellent.
I make a mental note to ask Sadie, my wonderful but slightly scatty assistant, to book them in again.
My office, the only office, is to the right of the reception desk.
It’s small but has a door I can close and a window that looks onto a tiny paved courtyard at the back of the building.
I go in, flick the light switch and press the button to open the steel shutter which protects the window.
The sun hasn’t fully risen but I drop my bag on the chair, return to the main room, wind up the shutter on the back door and step outside.
I love this time of the morning when the city hasn’t fully woken from its sleep and the sounds of its awakening are only a distant murmur.
I sit for a while on one of the wooden benches, huddled in my coat, my head tipped back against the wall, absorbing the calm, knowing that once the doors open at nine it will be manic until they close again at seven this evening.
I started working at Drop In four years ago, as a volunteer at weekends, until I was offered a permanent post doing the job that Sadie does now.
When my boss left to work for a larger charity, I was offered the job of overall manager.
My main role—securing funding to keep the charity afloat—isn’t something I thought I’d enjoy.
But approaching corporations, local and national, big and small, and getting them to agree to a sponsorship, or making a donation, has turned out to be surprisingly satisfying.
I check the time on my phone and leave the courtyard, wanting to catch up on my emails before Sadie arrives.
On the way to my office, I switch on the kettle and make myself a cup of instant coffee.
I’d love a proper coffee machine, and although I’d be happy to buy one for the charity at my own expense, it would be misplaced to have such a luxury item in our humble workspace.
In my office, I begin the laborious task of going through my emails, a part of my mind on seeing Alex tonight.
I’m tempted to phone him, just to hear his voice, and the pull is so strong that when the office phone rings I think telepathy is at work and that he is calling me—until I remember that he would call me on my cell phone.
Going through to the reception area, I answer the call, presuming one of the volunteers is sick and is letting Sadie know so that she can arrange cover.
No one replies to my questioning “Hello?” nor to the second one. But I’m sure there’s someone there.
“Hello, can I help you?” I ask gently, because some people who call the charity need encouragement to speak.
But no one answers. I must have received a hundred such calls over the past four years but after the man on the bus this morning, this is the first one to make me anxious.
I cut the call and return to the sanctuary of my office.
I’m still answering emails when Sadie comes in.
“What time did you arrive?” Sadie exclaims.
“Just after seven. I couldn’t sleep so I thought I may as well come in early. How are you? All good?”
“Yes, except for the queue at the baker’s.
” Energy emanates from Sadie as she shrugs off her coat, unwinds a scarf from around her head, and attempts to flatten the blond curls that have sprung loose.
“I didn’t have time to dry my hair before leaving,” she explains.
She dumps her bag on the desk and I quickly slam my hand onto a pile of papers to prevent them from sliding to the floor.
“But I did have time to get muffins!” Sadie adds triumphantly, digging into the depths of the bag.
“Great!” I say, smiling. I love Sadie’s enthusiasm for life in general, the way she electrifies the atmosphere just by being. “Thank you.”
In truth, I don’t like any kind of muffin but I’d never tell Sadie that.
She bought me one the first week she started working at Drop In and assumed—from my pretended enthusiasm, because I hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings by refusing it—that I love them, and she has bought muffins every Friday since.
On Tuesdays, when it’s my turn to treat, I buy croissants.
“Coffee?” Sadie asks.
“Let me get you one.”
“By the way, Valerie isn’t coming in this morning.
One of her children is ill, so she’s arranged for Annie to cover for her,” Sadie chatters, walking back to the reception area and settling herself behind the desk.
“She phoned here this morning and when I didn’t pick up she called me on my cell phone. ”
“It’s good of her to have arranged cover,” I say, relieved to have an explanation for the mystery call. “I hope it’s nothing too serious?”
Sadie shakes her head. “Just a cold, but her son has a fever so his day care won’t take him.”
Sadie and I are the only two paid members of the staff at Drop In.
The rest of the team is made up of volunteers who work on a rota basis.
It’s important to me that my colleagues are happy to come to work so I do my best to create a good working environment.
I also work hard to walk the fine line between keeping my distance and being approachable, both with my colleagues and with the regulars at the charity.
What my colleagues know about me is that I spent most of my childhood in care and that I’m single. Only Sadie knows about Alex.
The morning passes quickly. I’m in the middle of sourcing other workshops that could be of interest to the charity when Sadie appears, carrying a huge bouquet of yellow roses.
“Flower delivery,” she says cheerfully.
I can’t help frowning at the blatant luxury of the bouquet. “Who are they from?” I ask.
“I don’t know but there must be a card.”
I take the flowers from Sadie and lower my nose into the satiny petals. “They actually smell,” I say appreciatively. I peer into the bouquet. “I can’t see a card, can you?”
Sadie leans over the desk, turning the bouquet this way and that, searching for the elusive card. She can’t find one either, not even hidden deep among the flowers.
Sadie lowers her voice dramatically. “But you know who they’re from.”
I shake my head. “Alex wouldn’t send flowers here, he’d send them to the house.”
Sadie’s eyes gleam. “Then you must have a secret admirer.”
I resist a shiver that threatens my spine. Sadie disappears to find something to put the flowers in and I have to fight the urge to throw them into the bin. It will look strange if I do and there might not be anything sinister behind them. But what if there is?
“I’d really like to be able to thank the person who sent them,” I say to Sadie, when she returns with a small bucket half-filled with water. “Would you mind phoning the florist and see if they have a name?”
Sadie nods. “They came from Le Jardin des Roses, farther down the street. I’ll give them a ring.”
While I wait for Sadie to get through, I carry the bucket to the main room and place it on one of the tables.
“From a local business,” I say to the faces that have turned inquiringly in my direction. There’s a visible uplifting of spirits; people smile and exclaim how beautiful the roses are and seeing their delight, I make a mental note to buy some flowering plants to brighten up the room.
“The person paid cash and didn’t leave a name,” Sadie says, coming to find me a couple of minutes later.
My disquiet deepens. “Did they say what they looked like?”
Sadie frowns at the question. “No—but then, I didn’t ask. Do you want me to?”
Realizing how odd it must have sounded, I give Sadie a smile. “No, it’s fine. Thanks, Sadie.” And tell myself that nobody with a vengeance would send me such an extravagant bouquet of roses.