I still feel a bit stupid, but not because I expected Mina to stay despite what she said about this all being over and done with. I feel stupid because looking at this drawing, I can’t help but feel the one thing I’m probably not supposed to be feeling right now. Hope. I still feel hope.
Stupid but hopeful is a state of mind I can cope with. Indeed, it suits me so well, I feel a spring in my step as I make my way to the Tube station. Stupid but hopeful gives me permission to relive some of my moments with Mina from the weekend as the train hurtles through the depths of London’s underbelly to work. Stupid but hopeful has me looking forward to seeing her in the office as soon as possible.
When I get to work and see Mina’s desk is empty – my eyes immediately seeking her out even without my telling them to – I don’t think anything of it. I am in unusually early and I keep busy preparing the meeting room with our pitch deck and PowerPoint. But when quarter to nine comes around and she’s still not here, I return to my desk, pull my phone out and text her.
Ten minutes pass and there’s no reply. My app shows me she hasn’t even received the message and so I call her. She doesn’t answer. I call again, just as I see Garrett leave his office and I know it’s likely to go and meet the client in reception. Still, Mina doesn’t answer.
Still no reply.
And then Garrett is walking back across the office, followed by a slim well-dressed white man with ash blond hair that falls down onto his forehead. He’s accompanied by a short-haired, petite and plump white woman who is rolling her eyes at something the man in front of her is saying to Garrett, his hands working at speed to emphasise whatever point he’s making.
Well, if they’re the client, they don’t look too bad,I think to myself before turning my attention back to my phone. Still nothing from Mina.
“Shit,” I say under my breath.
“Charlie,” Garrett’s voice calls out and I look up to see it sticking out of the meeting room doorway. “Grab Mina and come in here, please.”
I open my mouth to explain to him that Mina’s not here, but he’s already ducked back inside the room.
“Shit, fuck, shit, balls, arsehole,” I say, much louder.
*****
In the end, I have to pull Garrett out of the room to explain Mina’s absence, all the while I grip my phone willing for it to vibrate, and I keep half an eye on the office’s entrance, hoping to see her rush in. But neither of these things happen and I have to tell Garrett that Mina isn’t here.
“What do you mean she isn’t here?” Garrett asks, his voice only slightly more agitated than its usual monotone drone.
“I mean, she’s not yet in the office. Maybe she’s on her way, but I’ve been trying to call her and she’s not picking up.”
“Has she called in as absent? Have you checked with HR?”
“No,” I say, accepting that would have been a smart thing to do, but surely she would have messaged me. No matter what we are to each other, or rather what we aren’t, surely she would have texted me?
Unless…
“Shit,” I say as realisation pulls on each one of my features. “I think Mina’s sick.”
“She better be in fucking hospital on life support,” Garrett seethes.
“I’m not sure that’s as funny as you think it is,” I say.
“I didn’t say it to be funny. It’s the only excuse I’ll accept for not showing up to this pitch.”
I open my mouth to… to do what I’m not sure. It would be wrong to tell Garrett all about Mina’s chronic condition without her permission, but I can’t have him thinking the worst of her. I know Mina well enough to know that she would be here if she could. I can only imagine how sick she must be that she hasn’t even managed to text or call me, or someone else to let them know she’s having a migraine attack. I know the only reason she’s not here ready to deliver this pitch is because she must be seriously, seriously unwell.
And suddenly, none of this matters anyway. Suddenly, all I want to do is rush out of this office and go to Mina. To check she’s okay. To make sure she has everything she needs. To tell her that this stupid pitch doesn’t matter, that her health is more important.
But I know this pitch does matter, to her. The campaign lead matters to her. Mina wants this campaign lead more than I think I’ve ever wanted a lead. And honestly, I’m starting to see that she deserves it much, much more than me.
That’s why I straighten my spine and look my boss in the eyes.
“Let’s go get a new client,” I tell Garrett as I walk past him and into the room, my brightest smile plastered on my face.
*****
