He smiles broadly. ‘That too. There’s not even anyone else there.’
‘The cleaner is here.’
‘You know what I mean,’ he retorts. ‘Can I ask if there’s a man on the horizon?’
‘You’re such a gossip. You’re worse than Mum,’ I say, trying to make a joke so I don’t have to tell him that the last time I was touched by a man was five months ago at the work Christmas do. I snogged a junior drafter called Pierre who got dismissed the next day because he sent a photo of his cock to someone in HR.
‘I have a friend in my cycling group…’ George suggests.
‘Are you seriously trying to set me up with a dad in Lycra?’
‘He’s not a dad. He’s ridden his bike to Paris, you know. Legs like steel.’
‘What every woman wants, solid girders,’ I say, smiling.
He laughs again. ‘See? Your sense of humour is wasted on an empty office, little sister. You should be out meeting people. I swear, if I was in my twenties again, I’d have much more fun.’
George is now a dad to two kids and his life is packed with soft play and school runs. I partly envy how his exhaustion is always tinged with contentment, but I’ve worked too hard to lose focus in my career. I moved centrally to be nearer the bigger, less parochial architectural practices and I’m a year off being an associate. As much as I hate the office dynamics, I’ve worked hard to get here and I’m proud of what I’ve achieved.
‘What sort of fun?’ I ask. ‘I don’t fancy that sort of thing. It’s a surefire way to get heartbroken.’
George rolls his eyes. ‘Just enjoy life a bit more. Be spontaneous, get out more. You work far too hard.’
‘It’s because I’m a woman. I’m given no choice,’ I explain, wearing my feminist hat.
‘You can make a choice to breathe though, to take a moment to see what’s outside your office. Have a holiday maybe?’
I see a four-year-old head suddenly appear at the corner of the screen, jumping into his dad’s lap. ‘AUNTY CHLOE!!’
I beam at my nephew, this little clone of my brother. ‘ARLO! You gorgeous little beast! How does it feel to be FOUR?’
‘AWESOME!’ he replies, screaming in a strange, sugar-powered, hyperexcitable way. I marvel to hear and see someone so joyous about life.
‘I GOT A NEW BIKE!’ he shouts with glee.
‘You are the luckiest! Remember to wear your helmet, yeah? Your dad didn’t wear his helmet and look at him now, it shrunk his brain to the size of a peanut. Sad really.’
I love how they both roar with laughter; seeing the similarity in their smiles, the joy and love I have for them overwhelming me.I miss them. Maybe George was right that by not attending Arlo’s party today, I am missing out on those beats of life that make everything worthwhile because essentially, they are all I have.
‘Tell Aunty Chloe to come see us,’ George says. ‘She needs to come over and see your bike.’
‘COME AND SEE MY BIKE!’ Arlo begs.
‘I will, little man. Is it bedtime there?’ I ask.
They both nod. Arlo comes and kisses the screen and George waves, waiting until Arlo is out of view to sneakily put his middle finger up at me. I return the gesture and blow him a kiss. I feel a wave of regret at missing the party. I missed out on cake.Chocolate cake. Instead, I’m sipping on a packet drink and I’ll pick up a yellow-stickered ready meal on the way home that I’ll eat out of the plastic container to save on the washing up. And then I’ll wash the single fork I used to eat it and stand in my flat, wondering how this is my life.
‘Miss Chloe, it’s time to go now!’ Rupa’s voice rings through the office. She is standing by the door, a coat wrapped around her, a rubbish bag in her hands.
I like how Rupa does this. She’ll hover there for a moment to announce that her work is done for the evening, prompting me that I should be leaving now too. She’ll smile warmly, making her face go all crinkly, and wait.
‘I just need ten more minutes, Rupa, I promise. I’ll lock up.’
Rupa never tells me off or chastises me. She just nods. ‘Take care of yourself now, Miss Chloe.’
‘You too, Rupa.’
I hear her shuffle to the door. It clicks shut. And then there’s just me. My face backlit by the computer, looking like the people you see in those information ads where the government tells you that technology is bad, you should get outside and stop believing everything you see on the internet. I also feel bad because I lied. I won’t be ten minutes. I want to see this in different colour schemes, maybe experiment with the cladding in a different wood. I really need to re-read the environmental survey again, possibly talk to the landscape team about their ideas for the planting. Maybe I’m being too ambitious, but I want this done right. I need sweets, something to keep me going, so I bend down to find some motivational treats in the bottom drawer of my desk. As I do, I suddenly hear the door unlatch. I pop my head up over the monitor to see if it’s Rupa returning. But I hear voices instead, familiar ones, and my instinct is to stay hidden so I fall to my knees and crouch under my desk. Because I know who that is. And there’s something I can tell from their laughter and the pause they’ve taken as they make their way down the corridor that they’re not here to work.Because, Nancy, there’s stuff to be done here if you’re dropping in.
