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“Shit.” Elda Brown rubbed her head where she’d just cracked it on the corner of the desk. She was on her hands and knees, picking up paperclips scattered over the frayed carpet. She slumped into her chair and set the refilled pot of clips on her scuffed desk. If she lifted her head, she could see endless copies of her cubicle, stretching in rows towards tall windows. At one time, the panes of glass would have glimmered, but now they were covered in greasy handprints and dusty raindrops. Her heart sank for the fiftieth time that day. It wasn’t just the monotony of her day job. Her love life was a disaster. When was she finally going to have her own happily ever after?
Swallowing a yawn, she carried on pasting numbers from one screen to another. Her back ached. She’d never bothered to adjust her chair. That would have meant accepting this temping job was getting kind of permanent. So, she’d perched on the edge of her seat since finishing art college.
Without looking away from the screen, Elda reached into a tub of chocolates and popped another mini Mars in her mouth. She pulled at the cuffs around her wrists and rubbed her arms to warm herself up. Her eyelids drooped, and she squinted at the numbers in green, scanning for the line she was working on. She had three more hours to get through.
“Are you out tonight, El?” Jack Reynolds deposited a mug of beige tea on her desk. The steaming liquid was still making waves when he collapsed into the cubicle next to her.
Elda bumped back in her chair and gave her best friend a wide smile. Jack was one of the few reasons she’d stuck this job out. “I’m heading to the studio tonight. I need to catch up.”
Jack leaned in. “Rubbish. We’re off to that new place on Cromwell Street for cocktails and pizza. It’s Friday night… Why don’t you come after you’re done with your creations?” He gestured with his hands. “People will be out, Elderflower.”
“Yeah, if you like. I can meet you afterwards.”
“Will you bring your new hot girl too? What’s her name? Becky?”
“Rebecca. She hates people shortening her name.”
“Okay, bit weird. How was your romantic weekend in Paris?”
Elda looked away. She didn’t want to relive the disappointment of last week’s trip, but Jack stayed put, clearly wanting all the details. “It was a bit of letdown, to be honest.”
“Oh no, why? I thought she’d swept you off your feet?”
“Me too.” She looked to the ceiling and drew a breath. “We just ended up in a shitty bit of the city, wandering the streets while bars closed around us. It was grim.”
“Not exactly guidebook perfect then?”
“The worst part was that Rebecca was oblivious. She spent most of the time either drunk or hungover. I don’t know, it was an anticlimax. I thought it would be dreamy.”
“Did you even make it to that fancy museum you wanted to go to?”
“Musée d’Orsay? I went on my own. Can you believe that? She wouldn’t even drag herself out of bed. She said the queues would be too long. It just wasn’t what I was expecting it to be.”
“I get it. You know, it might be time to adjust your expectations. Everything will be a disappointment if it’s all in your head.” Jack delved into the box of chocolates.
“Well, she’s invited me to her parents’ house at the coast for her mum’s birthday this weekend, so it’s not a total write-off.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Really? You’ve only been going out a couple of months?”
She caught his meaning, and she knew, deep down, he was right. Her flirtation with Rebecca was already showing signs of rising damp. Maybe it was time to cut and run. “Don’t start. It might work out.” She wasn’t convincing herself, never mind Jack. “Her family sound lovely. Normal.” Which is more than she had, so it was worth a go. She trusted Jack more than anyone and needed him to tell her it would be okay.
“She might not be the one you’re searching for. Something feels off to me.”
She blew out a breath. How many times had they had this conversation? And every time, he’d been right.
“Don’t bother if you’re unhappy, El. You’re too special. Don’t waste time.”
She gave his hand a quick squeeze. She’d get through it without making too much of a fuss and come up with a plan. Elda looked back to her screen and signalled the conversation was over. She loved Jack, but sometimes she hated that he knew the depths of her desperation to find love.
Jack lingered. Elda heard him curling his lanyard but avoided his gaze. She’d unravel if he questioned her too much about the weekend. The truth was it was awful. She’d realised in the dirty backstreet hotel room that there was no way she was ever going to fall in love with Rebecca. But she’d gone through the motions of a romantic weekend in Paris in the hope of finding some sort of connection. Apart from Jack, she was alone, and lonely.
“Thanks for the tea, Jack.” When Elda looked up, he’d gone.
At the end of her shift, she scanned her pass and exited into the night. Her shoulders dropped a couple of inches. It was such a relief to have time to herself. Her breath formed clouds, and she wrapped her scarf tighter. The cool air cleared her head of the boredom of the office, and she half jogged with excitement across town towards the large mill building.
Elda loved this place. At the entrance, she punched a code into the frame and yanked down a heavy lever. Down a corridor, she reached a battered old door marked “Studio eight.” She eased the brass key backwards when it stuck, until it released with a deep clunk.
She flicked the switches and fluorescent tubes burst with light above her. She dropped her bag and dragged a couple of oil heaters towards the centre of the room.
