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It’s the sensible thing to do, I tell myself.
It’s best for both of us.
The neat rows of chairs under the marquee have been long abandoned, and while some people have dropped to the ground around the handful of picnic blankets that were provided, most are standing around nursing cool drinks or plates of food. The presentations are over, team-building activities wrapped up, Topher Fletcher’s grand middle-of-the-year pep talk having segued seamlessly into the arrival of the food and opening of the pop-up bar. Now, the well-organized all-team meeting has dissolved into rowdy games of boules, one game of tag started by a tipsy Marketing department, and plenty of lounging around.
It’s a total change of pace from the stern, focused faces always hurrying around the office or bent intently over their computers.
I lean back on my elbows in the grass, head tilted up towards the sun. Burnley’s head rests on one of mythighs as he sprawls out flat, bemoaning how full he is after scarfing down three burgers and two hot dogs in practically one go from the barbecue. For such a petite guy, he sure can eat.
Elaine is sat delicately next to him, legs folded beneath her, with Freya on her other side. Louis and Dylan are sat back-to-back, playing some silly game Louis just invented that seems like a mix of Bullshit and Rock, Paper, Scissors, busy arguing over the non-existent rules (which I swear Louis changes every time he’s challenged on them, or losing the game). Monty ambles back over with a plate laden with vegetable skewers, and Burnley doesn’t hesitate to take one.
I jostle my leg to get his attention. ‘If you’re sick on my lap, I’ll hold it against you forever.’
His defensive retort is mostly lost through a mouthful of chargrilled red pepper and halloumi, but I’m pretty sure it’s something like, ‘What, me? I wouldnever. You wound me, Anna.’
Across the lawn, standing with a group of people I’ve come to recognize as interns from way back when, Tasha laughs. It’s a high, grating sound that carries; I pick it out of the sounds of the party, my ears pricking up before I look over at her. She tosses her hair to some guy from HR. Izzy and Verity are with her, too, and one of the guys from our cohort. Again, I have towonder if it’s only me who dislikes Tasha – ifI’mthe problem.
With any luck though, we’ll never see each other again after this summer. Even if that means I get offered a job here (I hope) and she doesn’t (I also hope).
Turning away from her, I spot some of the other interns scattered about in different groups. A few – mainly the more viciously competitive ones, who apparently care much less than I do about appearing ‘unlikeable’ – prefer to keep to themselves, and stand around now with their teams from the office. My own team are similarly scattered, so I don’t feel obligated to spend any particular amount of time with them beyond the tower of marshmallows and spaghetti we built earlier as part of a teamwork-building exercise. (We came second; I figured losing to the team of real-life scientists from the labs plus Lloyd was as good a win as we could get.)
I like the venue for the party. I’m told it’s not as glamorous or exciting as other years and the catering is less impressive, but I think it’s pretty great. There’s a pond with a large water feature reaching up out of it in the middle of the lawn, a collection of young trees in the two far corners, a pretty tangle of ivy behind some flowerbeds covering up an otherwise imposing and ugly brick wall. It’s a spacious garden out the back ofsome museum I’ve never heard of, and it seems weird to find it between a collection of buildings in the middle of the city. I’m not used to thinking of London as somewhere with much greenery, not like where I’m from, until I stumble across pockets of it like this. It seems wrong, somehow, that they should be shut away, hidden like this.
It makes me miss home.
I should probably try to go visit. Maybe next weekend?
No. That’s no good. Dad and Gina are taking the boys on holiday next weekend, now school will be finished. But another time, I promise myself. Soon.
It’s just … kind of hard to talk to Dad, lately. Every time I speak to him on video call, I see his face crumple into a frown and he asks, ‘You’re not working too hard now, are you, Anna?’ because he knows how much I pushed myself to get here in the first place. He’ll ask about plans with the others I don’t usually have, and I know what he’s thinking. I know what it makes me think.
That I’m sacrificing too much. That it’s not worth it. That I’m doing what Mum did.
It doesn’t help that he’ll always end our conversations with, ‘You know, your mum would like to hear from you, Anna. She’s really proud of you and how well you’re doing.’
If I wanted her to know how well I was doing, I’d tell her myself.
Besides – I’m almost afraid to leave the city. There’s some irrational, panicky part of my brain that says if I leave, I’ll come back to find my key to the flat doesn’t work and my pass for the Arrowmile offices has been deactivated. They’ll decide I wasn’t much good at my job anyway and kick me out, or find out I lied about my age and kick me out because of that.
Which isridiculous, because if they were going to do it, they’d do it regardless of whether I was here or back home with my family. But still. What if I jinx it?
Soon, though. I’ll go home soon.
‘Hey!’ Monty suddenly calls out, lifting a hand high in hello. ‘There he is! C’mon over here, mate.’
Conversation dips as we all turn to see Lloyd making his way over, having changed direction after Monty called out. He’s dressed more casually today, a pair of aviator sunglasses propped up in his curly hair and the short sleeves of his plain white T-shirt accenting the toned muscles of his arms, sending a flurry of butterflies through my stomach.
Beside him is Will. Side by side, I see Will is the taller of the two by about an inch and his face is slightly longer, oval where his brother’s is angular. His hair is cropped even shorter than the last time I saw him, butother than that, I’m startled by justhowalike they look for non-identical twins. It’s no wonder I mistook him for Lloyd initially. The main difference seeing Will this time is the way he’s dressed: it’s a far cry from the band T-shirt and shorts combo he wore last time, more like something Lloyd would wear to the office. His shoes are polished, too.
‘Alright, guys?’ Lloyd nods around us all in greeting. His eyes skim right over me and – no, I’m not hurt. It’s fine. For the best.
I’ve been successfully avoiding him all week. I probably deserve to be ignored – if anything, I should be glad about it.
He introduces everyone to Will, and pauses at me before saying a bit too quickly, ‘And you know Anna.’
Anna. Why doesn’t it sound right, when I’ve been trying to insist on him calling me that for weeks now?
‘I know Anna,’ Will confirms, and gives me a shy, stilted wave but warm smile.
