I felt a tiny trickle of sweat run down my back, and a fluttering in my chest like a trapped bird. The computer made that annoying ping which indicates the arrival of an electronic message. I clicked on it without thinking. How I despise these Pavlovian responses in myself!
Hi E, you still on for Keith’s party Saturday? Meet you at the station 8ish? R
He had attached a graphic: a photograph of a famous politician’s face, next to a head shot of a dog that looked exactly like him. I snorted – the resemblance was uncanny. Underneath he’d written Wednesday morning LOLs, whatever that meant.
Impulsively I typed straight back:
Good morning, Raymond. The canine/ministerial graphic was most amusing. Would you happen to be free for lunch at 12.30 by any chance? Regards, Eleanor
There was no reply for almost fifteen minutes, and I began to regret my impulsive decision. I hadn’t ever invited anyone to join me for lunch before. I conducted my usual online checks for any updates from the musician – there was nothing new on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram, sadly. It made me feel anxious when he went quiet. I suspected it meant he was either very sad, or, perhaps more worryingly, that he was very happy. A new girlfriend?
I felt queasy, and was thinking that perhaps I wouldn’t go for the full Meal Deal today, just an antioxidant smoothie and a small bag of wasabi peanuts, when another message arrived.
Soz – had to deal with a helpdesk call. Told him to switch it off and switch it back on again LOL. Yeh, lunch would be good. See you out front in 5? R.
I hit reply.
That would be fine. Thank you.
Daringly, I didn’t put my name, because I realized he’d know it was from me.
Raymond was late, arriving in eight rather than the promised five minutes, but I decided not to make anything of it on this one occasion. He suggested we went to a café he liked around the corner.
It wasn’t the sort of place I would normally frequent, being rather bohemian and shabby-looking, with mismatched furniture and a lot of cushions and throws. What was the likelihood of them being laundered on any sort of regular basis, I wondered. Minimal at best. I shuddered at the thought of all those microbes; the warmth of the café and the dense fibres of the cushions would be a perfect breeding ground for dust mites and perhaps even lice. I sat at a table with ordinary wooden chairs and no soft furnishings.
Raymond seemed to know the waiter, who greeted him by name when he brought the menus. The staff seemed to be the same sort of person as him: unkempt, scruffy, badly dressed, both the men and the women.
‘The falafel’s usually good,’ he said, ‘or the soup –’ pointing to the Specials board.
‘Cream of cauliflower and cumin,’ I said, reading aloud. ‘Oh no. No, I really don’t think so.’
I was still in gastric turmoil after my meeting with Bob, and so I simply ordered a frothy coffee and a cheese scone. Whatever Raymond was eating smelled disgusting, like gently reheated vomit. He ate noisily with his mouth partially open, so that I had to look away. It made it easier to broach the subject of Bob’s offer and the task he had entrusted me with.
‘May I ask you something, Raymond?’ I said. He slurped his cola and nodded. I looked away again. The man who had served us was lounging at the counter, nodding his head in time with the music. It was a cacophonous din, with too many guitars and not enough melody. It was, I thought, the sound of madness, the kind of music that lunatics hear in their heads just before they slice the heads off foxes and throw them into their neighbour’s back garden.
‘I’ve been offered a promotion, to the position of office manager,’ I said. ‘Do you think I should accept?’
He stopped chomping and took another slurp of his drink.
‘That’s brilliant, Eleanor,’ he said, smiling. ‘What’s stopping you?’
I had a nibble of my scone – it was unexpectedly delicious, much nicer than the ones you get in Tesco. I never thought I’d find myself thinking that about anything.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘on the plus side, I would get paid more money. Not a huge amount more, but still … enough to allow me to upgrade on certain items. On the other hand, it would entail more work and more responsibility. And the office is largely staffed by shirkers and idiots, Raymond. Managing them and their workloads would be quite a challenge, I can assure you.’
He snorted with laughter, then coughed – it appeared that his cola had gone down the wrong way.
‘I see your point,’ he said. ‘What it boils down to is, is the extra money worth the extra hassle?’
‘Quite,’ I said, ‘you’ve summarized my dilemma very neatly.’
He paused, chomped some more.
‘What’s your game plan, Eleanor?’ he asked.
I had no idea what he meant, which must have been evident from my facial expression.
‘What I mean is, do you plan to stay in office administration long term? If you do, it could be good – a new title and salary. When you come to take the next step, you’ll be in a much better position.’
‘What do you mean, “next step”?’ I said. The man was incapable of speaking in plain English.
‘When you apply for another job, with another company, I mean,’ he explained, waving his fork around. I shrank back, fearful that some microspots of spittle might reach me.
‘Well, you don’t want to work at By Design for ever, do you?’ he said. ‘You’re, what, twenty-six, twenty-seven?’
‘I recently turned thirty Raymond,’ I said, surprisingly pleased.
‘Really?’ he said. ‘Well, you’re not planning to spend the rest of your life doing Bob’s books, are you?’
I shrugged; I genuinely hadn’t given it a moment’s thought.
‘I suppose so,’ I said. ‘What else would I do?’
‘Eleanor!’ he said, shocked for some reason. ‘You’re bright, you’re conscientious, you’re … very well organized,’ he said. ‘There are lots of other jobs you could do.’
‘Really?’ I said, dubious.
‘Sure!’ he said, nodding vigorously. ‘I mean, you’re numerate, right? You’re well spoken. Do you know any other languages?’
I nodded. ‘I have a very good grasp of Latin, actually,’ I said.
He pursed his whiskery little mouth. ‘Hmm,’ he said, gesturing to the waiter, who came over and cleared our table. He returned with two coffees and an unrequested saucer of chocolate truffles.
‘Enjoy, guys!’ he said, placing the dish with a flourish.
I shook my head, not believing that anyone would actually say such a thing.
Raymond returned to his theme.
‘There are lots of places that would be looking to hire an experienced office manager, Eleanor,’ he said. ‘Not just graphic design – it could be a GP practice, or an IT company or, well … loads of places!’ He shoved a truffle in his mouth. ‘Do you want to stay in Glasgow? You could move to Edinburgh, or London or … well, the world’s your oyster really, isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ I said. Again, it had never crossed my mind to move cities, live somewhere else. Bath, with its fabulous Roman remains, York, London … it was all a bit too much.
‘It occurs to me that there are many things in life that I’ve never considered doing, Raymond. I suppose I hadn’t realized that I had any control over them. That sounds ridiculous, I know,’ I said.
He looked very serious, and leaned forward.
‘Eleanor, it can’t have been easy for you. You don’t have any brothers or sisters, your dad’s never been around, and you said that you have quite a … difficult relationship with your mum?’
I nodded.
‘Are you seeing anyone at the moment?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I said.