She threw her fag into the gutter and opened the thick glass door. The stairs were black with dirt and rain. She could almost smell the ruined women, Katia's smugness and Jan's dull stories. She didn't want to be here or meet Leslie but there was nowhere else for her to hide. She could sit in the house and worry about the letters, listening to Winnie on the answering machine. She could go to the shops and see Michael's face everywhere and feel guilty for buying things she didn't need. She took the stairs slowly, trying to prolong the journey.
The job-shares were handing over to one another and the office was bustling. Three downcast women waited on the hard chairs by Maureen's desk. She managed to hang up her coat before Jan spotted her.
"Hi," said Jan, going to the trouble of getting up and coming over to her. "How are you?"
"Oh," said Maureen, trying to smile, "lots of work to do."
She sat down at her desk and took a random file out of the drawer, pretending to pore over it, trying to shake Jan off. Jan picked up her mug. "Maureen, you look even paler today," she said. "Coffee?"
"That would be lovely, thanks, Jan."
Jan offered the waiting women a cup but they refused. She went off to the coffee room. Maureen took out her fag packet and handed it to the first woman in the line, motioning to her to pass it along, and went back to pretending to read the file. She didn't watch them – she didn't want them to feel self-conscious if they were short and needed to take one. When her packet came back to her it was six fags short. She looked at the trio of women. They were smoking hard and staring at the floor.
She took a different file out of the drawer and tried to lose herself in the wording of a statutory clause. All she had to do was get through today and avoid speaking to anyone. She stared at the same sentence for fifteen minutes, thinking vaguely about all the minor disputes all over the world, and all the idiots who fell out with their friends and thought it mattered when nothing meant anything anyway. Jan came round the desk and handed her the cup of coffee before opening her fag packet and passing it to the first of the waiting women. "The police phoned here," she said, "looking for your pal Leslie."
"Who?"
"The police. They asked to talk to her."
"But why would they phone her here? She doesn't even work here."
"Dunno," said Jan.
"Did they leave a name?"
Jan shrugged. "Just said the police."
"Did they ask for Leslie by name?"
"Dunno," said Jan, reaching over and taking her fag packet back from the last woman.
"Who did they speak to?"
"Katia."
"Cheers, Jan," said Maureen, but Jan wasn't listening to her. She was staring at the two lonely fags left rattling about in her packet.
Katia wasn't at her desk. She was in the stationery cupboard, chatting to Alice, the funding coordinator. They were making arrangements to go to a nightclub at the weekend. Katia had been there loads of times and knew the doorman. She said she could get Alice and her boyfriend in for free. Alice saw Maureen standing by the door and stepped aside to include her in the conversation, but Maureen held back until they had finished talking and caught Katia on her way out. "Can I have a word?"
"Sure," said Katia. "Come on over to my desk."
Katia had done well with her space. A partition wall closed off her corner desk from the rest of the ugly room. Her filing cabinet was decorated with photos of herself looking just lovely, standing with attractive pals in a kaleidoscope of thumping venues. "What can I do for you?" she said, settling into her chair, her suede miniskirt riding up her perfectly geometric thighs.
"Well," said Maureen, trying to sound casual, "I heard the police phoned today and you spoke to them."
"Yes," said Katia.
"I heard they asked for Leslie."
"Did you?"
"The thing is, I've been…" She didn't know how to word it without sounding like trouble. "… I've been getting visits from a policeman."
Katia sat forward and looked at her. Maureen spotted a spark of self-interest in her eyes, instantly smothered with treacly concern. "Are you going out with the policeman?"
Maureen was getting annoyed now. "No, Katia, he's been harassing me."
"Oh," she said. "Have you reported him?"
"I don't want to report him. I just want to know if it was the same policeman who phoned for Leslie. Did he gave a name?"
"Well, it was a woman who phoned, actually. How is he harassing you?"
"It just – it doesn't really matter."
"No, please." Katia reached out to take her hand and Maureen almost felt the saccharin sear. "Would you like to talk about it? It must be very upsetting for you."
Suddenly Maureen began to cry big belting sobs and Katia fell to pieces, standing up and knocking her seat over, banging the filing cabinet and sending a shower of flattering photos to the floor. "Listen," she said, scrabbling about the floor, picking up the pictures, "shall I… will I go and get someone? Here are some tissues." She handed Maureen a box of pretty Hello Kitty tissues, making her cry harder.
"Would you like a cup of tea? Shall I phone Vikram?"
"God, no!" said Maureen, with such force that a bubble of snot appeared at her nostril. She wanted Katia to go away, just go away, until she got herself together. "Just tea, hot tea."
Katia scuttled away, leaving Maureen alone behind the partition. She managed to slow the crying and dried her eyes. Whatever she had been crying about didn't seem half as bad when Katia wasn't there. A final lovely photo of Katia left its Blue-tack moorings and fell from the filing cabinet to the floor. The filing cabinet held the CCB photos. Maureen stood up and opened a drawer quietly. Ann's surname was Harris and she found the file in the top drawer. It was a brown envelope, stiff with photos. She shoved it up her jumper, turning it sideways, tucking it into the waistband of her jeans, and sat down again, startled by what she had done. She didn't know if she'd done it to spite Katia or for Leslie or to fuck up her job even more so she could leave.
By the time Katia came back with a mug of milky tea, Maureen had stopped crying and, as well as taking the photographs, she had stolen most of the Hello Kitty tissues too.
"Better?" asked Katia.
"I'm sorry," said Maureen, dabbing her nose with the second-to-last tissue. "I just, I got upset."
"Who's the policeman who's harassing you?"
"It's a guy. I met him a few months ago…"
"He's from Glasgow?"
"Yeah."
"Well, it was nothing to do with him, then. This phone call was from the Met in London."
Maureen stood up. "Right. Good," she said, crossing her arms in front of her to cover her tummy. "Thanks."
"That's all right. Please think about reporting him, will you?"
"Yeah. I will."
"How's Vik?"
Maureen moved over to the edge of the partition, wanting to get away before Katia realized that she had a strange package up her jumper. "Fine," she said. "He's fine."
Katia stepped in front of her. "Maureen, do you resent me?"
Maureen was a little surprised. "Do I what?"
"Do you resent me because of Vik?"
Maureen looked at her blankly. "Why would I?"
"Well"-Katia rolled her head toward the floor-"you know we went out?"
"Yeah, I knew that." Maureen felt a pang of jealousy coming from nowhere.
"About a month ago." Katia looked at her knowingly.
Maureen had been seeing him for a month, just over a month, and Katia knew that. Maureen wanted to say that she didn't give a shit, that she wasn't even fucking sure she was going to live through the afternoon. "I need to go now," she said.