We both looked up as Rahul, the long-suffering copyeditor at theBrighton Tribunewho looked exactly the same as he did ten years ago (Velcro Reeboks and all), shuffled into the break room. Again, the break room was not a room as such. As with everywhere at theBrighton Tribune,it was just another corner of the same open plan office where someone had shoved animpossibly small table that could only seat two people but which had four mismatched chairs crammed around it. Rahul clicked the sides of his lunchbox and inspected the contents with a sigh.
‘The wife’s got me on some bloody diet again,’ Rahul tutted, miserably watching his half-full Tupperware rotating round and round in the microwave. ‘Keeps giving me smaller and smaller portions, thinking I won’t notice. Honestly, the woman’s trying to starve me!’
Jacob almost choked on a California roll, eyes streaming with water as he tried to contain his laughter. I smiled tightly at Rahul, waiting until the microwave pinged and he turned around before I shovelled what was left of his missing lunch into my mouth. If there’s no evidence, there’s no crime, right? He trudged back out of the room again with his steaming container, muttering under his breath.
‘Poor Rahul’s wife is going to get it in the ear tonight,’ Jacob sniggered, throwing me a judgemental look. I ignored him, reaching for my phone as it let out a series of aggressive buzzes, one after the other, inching closer to the edge of the table.
‘More doctor’s orders?’ Jacob guessed.
‘Worse. Alyssa’s hen do group chat,’ I groaned.
As if the bride, groom, clinking champagne glasses, wedding ring, chapel and love heart emojis in the group title weren’t bad enough, the maid of honour calling everyone ‘girlies’ definitely was. With Matt and Alyssa not wanting to wait, and deciding on a summer wedding in just three short months, the self-confessed bride squad had wasted no time planning the hen. I’d never wanted to remove myself from a group more in my life, and would have if it weren’t for the fact I knew WhatsApp would publicly shame me with itsJenny has left the groupstatement.
‘Ooh, fun!’
My face suggested it was the opposite of fun. ‘I have zero desire to spend a night surrounded by a gaggle of screamingwomen I don’t know, drinking out of penis straws and pretending to have a good time.’
‘Speak for yourself. I can’t remember the last time I had a penis in my mouth.’ Jacob’s face was deadpan as he stared wistfully into space. I smacked him playfully on the arm.
‘Still no luck on the dating front, then?’
‘Nada. Had a date the other night – if you can call it that when it lasted less than an hour. The guy actually ordered me askinnymargarita!’
I sucked my breath audibly between my teeth. ‘He didn’t?’
‘Yep. Honestly, I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve the shitshow that is my dating life. I must have been a mass-murdering psychopath.’
‘Or a spin instructor,’ I countered with a wry smile.
‘Or someone who wore those trousers that zip off at the knee.’ Jacob visibly shuddered, before his eyes bulged at something over my left shoulder. ‘Incoming,’ he warned, but it was too late.
‘Ah, Jenny, just the person I was looking for!’
I shrunk further down in my chair in the hope of becoming invisible.
‘It was supposed to be in my inbox on Monday and what day is it today, Jenny?’ Derek chided, his faux-leather belt squeaking slightly in protest as he thrust his pelvic region forward, hands clasped behind his back.Christ, did he actually expect me to answer?
‘Tuesday!’ Derek trilled when I failed to respond. ‘Today isTuesday, Jenny. Ergo, after Monday.’
‘Right.’ I nodded dumbly, as if this was the first time that fact had been brought to my attention.
‘Looks like someone is out of the running for Employee of the Month.Again.’
I stuck my bottom lip out in fake disappointment, trying to pretend I gave a crap about the makeshift A4 certificate thatDerek printed out every month, while he crouched down, his sizeable rear end skimming the back of my chair as he rooted around in the fridge. He squinted at the instructions written in looping, feminine script on the Post-it note attached to the lid of his Tupperware before popping it in the microwave and turning to face me with a sigh.
‘Look, Jenny, it’s been almost six months.’ He paused, clearly expecting me to meet his gaze or nod my head, some acknowledgement that I knew what he was talking about. But every muscle in my body was too busy tensing in response to him somehow turning Joe into this big, awkward elephant sat in the middle of the room. ‘You barely say a word in staff meetings, I can’t remember the last time you turned in a piece of work on time, and even when you are here, you’re notreallyhere. There’s only so long I can keep making allowances for you, Jenny.’
I shifted in my seat, fingernails digging into the soft, fleshy palm of my hands. When? When had hemade allowancesfor me? When he called me the morning of Joe’s funeral to assure me there was absolutely no rush, but when did I think I’d be back to work? Or when he assigned me that cycling accident my first week back? Or Mr Hatfield last week?
Derek sighed again. Like he had the weight of the fucking world on his shoulders when, in actual fact, his biggest dilemma today was whether he should eat his KitKat Chunky now, or save it for his three-time tea-time, as he liked to call it.
‘We’re short-staffed as it is, Jenny, I need you firing on all cylinders or else—’
I could feel moisture starting to gather on my top lip, my palms clammy against the fabric of my jeans as I thought of possible endings to that sentence. Of not just being a single 30-year-old living with her mum, but a single,unemployed30-year-old living with her mum. Of falling yet another rung lower than I already was on the ladder that is life. A pathetic image of me in acrumpled heap at the bottom of a wooden ladder floated into my head. Rock bloody bottom.
‘Sorry, Derek, I’ll get it to you by end of day. I promise it won’t happen again,’ I said firmly, cringing at the desperation in my voice. How had it come to this? Begging for a job that I hated. But Icouldn’tlose anything else right now. Even if it was this shitty excuse for a job.
‘Jenny’s just been so busy working on this pitch, Derek,’ Jacob interjected, coming to my rescue. I desperately latched on to the lifeline he’d thrown me.
