with a white cushion; it’s more comfortable than I’d expected. We look at each other and smile uncertainly.
‘Do you want some coffee? Or is it time for something stronger?’ She glances at the clock. ‘Half-eight. Wine?’
‘I’ll start with a coffee,’ I say but as she’s walking to the kitchen I call after her, ‘and bring the wine out with it.’
I hear laughter from the kitchen. It was a good idea to visit Jeanine. A bit of a gossip and a bottle of wine, much better than an evening in my flat. This is the kind of life I’d imagined when I moved out of home.
‘Are you back at work?’ Jeanine is carrying two mugs of coffee. She puts them down, fetches two wine glasses from the cupboard and places them alongside.
‘Today was my first day back.’
‘And? How did it go?’
I take my coffee from the table and peer into the mug. ‘It was…’ I search for the right word. ‘I was happy when it was twelve-thirty.’
‘Awful then.’
‘You could say that.’
We drink our coffee in silence.
‘That’s why I left,’ Jeanine says after a while. ‘RenÉe was only taking on people she could manipulate. The atmosphere had changed so much. I told Walter that when I resigned. But you know what he’s like—crazy about our dictator. How did she act towards you?’
‘We hardly spoke to each other. Or to be exact, I hardly spoke to anybody. Most of the people were completely new to me and only about half of them took the trouble to introduce themselves. I had a lovely time opening the post and making cardboard boxes.’
‘You have to leave, as soon as possible.’
‘And then what?’
‘You’ll find something else. Just register with a temping agency.’
‘So I can be sent to Timbuktu to sort out files and spend whole days making lists. No thank you, those days are over! I’ll see how it goes. The first day is always the worst. I’ll keep an eye out for something else. By the way, I’ve no idea what you’re doing now!’
‘I’m working in a small solicitor’s office,’ says Jeanine. ‘The work is the same, but the atmosphere is great. I’ll keep an eye out for a job for you. I talk to so many people there.’ I look at her gratefully. ‘If you’d do that…’
‘Of course!’ She smiles. ‘Does Olaf still work at The Bank?’
‘Olaf ? Olaf who?’
‘He came to work in IT. He’s completely hot. The computers were working fine, it was the department that crashed.’ Jeanine laughs.
‘I haven’t met him yet,’ I say.
‘Then you’ll have to drop into IT,’ Jeanine advises. ‘Pull the plug out of your computer and call Olaf.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘RenÉe is crazy about him. Keep an eye on her when he comes in. You won’t be able to stop laughing!’ She jumps up and does an impression of RenÉe flirting, and it’s true, it’s very funny. ‘Have you finished your coffee? Let’s move on to the wine. You pour, I’m going to rinse my hair. Otherwise it will be orange tomorrow.’
While Jeanine is splashing around in the bathroom, I fill the wine glasses. I haven’t felt this happy for a long time. It was good to take the initiative. I should do that more often, not stand back and wait. Maybe RenÉe feels like going on a little cinema outing with me. The thought makes me smile.
Jeanine returns with wet, dark red hair. She’s changed into jeans and a white T-shirt and looks cheerful and lively. She’s back to her old self, apart from the hair colour.
‘Nice colour,’ I say. ‘Quite striking, after brown. I can’t believe you dare!’
‘It looks a bit darker because it’s wet. When my hair’s dry it should have a kind of a coppery shine. My own colour is so boring.’
Every day I spend ages blow-drying my hair, but I’m never happy with it. I once thought about getting it cut off, not too short, just a shoulder-length cut. A bit of colour and the metamorphosis would have been complete. But I’ve never got round to it.
Jeanine gives me the lowdown on all the new people. Her conclusion is that they’re alright, but that no one has realised just how manipulative RenÉe is.
‘She complained about you to the others,’ warns Jeanine. ‘Don’t wait until they come to you because they won’t. Go to them yourself and prove that you’re the opposite of what RenÉe has said.’
‘Has she really painted me so black?’ I say, dubious.
‘As far as she’s concerned, you’re only sick if you’re lying in Intensive Care or you’re in plaster,’ Jeanine says. ‘One time she said that you’re only as sick as you want to be, and that she always gets on with her work, however miserable she feels. And that’s true. She uses up a box of tissues in half an hour and the next day the whole department is sniffing and coughing. She thinks depression is something you just have to get over.’ Jeanine gets up.
I’ve slipped off my shoes. I sit with my legs curled to one side and pull my cold feet under my thighs.
While she is rummaging around in the kitchen cupboards, she carries on talking, a bit more loudly so that I can hear her. ‘I know so many people who’ve had a burn-out. My uncle had one, my father too and I’ve seen enough at work. That’s what it was, a burn-out, wasn’t it?’ She returns with a bowl of chips.
I nod. Burn-outs, depression and break-downs are pretty much the same kind of thing.
Jeanine fills her glass again and tucks her feet under her folded legs. ‘Once when I had flu and called in sick she sent a doctor round to check up on me. Usually they don’t come to visit you until the next day, or two days later, but a couple of hours after my phone call there was the knock at the door. A special request from my boss, that’s what the bloke said. I’ll give you one guess who lit a fire under Walter’s arse.’
‘What bastards,’ I say wholeheartedly and take a handful of chips. Somehow a chip catches in my windpipe and lodges there. I burst into a rally of coughs that bring tears to my eyes, but the chip stays wedged.
‘Have a sip of wine,’ Jeanine hands me my glass. I push her hand away—I’m still coughing so hard that I think I’m going to throw up.
‘Just have a sip!’ shouts Jeanine.
I gesture that I can’t.
It might not be a bad idea for her to hit me on the back, and to convey that to her, I hit myself on the back. It’s much too low but I can’t reach between my shoulderblades.
Jeanine gets up and whacks me on the spine, much too hard and much too low.
I raise my hand to tell her to stop but she thinks I’m encouraging her and hits me even harder.
