going to read it apart from the client. Darren flashed me his winning business smile.
‘Well there’s a surprise. You’re being AWESOME. Well done dude.’
‘Rebecca, I’d love to run some ideas past you about the pet food market,’ TWAT said.
‘That’s a great idea,’ Darren said. ‘Rebecca, remember we said you needed to collaborate more with the semiotics and cultural insights team moving forward? It would be great if you two could hit those waves REAL hard if you know what I mean?’
Darren had managed to make this sound rather pervy. That was another thing he specialized in – innuendo. I scribbled over the penis tree on my pad and nodded. I didn’t like this TWAT but would play the game. If it helped me appear more dynamic and with it then so be it.
I went back to my desk. The meeting had felt a bit staged. Had the TWAT and Darren agreed ahead of time that we would collaborate? Who was this boy? A spy? A flash drive in a baseball cap? I continued writing slides and checking Instagram as before, but I suddenly felt like my head was detaching from itself, and travelling up to the ceiling. Had the nursery texted but I’d accidentally lost the text? Was Bella really okay? Were the prawns defrosted or not? What about the sausages? And the non-existent brief? I’d lied about that and Phoebe would soon uncover the lie. Once it reached the ceiling my head stayed resting on the plastic tiles, and softly bounced around looking down on everyone; the young people in their blankets; the green smoothies in massive plastic bottles; the headphones; the grey carpet; the photocopier which was always broken and required a complicated access code; the herbal teabag stuck to the floor. I’d done a pill or ten in my youth and the whole sensation would have been pleasant if I’d been in a nightclub back in the noughties, but here under the florescent lighting, with the tinny echo from headphones and relentless air con being blown down our necks, this was not pleasant at all. I had to hold onto the desk to stop myself from falling out of my chair. Was this a stroke?
I got up and half walked, half staggered to the kitchen. No one looked up from their laptop. It wasn’t unusual. We were all alone with our emails and anxiety. Once inside the kitchen, I stared at the cupboard and repeated the instructions stuck to the door. Dispose of ALL teabags in the bin provided. The fridge will be cleaned every Friday and all EDIBLES will be disposed of PROMPTLY. My head was still not attached to my body. It was somewhere outside seeking a blanket. I wondered whether I was dying. I tried to normalize my breathing. I rested my head against the cupboard. I am okay. I am okay. I am okay. I repeated. Then I turned around and the TWAT was right next to me.
‘Are you feeling alright?’ he said not unkindly. ‘I read one of your blog articles and you’d written about the unique connection between cats and their owners and I wanted to try and tap into some of that for this proposal I’m writing.’
‘Yes,’ I said weakly, could he not see I was dying right now? ‘I will check my diary and be in touch.’
I turned back to face the cupboard.
‘I hate the instructions, everywhere don’t you?’ he said. ‘Do you want a cup of tea or are you just chilling in here?’
My head has come off and is floating somewhere next to the bookcase thanks.
‘Chilling,’ I said.
Now please leave me be. I really didn’t want him to notice my hands shaking as I took the coffee out of the cupboard and deposited a spoonful into my cup.
Back at my desk I wrote an email to Phoebe and copied in Darren, explaining that I needed to go home as I felt like I was coming down with something bad. Before leaving I sat in the toilet and tried to compose myself for the journey home. It was frightening to feel so out of control. Was this a panic attack? A breakdown? Or was I about to drop dead?
‘We used to have Molton Brown soap and now they’re getting it from Tesco,’ I heard a girl outside the cubicle saying, ‘Do you think there will be redundancies soon?’
I recognized the voice as one of the admin team.
‘Phoebe’s just won that big frozen food account,’ another voice said – it sounded like the receptionist –‘It’s massive. Phoebe is pretty amazing really.’
‘Phoebe is incredible.’
‘I heard she only took one week for her maternity leave.’
‘I heard she had no pain relief during labour.’
‘She did a climb up Kilimanjaro a month later.’
‘I heard her husband is very good-looking.’
‘Their kitchen is huge – I saw a picture on Facebook.’
‘She has lots of dinner parties and I heard that Piers Morgan came to one.’
‘Well maybe we’ll get Aesop in the toilets again.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
On the train, I stared out the window. I felt like you do at the end of a hangover. The feeling you get at roughly 3 p.m. My head was back on my body but my head was aching. I felt flat. I looked down at my phone and saw an email labelled URGENT.
Re: FISH FINGER INNOVATION OPPORTUNITY
Hey Rebecca,
I have some great news on a new fish finger proposition that the client wants to research next month. It’s an exciting challenge. It fits perfectly with the goals and objectives we drew up with Darren at your last appraisal.
Hope you’re feeling better already.
Phoebe.
P.S. What happened about that brief? Was it a false alarm?
Better already? I’d only just left the office! There was nothing about the email that made me feel better. I had ZERO interest in fish fingers. Who did? Well Phoebe was different. She could fake an interest in anything. This was why she was successful. She had the stamina of an ox. She never woke up with the sheets imprinted into her face. She never laughed and weed herself because her pelvic floor was shot to buggery. Okay, she wore terrible clothes and had no style but I was clutching at straws. All you saw when you looked at her was confidence and strategic prowess. She was dynamic. This was the word she constantly waved under my nose – the word she bandied about as if it was some sort of magic formula, but what did it actually mean? How could I be more dynamic if my head was flying off all over the place and everyone was talking like a surfer dude? I was sorely tempted to send her an email telling her to FUCK OFF. Wasn’t this a benefit of getting older? Saying exactly what you thought and not mincing your words? This was what I loved about Mum. The older she got, the less she cared about anyone and the more sweary she became. I wished I could channel some of her now so I could overpower Phoebe.
I typed a reply.
AWESOME! I LOVE FISH FINGERS. Sorry, the brief was a false alarm but will definitely chase again next week. They said they needed to spend more time working out the objectives.
Rebecca
