The Time of My Life. Cecelia Ahern

into the distance and retreated to their minds, thinking about the personal dangers ahead.

      ‘I’m sure everything is going to be fine,’ Twitch said. ‘Let’s not all worry.’

      But they already were, so I returned to my desk to do my crossword and left them all at it.

       Commonplace, lacking originality or wit.

      I looked around.

       Banal.

      When I heard the office door open, I hid the crossword under some paperwork and pretended to concentrate on new manuals as Fish Face tottered by, the smell of leather and perfume following after her. Edna Larson was the boss of our section and looked very much like a fish. Her forehead was high, her hairline started far back on her head, her eyes popped, and her cheekbones were sucked in, emphasised even more by the bronzer she applied to show off their already quite evident height. Fish Face went into her office, and I waited for the Venetian blinds to open. They didn’t. I looked around and noticed that everybody was doing the same. After a while of waiting for the meeting to be called we realised it was business as usual and the rumour had been merely that – which sparked off a small debate about the strength of Bryan Kelly’s word versus that of Brian Murphy.

      We went about our morning. I took a cigarette break on the fire escape so I wouldn’t have to go all the way downstairs to get outside, but even though I didn’t smoke I had to actually smoke because Graham came with me. I turned down both his offers of lunch and dinner, and as though understanding that those two things were far too much commitment for me he came back with a counter-offer, so I then turned down his suggestion of no-strings-attached sex. Then I sat with Twitch for an hour over the new super-duper steam-oven manual that neither of us could afford even if we sent all our own home appliances to a pawnshop. Edna still hadn’t opened her office blinds and Louise hadn’t once taken her eyes off the windows, even when she was on the phone.

      ‘It must be personal,’ Louise said to no one in particular.

      ‘What must be?’

      ‘Edna. She must be having a personal issue.’

      ‘Or else she’s dancing around naked and lip-syncing to “Footloose” on her iPod,’ I suggested, and Graham stared at the windows with hope, planning new offers in his head.

      Louise’s phone rang and her perky phone voice replaced her dull tones but she quickly lost her enthusiasm and we could tell there was something wrong immediately. We all stopped working and stared at her. She hung up slowly, eyes wide and looked at us. ‘Every other department has just finished their meetings. Bryan Kelly is gone.’

      There was a long hushed silence.

      ‘That’s what you get for being full of shit,’ I said quietly.

      Graham was the only one who got the joke. Even though I wouldn’t sleep with him, I appreciated that he still took time to laugh at my jokes and for that, he commanded my respect.

      ‘It’s Brian Murphy that’s full of shit,’ Louise said, frustrated.

      I pursed my lips.

      ‘Who was that on the phone?’ Sausage asked.

      ‘Brian Murphy,’ Louise said.

      That was it, we all couldn’t help but laugh and we were joined together for the first time ever in a moment’s laughter during a horrible awkward time in their lives. I say ‘their’ because I didn’t feel it, I didn’t feel worried or anxious or afraid because I didn’t feel like I had anything to lose. A redundancy package would have been quite nice, and quite the bonus after my last job dismissal. Then Edna’s door finally opened and she looked out with red-rimmed bloodshot eyes. She looked around at all of us in what could only be described as a lost apologetic way and for a moment I searched myself to see what I was feeling but the only thing I felt was completely indifferent. She cleared her throat. Then:

      ‘Steve. Can I see you, please?’

      We all looked on in horror as Steve made his way in. There was no more laughter. Watching Steve leave the office afterwards was like watching an ex-boyfriend move out. He packed away his things quietly with tears in his eyes: his photograph of his family, his mini basketball and basketball hoop, his mug that said Steve likes his coffee black with one sugar, and his Tupperware of lasagne that his wife had made him for his lunch. And then after handshakes from Twitch and me, a back pat from Graham, a hug from Mary and a kiss on the cheek from Louise, he was gone. An empty desk just like he had never been there. We worked in silence after that. Edna didn’t open her blinds for the rest of the day and I didn’t take any more cigarette breaks, partly out of respect for Steve but mostly because they were his cigarettes that I used to smoke. Though I wondered how long it would take any of them to think about Steve’s desk and how the lighting was so much better there.

      I left them at lunchtime as I always did, this time to bring my car back to the garage for the second week running. Once there I was handed another letter from Life and I returned to the office in an even worse mood.

      I cursed to high heaven as I sat down and then sprang back up again.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ Graham asked, looking amused.

      ‘Who put this here?’ I lifted the envelope and waved it around the room. ‘Who put this on my desk?’

      There was silence. I looked at Louise at reception, she shrugged. ‘We were all in the canteen for lunch, nobody saw, but I got one too. It’s addressed to you.’ She came towards me with the envelope.

      ‘I got one too,’ Mary said, handing it to Louise to pass to me.

      ‘There was one on my desk too,’ Twitch said.

      ‘I was going to give it to you later,’ Graham said suggestively, taking an envelope out of his inside pocket.

      ‘What do they say?’ Louise asked, collecting the envelopes and bringing them to me.

      ‘It’s private.’

      ‘What kind of paper is that? It looks nice.’

      ‘They’re too expensive for invitations,’ I snapped.

      She backed off, uninterested.

      Including the letter I’d found in my apartment this morning, and the letter he’d sent to the garage, he had written to me seven times in one day. I waited until the usual busy work hum had started up before I rang the number on the letter. I expected American Pie to answer. She didn’t. Instead it was Him.

      He didn’t even wait for me to say hello before saying, ‘Have I finally got your attention?

      ‘Yes, you have,’ I said, trying to hold my temper.

      ‘It’s been a week,’ he said. ‘I haven’t heard from you.’

      ‘I’ve been busy.’

      ‘Busy with what?’

      ‘Just doing things, my God, do I have to explain every little detail?’

      He was silent.

      ‘Fine.’ I planned to kill him with my monotony. ‘On Monday I got up and went to work. I brought my car to the garage. I went for dinner with a friend. I went to bed. On Tuesday I went to work, I collected my car, I went home, and I went to bed. On Wednesday I went to work, I went home, I went to bed. On Thursday I went to work, I went to the supermarket, I went home, I went to a funeral and then I went to bed. On Friday I went to work, then I went to my brother’s house and babysat the kids for the weekend. On Sunday I went home. I watched An American in Paris and wondered for the hundredth time if I’m the only person who wants Milo Roberts and Jerry Mulligan to get together? That little French girl just played him like a fool. This morning I woke up and then I came to work. Happy now?’

      ‘How very exciting. Do you think that continuing to live like a robot