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Authors: David Staniforth
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looks down on her. Her eyes are half-closed and her expression seems to scream go away. I’m sorry. What was I thinking ?
Colleen ’s expression gradually changes, though. She opens her eyes wide, and looking up, glares at him, unexpectedly fierce, like a cornered animal. Had it been Kerry, Martin would likely have carried on walking, pretending he’d not heard. Had I said it he would have flushed or swooned or both – perhaps made a joke of it. Had Philippa said it he would have laughed, likely leaned forward, used it as a chance to stare at her legs, perhaps he would have dropped his pen and looked up her skirt.
Colleen firms her jaw, and holding his glare repeats the statement. “Forward-slash, Mr Smith.” Only now, she says it with conviction. There is a distinct tone underneath the words that snarl a suggestion of something like: you don’t scare me. She can’t actually say piss off, probably never could, likely never will, but it is conveyed in her tone. “That’s what they call it, isn’t it? The internet address thingy. That!” She points to the keyboard. “Forward-slash?”
Martin turns the colour of putty. The office is silent, and he must realise all eyes are on him. He looks unsure of himself as he stands straight, removes his hand from Colleen’s desk and looks around the office. There’s no support, not for him, not in here, not for something like this. “Er, yes, forward-slash. Yes, yes it is.”
Kerry snorts, the kind of snort that comes like a sneeze that can’t be held any longer . She then cackles with delight. “Idiot,” she gasps and shakes her head in seeming disbelief as Martin looks in her direction.
Martin makes for his office, glancing back as if to say what happened? His eyes imploringly stating, I’m supposed to be the one in charge here. “Time’s ticking,” he squeaks, turning away. “Get on now,” he says, disappearing beyond the door to his office.
Several of the office girls mutter the words get on now , their eyes rolling as they do so.
“Good for you, Colleen,” Kerry congratulates, before throwing Martin another stab of her eyes.
He’s already slipped rodent-like into his sanctuary and you just know he’s standing there, his back to the door, thinking he had a lucky escape. He won’t be out here for the rest of the day.
“I wish all men would forward-slash,” Kerry declares, loud enough for Martin to have heard it from the safe side of his door.
“They do though, don’t they?” Colleen runs a finger over the pearls around her neck, and then checks the set of her hair as if she’s just been engaged in a physical tussle.
“No, Colleen,” I correct, looking quite serious, but making certain there’s an air of humour in my voice. “Evidence on tiled bathroom floors indicates that most males of the human species spray sideways.”
All the women in earshot start laughing and nodding with agreement. I have to wipe tears from the corners of my eyes, I’m laughing so much. Always prepared, Colleen rushes forward with a box of tissues. As I take a tissue, my phone rings. Colleen gives me a raised eyebrow look that tips to the phone, which I infer to mean, shall I?
Colleen picks up the receiver and listens in silence. I can hear the voice at the other end. It sounds distant and pathetic. “ Steve ?” I mouth. Colleen nods before giving me the, shall I , look again.
She draws a breath of preparation when I nod. And then, in what for her is a shout, blurts, “Steven. Just forward-slash, will you.”
CHAPTER
9
I’ve been lying here for hours, thinking about Sally, while watching the luminous finger count away torturous minutes. Finally the alarm rings. Rather than turn it off, I watch the little hammer swinging furiously from one silver dome to the other, the spring uncoiling as the hammer slows, until, eventually, it gives up the fight. Muted daylight would creep around the edge of the heavy green curtains were it not for the burn of the
Colleen ’s expression gradually changes, though. She opens her eyes wide, and looking up, glares at him, unexpectedly fierce, like a cornered animal. Had it been Kerry, Martin would likely have carried on walking, pretending he’d not heard. Had I said it he would have flushed or swooned or both – perhaps made a joke of it. Had Philippa said it he would have laughed, likely leaned forward, used it as a chance to stare at her legs, perhaps he would have dropped his pen and looked up her skirt.
Colleen firms her jaw, and holding his glare repeats the statement. “Forward-slash, Mr Smith.” Only now, she says it with conviction. There is a distinct tone underneath the words that snarl a suggestion of something like: you don’t scare me. She can’t actually say piss off, probably never could, likely never will, but it is conveyed in her tone. “That’s what they call it, isn’t it? The internet address thingy. That!” She points to the keyboard. “Forward-slash?”
Martin turns the colour of putty. The office is silent, and he must realise all eyes are on him. He looks unsure of himself as he stands straight, removes his hand from Colleen’s desk and looks around the office. There’s no support, not for him, not in here, not for something like this. “Er, yes, forward-slash. Yes, yes it is.”
Kerry snorts, the kind of snort that comes like a sneeze that can’t be held any longer . She then cackles with delight. “Idiot,” she gasps and shakes her head in seeming disbelief as Martin looks in her direction.
Martin makes for his office, glancing back as if to say what happened? His eyes imploringly stating, I’m supposed to be the one in charge here. “Time’s ticking,” he squeaks, turning away. “Get on now,” he says, disappearing beyond the door to his office.
Several of the office girls mutter the words get on now , their eyes rolling as they do so.
“Good for you, Colleen,” Kerry congratulates, before throwing Martin another stab of her eyes.
He’s already slipped rodent-like into his sanctuary and you just know he’s standing there, his back to the door, thinking he had a lucky escape. He won’t be out here for the rest of the day.
“I wish all men would forward-slash,” Kerry declares, loud enough for Martin to have heard it from the safe side of his door.
“They do though, don’t they?” Colleen runs a finger over the pearls around her neck, and then checks the set of her hair as if she’s just been engaged in a physical tussle.
“No, Colleen,” I correct, looking quite serious, but making certain there’s an air of humour in my voice. “Evidence on tiled bathroom floors indicates that most males of the human species spray sideways.”
All the women in earshot start laughing and nodding with agreement. I have to wipe tears from the corners of my eyes, I’m laughing so much. Always prepared, Colleen rushes forward with a box of tissues. As I take a tissue, my phone rings. Colleen gives me a raised eyebrow look that tips to the phone, which I infer to mean, shall I?
Colleen picks up the receiver and listens in silence. I can hear the voice at the other end. It sounds distant and pathetic. “ Steve ?” I mouth. Colleen nods before giving me the, shall I , look again.
She draws a breath of preparation when I nod. And then, in what for her is a shout, blurts, “Steven. Just forward-slash, will you.”
CHAPTER
9
I’ve been lying here for hours, thinking about Sally, while watching the luminous finger count away torturous minutes. Finally the alarm rings. Rather than turn it off, I watch the little hammer swinging furiously from one silver dome to the other, the spring uncoiling as the hammer slows, until, eventually, it gives up the fight. Muted daylight would creep around the edge of the heavy green curtains were it not for the burn of the
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