Message received: 12:37
I was kissing some guy in a club the other night when he just shoved his hand up my skirt and into my vagina. I pushed him off and he laughed and I cried when I got home. Not sure why I’m typing this. Just feel a bit strange.
‘I’m fine,’ I snap at Matt, as he loiters behind my chair.
‘Are you su—?’
‘I SAID I’M FINE, OK?’
He and Katy glance at one another but neither of them say anything, and let me get back to my shift.
I’m helping. It’s worth it because I’m helping.
The afternoon passes. The sky gathers itself into a tight grey knot, rumbling softly every so often, like a stomach awaiting lunch. The air’s so humid you can stick your tongue out and drink from it. We have all the windows open, uselessly, and arguments have started about who has the best fan. At 3 p.m., in an attempt to be Friday and jovial, Mike goes down to the Tesco Express and comes back with a packet of already-half-melted Fabs.
‘Ice-cream party in the kitchen,’ he announces, more excitable than a children’s breakfast-TV presenter.
Everyone lurches up like zombies and clugs themselves next to the kettle, reaching out and grabbing at the ice lollies. Matt sets up his speakers and a Spotify playlist and we’re forced to hang around, making small talk and bonding as an office.
‘What are your plans for the weekend?’ I’m asked a dozen times by the IT guys, the fundraisers and the one HR lady we can afford to keep on.
Forcing myself to have potentially triggering sex for a weird vendetta against a man I’ve catfished, I think. I say, ‘Oh, no real plans. It’s hard to do anything in this heat. How about you?’
Between slurps of the red bits of their lollies, they tell me about their plans to BBQ or to swim at the Lady’s Pond, their fingers sticky from the drips. Katy ends up next to me and gives me a wet wipe without asking.
‘Thank you,’ I say, taking it, and using it to wash the goo off my hands.
‘Are you OK?’ she asks again. ‘Your shift this afternoon …’
‘I told you I’m fine.’
‘I know, I know, I was just double-checking.’
I want to snap at her, but, instead I force myself to smile. ‘Thank you but I really am fine.’
‘You sure it’s not a Ross-from-Friends “I’m fiiiiine”?’ she does the impression perfectly and I snort out an unexpected laugh.
‘I promise. Ta. Though I think I’m going to go back and do some work before Mike inevitably lets us go early.’
‘He’s such a soft touch.’
I pick up another lolly and return to my computer, trying to work through the happy chattering and loud music and not think too much about later.
Joshua wants me there at seven. So Gretel should turn up at around seven fifteen. I wonder if he wants us to have sex before, or after, dinner. I’d rather before, if I’m being honest with you. I still don’t understand how anyone can be in the mood with a full, swollen stomach digesting a hunk of beef or whatever it is he’s going to cook to impress me. I’m clenching my mouse so tightly that my entire hand is sweating, droplets of it pooling onto the mouse mat. I stare at my hand, like it isn’t my own, then somehow it is four thirty and Mike’s told us we can all go home early because it’s so hot, and the storm is coming and HAPPY FRIDAY!
I’m one of those martyr arseholes who doesn’t leave though. As Matt and Katy pack their stuff around me, I just hold my mouse and look at my computer. People must think I’m working. If you just hold your mouse and look at the screen you can pretend so easily that you are working.
‘You staying here?’ Matt asks.
I nod. ‘Yeah. I took a half day. I shouldn’t leave early.’
‘And you’re sure you’re—’
‘Please. Katy’s already triple-checked. I’m fine.’
His eyebrows draw up. He doesn’t believe me. ‘If you’re sure,’ he says, doing up the buckle of his cycling helmet with a loud click.
‘Surer than sure!’
Katy nods to confirm my mental health while packing up her bag. ‘She’s finer than Ross from Friends,’ she says. ‘Right, I’m off to enjoy having the flat to myself before Jimmy gets home. Have a good one guys.’ She shoves her basket bag over her shoulder and leaves with most of the rest of the office. Mike stays only an extra half an hour before, he too, gets up and starts packing his bag.
‘Don’t stay too late.’ He stands over my desk, where I have a volunteer spreadsheet open that I’ve not done anything with for two hours. ‘It’s Friday.’
‘I won’t.’
I can’t anyway. I have to go and have sex with someone. I wonder what it must be like, to be a girl who looks forward to having sex with someone new. Who anticipates it because she’s so un-fucked-up about such things.
I hate that girl.
‘Do you mind turning the fans off when you leave?’
‘Yep no probs.’
I’m left. It’s only five. I have exactly one hour and twenty-seven minutes before I need to leave. Of course, Gretel would not be watching the clock. She’d be too busy working hard at her job, going out for after-work drinks and laughing with her head thrown back, mouth wide and open, her teeth white and clean and straight.
‘Hahahaha,’ says Gretel. She probably hasn’t even decided whether she’ll have sex tonight or not. She is the sort of person who ‘sees where the night takes her’. It’s only coincidence that her body is hair-free and moisturised, and that her underwear is matching. ‘How well did that work out?’ she’ll laugh gleefully afterwards, pointing to her perfectly groomed pubes, full of naked body confidence.
I, meanwhile, pass the time by laying my head on the desk, my neck twisted to one side, staring at the blades of the fan whirring around.
It’s fine, I mutter to myself. It’s just sex, stop being weird, April. Stop being so goddamned weird. You fucking fucked-up mess. Stop it.
I go to the tiny bathroom with not enough natural light and make my face look pre-sex-ready. I brush my teeth so hard that a little speckle of blood splatters out into the sink when I spit. I use toilet roll as a flannel and wash under my armpits, wiping off the odour of the day. I use Citymapper to work out how to get to Joshua’s. My phone goes as I’m planning my route.
Joshua: Just got in and cooking up a storm. Hope you like Mexican! X
Joshua: PS: My door bell is a bit confusing. Press the button that says ‘7’ and make sure you’re already pushing the door when it buzzes. Any probs, I’ll come down and let you in x
I wish he’d stop being so nice. It puts me on edge. Leaves slug trails of guilt glistening through my blood. I remind myself that he’s only being nice because he is dating an illusion of a woman rather than an actual woman. If I was being me – tired and too hot and not ready to have sex yet and likely to burst into tears at any given moment – well … he wouldn’t be so nice then, would he?
I pack my bag, checking I have everything. I turn the fans off, one by one, till the air in the office is so still and muggy you could cut it into slices. Then I make my way to his.
He greets me holding a giant mixing bowl filled with chopped vegetables. ‘Gretel! You managed to work the buzzer. Congratulations! That makes you infinitely smarter than most of my friends.’