59

Con breathed in. He touched his hair and peered into a blackened window at his blurred reflection. He breathed out again. Then he pushed open the door to the fashion department, with an air that he hoped was breezy and businesslike. The first thing he saw was the back of Daisy’s head. She was standing over the fax machine, watching a document ooze through the mechanism, page by page. She was wearing a blue thigh-length sweater over a cream lace petticoat with tan boots, and her hair was in a bun. Con moved his trolley quickly to the post tray near Daisy’s desk, hoping that she wouldn’t turn round and see him. A girl in horn-rimmed glasses passed him a Jiffy bag, unsmilingly. He dropped it into his trolley and kept moving. Just as he reached the post tray, Daisy’s phone started ringing. She tutted and sighed and turned round. When she saw Con hovering near her desk, she went stiff, momentarily, before looking away. She returned to her desk and picked up her phone.

‘Hello. Daisy Beens.’

Con turned and started loading his trolley from the tray. Daisy was chatting to someone. It sounded like a friend.

A minute later she hung up and walked towards him. ‘I’ve got a few more letters,’ she said, coldly. ‘Can you wait a sec.’

He nodded, tersely, and waited while she sorted through her mail. He stared through the window at the blotchy, drizzle-laden sky outside. Someone a few desks along squealed with laughter. ‘No!’ she breathed down the phone. ‘That’s the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard!’

A middle-aged woman came out of an office, followed by a harassed young minion clutching a pile of notes. Daisy turned and handed Con a small wedge of cream envelopes. ‘First class,’ she said, ‘please.’ And then she walked back to the fax machine and picked up the paper document.

Con pushed his trolley back into the corridor and exhaled, his flesh crawling with embarrassment, guilt and sadness.