The weekend is over, time losing itself in myriad mishaps and events. I went for a couple of runs, caught up with many jobs at home, and now I’m back here, sitting at my desk, counting down the days until Friday comes around once more and I can be free of these people and spend my time as I choose. With whomever I choose.
I can sense her close by. Even without looking, I know that she is standing next to me, her hip adjacent to my shoulder. I carry on typing, keen to get on with my workload. Keen to fill my day so the hours in this office pass by as quickly as the weekend.
‘That was awkward, wasn’t it?’ she says quietly, her voice just loud enough to make sure I’m forced to take notice of her, to acknowledge her presence.
I spin around, trying to suppress my sigh and biting at the inside of my mouth, then stare up at Allison with heavy eyes. I refuse to become embroiled in more tittle-tattle and office gossip. Whatever it is she’s got to say, I don’t want to hear it.
‘Hmm? Sorry, just trying to wade my way through this lot.’ I point at my computer screen, willing her to pick up on my reluctance to speak, hoping she spots my body language, my stony expression, how I am angled away from her. She doesn’t. She’s oblivious to my words, to my deteriorating mood and clear lack of interest in her idle chit-chat.
‘On Friday. What I said to Adrian. I hadn’t realised he’d had such a shit upbringing.’
I shrug, unsure what it is she wants me to say. Why do I always feel as if certain answers are expected of me in conversations such as this one? That I am being put under pressure to say the right thing, show the correct expression when, in truth, I couldn’t care less. About any of it. Why should I? I don’t know these people and they sure as hell don’t know me. I don’t want them to. I’m a private person, happy with my own company. Work is work. It’s not a social gathering.
‘Oh, I’m sure it will all be forgotten about soon enough.’ I try to sound charming. Helpful and concerned. Which I’m not. What I am is disinterested and busy.
‘Maybe. Still, it’s rotten, isn’t it? Having a childhood like that.’ She chews at a nail and spits it out on the floor next to my desk. I avert my eyes, a sickly sensation rising in my gut. Some people have no decorum, no idea of how to conduct themselves. ‘I’ve been chatting to Ruth and, apparently, he survived it really well, unlike his sister who is properly damaged. A complete psycho by all accounts.’
My stomach flips. I swallow, rub at my eyes, fatigue gnawing at me. I’m already weary of this day and after only a few minutes of her company, I am definitely weary of Allison.
‘Should she be telling you such things? Isn’t stuff like that confidential?’ I think of Ruth, our HR manager, and her slapdash ways of managing everybody’s files and the information contained within them. Surely disclosing this is worthy of a warning from her superiors? If she is passing information around on Adrian, then I have no doubts that she is speaking freely about the rest of our backgrounds and such talk should result in disciplinary action.
I think of my own childhood, my fractured upbringing, and feel a small part of me shrivel. Nobody knows about it. I have no next of kin, nobody to grieve for me should anything untoward happen. Sometimes being alone has its benefits and other times it is a crushing burden.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Allison says, her eyes darting about, her body suddenly stiff with the realisation that her talk has crossed a boundary, leaving one of her colleagues susceptible to complaints, ‘she only mentioned it in passing and, anyway, I sort of knew already.’
I suppress an eye roll. Allison clearly didn’t know. None of us did. She just told me so herself only a matter of minutes ago but now that a possible reprimand is nudging closer to the person who told her, she is backtracking. I shrug, turn away, get on with my work, hoping she will do the same. The heat of her body bounces off me as she continues to stand, watching, waiting. Waiting for what, exactly?
‘We all have our crosses to bear, don’t we? I mean I know it’s awful for Adrian, what he went through, but everyone has something going on in their lives. Including us.’
I have no idea what is meant by this comment, this throwaway remark she is using to salve her conscience, so I shrug rather than give her a concrete answer to an abstract remark that could mean anything but possibly means nothing. However, you never know. Not with Allison. Not here in this office where gossip is rife and loyalty is scarce.
‘I mean, look at me and my history and I’m sure you have things happening in your life that you would rather keep to yourself.’
She is relentless, I will give her that. Persistent and relentless if she thinks there is some gossip to be had.
‘What about you and your life?’ I ask, swerving the conversation back to Allison, determined to keep her interest in my background to a minimum. Memories of my childhood are reserved solely for me, never to be brought out into the open with these people. They wouldn’t understand nor would they care. A child whose family perished in a terrible tragedy; it reeks of self-pity and somebody seeking sympathy and that, I can do without. It would be used for the purposes of gossip, to pass around the office as if I were some sort of freak to be pointed at and pitied. And it’s not a competition as to who had the shittiest upbringing either. I refuse to partake in such ghastly talk. We are what we are and nobody can change that; no amount of clicking tongues and hollow platitudes will make any difference.
Her eyes dip to the floor, her lashes fluttering like the wings of an insect in flight. She sighs, bites at her lip, a stalling tactic I’ve seen her use in the past, before speaking. ‘It’s nothing really.’ Another deep breath, a clearing of her throat. Either what she is about to tell me is monumental or she is formulating a story in her head at this very minute, allowing herself a couple of seconds to get it just right, for her lies and embellishments to be as accurate as they can possibly be.
‘Nothing? Are you sure about that? I thought we all had something?’ I keep my voice low, soft and unassuming. It’s a fine balance. I don’t want to insult Allison but nor do I want her to begin a soul-baring session and have her labour under the false notion that we are bonding and becoming close friends. We are not.
A few seconds pass in silence. In the distance, other people chatter, phones ring, the photocopier whirrs its usual clunky whine. I am about to turn away from her completely, focus my attentions on my workload, when she speaks again.
‘I don’t suppose it matters who knows but I’d rather you kept this to yourself. I know I can trust you, Yvonne. You’re not the type to break confidences and get involved in office politics and pointless chatter.’
I swallow, wishing I hadn’t prolonged this dialogue, wishing I had ignored her and watched Allison march back over to her own desk, but as it is, I am sitting here, being forced to listen to the ins and outs of a colleague’s life, a colleague I don’t particularly care for and one I hardly even know.
‘My husband left me a few months back. He took the children with him.’ She sighs, gazes out of the window and curls her hands into small fists. ‘I developed mental health issues after my parents died in a car crash last year. My relationship with them was always a struggle but after they died it hit me really hard. And then one day—’ She stops speaking, her voice breaking, eyes glistening with tears.
I’m unsure what to do next, whether I should intervene, offer her my seat. Hand her a tissue perhaps? Before I can do or say anything, she continues and, as I listen, I find myself wishing she hadn’t, that she had remained silent and tearful instead.
‘One day, I did something. I snapped, hurt one of the kids. I also hurt Jack, my husband.’ She clears her throat, straightens her posture and blinks away the unshed tears. ‘Ex-husband now. He’s filing for divorce. I threw something at him, threatened to use the kitchen knife I was using at the time. Bad stuff. Really bad stuff.’
My lungs feel as if they have shrunk. My breathing is shallow, my skin suddenly cold and clammy. Why is this woman telling me these things about herself and her damaged life? We barely know each other. I have a vision in my head of telling her to leave, pushing her away, then I right myself and attempt a sympathetic smile, a tilt of the head, murmuring all the while about how sorry I am to hear of her troubles.
‘Thank you, Yvonne. You’re really kind. I knew I could open up to you. You’ve always had an understanding manner, always been the quiet, gentle one of this place. The sensible, astute one.’
I feel my face flush and this time I do turn away, her compliment catching me unawares. I wonder why she is saying such a thing when we are nothing more than acquaintances. She doesn’t know me. Sometimes I feel as if I barely know myself. A memory of Aunt Deirdre pops into my mind, her voice filling my head, the feel of her arms wrapped around me when I was a child, comforting me as I sat on her sofa, glancing around at the unfamiliar rooms and furniture.
You can have your own room or you can sleep with me if you prefer. Don’t be frightened. This is your new home now.
‘It’s my moods, you see,’ Allison whispers, just when I think she has said all there is to say. ‘Jack says I’m unpredictable. He’s applying for full custody of the children.’
Why on earth is she telling me these things? I know that I should feel sympathy and pity for her but I am struggling to feel anything at all except annoyance. I’m not her counsellor or her priest. I’m not even her friend.
‘Perhaps you should see a doctor? Ask for some sort of help?’ I don’t know what else to say. This isn’t a normal conversation or a normal scenario and I am not an expert on such matters. I have no words of wisdom, no way of advising this lady. What if I say or do the wrong thing? Will she suddenly do something unpredictable or destructive? I think probably not but then she has never opened up about her home life before now. It could prove to be a catalyst for something entirely new. Something unpleasant.
‘I’m fine. Really, I’m perfectly fine.’ She sniffs, widens her eyes and smiles, her manner suddenly brighter. Chirpier and more upbeat. ‘Sorry for burdening you with my problems.’
‘Not a problem,’ I lie. I don’t add anything else; no words of assistance or assurances that she can cry on my shoulder anytime at all. I have enough of my own difficulties, enough to contend with in my own mind. I don’t need Allison’s problems as well. ‘Anyway, these invoices won’t pay themselves,’ I murmur as I smile and push my face closer to the computer screen.
I hear the muffled pad of her feet as she heads away from me, and breathe out, relief unfurling in my chest.