It’s quiet in the staffroom. So few people eat in here nowadays. They go into town or sit at their desks nibbling at sandwiches and flicking through magazines, or staring at their phones, eyes glazed over as they switch off from customers and invoices for an hour, revelling in the fact that for a short period of time they don’t have to listen to suppliers barking down the phone at them, shouting and demanding that payments be made before they release the goods.
The room is clinical. I understand why hardly anybody visits the place. With white walls, plastic chairs and a tiny window, it’s hardly conducive to rest and relaxation. More like a prison cell. My office chair is more comfortable and a lot easier on my back, plus the view in there is better, with a sweeping vista of the town, unlike this one that affords people a grim outlook over the car park with its graffitied walls and then the railway tracks beyond, the screech of metal as trains slow down to rumble their way into the station a constant background noise.
I think about the email we all received this morning and whether or not it sits well with me. I don’t have to think about it for too long. It doesn’t suit me at all. I have things that I need to do, plans to be carried out. People here in this office may not know a great deal about my private life but that doesn’t mean I don’t have one. This weekend is the anniversary of Aunt Deirdre’s death. I always visit her grave, take some flowers, say a little prayer and a thank you to her for all the things she did for me. I can’t miss it. It’s unthinkable that I won’t be there for her. I’ve never missed one yet and I don’t intend to start now because of some silly team-building exercise to help salve the conscience of a company who simply carried on as if nothing was awry after one of their employees vanished into thin air one evening after leaving this office.
Besides, I also have other things going on in my life; there are people I haven’t seen for many years who I met up with recently that I want to spend some time with. All of these things are more important to me than mingling with colleagues in an upmarket hotel in town that is only a stone’s throw away from where we actually live and work. It seems like such a silly and pointless endeavour and an expensive one too.
I glance at my watch, relieved that I’m only doing half a day today. This is my morning break. Lunchtime can’t come soon enough. I’ll be leaving here as soon as the clock hits 12 p.m. I’ve brought my car today. I need to get home as soon as possible. There are things I need to be getting on with but before I leave, I have to speak with Ruth about this team-building nonsense. I want to give her my views, tell her that under no circumstances will I be staying overnight in a hotel, regardless of how swanky and expensive it is. Deirdre means more to me than all of my colleagues combined. Deborah’s absence is with us every day. We don’t need to group together and go abseiling or make paper bridges out of cereal boxes to prove how much she is missed. It’s childish nonsense and no more than a box-ticking exercise to show everyone how much we care.
My mind is fixated on getting out of here, going home, getting on with the things that I need to do once I’m there. I also need to buy some flowers for the weekend visit to the cemetery. Lilies and Michaelmas daisies: they were her favourites. I take them every year, place them on her grave and sit contemplating anything and everything while I’m there. A hundred tasks race through my head while I sip at my coffee and bite into my cereal bar.
It’s the bang of the door that startles me, not Merriel’s appearance in the room. She stalks in here, her face creased with concern. I try to look sympathetic even though I don’t know what the problem is and nor do I care.
Conversation between us is stilted, both Merriel and I finding it difficult to break down the barriers that sit between us. Eventually I decide to come straight out and say it.
‘What’s happened to your eye?’
She blinks repeatedly and half turns away as if embarrassed by my noticing her recent injury.
‘It’s nothing,’ she says quietly, her voice muffled and distant. ‘What happened to your hand?’
She is staring at my bruised knuckles, the red welts that sit across the flesh on the back of my hand.
‘Like you, it’s nothing,’ I murmur, shoving my curled fist deep into my pocket. ‘I fell while jogging.’
‘Fell onto your knuckles? Wouldn’t normal people put out the flat of their hand to save themselves?’
I don’t reply, my gaze still drawn to the bruise and small laceration just above her cheekbone. ‘Must have been a hell of a fight. What was it then, welterweight or heavyweight?’ I smile as I say it to lessen the impact of my words but keep my eyes locked with hers. She won’t get the better of me.
She doesn’t smile in return nor does she reply so I continue with my line of questioning. In for a penny and all that. ‘I never did find out how you knew where I lived. Remind me again?’
If Merriel is shocked by my sudden change of direction, she doesn’t show it, her face remaining impassive. Unreadable.
Her eyes are glassy when she speaks, her voice flat and monotone. ‘Okay, hands up. I saw it on the front of your payslip last year when I was standing next to your desk before it all went digital, and just remembered it.’
A buzzing sound fills my head. Our eyes lock, the two of us caught in the moment. Ready to do battle. My voice is croaky when I do eventually find the right words. ‘Why?’ I say quietly, a hint of menace, and possibly exasperation, in my tone. ‘Why would you keep my address in your head?’
‘Why not?’
I refuse to accept that answer so try again, my voice louder this time, more forceful. ‘Come on, Merriel, you can do better than that. Why did you memorise my address? It’s not a difficult question now, is it?’ Our eyes are still locked. I refuse to look away, to be the first to capitulate and glance elsewhere. Never break eye contact: the first rule of winning a silent encounter.
The quiet seems to go on for an age even though it’s only a matter of seconds before she finally replies. It’s the things we aren’t saying that mean the most, the invisible daggers pointed at one another. An invisible skirmish, that’s what this is. A quiet combative moment. I don’t lose. Merriel needs to know that. I never ever lose.
‘I thought I knew you from somewhere else so I made a point of trying to find out where you lived to see if you were the person I thought you were.’ Her voice is flat, resigned to being caught out, having to own up to something that feels akin to stalking. This is a humiliating moment for her, being held to account. I think back to that shadowy figure loitering outside my house and suppress a scream.
‘Why not just ask if you knew me? Why all the deceit?’
She sighs, rubs at her face, eyelashes fluttering, eyes narrowed. She looks over at me, her gaze boring deep into my soul. More seconds pass. I hold my breath and wait.
When she does speak, it feels as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. My blood begins to heat up, bubbling like hot oil in my veins while my skin grows cold and clammy.
‘When I was a child, my brother was murdered by somebody we grew up with, another child. It was the girl who lived next door to us who did it and she looked a lot like you. Or at least how I expect her to look as an adult. Same shaped face, same features, same colour hair. I thought you might have been her. I heard she was back living with her parents somewhere locally and so visited your house to see if I could see them. They wouldn’t have changed that much so if I could get a good look at them, I would know for sure. Then I found out that I was wrong, had got hold of the wrong end of the stick and knew then that you couldn’t have been her but of course your address sort of stuck in my head.’ Merriel chews at the inside of her mouth, her teeth grinding and grinding as she struggles to find the right words. ‘I’m sorry, Yvonne. I didn’t want to tell you all this but you backed me into a corner.’
She’s right. I did back her into a corner. I caught her out because she made a mistake, wasn’t quite devious enough to cover her tracks and now we are here, caught in this mortifying situation. Two colleagues trapped together by a past that should never have been brought out into the open. However, I’m not to blame for any of this and I had a right to know why she knew where I lived. And now I do know, there is little else for us to say. I can hardly throw any anger her way so, instead, I change the subject, swerve it around to something more current. Something that shows we have common ground, Merriel and I, even though we don’t. I’m nothing like her. She is nothing like me. We’ve been flung together and have to make to most of it, make the best of a bad job.
‘What do you think about this latest idea for the team-building day? All of us holed up together in a hotel for the night?’
‘I think it’s a load of old shit. How about you?’ She almost smiles as she says it, realising that we’re now on safer ground, the previous conversation safely behind us.
‘Same here. Couldn’t agree more. I have things to do at home.’
‘Me too! I’m so glad I’m not the only one with plans and commitments and I’ll be saying as much to Ruth when I get to speak to her. She might not have a life outside of these four walls but I bloody well do.’ Merriel’s voice has risen almost a full octave, her cheeks and neck flushed with anger and frustration. ‘I’ve got relatives staying over with me. I can’t just up and leave them, can I?’
I shake my head. ‘No, that definitely doesn’t seem fair or right. How about we all speak to Ruth together? Strength in numbers and all that jazz? Maybe we can get Allison and Adrian to join us?’
Her shoulders bunch together as she shrugs listlessly. ‘Wouldn’t bank on Adrian joining us. He didn’t seem bothered either way about it but Allison might speak up against it if we ask her?’
‘I’m off this afternoon but feel free to note my concerns. I certainly don’t want to go. I’ll refuse.’
Her smile lights up the room, the crimson web that covered her face suddenly dissipating. ‘I’ll do that. Thanks.’
My coffee is barely lukewarm. I swig it back regardless and stand up. ‘See you shortly,’ I say quietly as I exit the room. All of a sudden, we are almost friends. Except we’re not. We’re just not enemies any more.
I push the door ajar and head towards my desk, the warmth of the room making me dizzy and light-headed, the noise of the photocopier whirring around me like a flock of angry birds. I sit down at my chair, lower my eyes to my keyboard and begin to type.