Chapter five, Tuesday:22ndoctober2013, my first day
The alarm beeps, I startle awake, how? I shake off the feeling, slap my alarm off, jump out of bed, remembering the wine suddenly, as my head protests. I ignore the feeling, brush my teeth, dress, feed the cats and head out to the horses. Awww, toothpaste and red wine, Yuk! It's going to be my first day working with Daniel and what a first impression I will make! Huge Prada sunglasses will be my saviour.
As I finish shutting the yard gates, the boys are grazing as a blanket of mist hovers above the ground, happy and fed they will enjoy a day in the autumn sunshine, I wish I could stay here with them, I could just sit here and watch them all day. The wreck of my abandoned project sits rusting away alongside my Landy. A beautifully sculpted 1968 Mustang, my beloved car. Partly restored, a project I worked on with my Dad, but now he's gone it's just another reminder and a failure. I pretend I’m OK, but I haven’t played the drums since he died. The sleek beautiful lines of the bodywork of the Mustang 'Old Blackie' clear even though they're rust covered remind me. I look away.
Inside I drink a dark cup of tea, very dark, like old leather brogues, the colour of the leather I’d choose should my Mustang ever be finished, tea leather interior, black outside. She'd be magnificent. I finish my tea, put the cup in the dishwasher, grab everything that has to recharge and stuff it all into my bag. I’m not hung-over, still a little drunk.
DP: “Thought you might need a lie-in” bloody cheek.
TC: “Was up at 5.30am as usual” thank you very much.
DP: “Still pissed?” I repeat my earlier comment.
TC: ”How dare you” cheeky bugger.
DP: “Truth hurts, see you later” so embarrassing.
TC: “I'm leaving now.” if I can get the key in the door to lock it.
DP: “And Tharie?” oh no!
TC: “Yes...?” this is going to hurt isn't it?
DP: “Wonder Woman pants?” bloody hell.
I have my favourite super skinny acid washed jeans ripped at the knees, my below the knee black suede tassel boots from last year’s collection, Isabel Marant knows boots. An odd shaped All Saints top which needs super powers and a complex set of written instructions (and perhaps a second pair of hands too) to get on, and my parka with the quilted lining zipped in for additional warmth. Mum is right. Again. Standing at the front door in the morning sunshine, it's bright and the boys are wandering about in the grass, their bay bodies so shiny and healthy, they don't need rugs on today. I put on my huge Prada sunglasses and lock the door behind me, after several attempts. I hear a crunch and crackle in the gravel behind me as low profile, wide rimmed tires travel down the long curved sweep that is my driveway, it's Stan. He skilfully turns the long car around, and steps out smoothing his suit, very smart. He says "good morning Miss Charles, Daniel has instructed me to drive you in this morning, he thought a train journey might be”...he very professionally fails to notice my dreadful hangover and carries on, “uncomfortable."
Smiling he takes my bag opens the back door and I get in like it’s quite normal without a slight feeling of surprise, now that I know this Daniel person, I’ll need to learn to accept these things as just that’s how he operates. I say "thank you very much Stan." He smiles and gets into the driver’s seat, sends the glass partition sliding up with a remote and pressing a button on his door to open dialogue via intercom, and tells me "there’s a dock for your iPhone in the central armrest Miss Charles, you can play your music in the back, this glass is soundproof, you won’t disturb me." Really? Off he drives, and with my seatbelt on I snap my phone onto the pins of the docker, put it on repeat shuffle and head back on the rest I close my eyes and wonder if at this volume, can Stan really not hear anything, I sneak a quick look, he looks happy enough, or maybe he's just a Motorhead fan too?
EC: “What is he thinking Catharine, talk to him” have I missed something?
TC: “Assuming you’re meaning Henry?” There are only two of us, thankfully.
EC: “Arrested! The ladies at tai-chi will be all over it, it’s embarrassing” awkward.
TC: “He’s a rock star, it’s his job to be controversial” hope he didn’t have to spend the night, how long before the labour story comes out I wonder.
EC: “Catharine! I did not through forty hours of labour for my child to end up getting in trouble with the law.” There it is!
TC: “I’ll talk to him” again? God.
EC: “See that you do, kids!!” She’ll have a great time at tai-chi, she'll be lunching on this story for a month.
Bloody hell.
Driving through London is completely different experience to travelling underground. I am staring out at our beautiful city, silver and grey and ancient in the sunshine. The trees are turning, but the barks of the silver birch shine bright white against the orange of the foliage, and there’s a matching tint of yellow, pink and orange to the low angle of the golden sun. It gleams off the old marble surfaces of the buildings and reflects off the glass, bringing the city to life. I check my reflection in the surface of my phone, pull a long golden strand of hay from my hair, bloody hell, what else have I missed? Too late now.
We arrive at the great grey box that is RANDom, and Stan lets me in with a swipe key, only now do I notice an almost concealed card slot beneath the crusty old intercom unit. I hear a beep at the door unlocks with a series of little clicks around the frame, Stan passes me the logo'd black plastic card "this is yours now Miss Charles, good luck on your first day."
"Thank you Stan, call me Tharie please." I assert.
Embarrassed, Stan heads to the car, turns and says "thank you Miss Charles,” is he deciding? “Have a good day." And he gets in smiling.
Inside the warehouse space, I feel differently about the space today. There's voices in the 'hall' as I will come to call it, and three people sitting around Daniels desk, none of them Daniel
Enter at collected canter, halt at X, immobility, salute. That's better.
I grab all my courage, reapply a mist of Gucci Guilty, and keeping my Prada's on I move, still tasting the delicious wine from the night before, that can't be good. I walk over and before I can introduce myself I am thrust a large steaming cup of the darkest tea, a wonderful sight I can tell you, by a small happy man who blind-sided me, it's usually a dangerous thing to do especially if I have a hoof-pick in my hand, but not this morning. I glance lovingly at the warm cup in my fingers, with wild mustangs galloping painted on the outside, a nice touch I think, I’m hard to impress but this does the trick. "This is your cup Tharie, I hope I got your tea right builders professional brew? I'm Newton, Daniels assistant, and yours now too I suppose." a little Italian looking man, young, very young, late teens I’d judge. Makes a bloody good cuppa though.
"Thank you very much Newton." I give him my friendliest smile, but of course it could look like any of the many versions of my smile, I may have just accidentally given him my defensive warning smile...as I worry Newton sends me a beaming one back, nope, got it right this time.
"Let me know if there’s anything you need, I’ll be getting your IT set up today, so after you've settled I’ll come and ask what you'd like." A very happy competent young chap I think, yes, working here is going to be like a breath of fresh air. I take a large thankful swig of hot brown brew, that isn't in a waxed compostable paper cup, that tastes vaguely of teabag, and that I haven't had to fetch myself, feeling instantly sated.
A young woman moves from Daniels desk toward me, I’m happy to note none of these strangers sit in Daniels chair, I’m not sure why that pleases me, minds are funny. There I go thinking things again, headphones, usually I’d have my headphones on by now and stop all the over thinking, I’d just be immersed in denim and heavy metal, the music silences my voices, allows me to concentrate.
Proceed in collected trot, track right.
She’s a confident stride, clearly intending to make an impression on me, I wonder why? Petite and curvy, I recognise her from the bar talking to Pete. Stephanie was it? She has a small, round face with thick lips and slim nose, stunning. The woman approaches, dyed red dark hair, long dead straight, reaches out to shake my hand and in doing so shakes me out of my thoughts. "Hi, I’m Steffi, I’m Daniels design&development manager for the RANDom menswear range, you won't see me much I’m just here for the launch, and to say hi to you, we only heard you were coming Friday." Her look burns into mine like she's ferreting about in my head to find out what’s in there Daniel could possibly want. Whilst you’re in there, I almost ask, perhaps you can find the missing part on that Blake poem I’ve been desperately trying to remember since getting in Stan’s car this morning?
She doesn’t like me one bit, I can sense it, or possibly she doesn't read Blake? She turns to grab paperwork from the desk, clenching her fists as she does, she's readjusting her mask to conceal her dislike for me the white knuckles a tell, and returns with a smile, even my fake smile is more convincing than that!
Note to self, practice the smile.
She has a vaguely Spanish look to her, hazelnut brown eyes, a curvy but slim figure, wearing very expensive clothes with perfectly shaped recently manicured nails, painted in the new Nude Chanel shade. I have that one, I’m now thinking I’ll give it to Mum, get the Tom Ford on instead, that'll show her. I decide to bring the conversation back to me.
"But I only met Daniel Thursday, how could you...." know?
"He told us you wouldn’t say no,” her false laugh is like a scoff, resentment? “Well, I guess he judged you correctly, here you are!" She isn't being antagonistic, just matter of fact, it is a manifestation of this man always getting what he wants. Had he had her I wondered?
"I guess he knows me better that I thought." I answer wistfully, not totally happy with being someone’s foregone conclusion, but I’d deal with that later.
"He has a knack for it, spooky sometimes," laughing with her head tilted back a little dramatic, it wasn’t that funny, clearly enjoying knowing Daniel more than I, well, how long will that last I wonder?
"How long have you been working with Daniel, Steffi?" I put my bag on the floor, glad to break our eye lock for a moment, and it suddenly feels like the heaviest thing to be carrying.
"Oh, Danny and I go way back,” she brushes a strand of perfectly blow-dried and straightened hair from flawlessly made-up face as if to exaggerate all the ways she and I are different. Bloody hell, this could take a while.
“We, Daniel and I,” the infliction in her clipped remarks telling, she's letting the words sink in, watching me closely, “we were together a long time ago.” She pauses for effect. “Over now of course." She looks me up and down and smirks to herself...well not quiet to herself, it's deliberate I’m sure. How much did he tell her? "We've been working on RANDom for a few years, when he decided he wanted a womenswear label, he left the men’s side to me and began his research. Danny loves to research, he says its brain input to get the output." Suddenly she seems to be happy remembering, and it's gone as soon as it arrives, poof! I take a deep audible breath that makes Steffi stare, because in my thoughts I say a similar thing myself, who is this guy?
"Danny knew he wanted you for Milk&Honey from the beginning, but he said he had work to do before he could approach you with a proposition you couldn’t refuse." Satisfied there’s nothing about me she isn’t better at, she relaxes a little. Suddenly I’m regretting not tidying myself up, my nails are short and blunt with chipped black nail polish…Vogue tells us chipped is OK this season, so that's a relief. Is this Daniels type? I start reeling in my thoughts, it's going to get messy up there soon, cold, deliberate, immaculately turned out, over-active sense of superiority, and sheer beauty. I look down at myself briefly, admittedly I’m not looking my best this morning, but a plain looking, unironed, second hand parka wearing woman, skinny with messy hair and I likely have an air of the outdoors about me too, bloody hell, am I going to hate it here?
MXK medium trot.
“He didn’t ask anyone else.” She looks pained as she tells me, he didn’t offer it to her, maybe that’s why she hates me?
KAF collected trot.
I feel flattered. "I am looking forward to working with you all," I say without a trace of anxiety I am proud of myself, I'm good at denim, but strangers is another thing I don’t do well.
FB shoulder-in left.
I took my Mum's advice not to talk to strangers very seriously, and trust issues prevailed into adulthood. But my friendly smile and my fake confidence in dealing with people usually gets me through with your common-all-garden varieties. To those more perceptive, confusion turns to mild understanding, shy is a word I rarely use, but I guess that’s what I am, a warm, friendly, noisy, passionate, energetic, neurotic, shy person. Horses don't care about that, thank goodness. No one understands it unless the really want to see it, that’s what the headphones are for, distance myself from the world. The things themselves suggest to people to back off I’m not listening, but it also has the effect of shutting off my voices, talking in my head running things, information, words, over and over and over , thinking and talking, loud thumpy music is louder. I can concentrate. I can work.
B, volte left. That does the trick, voltes are tricky after all...
Note to self, remember to ask Liza, again, what volte is. It's her version of the off-side rule, nobody really understands it, unless they breathe that world, dressage that is, are you keeping up? Good.
I'm standing there in front of Steffi, and longing for a fresh cup of tea, my Bose headphones and some very loud Korn or maybe some Placebo. The third man sitting at the desk rises, with his phone still to his ear, gesticulating to me with an air borne rotation of his closed hand, he’s sorry for the distraction, his conversation one sided, not his side. Only one person can drive you that crazy, Mothers! He's just listening, eyes roll to indicate to me he's being lectured..."OK Mum, I hear you,” bingo. “I’ll remember to water the plants next time I’m there.” There is then a long pause, his Mum is good, like mine, he rolls his eyes at me, “it was just a girl..." Mums, they take their time, and they get the job done. He walks slowly over to me a very handsome man, built bigger than Daniel but there are similarities in the eyes, the shape of his face and underlying bone structure, and the hair colour is the same..."OK, see you later Mother, bye....bye." Two enormous manly strides and he’s at my side hand outstretched warm smile on his handsome and craggy outdoorsy face. A well-mannered, immaculate chap, my Mum would like him.
“Only Mum's can drive you that crazy,” I say to him smiling and shake his hand, nodding in understanding.
A big friendly smile, "I’m James, Danny’s brother.” He smiles a friendly non predatory smile at me. The centre of Pete's current world, I am instantly at ease. “We'll be working together briefly, I am on the menswear side with Steffi part time.” He gesticulates to Steffi an odd look crosses his face…could be disapproval, I can’t be sure.
“Hello.” And I withdraw my hand back to my parka pocket, “I'm Tharie Charles, but, you probably know that already?” Understatement I expect, Pete loves to chat about people she knows more than anything, and she knows a lot of people.
“Once you're oriented, I’ll leave you to get on with it, it'll be your baby Tharie." His handshake lasts a little too long, warm friendly large hands, callused like mine. He looks at me, my eyes, smiles an infectious smile, we both laugh, we're thinking about Pete aren't we? "Another tea?" He asks. So this is the object of her desire, James Pearce, small world. I do want tea, my head is beginning to hurt from withdrawal.
"God yes, gasping." I try not to sound desperate but fail, but I need a constant supply of tea to keep me anchored, calm. If I don’t get enough the headache comes, hard and thumping, it's withdrawal, this thought stops me thinking.
James presses a button on the desk, “Newton, two teas down here please, Danny will be here soon."
"Okay, coming up." A disjointed voice comes from nowhere. Then I hear a voice from above, I shoot a look upwards, Newton is leaning over a balcony two stories above. "Tharie, did you like your tea how I made it?" He calls down.
"Yes, perfect, thank you, and thanks for the horsey cup too, I love it." Clearly happy with the praise, suspect his work goes unnoticed around here, he disappears. James looks at his phone as it vibrates, he too is attached to the device in a profound way as I am myself.
How long to that tea?
Later in chapter five, Tuesday:22ndoctober2013, my new boss
The front door hisses open and Daniel walks in, all eyes look his way, his presence clearly having effect on everyone in the room, glancing at Steffi, she's watching him, staring, still has feelings for him. Should I be worried I wonder?
Tea, I sip some gorgeous hot brown liquid, that's nice.
Looking sexy as hell Daniel fixes his gooseberry eyes on me. With jeans sitting oh so low on his slim hips, a deep masculine stride of confidence and grace. Never taking his eyes off me, those smouldering beautiful grey green eyes. Like he's beginning foreplay just by looking at me my whole body starts to tremble, and I feel a little lightheaded. I sip my tea again for something to do, to calm my arousal, god I love tea. I guess the second cup is for him.
BG, half-pass to the left. Nope, not working.
Wearing black from head to toe and looking hotter than even my brain remembers, and my brain is good…very good. My breath suddenly leaves my body, and it hurts across my chest. He rushes over to me, I suddenly remember my sunglasses are still on, I slide them onto my head. "Tharie, are you OK?" He asks in a whisper and with real concern in his voice, his hands are on my shoulders. He smells great.
"Nothing a few cups of tea won’t cure." I quip. I catch myself staring again, but this time I’m not embarrassed, in all likelihood this man undressed me last night, there aren’t many secrets left between us now, Wonder Woman pants included. How wrong I am, as it will turn out. Plus, did I mention he smells great?
"Good, let’s get you introduced to everyone and get your flights booked. You and I are going to Tokyo tomorrow. ” He carries on walking over to his desk, turns and winks playfully at me.
Shocked he could be so blatant here with people about, I check everyone’s whereabouts like a true detective, nope, I say to myself, nobody saw it. Steffi exhales sharply, her back to me, or maybe I’m wrong. Daniel returns me to the world by speaking again. “There's a small exclusive and secret denim auction going on and I have a 'key', is that OK with you?" Newton hands us both a tea, Daniel doesn’t wait a second before drinking it, his periodic table mug holds dark steaming tea the same colour as mine, but the tea bag still hovers just below the surface in my cup, I like it very dark.
"Yes,” I answer almost without breath, a few days away with him...., focus!! “I just have to speak to Jinni and ask her to look after the horses and cats for me. How long will we be away?" I ask looking at my phone, trying to sound relaxed.
G on the centre line, track left to C. Bugger, my usual trick isn't working, difficult puzzles in my head, calming the noise. And dressage, its difficult isn't it? Well, if you don't know, I can tell you it is.
I have horses and cats, and an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, so I can never relax. "Back Saturday morning very early, that OK?" Phew! Yes, that'll do nicely. My phone begs my immediate attention, as it vibrates unstoppable in my pocket, I endeavour to ignore, but it’s very demanding. I drain my cup, leaving the bag in the bottom.
Attempting not to sound too relieved, it's too early to let this man know all about me, "yes, early is fine." My class doesn’t start until 1, I should have time. Can’t let the team down, I’m in the final with both horses, riding for my South East Essex Club, it’s a big deal. Bloody hell. Again, a soft silent drilling in my side resumes, as everyone has other distractions I chance a quick look at the evil stalker device, I call a phone.
Deep breath, be strong, ignore.
Nope, can’t, I’m weak.
PF: “Hey babes, did you like it?” Of course, you have impeccable taste.
TC: “Wearing it now honey, it’s not suitable for riding” true story.
PF: “Depends what type of riding you mean doesn’t it?” Fell right into that one didn’t I? I’m usually much sharper that this, maybe I’ve got flu coming?
TC: “The lace is a little itchy, but happy at least it’s black” yes, very happy indeed.
PF: “Hope it works” me too, I won't attempt a sitting-trot wearing it though!
TC: “I owe you” true story.
PF: “My payment will be a blow by blow, emphasis on the blow, say you understand otherwise it’s my money I’ve wasted!” She thinks she’s funny.
TC: “Funny, really funny” I’ll take notes.
PF: “Are you being facetious?” Did you look up that spelling?
TC: “That's a long word for this early in the morning, plus, I can’t think what you mean” the opposite of the truth.
PF: “Serves me right for asking” it really does.
TC: “…and the moonbeams kiss the sea…” she knows I love that poem, it’s what my brain does when it’s noisy, quotes Shelley.
PF: “He's there isn't he? OK, 'what is all this kissing worth if thou kiss not me” something like that, yes. And I won't be kissing her again if that's what she's hinting at.
TC: “Over and out poet laureate” love you.
Without Shelley, my mind wanders, I try to concentrate on the job at hand, slightly uncomfortable in my new two piece black lacy set. Spiderman pants they certainly are not, but perhaps that’s a good thing, am I growing up? Hope not.
I love Japan, so I’m quite excited, Japan holds lots of the keys to modern denim, their artisans working with centuries old techniques using real natural indigo dye where oxygen develops the pigment into that all-familiar blue we all love. They achieve the most creative effects with laundry and dry hand processes, real ancient indigo dying processes, a brighter, more green-caste blue. Today indigo dye is created artificially using chemicals. The 'show' we'll be attending with offer denims that take a long time to make, hand stitched by a small isolated group of machinists with an underground following not unlike RANDom itself. To see and touch some of these denims is a dream.
"Will your 'key' invitation let me in too?" Knowing very little about this closed community in Tokyo, only what I’ve heard. The money that changes hands is high, and there's whispers of unsavoury characters making big money trading these items.
"Yes, come, I’ll show you where you'll be working." Daniel takes my bags before I can reach for them and heads for a staircase I’ve only just noticed in the back side wall behind his desk. Once my eyes are accustomed to the darker ambiance outside the glare of his desk light, I can see the 'hall' goes back much further than I first realised. All the joining buildings which look so different from the outside, are really one huge space. At the back of the ground floor lay rows of black packed boxes sitting on a neat wooden palette. I suspect they contain finished jeans, at least twelve boxes, which to my estimate hold six or seven jeans boxes. Each serial numbered and stamped jean comes flat packed folded once in half. The reverence and treatment are a symbol of the workmanship that goes into making this exclusive pair of jeans, since there is so much hand craft involved, no two pairs are ever exactly the same. Wrapped in black tissue with the eagle and ship crest printed on in fine metallic gold, now I remember where I’ve seen the logo, and fixed with a gold seal sticker. They are placed in a wax finished black tray that slides into a lid with RANDom embossed on the top and the eagle and ship above foiled in gold. Then a ribbed gross-grain black ribbon ties the box closed in a perfectly flat, not girlie, bow.
I remember when I finally got hold of my own RANDom denim, so excited, I’d followed a trail of whispered information across London had spoken to a few people and been sent to various locations to track down this piece. I met an old man in a café on Portobello Road, where a vast part of my months’ salary was exchanged for one of those waxed black boxes.
But my prize wasn't a jean, I’d been after a jacket, only four ever made so the word on the street tells it. But you know how those words often are, truth is nobody really knows how many jackets there are, and I have one. A black raw heavy denim, rough and stiff broken twill, 32oz western style with pyramid stud decoration and the eagle and ship embroidered in black lurex on a huge square calico label inside, with the serial number stamped underneath: '2012:3/4 only'.
I follow Daniel up the stairs appraising him from behind, aware Steffi is watching us, and trying not to show it. Is she going to be a problem for me? I snap away that thought as soon as it arrives, puncture it like a sharp pin to a balloon, Daniel and I are attracted to each other, neither of us will say anything, not here, not now. But this man makes my brain quiet, I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I take a final sweeping glance behind me and Steffi is staring at our ascending figures, eyes blazing phone to her ear, listening, not talking.
Suddenly, I hope there's more tea coming.
A bit later in chapter five, Tuesday:22ndoctober2013, more of my new boss
"Here's where you'll be working when you're here Tharie," and he leads me into a massive studio. Wow! Floor to ceiling window on the side wall obviously the back of the building, I look out amazed, the streets at the back look strangely like the streets at the front, if the TARDIS appeared now I wouldn't find it astonishing at all. I have a gigantic cutting table desk, dark grey rubber surface, black legs. A black painted floor and the back wall is covered in a strong galvanised metal mesh grid for hanging garments. I have two huge Mac screens on one end and a MacBookPro laptop, my set up has already been installed. An A3 matte black Wacom graphics tablet and pen sit waiting. My email has been installed and I’m ready to go. A shelf of metalware finish colour charts and a small workstation. Like my own at home, with a grinder and a hand sander.
In front of my desk in the other half of the room sit two three-seater black leather sofas and a huge low reclaimed wooden coffee table, a similar design to the desk Daniel has downstairs I notice and nod smiling. "Very nice indeed, thank you Daniel." I hope to goodness the smile is my happy one, not my 'go to hell' with a hangover version. Daniel places my Burberry on the desk, he clearly has an affection for nice things like I do, and my laptop case on the floor leaned up against the leg of my Val Doonican style swivel chair.
He comes over to me, "I’m glad you like it Tharie, I hope you'll be happy here, if there’s anything you need just call." I have a mind to tell him exactly what I need right now, and a sofa within reach too, but hold it in. I’m so proud of myself. Then answering the silent hum of the vibrator in his phone, he nods me goodbye and a sudden change in his manner, taking a call he’d rather not be taking, he heads back downstairs.
Startled by a commotion outside my window I look out to see collared doves suddenly take flight from the rooftop opposite, scattering in all directions, I wonder what startled them?
TC: “Henry, you got arrested before me, I’m so jealous” it’s the handcuffs I think.
HC: “Knew you’d understand Sis” oh Brother.
TC: “Want to tell me about it?” It’ll be the usual story.
HC: “It was just a misunderstanding, there was this girl……..” bingo.
All his stories begin with ‘there was this girl…’
TC: “Naturally, and?” Then there’s usually a boyfriend…
HC: “Her boyfriend…took an unreasonable dislike to me” can’t think why.
TC: “Are you OK now?” Do I need to come to the police station?
HC: “Course, the Captain is a fan, gave him a demo of the new single and got released with a caution” I’m so proud.
Well, the new single is good.
I plug my iPhone into the Bose speaker docker sitting on a small table by the door, slide the door shut and press play. I fish two horseshoes from my cavernous bag and hang them on the door one from each of my boys. There is a tall black vase with parallel sides filled with the sweetest smelling flowers, I don’t recognise them, like hellebores but double rows of petals in an old antique pink colour, a note on the same folded white card with the ship and eagle watermark, 'good luck today Dx'.
Where's my tea?
I chance another glance at my phone at the missed message, telling myself it could be an emergency but secretly worried I’d miss something. As it turns out, I could not be more wrong.
2 pizzas for the price of one tonight. Even the pizza place thinks I should be sharing pizza night with someone, perhaps they’ve been speaking to my Mum! Maybe I should ask her about that?
Surrounded by my own world of sounds, followed by a quietening in my head, I begin to feel my balance returning. The music is loud enough that I hear it dead centre between my ears but not too loud that I don’t hear a phone ringing. I wander to the sound of the Ace of Spades: Motorhead playing out of an iPhone I’d noticed is part of my set up, and lays perfectly square on my neat desk. The flat matte screen with the eagle and ship logo lit up on it. Another black phone but this time with a black rubberised cover debossed with anti-crack rubber bumpers, the eagle and ship on the back, this is my new work phone. The 'Ace of Spades', how did they know? It is Daniel, he'd had his number programmed in already so his name is part of the display, Daniel Pearce.
I swipe my finger across the answer bar "hello," I fidget my drawing pen and my screens come to life. “What could possibly have happened in the five minutes you've been gone?” The company logo screen saver on the two big screens, and my large flat MacBook monitor has my favourite photo of George and Harry, how? “Daniel.” I whisper under my breath.
"Hungry?" Is all I get, I glance at the wall clock, an intricately carved silver rounded frame like an old pocket watch but much bigger, it is lunchtime already, where is the time going?
"Always," I return, though I’m not really. I quickly finish my tea, mustn't waste that.