… her horizon was that of the genteel romance where the heroine’s soul poured out in her journal is full of vague power, originality, and general rebellion, while her life moves strictly in the sphere of fashion; and if she wanders into a swamp, the pathos lies partly, so to speak, in her having on her satin shoes. Here is a restraint which nature and society have provided on the pursuit of striking adventure; so that a soul burning with a sense of what the universe is not, and ready to take all existence as fuel, is nevertheless held captive by the ordinary wirework of social forms and does nothing particular.
Edith’s screensaver is a picture of a bare-breasted woman running towards the camera with her arms thrown up and the words Still Not Asking For It written across her chest. She is a member of No Means No – an anti-rape group. Her PhD is on the fight against the patriarchy in Victorian literature, with reference to John Stuart Mill (The Subjection of Women) and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (‘the first radical feminist novel’). Her writing is impassioned, the beat of it like a fist punching the air.
‘Hello, chicken,’ says Bryony, handing Manon a vodka tonic as they survey the group together.
Colin is talking at full tilt to Davy, who sits forward with his elbows on his knees, nodding and listening intently. Stuart, wearing a black leather jacket and black jeans, which are arousingly tight, is chatting to Nigel. Kim is knocking back a pint.
‘I’m already having a bad time,’ says Manon.
‘Oh, come on, what’s not to like? It’s dark, there’s a faint whiff of vomit, Colin’s talking technology.’
‘You’ve got yoghurt down the back of your top,’ says Manon, picking at some dried white crust on Bryony’s cardigan. ‘At least, I hope it’s yoghurt.’ She smells her fingers and frowns.
‘Hang on,’ Bryony says, craning over her shoulder. ‘Hold this,’ and she hands Manon her drink. She rummages in her bag and fishes out a toy car, then a box of raisins and finally a wet wipe. ‘Go at it with this, will you?’
‘I put my book in the bin on the way home,’ says Manon, rubbing at Bryony’s shoulder.
‘Good for you. Is it coming off?’
They both detest MIT’s yearly Secret Santa charade, organised before the Hind case kicked off, which had played itself out in the office at leaving time – everyone with their coats on. It was about as festive as a queue for the bus. Manon had received a book on dating – Grab Your Man Before Someone Else Does – from the cut-price bookstore in the precinct. It was still in the pink and white striped paper bag, sealed with Sellotape, and the lack of wrapping put it firmly at Colin’s door. Colin, whose response to every crime was to shake his head saying, ‘Takes all sorts’, had received a bag of Liquorice Allsorts, with ‘Liquorice’ replaced with the word ‘Takes’. (‘Good one,’ Manon said to Bryony.) Harriet had, inappropriately enough, been given a pair of sheer stockings (‘Not Stuart, surely,’ Bryony whispered, horrified). Davy got a nodding dog for the car. Bryony a baby’s bib that said: What happens at Grandma’s, stays at Grandma’s.
‘Shame she’s in a home,’ Bryony whispered sadly. ‘What happens at Grandma’s is a lot of peeing in her pants and the odd ill-timed sexual outburst.’
‘That probably should stay at Grandma’s,’ Manon said.
The whole thing was like being handed a placard saying: This is what everyone in the office thinks of you. Stuart got a seduction kit in a tiny tin (perhaps it wasn’t off-target after all). Manon had been forced to buy for Kim, the office enigma. She literally knew nothing about Kim. Even her age was a mystery. So she’d bought her a bag of old-fashioned sweets and some socks. Kim seemed practical that way and when she’d opened it, she’d nodded and said, ‘Fair dos.’
‘Another drink?’ says Kim now, having weaved her way over to Manon and Bryony.
‘Why the fuck not?’ says Manon. ‘We’re on vodka tonics, thanks, Kim.’
‘Righto,’ says Kim, her broad back disappearing towards the bar.
‘She’s an enigma wrapped in a riddle, that woman.’
‘How did it go with the poet?’ asks Bryony.
‘He took me skating.’
‘Oh my God, you hate skating.’
‘Then he told me he was still living with his ex.’
‘This one’s sounding like a keeper. Please tell me you made your excuses and left.’
‘D’you know what? I actually did, for like the first time ever.’
‘Good on you, kiddo. How did he take it?’
‘Told me he preferred his women petite.’