She ate the last bite of her bun, noticing lipstick smeared all over it. This was why she didn’t bother usually. “I better go. Duty calls.”
He checked his watch. “And me. I’m meant to be sawing someone’s skull open as we speak.”
And Annie had to...what did she have to do? Move some paper around, key in some numbers? It was embarrassing, how little her job mattered. She stood up. “Well, thank you again for helping Mum. And good luck with the brain stuff.”
“Thanks for the coffee.” He was still studying her. “It is the dress, I think. Nice.”
*
On the bus, Annie sat down beside a teenage girl with loud pulsing headphones. Normally she would sigh and tut, thinking horrible thoughts about the person. But today she didn’t mind so much. Her mum was all right, for now at least, and she had a nice dress on and she’d had coffee with a doctor. And it wasn’t even nine yet. She started to wonder about her daily routine. It had been the same for two years now. Up, into the moldy shower, eat a bowl of muesli, get dressed in some form of black. Out the door. Wait for the bus, jiggling and sighing in the cold if it was late. Squeeze on, usually without a seat. Get to work, key in the door code, feeling her heart sink, because however horrible the journey was, it was paradise compared to being in the office. Sit at her desk. Turn on computer. Answer emails. Lunch at one. Sit at desk, eat sandwich, stalk Mike and Jane on Facebook. What if she did something different today? What if she changed?
The girl took out her headphones and went to get past Annie. “Cool dress,” she said nonchalantly.
“Thank you!” Annie was still smiling long after the girl had got off.
*
When she reached her stop, her eye was caught by the bakery beside the bus stop, a shabby neighborhood one wafting out smells of icing sugar and melting chocolate. On impulse, she went in.
Ten minutes later, feeling self-conscious, she reached work. Someone else had to tap in the code for her, as she was carrying a large white box with buns in. “Thanks.”
“Got something nice in there?” The man nodded to the box. He worked upstairs, she thought. She sometimes saw him having a cigarette outside in the rain.
“Buns. Um, would you like one?” Her heart began to race. He would laugh at her, think she was daft.
“Seriously?”
“Sure. There’s loads.”
“Well, thank you!” He was smiling now, whereas she’d only ever seen him looking miserable and damp. “Cheers very much. Another day at the coalface, eh?”
“Yeah.” She rolled her eyes and smiled as he went to the lift, and she went past the receptionist, who was ogling the whole thing. “Bun?” Annie said.
“I’m on the 5.2.”
“Oh, well, another time, maybe.”
She opened the office door, seeing Jeff come out of the kitchen with a coffee in his usual stained mug, which had the logo of a software company on it. “Morning.”
“Oh. Hi, Annie.” His voice was flat. Did she always look as glum as everyone else in this building? “You’re...” He glanced at her dress and makeup. “Special occasion?”
“Oh, no. I brought some buns. Would you like one?”
Jeff blinked. “Oh, that’s—wow. Um. Do you have enough?”
“Sure.” Annie carried the buns to the central table where they sorted the post, feeling everyone’s eyes on her. It was unnerving. She knew most of them thought she was antisocial, and unfriendly, and too much of a stickler for expense rules. “Um, there’s some buns here, if anyone wants...” She trailed off, suddenly sure everyone would be on some kind of gluten-free diet.
But Jeff was selecting a custard slice. “Thanks, Annie. This’ll get me through that three-hour budget meeting.” Then Syed came over, and then Fee.
Annie went to her desk, switching the computer on. “Hi, Sharon.” May as well go all in on this “something different” idea.
Sharon had been watching the bun incident with narrowed eyes as the rest of the office fell on the box like carrion crows. “Not very healthy, is it? Sticky buns.” This from the woman who always ordered two portions of chips at lunch, one to eat and one to snack on throughout the afternoon. “Anyway, you’ve got work to do. That’s another fifteen minutes off your time sheet.”
Annie sighed and put aside thoughts of making the office a better place. Even if she did clean up the kitchen and bring snacks, she was fighting against the weight of apathy, which was heavier than bricks. Against the fact that not a single person in this building wanted to be there. Who would? Shut up in a lightless box, surrounded by people you didn’t like, doing work that didn’t matter, among dirt and debris from years of indifference.
She picked up her first invoice. Once, when she’d first started here, she’d almost enjoyed the work. The neatness of it, adding things up, pressing buttons to get people paid, producing clean sheets of numbers and facts. Having a paycheck, and being grown up. But somehow, coming to work had started to feel like death. Like she couldn’t breathe, like every bit of her skin was coated in dust and grime and other people’s misery. It was funny, but this office was actually more depressing than the hospital, where people came to get bad news. Maybe because in the hospital they really faced life down, instead of ignoring it, eyes glued to screens.
Around her, the sounds of the office blurred into one. Tapping keys, the drone of the copier, the buzz from Syed’s headphones, where he was listening to episodes of the QI podcast. And the thought came to Annie again. There has to be more than this. There has to be.
DAY 23
See old friends
“Good morning.” Annie’s mum was awake, sitting up in bed with her hands folded in front like the queen.
“Hi, Mum. How are you today?”
“Very well, thank you,” she pronounced in polite tones. “Who are you, dear?”
Annie’s heart sank again. She hadn’t even realized it had lifted. “I’m Annie.”
“Oh, that’s funny. I think my daughter’s called Annie, too. She might be along to visit sometime.”
Across the ward, Annie saw Dr. Quarani coming over, and she hastily wiped her hand across her eyes. “Mrs. Clarke,” he said, slotting a pen into the pocket of his starched white coat. Annie wondered if he had a wife at home, doing all his laundry. “How are we feeling today, ma’am?”
Annie liked the ma’am. So many of the nurses called her “Maureen” or “love” or even “Mary.” Her mother had always been a stickler for politeness. “I’m all right, thank you, Doctor.” She stage-whispered, “This lady has come to visit me.”
“That’s kind of her.” He took her mother’s pulse and made a note on a chart. “You’re doing well, Mrs. Clarke. Your vitals have stabilized and we’ve seen a big reduction in those moments of distress.”
“She still doesn’t know who I am,” Annie said, swallowing down tears.
“No. I’m sorry. We might not be able to do anything about that, as you know.”
“You’re handsome, aren’t you?” Annie’s mum said loudly. “Where is it you’re from, Doctor?”
“I’m Syrian, ma’am.”