Page 4 of Falling for You
I gasp as I pop out onto the platform, as if the carriage has just birthed me, and push myself up to my full height.
‘Right,’ I mutter to myself. ‘Well done me.’
‘Good morning, everyone!’ I sing as I burst into the office. We have part of the third floor of an enormous corporate building. It sounds fancy but really means we have one room, a toilet and a kitchen, and we have to share a lift with lots of serious people in suits.
We were given free rein with the office when we first got in, so Pam handed us all some paintbrushes and told us that she couldn’t afford an interior designer. My controlling behaviour took over immediately, and I found myself fighting flashing images of all my colleagues going rogue and painting self-portraits or something equally horrendous and ‘fun’. So, I shepherded them all off to the bathroom as quickly as I could and told them to paint it white. An hour later they were so bored that they all went to the pub – it worked like a charm.
Pam gave me her credit card and told me to ‘Annie-fy’ it, so I did. I painted the walls a gorgeous mossy green and useda shimmering silver paint to draw a huge tree that curled over the ceiling. It was the most fun I’d had in years – holding that paintbrush felt a bit like I was reconnecting back to my energy source.
‘Good morning, Annie.’
I look round at Pam’s voice and, as expected, I see her hunched over her laptop. Pam has wild blonde hair which grows out instead of down in tight, springy curls. She’s wearing a loose, oversized shirt which reaches her knees and big, jangly necklaces around her tanned neck. She built this business from nothing and spends so long craning over her laptop that her back has developed a slight hump and the skin around her eyes is creased from the hours of squinting at the computer screen. She always has an unlit cigarette in her mouth, ready to smoke. I’ve spenthourstelling her off for smoking inside, though she rarely even smokes them these days. She’s too busy.
‘Morning, Pam,’ I smile, putting my bag down on my desk. ‘How are you?’
‘I need to ask you a favour.’
I used to take offence at Pam’s utter disregard for small talk. When it was just the two of us, I’d bumble in every Monday, excited to talk about our weekends and see if she’s watching the new series ofI’m a Celeb… and I’d be met with silence. Or, worse, a look of complete bafflement.
I lean on the desk opposite hers. ‘Sure, what’s up?’
Pam scowls at her computer, clicking her mouse vigorously.
‘This turned up today.’ She kicks a box by her foot and Iglance down, my heart turning over. ‘I have no idea where it’s come from, or what it even is.’
I know what it is. I also know where it’s come from, because I ordered it after a particularly jolly night in the pub with Pam where I thought she was so full of spirit and joy thatof courseshe’d want an entire box of Halloween decorations delivered to the office to spruce the place up a bit. All I’d have to do is ask her, just out of manners really, because she’d definitely say yes.
Except, I went home and ordered it on the company credit card, went to sleep and swiftly forgot all about it. Which also meant, forgetting to ask Pam.
‘Oh,’ I say, trying my best to sound curious as I kneel down to look at the box, ‘it looks like Halloween decorations.’
Oh my God, these arefantastic! I’d forgotten how brilliant this company were.
I start leafing through the decorations excitedly. There’s cauldron bunting, ghosts that sway off the ceiling and –
‘A talking pumpkin!’ I cry, pulling it out of the box in amazement. ‘Pam! Look at this!’
Pam doesn’t break her eye contact with her laptop.
‘Right,’ I say, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to remain professional and not start laying out all the decorations in height order so I can send them to my mum and we can both fangirl over how great they are. ‘I’ve got you, Pam. I will put this all up around the office for you.’
Pam points her pen at me and I jump. ‘Not that singing pumpkin shit,’ she says. ‘That can go in the bin.’
‘It can’t go in the bin!’ I squeal, holding the pumpkin tomy chest like it’s my first-born child. ‘There are two of them! They belong together.’
Pam looks up at me, and I see a smile quiver on her thin lips. ‘Fine. Take them home with you.’
I beam. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, seeing as you ordered it all anyway.’
I feel my face fall and I’m about to gush an apology when I notice Pam smirking at me.
‘You’re the boss,’ I say, doing a fake curtsy. I’m about to turn and walk into the kitchen when I spot Pam’s computer screen, filled with pictures of India.
‘Oh!’ I say. ‘What are you looking at?’
She snaps her browser shut and goes back to her emails. ‘Don’t be nosy.’
