The Book

5

The first few days of the working week are like Groundhog Day. The same breakfast, the same travel, the same book, getting to work and seeing the same faces, with the same inane conversation. How are you today? Did you have a nice evening? No I didn't do anything either. A quiet one. Did you see that programme on TV? No? You should watch it.

Nothing new.

Except today. Today, my boss didn't come in.

He didn't answer his phone when either of his doppelgänger senior managers rang him. They both wandered around the office wringing their hands, unsure what to do. Should they go to his house? Should they ring his wife?

The latter was eventually decided as the best course of action. She shouted at the manager who rang her, we could hear her through his mobile. She didn't fucking know where he was, and the stupid cunt could die for all she cared.

Erin glanced at me and nodded, a smug, knowing look on her face. 'I told you,' She hissed, 'affair!'

I gave a half hearted smile and shrugged. I had no love for my boss, he was a soul sucking arsehole really, grasping at his own fortune and mostly ignoring those who worked for him, but I had never had much of a stomach for gossip (which was ironic, given my great love for stories). Erin looked disappointed and turned away from me, to someone else, anyone else, someone who would engage. I felt that I had disappointed her with my reaction. I had no wish to be good friends with her, but I was always desperate for everyone to think positively about me. I was ashamed, then, and took the opportunity to remove myself from the situation, I had to give a card to Cathy.

In another phase of the Groundhog Day I was experiencing, I took myself from my desk to the sales room. Down the same corridor, through the same door.

Except today, today it was different.

It was quiet.

People were pale.

A few were sobbing.

They looked at me. I looked back, confused. Was I supposed to know something? Were they all this upset that our boss hadn't come in today? Perhaps he was better to them than he was to us. Why hadn't anyone in our room looked like this?

Joe came to my rescue as I gravitated towards his desk in the hunt for a friendly face. 'Rebecca, I take it you heard? We only just got the news.'

His eyes were red and weeping.

I shook my head mutely. His mouth dropped open.

'I thought that's why you were in here...after yesterday...you were obviously friends...'

Now my stomach began to churn and I felt sick. My eyes flitted from one person to another to another and I couldn't see Cathy. What the hell had happened? I shook my head again, unable to talk. Pleaded with Joe with my eyes to tell me what I needed to know.

'Shit. It's Cathy. Her sister got in touch with Rachel just now.' He gestured towards the glamorous, dark Rachel, the negative of Cathy with her black hair and dark eyes. Now her eyes were streaming. She was rocking gently as several other girls soothed her. 'Cathy. Well. I don't know how to say this. Shit. I'll just come out with it. It looks like Cathy committed suicide on Friday night.' He couldn't hold in another sob and it exploded out of him, grief made visible.

I froze. The words took such a long time to enter my sluggish brain and then I didn't know what to do, how to react. Confusion was still the biggest feeling. Then horror.

'She...?' I couldn't finish my question.

'Oh, Rebecca, I'm sorry to tell you. I know you two were close.'

I didn't bother to correct him, couldn't explain that we weren't close at all.

'How?' I needed to know.

'The sister says she hung herself. I'm so sorry.' Joe enveloped me in a warm and surprisingly welcome hug. I felt myself shake. Felt the card in my hand. The card that would never be delivered to its recipient.

Joe guided me to a chair and I slumped into it with relief. The shock I was experiencing was shocking me. My mind was foggy. I took the polystyrene cup of tea I was offered and slurped it, burning the roof of my mouth. I couldn't make sense of it.

'We're all in this together, Rebecca. We'll look out for each other.' Joe was patting my knee, looking quite concerned.

Who knows how much time passed, my brain stopped processing it, but eventually one of the middle managers came in and sent us all home. The sales staff were going to a bar, to 'talk it through' they said, but I declined their invite and went home. It was only when I closed the door behind me in my flat that I realised I was still clutching the card, its envelope marked by my sweating palm.

I couldn't put my finger on the reason why I felt the way I did. Yes, we had known each other and yes, we had had that interaction just a few days ago, but I felt like I'd been hit by a truck.

I couldn't sit, paced forwards and backwards, combed through that already fading encounter to search for clues. Why would she do it? It all felt wrong. I was clouded over.

Eventually I gave up and went to bed. It was still light outside, but I curled myself into a ball under my duvet and gave way to sleep, hoping the morning would bring clarity.