It May Rain

Chapter Four

JANUARY

I dart my eyes across the table as he shuffles the papers together, anxious to find out what is typed on them. Most meetings with my manager don't go like this, but recently Jacko has been on the warpath. Business is down and profits have fallen at the bakery chain, and we're all feeling the pressure to turn things back around.

Today's my first performance review at this company and I've no idea what to expect. I've heard that Jacko has been overly critical of my other colleagues' recent performance, but as I work in HR and am only acting as maternity cover, I'm hoping he might be easier on me. I have no direct input on how much profit we make or the day to day running of the factory.

Truth be told, working in HR is not my calling and as far as I'm concerned it's just a way to pay my bills. I have a job and I'm earning an honest living but it's not how I imagined using my English literature degree. I only applied to this role because I used to regularly bake for charity events at university which I found therapeutic as well as rewarding. Being surrounded by baked treats is the only good thing about working in this place.

"So, Mae, how would you say your first six months here have been?"

"They've been fantastic. I've learnt so much about human resources. I feel like I've really developed since I first started this role," I smile brightly. I don't want him to get the slightest hint at my disgruntlement, because I've a feeling he would take it personally. The man is married to his job and this company.

"Yes, I'd definitely agree with that. You're no longer a graduate fresh out of university now, eh? You've become a real asset to the team in the short time you've been with us, and you've done a stellar job of stepping up after Lindsay went on maternity leave."

"Well, it's been challenging at times, but everyone has been super helpful," I say, not counting the many times when Jacko has dumped work on me at the last minute and left me to figure everything out myself.

"Indeed. I know you've had a lot on your plate with onboarding all the temporary Christmas staff these past few months, and getting that December payroll finished on time must have been a lot to deal with. I want to commend you on the excellent job you did with that. I hope you didn't end up doing too much overtime."

"I did what I had to do," I smile through gritted teeth.

***

The January blues have hit the office and everyone is in a downbeat mood. Not even Chantelle with her exuberant mannerisms is making a dent to the atmosphere.

My usual breaktime mate Susan has fractured her arm during a skiing trip and won't be coming back to work for at least another six weeks, so I don't even have anyone to slink off and drink coffee with. Not that Susan and I have much in common, but it's nice to hear about her grandchildren and what else I can expect from life when I become a sexagenarian.

It really is a dreary first day back after Christmas.

At exactly five o'clock I turn my computer off and race out of the building as fast as I can. If I get my timings right, I know I can make the five fifteen train and be home by six o'clock. I power walk to the station and make it just on time, sweat forming at my brow from the sudden burst of activity.

The train is crammed and full of like-minded commuters sharing body heat. I don't get a seat which I was totally expecting, so I make myself comfortable by leaning against the carriage wall. I loosen my scarf and find my neck is damp with sweat. Elsewhere, my body begins to feel agonisingly warm from all the heat radiating from all directions, and the fact I'm wearing several layers to keep warm from the brutally cold weather outside doesn't help.

I hate winter with a passion.

The train rattles along as I absentmindedly browse through my phone. Until my attention is diverted to a flash of blonde hair and kind eyes meeting mine. A small smile involuntarily forms across my lips, and I curse myself for it because no one ever makes friendly eye contact with a stranger in London. To my surprise though, the strange man smiles back and my cheeks blush in response.

Who is this man that doesn't know about London social conventions? Who am I to judge though, when just six months ago I first arrived from the West Midlands wet behind the ears too.

I'd spent my entire life in my small hometown, went to university nearby whilst living at home, but then my family situation changed after I graduated and I had to move out and find a job straight away. Any job, anywhere, and before I knew it I'd secured a HR job in an outer suburb of London. It was never my ambition to move here but this city has its upsides, as well as its downsides.

I take a momentary glimpse at the man again, short and sweet so it doesn't look like I'm staring, and get a better look at him.

He's reading a newspaper as he stands arched against the carriage doorway, a studious look about him as he rubs a finger against his lips. He's tall, imposing, with stubble lining his tanned jawline, and he's dressed in a smart black coat thrown over a cream turtleneck sweater. Another important thing I note is how hot he is. As in, he's smoking hot. Even though he's probably at least ten years older than me.

I've seen countless hot men on my commute before and in a city of eight million people, it's rare I'll ever see any of them again, including this specimen in front of me. It's a sad but true fact, so I pull my book out of my bag and attempt to erase his existence from my mind.

I hardly ever get laid these days and ogling hot strangers on the train is only going to make me more thirsty.

***

With my piping hot ready meal in hand, I make my way up to my bedroom and settle down for an action-packed night in front of the television. There's a new series on my wishlist that I've been dying to get stuck into.

My cushions are arranged just how I like them, in perfect formation to get the best viewing angle to the television screen. My half finished bottle of cola is on the side table and my laptop is waiting for me to spend all night on it.

A year ago I was a student with a buzzing social life, never a week went by without a party or some kind of gathering, or even drinks with a group of friends. And now I'm a twenty two year old recluse who spends the long winter nights all alone in her room.

Is this what my life is destined for? I really hope not...

Sure, I keep up to date with my hometown and my uni friends' lives through group chats and social media, but catching up with them over a screen will never be the same as catching up in real life. It's like I'm inundated with virtual interactions, but severely lacking any human interaction; there's a big part of my life missing and I feel empty.

I felt it big time at the Christmas party.

Sometimes, I get these waves of self-pity that pass over me, and I have to fight hard to brush them off. I know this is only a temporary phase in my life, and things will get better, but sometimes it's hard to see the wood for the trees.

For months I've tried to find things in common with my colleagues, I've joined the local gym and other activity groups in the hope of making friends, and I've used friend finder websites, but to no avail.

Is it me that's the problem, is it me that no one wants to be friends with?

As I'm going through Netflix to find the series I want to watch, I also realise the area where I live and work is no help either, as it's so far out of central London that nothing interesting ever happens around here.

Refusing to feel sorry for myself any longer, I fling the television remote across the bed, grab my laptop and start scouring the internet for new jobs. Any job, just so long as it's based in central London and I get to work with people more on my wavelength. I can't live like this forever.

In a state of frenzy I apply for several jobs, not sure whether the quantity over quality approach is the best way forward, but not really thinking too deeply about it. At least I'll feel better for having attempted to crawl my way out of the hole my life is currently in.

By the time I've finished, my food's gone cold.