They say I’ll eventually work from home. But not yet. For my initial reading sessions, I have to go to a new WOCO building.
I grab the bread out of the toaster and spread jam over it. Strawberry jam is becoming difficult to find. A strawberry substitute has started appearing in the shops. WOCO say it’s better than the real thing, more nutritious, but I haven’t tried it.
Ellie sits down. She’s perkier this morning. We made love last night. I’d like to think that helped. Or am I kidding myself? I wonder if she just needed reassuring after our month apart. It can’t have been easy on her, all this mystery surrounding my new job. Then my month away training. WOCO kept me fully occupied — conditioning me morning, noon and night. Ellie had a month on her own with too much time to think.
“First day of your new job,” she says, as she sits down at the table in the kitchen.
“Yes.”
“Looking forward to it?”
“Yes.”
I’m not being reticent because I’m in a bad mood. I’m just wary of telling her too much. I was warned in the strongest terms that talking about my job would be treason in WOCO’s eyes.
“Do you know what you’re going to be doing this morning?” There’s a staged nonchalance in her eyes. She’s pretending she doesn’t really want to know. But she does.
“Ellie… you know I…”
“I’m sorry. I forgot.”
It must be hard when your husband can’t tell you about his new job. It’s the kind of situation in which your imagination can run riot. Does she have nightmares that WOCO have turned me into an assassin?
I deliver the toast. “Cooked to perfection,” I say and smile.
She repeats her apology before I leave. “I won’t ask again,” she says. “It’s just that the world’s gone crazy. I don’t want you doing anything that will get you in trouble.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“Just be careful,” she says.
The mutual appreciation is sealed with a kiss. We wave at each other for as long as possible, until I can’t see our home’s front door.
“Just be careful,” Ellie says again. But this time only in my head.
