-78. The Stranger in My Office
Who are you? Why are you here?
When I got to work, a stranger was sitting in my office.
Coat on the chair. Half-drank coffee mug on display. It felt like her room.
Without looking up, she slid a USB stick across the desk and said, “Could you print this for the meeting?”
Most people would’ve said something. Who are you? Why are you here? Print what?
I took the drive.
Reception had a free desk. The chair dipped to the left and gave me a dead leg. I could follow her screen from there. Work out what was going on.
She took a call in a language I didn’t recognise. Waved her arms as if negotiating a truce. Knocked over a yoghurt onto my Montblanc mouse mat.
When she left for lunch, I slipped in to wipe the desk and grab a folder. I moved carefully. Quickly. As if I didn’t want anyone to know I’d been in my own office.
Her handbag was on the floor, half-zipped. I could see a small tube of something inside. Lip balm, maybe. The air held a trace of something floral.
I collected a few things and left, closing the door behind me.
When she got back, I thought about saying something light and flirty. “Didn’t realise this was a timeshare!”
But the moment had passed. So I took my place in the hall.
She stayed all afternoon. Sometimes stood in front of the window, silhouetted by the sun. Helped herself to the De’Longhi espresso machine and rearranged things in ways I didn’t like.
Our eyes met once. She smiled. I smiled back like I understood what was happening. Then she changed her jumper.
At clocking off time, she picked up my cactus and took it home.
I went to meet Hugh at the courts. Was on fire that day. Beat him in three straight games.
He bought the first round at the pub — the loser always did. We sat by the pool table, under the painting of dogs playing poker. The others showed up a bit later.
I told them about the stranger who’d taken over my office. Someone said my cactus is getting promoted.
Hugh said it sounded like a prickly situation.