The I.T. Girl (18 page)

The clasped hands came down and balanced on his crossed knees.
‘There has been a lot of turmoil in this group, I know, and that is something that
I also intend to address.’

‘Let’s make a fresh start.’ I shrugged. ‘You know, I’d be happy
to continue investigating this part-time while I’m working on my feeds, even if
some of it is in my own time. It’s something I’m really excited about.’ It was true.
It was the kind of challenge that got me into computers in the first place.

Chapter Twelve

Security presence was heightened on our floor. They stood at
strategic points and occasionally spoke into their walkie-talkies, making a crackling
sound. But mostly they stood solemnly, possibly waiting for another fight to break
out. Boris and I rose to polite conversation so he could instruct me to start working
on OTA with immediate effect. Cameron started a new project and as he was in the
early stages of investigation, he didn’t have to face coding again for a while.
But things were strange without Sam.

I finalised the scope of OTA over the weekend, while curtains
were being fitted in the living room. I was exploring what kind of tests could be
run over night. Logical tests were the obvious choice but, I thought if we could
get meaningful results from stress testing, by running a large amount of data through
a feed, then we could see if a disproportionate amount of time was being spent on
anything, as in the case with METX.

I took a break to watch the pastel shapes dampen the evening
light as the cords were tested. My flat was beginning to take on the form of a home.
I walked in and out of each room, trying to remember how it looked when I first
moved in.

The lift dinged open on the twentieth floor. The sound seemed
sharper, first thing on a Monday morning while the office was still settled. I wondered
if Cameron would be up for an early coffee. Straight away, as I stepped out of the
lift, I could hear shouting. Now what’s happening? I pressed fingers to my lips
and retreated back, with a hand against the automatic doors. I hung my head there
for a moment, trying to work out where the noise was coming from.
Felix’s office.
I walked down the corridor and glanced in as
I passed. My hand went to my mouth. He was packing a cardboard box on his desk,
pulling folders off the shelf, and Jerome Ross was doing the shouting.

Even through the glass wall I could hear Jerome: ‘I love this
company and I will not have her treated like this!’

I went straight to Boris’s cube.

‘Boris, have you seen inside Felix’s office? JR is really shouting
at him.’

‘Felix Stern is moving on.’

‘What?’

‘Well, with all the fuckups recently, my grand deception and
Sam going postal last week, it was all enough to make JR yank back his dog. He’s
still got the same position but it is, in effect, a demotion.
Only five people on his new team.
Can’t do
much damage there.’

‘Jesus. That’s mad.’

‘There were some complaints to HR about Felix so he had it coming
from all sides really. That’s the way it rolls around here, baby.’

‘Who’ll be taking his place?’

‘Don’t know yet.
Could be someone internal.
We’re expecting though that moving forward, we’ll divide up the project work. We’ll
still all be one team but developers will do development and the analysts will do
the business analysis. The other way didn’t really work.’ He scrunched his nose.
‘There were problems in New York too.’

‘You mean things are going back to the way they were?’

‘The more things change, the more they stay the same.’ He smiled,
pleased with himself.

‘I guess Sam was right.’

‘Yes, well, anything else I can do for you,
Orla
?’

‘Actually, I was wondering if I could take Thursday and Friday
off this week? I have a furniture delivery and also if you remember, I mentioned
my bathroom fitting? They’ve said the end of the week would suit them.’

‘That should be fine. You don’t have any deadlines coming up.
Doing pretty well with the old DIY, eh?’

‘Got some flat pack furniture to get stuck
into.’

‘Flat pack.
Loving
it.
Try not to impale your hand with an Allen key or something like that,
eh?
Won’t be able to type.
Yes, that’s the important thing,
Orla
.
The ability to type.’

‘Thanks, Boris. I’ll try not to.’

Artur
from Bath Bravo arrived at 8
a.m. on Thursday morning. I made us both a cup of tea, before parking myself on
the living room floor. The best way to put the bookshelf together, I discovered,
was on its back. I ignored the advice on the diagram that it was a two-man job.
The model I chose fixed a black and white backing behind deep shelves that would
leave room for a line of books as well as photos and ornaments sitting in front.

‘I can help, yes?’
Artur
came into
the living room and re-tied his pony tail which was heavy with specs of paint and
dust.

‘Yes, thanks.’ We had become friends while we worked in the adjacent
rooms and he told me about his plans to propose to his girlfriend, who came with
him from Poland.

With a heave we lifted the bookshelf together and fitted it snugly
against the wall.

‘It’s a good thing you’re here today,
Artur
,’
I said. ‘Otherwise I would have been walking around this thing on the floor for
weeks.’

‘Yes? You
no
have boyfriend?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, that’s terrible.’

I made us more tea and showed
Artur
the gash in the window frame.

‘A few lick of paint after you put putty should do it nice.’

‘Cool. I’ll probably re-paint the windows anyway.’

‘Yes, could do with it,’ he said.

In my bedroom there was only the dressing-table left to put up.
I sat cross-legged, bent over the leaflet of diagrams with hinges and screws fanned
out on my other side. Concentrating on putting it together was peaceful. There were
thoughts in my head I still wanted to block out. Once assembled, I glued the little
plastic caps over the screws and then filled it straight away, relieving the floor
of its collection of makeup and hair products.

The side table for the living room was the last job. It had a
small drawer to go in front and then a door for the side shelf. I secured it to
the alcove wall, below the pictures of my family holidays, in the old wooden frames,
deceptively faded and worn.

I caught
Deelie’s
eye while we were
stretching in the row before the run and we smiled. I looked around to see where
George was. He was at the other end of the railings, stretching with the men in
their usual spot. She wouldn’t give me the full story over the phone, insisting
on saving the gory details.

The whistle blew and the group turned towards the path. My landmarks
had changed from brittle, naked trees to rows of purple and green leaves above thick
foliage merging everything together.
Deelie
and I fell
in sync but we waited until there was a gap between us and everyone else, before
speaking.

‘Haven’t seen you in a while.’
I teased.

‘It’s going really well,’ she blurted.

‘Fantastic. How did it happen?’

‘We got together on the boat.’

‘Thought so.
When I came back inside,
Alex was asking where you were. We decided you were missing-in action... or getting
some action.’

‘Ha. We looked for you.
On deck.’

‘Oh yeah?
Find me?’

‘Got side-tracked.’

‘Aw... So then you went on the date?’

‘Then I wore him out,’ she said proudly. ‘He stayed the whole
weekend. We went out last Friday too.’

‘Wow. So you’re properly seeing each other. All your hard work
has paid off,
Deels
.’

‘Yeah.
Except I can
barely walk now.
Running’s no picnic either. Hey, keep up the pace!’ she
commanded as I doubled over laughing.

‘Yes Ma’am.’

‘How’s work?’ she asked.

‘Improved.
Er
,
I wanted to mention that. Sorry if I seemed a bit weird the night of the social...
I was just under pressure.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ she flipped a hand, ‘shit happens. Alex
and I are going to the theatre next week. You want to come?’

‘You mean like to a musical?’ I asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘I’d love to!’

My yoga clothes, bought with good intentions, felt like a salve
on my limbs after my shower, and I organised myself on the couch with a cup of tea,
pulling my hair into a wet ponytail. There was a magazine within reach. I stretched
over to it with a groan and started reading an article for the second time. But,
I wasn’t interested. I jumped up and went to the windows. Two couples that I recognised
were having lunch in the communal garden, watching their children play. I went back
to my phone on the couch and refreshed the inbox. Still nothing – I didn’t really
expect anything. I kept re-wording a text message in my head; afraid of the replies.
Finally I lost patience with myself and decided to take the direct approach. ‘
Fancy lunch? I’d really like us to talk.
’
He replied a few minutes later.

I changed into a summer dress – it was almost warm enough. Then
I blow-dried my hair and used the straightener. I took my time with my makeup, rubbing
a little foundation into my lips so the lip gloss would stay longer. Men thought
we wore makeup because we imagined they didn’t like us without it. But really, it
was about armour. On the way out the door, I grabbed a jacket, just in case.

The cafe terrace was on a hill. Tables anchored themselves in
between cobble stones. The cloudless sky made it seem like we were actually
in
the Mediterranean. I spotted him behind
a menu.

‘Hey.’ A wave of butterflies hit me as I sat down.

‘Hey.’ He folded the menu.

‘How are you doing?’ I asked with forced lightness.

‘Fine, thank you. How are you doing?’

‘Fine also,’ I said. ‘Actually, feeling rested. I’ve been off
work for a few days – working on my flat.’

‘You’re taking holidays now? How will the company survive?’

The waiter came over with bread and olives. ‘Ah,
Orla
and Columbus are back.’

We smiled, despite the tension and ordered some tapas and a bottle
of wine.

‘Look, I’m really sorry. I know I took stuff out on you.’ I waited
for him to say something but his face didn’t change. ‘I mean I haven’t been myself
for ages. You know I have a list of people I have to apologise to too,’ I attempted
a joke.

‘I don’t think you want to let anyone in. I find it exhausting.’

‘It’s not that.’ I insisted, flinching at the flatness of his
tone. ‘I was just doing what I thought I had to do. I guess I didn’t know how to
handle it when things didn’t go my way... You know, I never thought anything like
that would ever happen to me.’

‘You shouldn’t let them get to you that much.’

‘What about you? You let things get to you.’

‘I can see that now,’ he admitted. ‘I was always so angry working
for
CouperDaye
. But my stress level has gone way down
since.’ A slow grin formed on his face. ‘I thought I needed a holiday. Turns out
I just needed to smack Boris.’

‘That was some scene, Sam,’ I laughed. ‘Everyone’s still talking
about it.’

‘I can imagine.’ He topped up my wine glass.

‘So, how is your life of leisure?’ I asked.

‘I’ve been in touch with some agencies.
Looking
at contracting next.
Definitely thinking about a holiday
first though.
Maybe diving.
Somewhere
warm.’

We both helped ourselves to a sip of wine while I imagined sun-filled
water and a small fish beckoning me to follow around a coral corner.

‘I was in
CouperDaye
for five years,’
he continued, ‘Can’t believe I gave those
muppets
five
years of my life.’

‘I’m going to miss you in work.’ I smiled.

‘I’m going to miss you too,
Orls
.’
He imitated Boris. ‘Give Boris a
wedgy
for me, won’t you?’

‘He’s afraid of me now,’ I said, ‘you’ll enjoy that story. I’ll
save it for some other time. You know, Felix has been moved groups. And we’re going
back to the analysis-development divide.’

‘What?’

‘And Boris comes out of the whole thing squeaky clean.’ I grinned,
enjoying the shocked look on his face, as our food arrived.

‘Boris has the survival instinct of a cockroach,’ Sam said. ‘End
of the world and it will be Boris and the cockroaches. And Boris will be trying
to find out which one of them is in charge so he can kiss his ass.’

‘I suppose I lack the political savvy to survive the way Boris
does.’

‘That’s what I like about you,
Orla
.
Your lack of political savvy.’

‘This coming from the man who punched his manager.’

‘Touché.’

The park opposite had an art gallery on the weekends. Paintings
leaned against the railings and the artists sat on stools, chatting.

‘I need one more painting for my flat,’ I said, looking over.

‘Something of Big Ben?’ he teased.

‘Maybe one of the bridges.’

‘We can have a look if you like.’

After lunch we went over to the paintings. There was one of an
old street, stretched around a corner like it was in a hurry.

‘I think I like that one,’ I said.