When She Was Bad(16)

He and Sarah were the last staff members queuing to order their food. The others were sitting around a large table by the window which was already strewn with cardboard boxes and plastic smoothie cups. Rachel Masters sat at one end picking at something green and leafy with a stubby wooden fork. To her left, Chloe was leaning forward and saying something with that red rash flaring up like the Olympic flame on her chest as it always did when she was nervous. Charlie felt sorry for the girl. She could be a bit silly sometimes and inclined to be self-absorbed, but it was hard to hold your own in an office of much older people. On Rachel’s other side, Ewan was grasping a bulging wrap in both hands while gazing over its top at their new boss with an expectant smile poised on his lips, just waiting to pounce on a flippant remark or an encouraging look. Oh dear. Poor Ewan.

‘Someone needs to pop Ewan back in his crate with a blanket over the top,’ he whispered to Sarah as they made their way over to the table. ‘Calm him down.’

‘I thought he and Chloe had a thing?’

‘Euw. Child-snatcher.’

‘Perhaps you could tell us all the joke. We could do with a laugh.’ Rachel’s glossy lips were parted in a smile, but her eyes were cold. Charlie’s own lips suddenly felt sun-shrivelled dry. He’d worked in recruitment for years. He was an experienced, conscientious member of the team. Gill had privately told him he was the backbone of the department, so why did he feel as if he was back in the primary-school playground suddenly, loitering by the girls’ area, just praying to be left alone?

‘Oh, we were just laughing about the food,’ Sarah said. Charlie was shocked to see that her hand, clutching its little box of salad, was actually trembling.

‘Yes,’ he broke in quickly, wanting to rescue her. ‘I mean, has anyone in the entire history of Death Row ever asked for a last meal of alfalfa sprouts or quinoa?’

He and Sarah both did those false laughs people do on TV – that come from the throat and not the belly.

‘I thought it would be nice for us all to have a clearing-the-air session, away from the formality of the office,’ said Rachel, addressing the whole table.

If Chloe’s head nodded much more fervently it would surely detach itself from her body.

‘I’m very aware that things have been difficult, the last few days. Transitions are always tricky. But I want to urge you to come to me with any questions or problems or complaints. Far better to have them out in the open where they can be addressed instead of whispering in corners, which only creates a bad atmosphere.’

Was she looking at him? There’d been a moment when he’d felt rather than seen her eyes on him, like fingernails digging in his flesh. Charlie shifted uneasily and plunged his wooden fork into his food. The organic, free-range, probably ashtanga-yoga-practising chicken tasted like something that had been spat out and then reconstituted, its texture unpleasantly claggy.

‘I thought it would be good today to go round the table and for each of you to say one thing you think could improve the performance of this department.’

What was this, circle time?

He and Sarah shared a brief look. One of her eyebrows was infinitesimally raised. When was the last time she had plucked them, anyway? Charlie missed the days of Sarah BC (before children) when the two of them used to go out after work and sit in gay pubs eyeing up men and singing medleys of West End musicals. She was already with Oliver then, but they’d quite happily kept separate friends. Not that Charlie had anything against Oliver, just that Sarah was more fun when she wasn’t with him. Now when he thought back to those days, she with her fiery red curls and ready gap-toothed smile and weakness for sweet, liqueur-based cocktails that they’d stock up on in two-for-one happy hours, it was like a different life, like a holiday that, once home, you struggled to believe had ever happened. In the last four years, Sarah had acquired two children, at least ten extra kilos and a permanent frown-line down the bridge of her nose. They rarely went out anywhere any more, and when they did she’d spend most of her time fielding phone calls from Oliver asking the whereabouts of favourite toys or why Sam was refusing to eat whatever mush she’d left for dinner, or why Joe wouldn’t stop crying. More often than not they’d both go home more stressed rather than less.

‘Sarah. I can see you’re dying to share something with the rest of us. Let’s have your thoughts.’

From the corner of his eye, Charlie watched Sarah’s hands. She was literally wringing them together in her lap. He couldn’t remember ever actually seeing someone do that before. Squeezing, then turning, squeezing, then turning.