cat nap so my metabolism is back on form.’
‘I missed my daughter’s birthday because I was winning this new project from Ribena and so she didn’t mind.’
‘I’ve worked out that if I nap for ten minutes at three p.m. I can keep working till ten and feel fine.’
These were typical Darren statements. People who are workaholics smell bad. This was something I’d noticed about him from day one. His body was slowly decomposing as he became a man/robot hybrid. When he sweated it smelt like someone had died. The human elements were rapidly being broken down. He often appeared from nowhere and was suddenly right behind you like he was floating around. His legs replaced by wheels because legs were useless and didn’t transport you from one laptop to the next in quick enough time. Meanwhile in that same appraisal meeting, Phoebe had sat in the corner and taken notes the whole time he was speaking – ‘This loser will probably last no more than six months,’ or something close. Maybe she drew penises in the margins too. And I tried to do these things – to be more enthusiastic, more dynamic, but it felt as if I was sinking.
They knew this of course and I felt like this was part of the plan.
We were back in the meeting. Darren was using the corner of a piece of paper to pick something out of his teeth.
‘I’m proud that I took good notes during the banking groups and learnt some super interesting insights about people and their favourite financial services apps,’ the intern said cheerily.
She was very pretty but would soon be very tired. I often witnessed their pink, healthy cheeks become hangdog and pale as the long hours drained the life force from them.
‘Great work,’ Darren said tapping his pen noisily on the table. ‘Banking is one of my favourite categories. Well done Sasha.’
‘It’s not Sasha,’ she replied.
‘Whatever … next dude!’
‘I’m proud that I’ve identified a new paradigm shift in the pet food market,’ said the TWAT.
I drew a little penis in the margin.
‘I’m constantly surprised by the pet food category,’ Darren said. ‘Such rich behavioural data when you compare dry versus wet. There’s definitely a breakfast innovation session in there somewhere if you’d be interested in writing it.’
TWAT nodded and then glanced at my pad. I worried that perhaps he’d noticed my penis drawing, so I quickly drew some branches coming out of the bell-end so it looked more like a blossoming tree.
‘And what are YOU proud of this week, Rebecca?’ Darren asked.
I could always sense sarcasm in his voice. I had violent fantasies which ended with me punching him in the face. I knew these feelings were irrational, but Darren had come to represent my failure and lack of popularity. I stared back at him, and thought about how I’d need to bandage up my hands properly to get a good punch in. How I’d never punched anyone before but this first punch would be very powerful. How his teeth would shatter one by one, like in a cartoon, and then fall to the floor. How I would perhaps pick these teeth up and keep them as mementos. How I would leave the office with them in my pocket and then make a bestselling rap album where I dissed Darren in every song. Then I stopped and felt a wave of panic. It wasn’t Darren’s fault that I was becoming less relevant. Or that I only had two clients commissioning business. Or that I didn’t share his boundless enthusiasm for dog kibble.
‘I feel like I’ve finally had a breakthrough on this baby wipe presentation.’ I said, which was not true but no one was going to read it apart from the client. Darren flashed me his winning business smile.
‘Well there’s a surprise. You’re being AWESOME. Well done dude.’
‘Rebecca, I’d love to run some ideas past you about the pet food market,’ TWAT said.
‘That’s a great idea,’ Darren said. ‘Rebecca, remember we said you needed to collaborate more with the semiotics and cultural insights team moving forward? It would be great if you two could hit those waves REAL hard if you know what I mean?’
Darren had managed to make this sound rather pervy. That was another thing he specialized in – innuendo. I scribbled over the penis tree on my pad and nodded. I didn’t like this TWAT but would play the game. If it helped me appear more dynamic and with it then so be it.
I went back to my desk. The meeting had felt a bit staged. Had the TWAT and Darren agreed ahead of time that we would collaborate? Who was this boy? A spy? A flash drive in a baseball cap? I continued writing slides and checking Instagram as before, but I suddenly felt like my head was detaching from itself, and travelling up to the ceiling. Had the nursery texted but I’d accidentally lost the text? Was Bella really okay? Were the prawns defrosted or not? What about the sausages? And the non-existent brief? I’d lied about that and Phoebe would soon uncover the lie. Once it reached the ceiling my head stayed resting on the plastic tiles, and softly bounced around looking down on everyone; the young people in their blankets; the green smoothies in massive plastic bottles; the headphones; the grey carpet; the photocopier which was always broken and required a complicated access code; the herbal teabag stuck to the floor. I’d done a pill or ten in my youth and the whole sensation would have been pleasant if I’d been in a nightclub back in the noughties, but here under the florescent lighting, with the tinny echo from headphones and relentless air con being blown down our necks, this was not pleasant at all. I had to hold onto the desk to stop myself from falling out of my chair. Was this a stroke?
I got up and half walked, half staggered to the kitchen. No one looked up from their laptop. It wasn’t unusual. We were all alone with our emails and anxiety. Once inside the kitchen, I stared at the cupboard and repeated the instructions stuck to the door. Dispose of ALL teabags in the bin provided. The fridge will be cleaned every Friday and all EDIBLES will be disposed of PROMPTLY. My head was still not attached to my body. It was somewhere outside seeking a blanket. I wondered whether I was dying. I tried to normalize my breathing. I rested my head against the cupboard. I am okay. I am okay. I am okay. I repeated. Then I turned around and the TWAT was right next to me.
‘Are you feeling alright?’ he said not unkindly. ‘I read one of your blog articles and you’d written about the unique connection between cats and their owners and I wanted to try and tap into some of that for this proposal I’m writing.’
‘Yes,’ I said weakly, could he not see I was dying right now? ‘I will check my diary and be in touch.’
I turned back to face the cupboard.
‘I hate the instructions, everywhere don’t you?’ he said. ‘Do you want a cup of tea or are you just chilling in here?’
My head has come off and is floating somewhere next to the bookcase thanks.
‘Chilling,’ I said.
Now please leave me be. I really didn’t want him to notice my hands shaking as I took the coffee out of the cupboard and deposited a spoonful into my cup.
Back at my desk I wrote an email to Phoebe and copied in Darren, explaining that I needed to go home as I felt like I was coming down with something bad. Before leaving I sat in the toilet and tried to compose myself for the journey home. It was frightening to feel so out of control. Was this a panic attack? A breakdown? Or was I about to drop dead?
‘We used to have Molton Brown soap and now they’re getting it from Tesco,’ I heard a girl outside the cubicle saying, ‘Do you think there will be redundancies soon?’
I recognized the voice as one of the admin team.
‘Phoebe’s just won that big frozen food account,’ another voice said – it sounded like the