Little White Lies

9:07

Not again. Where does the time actually go? I’d love for scientists to work it out and tell me, because I literally haven’t got a clue.

The drive to work should take twenty minutes. I left at 8.37. So that should give me three minutes spare for traffic and finding a parking space, right?

Okay okay, so I got takeout coffee on the way. I’ll have finished my latte before I get into the office so nobody will know. But still, how can I be seven minutes late already? I swear I went through a time vortex or something, this is insane.

Fortunately there was a spot free for me to park and I was hurrying past reception and into the elevator by 9:12. And at exactly 9:13 I was strolling across the office smiling and wishing everyone in their neat little cubicles a good morning, trying to act casual.

Phew. No harm done.

I tucked my blazer on the back of my chair and booted up my computer, considering the wisdom of popping into the staff room to make a drink when I was already pretty late. Being the honest worker that I am I decided against it and was just logging in when a shadow fell over my keyboard.

“Renee,” said a voice. An annoying voice.

“Anette, how are you? Anything you need me to prioritise this morning?” I asked, my voice as sickly sweet as the latte I had downed on the drive over.

“Renee, I wasn’t going to say anything but this is becoming a habit,” Anette said. She was leaning an elbow on the top of my cubical wall, looking down on me both figuratively and literally.

“It’s just a few minutes,” I said lamely. “Traffic you know.”

“I really suggest that you set out earlier, Renee, to mitigate against foreseeable circumstances.”

The disapproval in her voice was scathing. I scrambled the box in the corner of my mind, pulling out ideas and excuses, looking for something perfect that would get her off my back and make her feel bad for trying to make me feel bad.

Lowering me voice, I rested a hand over my stomach. “I didn’t want to say it but…you know how it is. My time of the month. I was suffering this morning, could barely get out of bed…”

Instantly she backed off a little, her eyes widening, her cheeks blushing. “Oh, yes, well…of course I…I understand.”

I gave her my most grateful of smiles, welcoming her into my club, a shared secret between us. “I knew you’d understand. Sorry again, Anette.”

“Yes, yes of course.” She made to go, then turned back. “Hot water bottles help. I have one in my desk if you need to borrow it. Middle drawer if I’m not there.”

“Thank you so much, “I said, laying it on thick with a pained smile.

Success.

Perhaps I would go and make a cup of tea after all. Caffeine is good for cramps, right? Got to keep the story up.

I scored an 8:59 and an 8:57 for the next two days but the streak was not to last. Friday rolled around and I didn’t leave the house until 9:03 so I’d technically failed before I even started.

Seriously, where did the time go? It had been half eight and I swear I only watched one YouTube video, then suddenly it was nine o’clock and I was dashing about trying to find matching shoes. I was going so quickly it was a wonder I didn’t break my neck tripping over something, so technically work had posed a health hazard. They were lucky I didn’t sue.

And of course there wasn’t a parking spot in sight. Lots of cars I didn’t recognise, dammit. What were they doing there? Probably parked here for free and walked into the city to do shopping or something. But why today of all days when I was already late?

9:28 and I was doing the awkward dash across the open plan office, desperate not to draw attention to myself.

“Oi oi, part timer!” said Mike from accounts. “What time d’ya call this?”

I grimaced and waved a hand to him, hoping he’d shut the hell up.

Of course Anette heard, though. I saw her in the fishbowl glass office that management kept, in the corner of the office. She was on the phone but her gaze followed me as I dove into my cubical. Too late to turn my computer on, shrug off my jacket and pretend I’d been there all along, thanks to Mike announcing my presence.

I tried to act calm, straightening a set of papers on my desk while my computer booted up. Soon, though, a familiar shadow fell over me.

“Renee, you have a potential client waiting,” Anette said, her voice clipped and short. “Remember? Today is the open day. You’re booked up with prospective clients until six!”

Open day? My blank face must have told her everything she needed to know.

She heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes. “Two weeks ago, in the staff meeting Bradley told us about it and assigned us clients. You’re supposed to have been doing research for the last week.”

Had I?

“Oh for god’s sake, Renee, there was even a reminder email yesterday. Please tell me this is a joke. You are prepared to meet your prospective clients aren’t you?”

“Of course,” I lied easily. “Sorry, I just…I had bad news this morning, it’s thrown me for six,” I said dramatically.

Anette’s face fell. “You have? I’m sorry to hear that, is everything okay?”

“Well…I don’t want to burden you…”

“No no, it’s fine. You can tell me, can I help?” she asked.

“No, it’s just…my aunt. I love her like a second mother, you know. She basically raised me. And this morning my uncle called me to say she’d had a terrible fall down the stairs.”

Annette’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no, is she okay?”

“Well, since I’m so close, my uncle called me right away. I was there holding her hand, poor thing. Blood everywhere. We daren’t move her and good thing too! When they took her to hospital she’d broken her neck. They’ve had to call in a specialist. And I’ve been there the whole time, I came straight from the hospital. I’m so sorry, I think I was a bit late but my head is just a muddle. So it took me a moment to remember the clients. I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean to let the company down. Or let you down…”

And now, for the Pièce de resistance: come on tear, come on…yes! I managed a single drop that ran delicately down my cheek, which I wiped away discreetly, obviously making sure that Anette saw.

“No no! Of course you haven’t, don’t be silly. Family always comes first,” she assured me, rushing to awkwardly pat me on the shoulder. “I’ll get Amy to do your first client, will you be okay for the Robinson’s at ten? Can I get you anything/ Should you even be here, you must be exhausted?”

I always most felt bad. And I was sorely tempted to take her up on the offer of going home and “resting”. But of course, being the trooper that I am…

“No, I couldn’t. I’ll be fine, thank you. If Amy can take the first, I’ll splash some water on my face make a cup of strong coffee and be good to go. I’ve already caused so much trouble.”

“No, not at all. But thank you, Renee, you’re a star. Just let me know if you need anything.”

“I will, Anette, I will. Thank you, you’re so supportive.”

Anette’s supportive nature, however, was not to last. She wasn’t a bad boss. She was young, naïve and in some ways perhaps I was playing on that. Her eagerness to please the upper echelons and to be seen as a trendy supportive manager. And perhaps I tried it on one too many times.

But this isn’t a blame game, we’re not trying to find out who was in the wrong, not really.

Monday rolled around, as it’s inclined to do. All these wonderful scientific advances we make and yet nobody has managed to devise a way to stop Monday’s from happening. It’s a national outrage. An international outrage. If I was in charge I’d pour funding into scientific research to skip from Sunday to Tuesday.

Alas, I am not in charge and Monday occurred.

I knew something was wrong the second I woke up. My stomach felt wobbly like a plate of custard and my head was pounding like a beating drum. I felt both too hot and too cold under my covers and I was shivering like I was in the Arctic Circle.

In short: I was sick.

Last night’s curry takeaway was a likely culprit. The chicken had been almost neon pink but the neon orange sauce had hidden it until I was halfway through.

My phone informed me that it was 8:39. I had to leave in one minute to make it to work on time. Not going to happen.

Anette’s phone number was in my contacts so I scrolled down and dialled, clearing my throat a few times while I waited for the phone to connect.

“Good morning Renee,” she said, her tone unreadable.

In the background I could hear the clack of typing and someone talking on the phone. Was she already in the office? I will never understand people who get in that far before their start time. Have they no life?

No matter. Time to sound pitiful.

“I’m really sorry Anette,” I said, mentally congratulating myself on how weak my voice sounded. I didn’t even really need to try very hard, I felt rotten. “I think it was a curry I had last night but I feel awful, really sick.”

“Uh-huh,” Anette said. “Strange thing, Renee, Bradley and I have just been talking about attendance records. He called me into his office especially, because apparently my team is performing the worst in terms of late starts, early finishes, sick days and general lost hours. The worst, Renee. Out of all of the teams.”

“I…I’m sorry?”

“I have never been so embarrassed in my life” she hissed. “I always turn up an hour before my day officially starts and I am rarely out of the office before six thirty in the evening.”

More fool you, I thought.

“We looked at individual performances,” Anette continued. “And you may be surprised to hear that your name popped right out as an outlier.”

I wasn’t surprised. I don’t think she was surprised that I wasn’t surprised.

“In fact and we consulted the HR policy, if you’re late once more, or if you take one more sick day, I can officially fire you. So whatever you were ringing me about, I’ll give you one last chance. One last chance, to rethink. So. Renee. What were you calling me about this fine, sunny morning?”

“Um…just wishing you a happy Monday.”

I could almost feel her victorious grin. “Good. See you by nine o’clock.”

I didn’t even sign off. I leaped out of bed, the room swayed but I desperately gathered clothes, shoes and my bag. I didn’t brush my hair or teeth, I didn’t stop to feed the cat, I just grabbed my keys and ran to the car.

I made the fifteen minute journey in eight minutes.

Anette was waiting by the door, staring intently at her phone as if she were timing a race.

My cheeks were beetroot red and I hadn’t put on any makeup so I knew I looked a state. Her smile almost faltered when she took in my pasty, sickly appearance.

“Um…good morning,” she said.

I was breathing heavily from running up the stairs, not daring to wait for the elevator. The room was spinning again. Why did we keep the office so damn hot? I fanned myself with my free hand, the other grinning the wall like a lifeline.

“Well done, two minutes to go, you’re on time. Perhaps tomorrow we can do it without all the drama, eh?” she said. She was looking very nervous.

I didn’t say a word. I could barely think straight let alone string together a sentence.

“Ah, Renee,” said Bradley, our chief executive. In his tailored suit and shiny shoes he strode over to me, extending a hand with a ridiculously expensive watch. “We were just talking about you.”

I reached for his hand to shake it and caught a whiff of his overpowering cologne. It caught in the back of my throat. I gagged. Once. Twice.

“Um, Renee?” he asked.

Oh no.

Oh no.

I couldn’t help it. I threw up, on his suit, on his shoes, even on his outstretched arm and solid gold watch.

His face was aghast. Anette looked like she wanted to be sick herself.

I just turned to her and shrugged. “Like I was trying to say this morning, I think I need a sick day.”

“Yes,” she said faintly, her face crumpling into disgust as the horrible acrid smell rose in the air. “Yes, you’d best go home.”