The Missing O

“What in the hell is that!” I yelled, pointing at the metallic monstrosity that was taking up the greater deal of my kitchen counter top. The light gleamed garishly off of the silver body and I sneered, willing the damned thing to pop out of sight.

“This,” Charlie beamed, removing a glass cylinder from the machine, “Is a coffee Machine. And guess what it does, Morgan? I’ll give you three whole guesses.”

“Shut up. I know what is, but what is it doing here? It takes up half the bloody room!”

With a sigh my friend tipped the glass jar full of a bitter black liquid into her favourite orange polka dot mug and blew at the steam that rose from it. “Matt bought us it,” she said. “He said he couldn’t imagine how we manage without one. It’s part of my Christmas present.”

“Part of it?” I flipped a few of the buttons of our newest kitchen appliance. “You mean he’s got you more? Jesus, Charles, did you forget to mention that he’s an underground drug lord or something?”

She cackled, throwing her white hair back. “Don’t be so ridiculous. He’s got me a surprise. I’m dying to know what it is, but I’m not allowed it until he gets back. Do you think it’s shoes?”

I shrugged, “Maybe he’s giving you a share of the heroin deal he just scored?” Charlie rolled her eyes, sipping her coffee. I gave in, pouring myself a mug and sat down with her at the table whilst she flipped through a Tesco leaflet we’d received with the post that morning. “What do you mean when he gets back, anyway?”

“He’s going away for work,” she said off-handedly, gawking at a two-for-one deal on Cava wine. “Won’t be back until February.”

“February?” I repeated. “What does he do anyway?”

Charlie looked up slowly and she thought for a long while, scanning my face before she answered. “Oli hasn’t told you?”

I felt a pang twist my stomach - not painful, but definitely not pleasant. I hadn’t heard from Oliver since the awkward departure from his house two days before. After he hadn’t replied to my first text I hadn’t sent another, and neither had he. Not even to notify me he wouldn’t be picking me up from work or make sure I’d gotten home safely.

Charlie’s eyes seemed to search me for any understanding of what she was getting at. There’d always been something about her and Matt, a sort of secrecy that I had never taken too much notice of until now when she was facing me with it. I looked at my friend sceptically, warily.

“No,” I said. “Why?”

“Never mind,” she sighed. “Matt works with Oli, it just means he has to travel a lot. For promotional stuff. I’m surprised he hasn’t told you, I thought you were getting close.”

“We haven’t spoken since the other night.”

“Oh, Sweetie,” she cooed, patting my hand. I felt like a teenager all over again, when you tell your mother the boy you fancy doesn’t like you back. “He’s a guy. You dented his ego, he’s got to re-boot his masculinity a bit before he comes crawling back. He’ll come round, I promise.”

I stared into the murky coffee, too lazy to retrieve the milk from the fridge to soften the strength. I could have rang Oliver then but I didn’t, and I thought about calling him after work but I knew I wouldn’t. Exhaling, I realized that I was beaten by my own cowardice.

“I hope so,” I said.

At work the same day, talk of a Christmas get together was chattered and nattered throughout the office. Britt was perched on the edge of my desk again, a resting place he’d take flight to at any given chance so that we could share a quick gossip before one of the girls would realise that neither of us were getting any work done.

“How about we go to that small place on the road near that pub?” Laura offered, flipping her bronze hair over her shoulder and looking to Bridget.

Bridget flapped her hands excitedly, “Ooh, Chef Chimmies?”

I turned to Britt who was already rolling his eyes and stifling his snicker. He cupped a hand over his mouth, pretending to be grazing his palm over his stubbly chin whilst I pressed a ring binder over my lips. It always humoured us to see Bridget and Laura in full twin mode.

“I heard that place was infested with roaches,” Claire said very seriously. “Heard it from a friend who’s friend did a delivery there.”

Jenna and Andy exchanged a brief look of disgust before they turned back to their computer screens, after that they made no more contribution to the conversation at hand other than a few giggles here and there. Just like Britt and I.

I had no intention of spending an evening with my work colleagues, especially not during Christmas when it was supposed to be a time to relax and enjoy myself. Honestly, most of them weren’t all that bad. Obviously Britt and I had formed some form of alliance, and Jenna and Andy were pretty bearable, but maybe that was because they didn’t say so much. But the thought of cocktails with the twins and gossip junkie Claire didn’t exactly set my heart alight with desire.

“So we’ve agreed on SOYO?” Laura exclaimed, already penning it down in her brown leather diary, one that Bridget had an exact copy of and was struggling to pull out of her Chanel handbag. “On the twenty-first?”

“That’s perfect,” Bridget gaggled, practically grinning out of her eyeballs. “Claire, that okay by you?”

“It’s a lucky thing my sister cancelled dinner that night,” she rested a hand on her hip, punching the event into her Blackberry. “Let’s say, eight o’ clock?”

“Brilliant,” Both Bridge and Laura said.

Britt and I had already worked out our excuses to manoeuvre our way out of such a nightmare of an evening; he was baby sitting his nephew whilst his brother and sister in law went to their own Christmas party, and I’d already made plans with Charlie and a few other friends. Which in all honestly didn’t sound like a bad idea, except I didn’t fancy being a third wheel rolling along beside her and Matt; I was positive that the mushy eyed, baby-sweetheart factor would be turned up a notch seeing as this was their last week together before Matt departed over Christmas and into the New Year for some work trip. It wasn’t even as if I could talk Oliver into coming and save me from watching them make kissy eyes at one another.

As the thought cross me, Britt read my mind.

“Something the matter?” he asked. It seemed as though he’d become my personal therapist lately, and I the same to him. We found great solace in bitching about the minor inconveniences in our lives to one another. I think that’s why we’d made such a sudden bond. “You look like someone just punched you in the chest?”

Folding a denim covered leg over another, Britt awaited my rant which he would no doubt have exchanged for one of his own right after. Except this time, I didn’t feel like sharing.

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh come on, Morgan,” He pried, flicking a paper clip in my face. “You’re face is easier to read than ABC’s.”

“It’s just,” I felt myself caving under the power that Britt had to make me feel at ease. “Charlie’s been spending a lot of time with her new boyfriend, taking Katie with her and everything. It just kind of makes me realise that without her I’m a bit of a loner.”

Not exactly what was troubling me, but close enough.

“You’re not a loner!” He said, baffled. “I mean, I’m worth at least two friends, solely for my ruggedly handsomeness and great physique, let alone my mad skills.”

“Plus that ever-growing head of yours contributes to how valuable you are. One more Christmas card and you’ll be at least a three.”

Britt mocked fright as he started to hold his “expanding” head, seemingly attempting to halt it’s growth. I laughed, he laughed, but soon enough Andy was turning and shooting an almost teacher-like disapproving look our way, so he quickly scampered back to his desk. It wasn’t long before he’d immersed himself back in his work: finishing off the final touch ups for the band he’d been working for over the last month and a half.

I gave in trying to stall getting back to my own work, I knew I was behind and it wouldn’t get done by itself. Sighing and forcing my heavy hands onto the computer keys, I wondered if I’d be stuck in this dead-end job forever. When I’d first begun my placement here, I thought it was the biggest thing in the world, that I was on my way to becoming an acclaimed Graphic Designer with a name and reputation for myself. So far I’d managed to erase the wrinkles and muffin tops from a few celebs and be sexually harassed by my boss.

Talk about underachieving.

Later in the day, after I’d devoured not only a six-inch half wheat from Subway but also a double chocolate cookie and a Frappacino with Britt, I returned to my desk to find that I’d left my mobile beside the keyboard and that, surprisingly, I had a new message. Heart rate increasing, stomach turning, I picked it up and hurried to read the text I’d received somewhere during my lunch break.

When I saw that the message was from a number that wasn’t in my contacts, my hope died right there and I reluctantly made an effort to see what it was this stranger had to say.

Hey Morgan, it’s Tom. Oli’s bro’. Thought I’d give you a heads up that there’s a party this weekend at Oli’s place. Text back for more information (: x

These Sykes boys seemed to have difficulty with simply asking people outright for there mobile numbers. If they’re so sneaky about something this minor, I wonder what other sorts of tricks and secrets they had?

Partying with Tom, although a few years younger, didn’t seem like such an atrocious idea. It sure as hell beat martini’s with the three sets of heels and extensions in the office. It would, however, have been more alluring if the other brother had texted me, inviting me himself. I didn’t want to turn up to Oliver’s place, uninvited to the party by it’s host, only for him to ignore me as he had been doing.

I texted back a quick reply, and even quicker Tom had sent one back.

Oh come on. He’s probably not even that mad at you. Just come, even if he does ignore you me and you can get trashed?

Even if he does ignore you? I’ll admit it; part of me was hoping that Oliver’s silent treatment towards me was just a part of my overactive imagination, and that I was making a hell of a lot of something out of pretty much nothing. I told myself that he was probably busy, or he’d broken his phone or something. But now I knew that my coldness and ability to push people away even when I wanted to be closer to them had caused this stint.

In my own Oliver fashion I didn’t reply to the last message.

* * *

Marlow, until this point, hadn’t realised that she’d felt lonely. Surely, with someone as spontaneous and questionable as Kid around her every second of the past few blurry days she’d spent on the run - if that’s what they were - she could not possibly become bored or feel isolated.

But, upon waking yet another day in a place she knew nothing of, she felt a sudden wave of emptiness. Not a feeling that could be washed away with a cup of brew or a bowl of porridge.

Her capturer had noticed the change in the young girls spirit. At first, although openly curious and sceptical, Marlow had seemed intrigued by the mission he’d called her upon. Her eyes had held a fire - something deep and liquid, swimming in the depths of the brown. But that had long since drown and now he saw nothing but an echo of what she had first been. He didn’t like the change, but what could he do?

“Marlow?” he said one morning, when the two had found themselves somewhere in Surrey. Kid had wanted to pick up a few things from an ‘underground market’ of some sort - not an idea that Marlow had liked, but she could hardly argue. She hadn’t the energy.

“Mhmm,” she barely mumbled. He truly hated to see her this way.

“Tell me something,” he asked. “If you could have one thing in the world, right now, what would it be?”

Marlow didn’t have to think about the question. But she did wonder why he would ask such a thing.

“My mother.”

Her answer was blunt, answered with such a tone that it could almost be taken at a stab, directed toward the heart of her capturer. Sure, he had taken her away from her family, away from a life where her largest worry was waking for school the next morning.

She missed those days now - a Monday morning, up at 6am, only to be forced into a building that she compared to a prison. Maths, first period maybe, and then Double Chemistry to fill up the space which she could still be sleeping in.

She would love to be back in one of those mundane matchbox classrooms with the children she barely acknowledged and the teacher she rarely listened to. She would exchange grovelling for slops for a sloppy school dinner any day, and the chance of a shower after hour in P.E rather than a wash down in a sink seemed almost a luxury.

Kid had put her through all this - but still, she hadn’t the heart to tell him that she despised every second. Not the time they spent together. No, she’d grown to almost long for the moments where they’d hold an extra moment of eye contact, or when he’d paw the hair from her face, or stare at her as if he were counting the freckles that flecked across her nose and cheekbones. Those moments, though varied and drifting, she didn’t mind one bit. But it was the hours that lead up to and followed such romantic chances.

If only she had met this wondrous and ludicrous boy under other circumstances.

She wasn’t sure if they’d hit off right away - he seemed like such an outgoing character. Someone that sought out danger and always headed for triumph. Marlow wouldn’t quite cut that itinerary.

She liked to hang back in the scenery and observe the beauty around her. She was such a visual person, she hadn’t the will in her to step forward and create the image, but rather make a note of the painting in her head, wishing one day that she could reach out, grab it and clasp it in her heart as her own.