The Missing O

Mr Wydell was my boss, and by far one of the sleaziest men known to man-kind. He was nearing his forties, and had taken to that ‘grey-fox’ look, his walnut brown hair streaked with the occasional line of white. He had an okay face, sort of a Pierce Brosnan look-a-like, and had fooled around with every girl in the office - other than me, thank god.

Every morning he would walk in, give a wink to anyone that caught his eye, and saunter into his room, closing the door behind him. I would put money on him doing absolutely nothing all day, imagined him spinning in his desk chair and laughing to himself as I worked my arse off.

In the office there were seven of us that had a ‘permanent residence’ at the headquarters. We were the people that did what was called the in between work, tidying things up, sending them to and from clients, writing emails and enquiries. We did all the shit, basically.

There was me, in the farthest corner of the room, hiding behind the large screen of the Mac computer for most of the day.

Then there were the twins, Bridget and Laura, who weren’t actually twins but acted like it. They finished one another’s sentences, got their hair and nails done every other weekend together, and pretty much acted like they were attached by the hip.

Across the room, in the corner parallel to mine was Britt. He was a quiet guy, with jet black hair that he always covered with a grey flat-cap, had various piercings, wore large black plugs in his ears, and had thick framed glasses. He was nice enough, we sometimes took our lunch-breaks together and moaned about work in the hour we got free in the middle of the day. The one thing I did know about him for sure, was that he was a total whiz on the computer, his skills were mad.

The other girls in the room were Claire, Jenna and Andy.

Claire was the gossiper, and you had to on your toes whenever she flounced over to your desk, muttering always, “You are not going to believe what I heard…” before going into detail about someone’s recent scandal. I never spoke to Claire much.

Jenna and Andy were similar to Bridget and Laura in that they were close, but they were the more ‘senior’ members of the staff here, both in their late thirties. They usually kept to themselves, turning in their seats to join in the odd conversation, and always jumped at the chance of a cup of tea. They were nice, almost motherly, but I didn’t feel any attachment to them.

Every one of them stared at me as I got up from my desk, straightening the grey skirt I had chosen to wear that day - maybe a bit of exposure would sway my boss - and headed to the closed door, knocking just below the gold name plate.

“Come in!” I heard Mr Wydell call in his thick London accent.

My stomach turned and I pushed the door open, shutting it the moment I was over the threshold.

“Ah, Melissa!” Mr Wydell smiled, swivelling to face me in his chair. If he had spun just that bit more I would have started tittering.

I didn’t correct him, it didn’t matter if he didn’t know my name. All I needed was his approval, and more importantly, his money.

“Uhm, is it okay ask you something, or are you busy?”

“Of course, of course,” he said, flapping his hands and offering me the seat across from him. He literally made my skin crawl. I barely refrained from shuddering. “Now, what is Melissa?”

The way he slinked back in his large, leather seat and crossed his legs over bugged me. I held back the squirm.

“Well, the thing is,” I began, my hands fumbling with themselves, “I know it’s nearly Christmas and all, and the chances of over-time is slim, but I really need it, Mr Wydell.”

He nodded slowly, looking at me, “So you need over-time?”

I literally forced myself not to cock an eyebrow, “Uh…yes. I’d be grateful for anything, really.”

Mr Wydell opened a draw in his desk, pulling out a black file. I watched as he opened it, flicking through, his eyes scanning over the paper until he seemed to find what he was looking for.

“Ah,” said slowly. “Morgan Roché. You’ve worked here for…eighteen months now, yes?”

I felt my cheeks burn slightly as he corrected himself on my name. “Y-yes, that’s right.”

“I don’t believe you’ve ever asked for over-time before, have you?”

“No, I have not.”

“Then what, if you don’t mind me asking, has put you in such a situation that you need it now?” He smiled at me, a leering smile that made my bones crawl, and I just wished he would give me a damned answer so I could get out of here.

“I live with a friend,” I told him, “And she has a baby. She recently lost her own job, and we can’t really afford to live on one pay-check.”

There was a long while of silence, apart from the sound of the large fish tank rumbling, full of tropical sea-life that probably cost more than my car that I couldn’t afford to run, and the tick, tick, tick of the clock. I waited, hands clasping themselves, and my legs crossing and re-crossing.

“I’ll take it into consideration, have a think and see what I can do,” Mr Wydell smiled. “Just because it’s you,” he added, and gave me one of his infamous winks.

I couldn’t do anything but smile, thank him and then usher myself out of the office before I started gagging right then and there. The things I did for Charlie.

* * *

“Kid!” Marlow cried, bouncing off of people in every direction, the crowd just too much for her. “Kid! Wait!”

She couldn’t run fast enough for him, he was like lightening, dashing between the unawares gathering in the gloomy town center. He slinked in between buildings, in and out of shadows, stopping and starting at just the right moments, as if he were ahead of time.

Such a strange boy, Marlow thought as she got a glimpse of the tail of his coat.

Still, seven hours after Marlow had been flitted away from her home, she did not understand why she was here, chasing probably the most peculiar boy she has and ever will meet through a crowd of gormless looking bystanders.

“Kid!” She screamed, and with a sharp thud she ran, smack! Straight into his back. She had hit the boy with so much force that in result found herself laid on the hard concrete, her dress twisted around her legs and large layers of hair obstructing her view. She felt a soft, warm hand wrap around hers, another fold around her elbow.

Once she was back on her feet, and dusted off, she turned to Kid. He was staring at her, looking as he usually did, his expression still coy, but maybe a little frustrated.

“Kid,” she breathed, “You must tell me what is going on!”

The boys eyes darted around him.

“Look around you,” he said. “What do you see?”

Marlow was beyond confused as she looked around the busy town square, hordes of people stood stock still, all looking at the same thing.

“People,” she answered. “Just people."

“Look at their faces, Marlow.”

It took her a while to even notice it, and when she did she was horrified that it was not the first thing that she spotted when they had began their frenzy through the middle of the town.

Every single person, who Marlow had assumed were gathered for some event, weren’t only stood stock still. They appeared to be as stone, their faces white, and stiff like marble. There eyes didn’t blink, their hands didn’t twitch. Marlow was petrified.

It was the fifth Sunday, and Oliver was still sat in my vacant chair, watching me as I typed. Today he had been quieter than usual, though not by far, still chirping up every five or so minutes to ask, yet again, what it was that I was writing. Every time his stool scraped back I felt my stomach sink with the hope that he might actually leave, but always he’d return with another coffee, sometimes even bringing me another coke or lemon slice.

When I arrived that day, he had already been there, waiting for me, texting on his keypad phone.

“Hello Morgan,” he had smiled, and I simply rolled my eyes at him, setting the heavy as ever typewriter down on the table.

“Why do you carry that thing around?” he asked, not too long later, as I had typed the first few lines. “Can’t you just get a laptop or something? It’s a lot lighter, plus you can just erase any mistakes.”

“And what happens, Oliver,” I challenged, taking a generous bite of my lemon slice, “If the laptop packs in?”

He thought for a moment, as he always did, and then shrugged, sitting back in his chair and texting again. I’d never seen him so busy on his phone, and I thought, only for a brief moment, why he was bothering to go to so much effort to bother me when he was simply going to be busy with something else the entire time.

I was the type of person that, when I went in to something, I tried to go in full force, all guns blazing. I suppose it only applied with important things though, I still threw a slight paddy when I was faced with doing the washing, or hoovering the skirting boards.

“Tired?” Oliver asked when I pressed a hand to my mouth, covering a yawn.

I nodded, resting my chin on my hand. “I’ve been working a lot of over time lately,” I replied.

That had to be the most civilized answer I had given him since he’d started sitting there, and he noticed it too, the corners of his mouth twitching before he composed himself.

“How come?” he asked, stealing my lemon slice and taking a bite. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he had bought this one, I would have snatched it straight back.

I shrugged this time. How much was I supposed to tell a total stranger about my personal life?

“The whole Christmas is approaching thing, I guess.”

He pulled his hands under the table, into his lap, and I faintly heard him cracking his knuckles. Today, I had looked more closely at the markings on his hands, deciding that if he was going to be so rude as to sit here, then I might as well be rude and stare a little. He had some sort of sea creature, a fish-woman with what appeared to be an octopus for hair, on the back of one of his hands, and the words ‘Drop Dead’ across his knuckles. I didn’t understand them, but they did sort of interest me.

“Where do you work?” he asked, still clicking the joints in his fingers.

I twisted the ring I was wearing, staring at the stone.

“I can’t tell you that,” I muttered.

“Really?” he sounded amused, and I saw him fold his arms on the table and lean closer. I hated when he did that. “And why not?”

“You might start showing up there as well.”

Surprisingly, we both laughed. Nothing bonding, more of a snicker. There was a long silence that followed, and normally I would have typed, but the words seemed to disappear from my head, and all I could do was watch his colourful hands fumble and twist around the salt shaker.

“So,” he said, after clearing his throat. “What are your plans for next weekend?”

I stared at him for a long moment, but he seemed unfazed by it, simply looking back with a slight smile.

“Uhm, other than this?” he nodded. “Actually, I’m going out with a friend.”

His eyes flicked down to the salt shaker, and he nodded, “Right,” he said, “Cool.”

“…Why?” Why did I even care?

“Nothing,” he smiled a half smile to himself, shaking his head, his hair falling forwards slightly. “Just, me and a few mates were off out. I didn’t know whether you might wanna come along. But it’s cool, doesn’t matter.”

I swallowed, but my throat seemed almost too dry. Did he just ask me out? Did he, he who has been annoying me to the point of wanting to rip my hair from the roots, ask me to go out, somewhere other than the café, with him?

“Uh,” I twisted the ring around my finger. “It’s pretty much two. I should get going.”

I looked at the clock, seeing that we were leaving at least ten minutes earlier than usual. I didn’t care, I just wanted to escape. We put our coats on together in silence, as usual, and I hoisted the typewriter on my shoulder, as usual. We walked out together, as usual. But the awkward tension had tainted everything with a funny taste.

“You want a ride?” he asked, and I shook my head no, standing still, almost stuck to the spot for a moment before I tore myself away and started walking.

I felt my heartbeat in my head, and the typewriter had never seemed to weigh me down so much, the snow below my feet seeming harder to walk on. Why was this bothering me so much? So what if he’d asked me to tag along with his friends on a night out, and so what if I turned him down. It’s not as if I even liked him anyway.

“Morgan!” My heart jumped into my throat for a moment. I turned to see Oliver smiling. “See you next Sunday!”