Saturday 24 September 2011

Scatterbones

Somebody in the room shouldn't be there. Julie tried to pick out the off note; heads down, keyboards tapping, mouse clicks, fans whirring, phones tringing or humming or rapping and outside the window a seagull in some distress. Check. No voices. Monday morning. Nearly lunchtime.

In the cafeteria she felt it too. Chatter here and the clink, clunk, chime of cutlery. Familiar. The comforting relief of warm food. There remained a presence.

At the afternoon meeting she counted faces. As expected; one obnoxious boss, one Christmas fling, two hideous racists, one shrinking violet, one bitter divorcee, three, frankly, children, one love of her life, one ruthless climber, one fretting mother, one secret texter and one projector technition, struggling.

That the love of her life and the christmas fling were different people was an unfortunate, though not coincidental, fact. That the love of her life was not a hideous racist was a lucky escape. That the obnoxious boss was not a shrinking violet was a shame. That the ruthless climber had failed to climb was heartening. That the three, frankly, children were a temptation was disconcerting and that the projector technition, struggling, was the love of her life, well, that was not out of the question.

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