Joanne takes her fob and opens the door to the main office. There are lines of rectangular desks and rows of balding heads, eyes down. I traipse after her cautiously, adjusting my skirt, not wanting to stray in front of her. I can hear a slight murmur ripple across the room. A few heads lift and, without meaning to, I catch a man’s eye. He flashes an awkward smile at me, then turns to his neighbour and they begin to whisper.
The only way to get to the kitchen is to walk via an opening in the middle of the desks. I watch Joanne as she walks. She looks comfortable in her loose, black trousers, her age shielding her from the eyes. The air is thick with an unspoken current that won’t have been present seconds before. Even if the men pretend not to look, I can still feel how I have piqued their interest, a mixture of curiosity and confusion. I walk as quickly as I can. We veer off to the right and pass some cupboards, and Joanne pauses for a moment, placing her hand on a cupboard door: ‘I’ll go over these later.’
The kitchen looks out onto the Pentland hills and the rest of Edinburgh. Joanne walks over to a window and turns to me, smiling, looking suddenly animated:
‘Isn’t it BEAUTIFUL’, she says, beckoning me over to the biggest window.
I stand with her for a few minutes taking in the view. I feel a sense of calm come over me, and I wish we could stand here all day. The men and the office in the background cease to exist. I wonder if Joanne does this often, and what she thinks about when she looks out onto the rooftops and hills which still have snow on their peaks. I can hear her sighing now and again. I don’t want to look at her in case we have to leave the window and go back to work, whatever work is.
I hear footsteps and a man speaks:
‘Good weekend Joanne?’
She turns around quickly, flashes a smile and walks towards him.
‘Oh LOVELY…took the kids to see the pantomime…absolutely loved it. How are your two?’
‘Yea great…oh the panto? Was that good was it? The missus wanted to go to that but the kids didn’t seem bothered. Ended up going round to my brother’s and having our tea there, bit too much wine!’
Joanne laughs along with the man. Even though I am in my mid twenties, I feel like I am Joanne’s daughter; a teenager who is waiting for her mum to finish work so she can go home. The man occasionally looks at me, expecting me to say something, but all I can do is smile and laugh, with a nod thrown in to show I understand what they’re saying. A few minutes pass, and I shuffle around, trying not to look awkward, my hands clasped. I feel a wave of relief when Joanne finally turns to me and says ‘right.’
The man gets a cup of coffee and wanders off. Joanne sits the big empty plastic bottle next to the sink and starts to talk.
‘This needs to be filled up every day. Once you’ve filled it up take it back to the other small kitchen where we just were. Make sure it’s not too full; I don’t want any spillages. You can do that now, but if you don’t mind could you go and grab some fruit from the Sainsbury’s across the road? I’ll give you the company card, you can spend up to £30 on it. I usually get grapes, apples, bananas and clementines, not oranges. Get the same amount of each. Then bring them back and fill up the water bottle and take it to the kitchen. Oh and put some of the fruit in that basket there. The rest under the sink. The men are really greedy…once I caught Alan taking 5 pieces of fruit to his desk. 5 PIECES! I couldn’t believe it. I wonder what his wife says to him at home…anyway, let me know when you’re back with the fruit.’
I nod along whilst she talks, trying to memorise the instructions. Joanne beckons me to follow her again. We go back to her desk and she hands me a black credit card.
‘You won’t need the pin, just use contactless, ok?’
She flashes a wide smile at me, and I know she wants me to go away. I take the card and go back through the door to reception, grabbing my coat from the cloakroom, wondering how I’ll get back in without a fob and feeling annoyed that I didn’t ask for one. I take the lift down to the ground floor. I pass reception and walk quickly outside. The rain has let up, and as I step outside I contemplate getting the bus home.
The number 30 goes back to my flat, and there is one due in 4 minutes. I wonder what would happen if I left. I imagine getting a call from my temp agency, asking where I am. I could lie and say I was offered a permanent job today, and that I have an immediate start. I take my phone out of my pocket and check my emails, just in case I’ve magically received a job offer in the last hour. I walk towards Sainsbury’s. When I get there I pick up a basket and go to the fruit aisle. I zone out when I get there, my thoughts wandering towards job applications and what buying fruit for an office I don’t know is going to help me achieve. I take my phone out and calculate the prices of fruit: clementines, grapes, apples and bananas. £30. When I’ve paid, I walk back to the Apex.
After buzzing the reception bell outside the door, I stand waiting with a huge bag of fruit in hand. Joanne appears at the door, flustered again, and opens it:
‘I should’ve given you a fob, I don’t know WHERE my head is at today. Do you have the card? Thanks. Now come through back to your desk, there’s a meeting soon, and we need to set up, but take the fruit through first.’
It’s only ten past ten, but I’m already tired. The idea of parting the desks like Moses parting the red sea seems like a monumental task; the eyes might break me this time, and I’ll stand there exposed, my body caved in and my fruit bag crumpled on the floor.
The female perspective 