Meet Me at the Cupcake Café (7 page)

The mirrored glass of the office exterior walls looked blue-grey and cold in the chilly morning light. Issy remembered that her new year’s resolution had been to walk up the two flights of stairs every day but groaned as she decided that actually if you were carrying large items (like twenty-nine cupcakes in a big Tupperware) then you were allowed to take the lift.

As she entered the administration floor, clicking her entry pass (with the wildly unflattering photograph laminated on to it for evermore) to go through the wide glass doors, she sensed a strange quietness in the air. Tess, the receptionist, had said a quick hello, but hadn’t engaged her beyond that – normally she was full of gossip about office antics. Ever since she’d started seeing Graeme, Issy had stayed away from office nights out, just in case she had a couple of glasses of wine too many and accidentally spilled the beans. She didn’t think anyone suspected anything. Sometimes she wasn’t sure they’d actually believe it. Graeme was so handsome and such a go-getter. Issy was pretty but she wasn’t a patch on Tess, for instance, who wore tiny miniskirts but still managed to look beautiful and sweet rather than tarty, probably because she was twenty-two; or Ophy, who was six foot tall and stalked the hallways like a princess rather than a junior payroll clerk. Still, that didn’t matter, Issy told herself. Graeme had picked her and that was all there was to it. She still remembered them stumbling outside the Rotterdam hotel to get away from the others – they’d both pretended they smoked, even though neither of them did – and giggling their heads off. The sweet anticipation before that first kiss; the way the black sweep of his long eyelashes made a shadow on top of his high cheekbones; his sharp, tangy Hugo Boss aftershave. She’d lived a long time on the romance of that first evening.

And nobody would ever believe it, but it was true: they were definitely dating. He was definitely her boyfriend. And there he was, standing at the far end of the open-plan office, just in front of the conference room, with a serious look on his face, clearly the cause of the silence over the twenty-eight desks.

Issy put the cupcakes down with a thud. Her heart thudded likewise.

‘I’m sorry about this,’ Graeme said, when everyone was in. He had thought about his approach for a long time; he didn’t want to be one of those weasel bosses who don’t tell anyone what’s going on and let people find out from rumours and gossip. He wanted to show his bosses he could make the tough choices, and he wanted his staff to see that he could be straight with them. They still wouldn’t be happy, but at least he could be straight.

‘You don’t need me to tell you what things are like,’ said Graeme, trying to sound reasonable. ‘You’re seeing it yourselves; in accounts, in sales, in turnover. You guys deal with the bread and butter; the nuts and bolts, the figures and projections. You know the harsh realities of business life. Which means that although what I have to say is difficult, I know you’ll understand it, and I know you won’t think it’s unfair.’

You could have heard a pin drop in the office. Issy swallowed loudly. In one sense it was good that Graeme was coming right out and telling everyone. There was nothing worse than being in an office where senior staff wouldn’t tell anyone anything and everyone lived in a climate of suspicion and fear. For a bunch of estate agents, they were being remarkably honest and upfront.

But still, she’d thought they might wait. Just a little. Mull it over, see if things picked up in the next month or so, or wait till spring. Or take a partners’ vote or … With a sinking heart, Issy realized these decisions had probably been made, at some level, months ago; in Rotterdam, or Hamburg, or Seoul. This was just the implementation. The little people stage.

‘There isn’t a nice way to do this,’ said Graeme. ‘You’ll all get an email in the next half-hour to let you know if you’re staying or going. And then we’re going to be as generous to you and as reasonable as we possibly can. I’ll see those of you who aren’t going to be staying with us in the boardroom at eleven.’ He glanced at his Montblanc watch.

Issy had a sudden image of Callie, the head of Human Resources, poised with her finger over the ‘send’ button on her computer like a runner at the starting line.

‘Again,’ said Graeme, ‘I’m sorry.’

He retreated into the boardroom. Through the slatted venetian blinds, Issy could see him, his handsome head bent towards his laptop.

Instantly there was a flurry of panicky noise. Everyone charged up their computers as quickly as they could, pressing the refresh button on their email programmes once a second; all muttering to themselves. This wasn’t the nineties, or the zeros, when you could bounce from one job to another in two days: a friend of Issy’s had once picked up two redundancy cheques in eighteen months. The number of jobs out there, the number of businesses out there – it all seemed to be shrinking and shrinking. For every vacancy there were more and more applicants, and that was if you could even find a vacancy; not to mention the millions of school leavers and graduates joining the market every month … Issy told herself not to panic, but it was too late. She was already halfway through one of her cupcakes, crumbs carelessly scattering the keyboard. She must breathe. Breathe. Two nights ago she and Graeme had been under his navy blue Ralph Lauren duvet, safe and comfortable in a world of their own. Nothing was going to happen. Nothing. Next to her, François was typing furiously.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

‘Updating my CV,’ he said. ‘This place is feeneeshed.’

Issy swallowed and picked up another cake. Just as she did so, she heard a ping.

Dear Miss
Issy Randall

We are sorry to inform you that due to a

downturn in economic progress and with no

improvement in our forecasts for the growth of

commercial property uptake in
the City of London

this year, the directors of Kalinga Deniki CP

are making redundant the post of
Office Manager

Grade 4 London Office,
with immediate effect.

Please go to
Conference Room C
at
11am
to

discuss your ongoing options with your line

manager
Graeme Denton.

Yours sincerely

Jaap Van de Bier

Human Resources, Kalinga Deniki

‘It was,’ as Issy said later, ‘the way they had obviously created some kind of macro to drop all the details in. Nobody could even be bothered to write a personal message. Everyone got the same note, all over the world. So you were like losing your job and your whole life, but they put less thought into it than that thing you get to remind you to go for a dental check-up.’ She thought about it. ‘And I need a dental check-up.’

‘Well, it’s free now you’re unemployed,’ Helena had said, kindly.

The open-plan office was the cruellest way of working ever invented, thought Issy suddenly. Because clearly everyone was on show all the time and had been making a point of looking happy and jolly and fine, when obviously the company wasn’t happy and jolly and fine and maybe if a few more people had been in offices with doors they could have broken down and wept and then maybe done something about fixing it rather than pretending everything was absolutely fine until twenty-five per cent of the staff had to be let go. All around the office came gasps, or cheers; someone punched the air and shouted, ‘Yes!’ before glancing around in a panic and whispering, ‘Sorry, sorry … it’s just my mother’s in a care home and …’ before tailing off awkwardly. Someone burst into tears.

‘Well fick me,’ said François, and stopped updating his CV. Issy was frozen. She just stared at the screen, resisting the temptation to refresh it one last time, as if that could possibly bring a different result. It wasn’t just the job – well it was, of course, the job; to lose your job was the most upsetting, depressing thing ever. But to know that Graeme … to realize that he had had sex with her, let her cook him dinner, all the time knowing … knowing that this was going to happen. What … what was he thinking? What was he
thinking
?

Without pausing to think – if she had, she’d almost certainly have let her natural timidity stop her – Issy jumped out of her seat and approached the boardroom. Fuck waiting till eleven o’clock. She wanted to know about this
now
. She almost knocked on the door but instead boldly walked straight in. Graeme glanced up at her, not entirely surprised. But she’d understand his position, surely.

Issy was furious.

‘Issy. I’m so sorry.’

She gritted her teeth.

‘
You’re
sorry? You’re blooming sorry! Why didn’t you tell me?’

He looked surprised.

‘Well, of course I couldn’t tell you. Company confidentiality. They could have sued me.’

‘I wouldn’t have told them it was you!’ Issy was stricken that he didn’t even trust her that much. ‘But I could have had some warning; some time to prepare myself, get myself together a bit.’

‘But it wouldn’t have been fair for you to have that advantage,’ said Graeme. ‘Everyone else would have liked the same.’

‘But it’s
not
the same,’ shouted Issy. ‘For them it’s just a job. For me it’s a job
and
it’s not getting to hear it from you.’

She became aware of a large group of people behind her, listening in through the open door. She turned round furiously.

‘Yes. That’s right. Me and Graeme have been having a secret affair. That we’ve been keeping from the office.’

There were some murmurs but not, Issy noticed in her heightened emotional state, the surprised gasps she’d been expecting.