Drive Me Crazy (4 page)

So Megan isn’t just my former bestie, she is symbolic of the life goals someone at some point decided that we, as women, are supposed to be achieving as adults. Find a man, settle down, put whatever kind of career you have on hold and pop out some babies. I am doing terribly on all counts, and there Megan is, every time I log on to Facebook, posting photos of her newest smiling baby or the latest addition to the work she’s having done to her kitchen that never seems to be finished. She’s like an alternative reality version of myself, if I’d made different (better?) life choices. I don’t own my own home; I am in the weird position of both having never been in a traditional serious relationship while at the same time not being truly single. And as for kids, well, in the presence of the truly annoying ones you often find splashing in puddles next to you while you’re wearing a white dress or yelling in your ear on a train, if you listen carefully, you can sometimes hear my tubes attempting to tie themselves.

My work day today has so far consisted of aimlessly scrolling through Facebook – breaking only to answer the occasional phone call while Caroline is away from her desk – looking at everyone post all their stupid shit. Photos from nights out, their kids doing cute stuff, discussing their wedding plans and even taking those stupid quizzes – you know the ones: Which
Friends
character would you be? What’s your spirit animal? Are you probably going to die single and alone? I don’t need to take a silly quiz to answer those questions for me. I’d be perennially single, early series Chandler, with nothing but my sense of humour to keep me warm at night. My spirit animal would be a mouse, a timid, lonely, little mouse. And the mood I’m in today, I can confidently predict that I will in fact die alone. Still, without all the fun life events to populate my profile, a few annoying quiz result posts would at least remind people that I’m alive. My online presence is fading, fast.

‘Do you need a licence to ride a forklift, Candy?’

I am snapped from my increasingly depressive thoughts by a Geordie accent.

‘Do you need a licence to
drive
a forklift?’ I correct him as I repeat his question in an attempt to remind him that a forklift isn’t in fact a ride he can put 20p in to ‘have a go’ on. ‘I’d imagine you need some kind of certificate of competency before they’ll let you zip around the warehouse on one.’

‘Crap. That’s what Rick said,’ he replies with a disappointed sigh.

Rick is the warehouse manager. The new guy is here working in the IT department; there’s no need for him to even be in the warehouse, let alone ‘riding’ one of the forklifts.

I avert my eyes, look back at my screen and begin typing an email that I won’t in fact send to anyone, but I want Geordie Shore here to think that I am hard at work and leave me alone. He’s only been here a little over a week, and on his very first day he actually asked me out on a date. He’s
that
sure of himself, because he’s gorgeous and he knows it. So far he’s managed to make time to sit on my desk and annoy me every single day. I try to ignore him, the way the school swot blocks out the annoying antics of the class clown, and I’m not doing too badly. To be honest, I couldn’t even tell you his name – in my head, I’ve been calling him Geordie Shore. Everyone gets an unflattering nickname in my head. I do try to keep all of this stuff locked away in my head, though, never to be uttered out loud.

When I met Will’s wife, Stephanie, for the first time, I was blown away by how perfect she was. She was effortlessly classy, ladylike, and she always looked flawless. I decided then that I needed to be more like her so I made a real effort to be as close to perfection as possible. This only fuels the need for my eternal diet, my religious exercise routine and the real effort I make to be this wonderfully behaved, reserved little lady – because clearly that’s Will’s type – and I’ve even managed to master keeping a lid on the casual swearing habit that I’d picked up from Amy. Even when no one is watching, I strive to be as ladylike as possible, in the hope that one day it will truly be second nature. I do still feel like I’m forcing it – just a little. Inside my head is a different story, however. Even my thoughts are peppered with expletives, and some of the terrible things I think about people are far from ladylike.

I wouldn’t say that Stephanie had let herself go – Will would, though. After having a couple of kids, Stephanie has put a little bit of weight on. She’s still classy and beautiful, but when I hear Will talking about her like she’s a mess, it makes me even more careful to keep in good shape.

The new guy is still standing in front of me, his hands in his pockets, squirming and twisting his ankles like a fidgety child who has been called to see the headmaster.

‘Did you want something?’ I ask in an attempt to make him go away quicker.

‘I had a message to pop up, something about some changes to the…’ he begins to explain before stopping abruptly. Perhaps the look on my face is representative of how boring that sounded.

‘That wasn’t me, it’ll have been Sweet Caroline,’ I tell him. ‘She’s just gone for her lunch.’

‘Why do you call her Sweet Caroline?’ He laughs.

Oh shit, did I say that out loud? That’s never happened to me before.

‘Erm, because she isn’t,’ I admit truthfully, my mind blank of any other logical explanation.

New guy cracks up laughing.

‘I thought it might because she puts those doughnuts out in the staffroom every morning,’ he replies.

‘Yes, that would have been a better explanation, wouldn’t it?’ I reply, almost for my own benefit.

‘Do you mind if I wait around for her?’

‘Knock yourself out,’ I reply.

He takes a seat at her desk and twirls in her chair.

I continue to type nothing in particular so he doesn’t speak to me, and so that I can get on with all my non-existent work.

I try not to give it too much thought, because I don’t want to admit it, not even to myself, but it sometimes feels like the only reason Will didn’t fire me was because he wanted to keep me around. On paper I am his assistant. The thing is, he already has Caroline working as his secretary, and she seems to tick all the boxes an assistant would too. I think Caroline thinks I am useless to the company and massively overpaid for the work I do. Caroline is probably right in thinking this. Still, that’s no reason for her to be as rude to me as she is. Sometimes I think it’s because she knows about Will and me. I suppose that, if she is wrongly under the impression that he and his wife are still together – like everyone else is – then it’s no wonder she dislikes me.

‘So, Candy – ’ new guy starts, but I cut him off.

‘Candice,’ I correct him. ‘I hate being called Candy.’

I instantly feel bad for correcting him. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve been very nice to him since the day he started. On his very first day he just breezed in here, all fun and freelance and I couldn’t believe it when he asked me out, in front of Will, before we’d even exchanged pleasantries, before Will had even shown him to his office. His confidence left me dumbstruck, but before I had a chance to say anything I clocked the unimpressed look on Will’s face. He couldn’t hide his jealousy, and gave Geordie Shore a telling-off for flirting with me.

I would have been mortified but the new guy just laughed it off, like it was no big deal. I’d have been in tears in the toilets, just like I am every time Sweet Caroline gives me a dressing-down, but not new guy; he still comes and sits on my desk, chatting to me like we’re old friends, even though I give nothing back. Well, I don’t want to upset Will, do I? So I figure if I’m not too pally with the new guy then maybe he’ll stop trying to be my friend. The thing is, it’s like the more I try to ignore him, the harder he tries with me. This really winds me up.

‘You need to lighten up,’ he tells me. ‘All the cool kids shorten their names.’

I shrug my shoulders.

‘Candice just takes so much longer to say,’ he persists, and I’m not sure if he’s kidding or not.

‘Well you could take it up with my parents, but they’re dead,’ I tell him harshly, in an attempt to shut the conversation down.

‘Rough,’ he replies, and I don’t know if he’s referring to my orphan status or my manner.

Before I got involved with Will – when I was young, sweet and approachable – I didn’t attract much attention from guys. As a shy and unremarkable teen with only female friends, I had no confidence to talk to boys and in turn they had no desire to talk to me. Back then I would have given anything to be catcalled, even if it was just a tramp drunkenly yelling at me to show him my tits, that would’ve been enough. I mean, I wouldn’t have shown him, but it would’ve been nice to be asked. I think that’s why I was so blown away when a handsome, grown man like Will wanted anything to do with me. Now that I’m happy (ish) with Will, the last thing I want is men coming on to me, but now that I’m not interested in anyone else, I seem to have my pick of the fine, eligible bachelors of Manchester. Why yes, I am being sarcastic. Catcallers in the street, drunks in bars, well-travelled IT freelancers – the harder I try to seem uninterested, the more people seem to try. It’s weird.

When Geordie Shore first asked me out, I didn’t get a chance to reject him before Will intervened, but after that I made sure he knew I wasn’t interested. Could I have been interested were it not for my relationship with Will? I’m not certain, but what I am certain of now is that he has become this huge pain in my arse. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered when he showed interest in me, because he’s undeniably gorgeous, but he upsets Will when he hits on me, he stops me getting my (admittedly near non-existent) work done, but worst of all he just irks me in a way that I can’t even explain.

There’s something about the way he looks at me that I just don’t like. I’m a very closed book; I keep myself to myself, but with the new guy it’s like that doesn’t matter. I feel like he looks through me, like he can see all my secrets and there’s nothing I can do about it.

‘I might go grab a doughnut,’ the new guys announces to fill the silence. ‘Can I get you one?’

‘No, thank you,’ I reply, my eyes fixed firmly on my screen.

‘Don’t tell me you don’t like doughnuts?’ he gasps, faux dramatically for effect.

‘I don’t really eat junk,’ I tell him. It is technically true that I am trying not to eat junk. It’s not fun at all and sometimes, when I’m having a rough day, I’d love nothing more than to work my way through a baker’s dozen, but I don’t. OK, I maybe sneak one now and then, but after last night, I need to behave today.

‘Healthy eater?’ he asks, nodding towards my body. ‘Well, you look good for it.’

‘Thank you.’ I look up at him, and smile briefly.

He smiles back before dashing out of the room. The staff room isn’t far and soon enough he’s back with four doughnuts on a plate, each a different flavour, but all absolutely delicious-looking. At least two of them clearly involve chocolate and I feel my breathing quicken as I eyeball them longingly. I try not to make eye contact with delicious food, lest I fall off the wagon and eat everything that crosses my path on my way to the ground. I know that as soon as I hit the floor – like when Will makes any kind of remark about my weight – it will hurt so much, and no food is worth that, right? What is it they say? Nothing tastes as good as thin feels. Whoever came up with that phrase has obviously never tasted a chocolate and peanut butter doughnut.

‘Right, two each and you can have first pick,’ new guy says as he pulls up Caroline’s chair, placing the plate on my desk and pushing it towards me. Oh God, what the hell is wrong with me? Why am I so weak for food? My mind is telling me no, but my stomach is telling me hell yes.

‘Just one,’ I say, convincing neither myself nor the new guy that I’ll stop after just one. I mean, look at them! I grab the chocolate and peanut butter one and start delicately nibbling away at it, instead of trying to stuff it in my mouth whole like my instincts are telling me to.

‘I’ll take the raspberry ripple one,’ he says, stabbing it with his finger before eating it off like a lollipop. ‘Your move,’ he says, his mouth full of food.

I make sure to empty my mouth before I speak.

‘It’s going to have to be the pink, glittery glazed one,’ I sigh.

‘I knew it,’ he says, clapping victoriously, absentmindedly forgetting the doughnut in this hand. He laughs and licks jam from his hands like a messy little boy. ‘I knew you’d go chocolate and then sparkly – proper girly girl, aren’t you?’

I shrug my shoulders.

‘Have you ever been to Thailand?’ he asks.

‘No,’ I reply, my instincts telling me not to get into conversation with him, to just eat my doughnut, feel ashamed of my lack of willpower and get on with pretending to work.

‘I went last year, amazing place,’ he tells me. ‘There’s this thing they eat, it’s high-protein and low-fat – you might like it. They’re pregnant crickets.’

I snap my head upright, taking my eyes off my blank screen to look at him in disbelief. I swallow hard to empty my mouth.

‘Excuse me, they’re what?’

‘Yeah, they’re crickets that are full of eggs. Apparently they raise them on a farm, feed them well so it makes for a yummier cricket.’

‘That’s disgusting,’ I squeak. It annoys me that I find him so interesting when I try so hard to ignore him. ‘Did you eat one?’

‘Of course,’ he tells me as he spins around in Sweet Caroline’s desk chair. ‘YOLO – that’s what the kids say, right? Also, when in Thailand… It was just one of many culinary delights they have over there.’

Unfazed by his disgusting story, I grab my second doughnut and start munching away.

‘Do I want to know?’ I ask, unsure if I do or I don’t.

‘Oh, you’d be amazed what they’ll put in their mouths over there,’ he replies with a cheeky wink, and I no sooner crack up laughing when we are interrupted by someone joining us. It’s Will.

He stands in the doorway, looking at me, then Geordie Shore, then me again.

‘Well, it looks like you two are having fun,’ Will says. ‘Remind me, do I pay you two to work or to sit around eating and laughing together?’