You really shouldn't care, even when you do.
THE CLEARING HOUSE
A 2-to-Quango Online Novel
Monday 07:09.
“Where is it you work again?” She was leaning against the kitchen door when I came out of the bathroom. Please don’t straighten my tie, I thought. It’s way too soon for that level of familiarity.
“Westminster. Five minute walk from the Tube station.” I nodded towards the ‘fridge. “Help yourself to breakfast.” She made a face at me.
“It’s early. Come back to bed.”
“Love to,” I said. “But I can’t. Early start. Do you…remember anything I said last night?”
She pulled a yoghurt from the ‘fridge door and peered at the draining board, looking for a spoon. Her glasses must’ve still been in the bedroom.
“Bits and pieces. Was I a bit weird? Sorry if I was weird. Your tie is crooked.”
*
On the street, I headed east towards Ealing Broadway, speed-dialling TIDY on my mobile ‘phone. Callum answered.
“Good morning, you self-centred opportunist.”
“Good morning, Callum.”
“Let me guess…”
“Don’t bother. On the off-chance that you haven’t already got an ID from the CCTV cameras, her name is Olivia Mullins. She’s on the O2 network, with a contract, so do a wipe and block on her ‘phone, then send a black cab over to mine in the next fifteen minutes.”
“Personal message?”
“Get the driver to tell her…” I hesitated, checking my pockets for my Oyster card.
“That you care deeply about her,” offered Callum, “And that you wanted to make sure she got home safe and sound?”
“Yeah, something like that.” I could hear Callum chuckling as he typed.
“Romance. It’s not dead, it’s just on life support.”
“Oh, and Callum?”
“Yes, Casanova?”
“She’s short-sighted. Make sure the driver reminds her about her specs. I think they’re on the bedside table.”
*
Ten stops on the District Line can feel like an eternity when your mind’s trying to focus on one thing, and failing. I’ve read just about everything Sally Helgesen has ever written about how the gender divide works when it comes to multitasking. I even pulled the scientific studies she cited. It’s fascinating but, unless you’re either a middle-manager, or someone with access to a gene therapy lab and a postdoc in neuroscience, it’s pretty useless in a practical sense. Being a victim of your single-object attention spread can be a bitch. Callum’s jokes had hit a raw nerve, because Olivia Mullins was going to find this morning very confusing, and that was entirely my fault. She was a nice girl, smarter than she let on, and the post-coital guilt on my part felt tangible and specific this time. I couldn’t help wondering if…focus. Huge, ugly morning ahead. Victoria Station. Out at the next stop.
*
As usual, my keycard got me through the door, but they hit me with the funky stuff at the lifts.
“Seriously? Today?”
The security guard pointed at the box attached via USB cable to his laptop and shrugged.
“Iris scan. Two week trial. Remember that afternoon in April when we all got snapped? It’s supposed to be more reliable than fingerprints and hand geometry.”
“And I guess that a few shares in the company providing the technology are tied-in to your pension plan. What do I do?”
“Lean in, keep your eyes open, and don’t blink till I say you can.”
If there was a click, or a flash of light, I didn’t notice it.
“That’s it, blink” said the security guard, checking his screen. “You’re you. Go on up. And have a nice day.”
“Thanks.”
*
The fourth floor isn’t quite as nondescript as the three below it, or the two above it. That’s largely down to the people who work here, and the slow, surreptitious imposition of something which might pass for ‘style’ if this were a branch offshoot of a bland, multinational enterprise. However, it’s not, and if comfort is a mirage waiting for a scythe, we were soon going to start feeling very uncomfortable. Welcome to the new regime at Her Majesty’s Clearing House…
Coming in the next few chunks:
“Recruiting graduates who don’t have Facebook accounts, and can keep their mouths shut, for fifteen thousand per annum plus London weighting isn’t the easiest of tasks, Nick.”
“There’s a problem with your Miss Mullins. I take it that you know she works for the Standard?”
“One of the new intake of MPs has got herself on the Select Committee, and I don’t think she likes the cut of our jib. You seem best placed to…enlighten her.”
©2-to-Quango, 2010.