Page 189 of Falling for You

Argh! I hate dating. Why do I ever trick myself into thinking it’s fun and sexy and spontaneous? When really, it’s a torturous game of chess where everyone seems to know the rules apart from me. I don’t even have a sodding board. I should just stay at home and make jumpers and costumes and stitch myself a felt boyfriend instead.

I look up in alarm as I hear the zip of a lighter and spot Pam holding an open flame inches from her face.

‘Pam!’ I scold. ‘The fire alarms!’

Pam jolts like I’ve pulled her out of a trance and shakes her head. ‘Thanks, love,’ she mutters in her gravelly voice. ‘Why are you here?’ she adds, almost as an afterthought. ‘Don’t you have some properties to look at today?’

It’s just me and Pam in the office. Every now and then, you can hear the finance wankers on the floor above us making a loud cheer or yelling something across the floor, but otherwise it’s just silence. I wiggle my mouse and watch my laptop come back to life, pulling the email I’ve been ignoring right back to the centre of my attention.

‘Not until this afternoon,’ I say. ‘I’ve got to deal with a list of essentials first.’

After much deliberation, I managed to get a client to agree on a five-bedroom house in Knightsbridge (they acted like I was trying to trick them into signing a six-month tenancy agreement for the London Dungeon). A few years ago, I would have cracked open a celebratory bottle of prosecco and given myself a big pat on the back. A hard job well done. Congratulations to me.

Now that I am older, wiser and jaded, I know that difficultclients are like leeches. They suck the life out of you and are incredibly difficult to shake off.

So, as expected, after signing the agreement, the expected list of ‘essentials’ came through. And it’s my job to source all of these items before they arrive, make sure they’re ready for them in their house and time the whole process so that the oven pings with a fresh loaf of bread moments after they turn the key for the first time.

I’m exaggerating, but I’m sure they’d gladly take me up on the loaf of bread if I offered it and see it as no big deal whatsoever.

But this is why Pam and I have stuck together all these years. Pam sorts the logistics, she schmoozes the clients and negotiates the rates, and then she passes it over to me. She knows that I’ll source whatever weird and wonderful request the client has, and that I won’t rest until everything is perfect. Which is why so many clients come back to us. We’re the best. We are the dream team.

Pam lets out a groan, arching her back and resting her hand below her shoulder blades.

I frown. ‘Are you all right?’

Her face contorts but she shakes her free hand at me, the unlit cigarette still clasped between two fingers.

‘How long have you been sat in that chair for?’ I ask. ‘Have you even moved today?’

Pam is always here before I get into the office, and I’ve never really had a firm grasp of what time she leaves the office every day. When I first started working with her, we were based in her house, so obviously she stayed there longerthan I did and worked insane hours. But since we moved to an office, I was hoping I might get in before her and have time to make her a coffee and toddle around by myself for a bit. Two years on and it feels like nothing more than a pipe dream. I get in for 8 a.m. every day, and each time I walk in to see Pam craned over her laptop, her nose almost touching the screen and her eyes squinted behind her thick glasses. Cigarette in hand, coffee half drunk.

‘What?’ she barks, letting go of her back and hunching over her keyboard again.

‘Come on!’ I say, getting to my feet and marching over to her desk. ‘Get up. You need to move your body. You’re getting stiff.’

She rolls her eyes at me. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Pam,’ I place my hands on my hips, ‘you already refused to use an ergonomic chair. If you don’t let me help you, I’ll report you to HR.’

She snorts. ‘IamHR.’

‘Exactly.’

She catches my eye, a naughty smile on her face like she’s a child who’s been caught snaffling ice cream. After a moment, she thrusts a tanned hand in my direction and I pull her to standing. She groans again, grabbing her back.

‘You need to stop working so much,’ I say, leaning forward to grab her as she rests on her desk for support. ‘When was the last time you had a massage?’

She shakes her head. ‘I don’t have time for that. I’m fine, Annie. Just a crick in my back.’

I press my lips together, ignoring her knowing smile.‘Well, just stay standing for a minute and do some stretches. Like yoga,’ I say, aware that I know absolutely nothing about yoga. ‘It’s important that you move your body.’

Pam nods at me, batting me away and closing her eyes. At least I got her to stand up and spend a few minutes away from her laptop. That’s more than I’m usually capable of doing.

‘If you do go travelling to India then you’ll need to know how to do yoga,’ I say, giving her a knowing look. ‘Penny always talks about going there for a month to become a qualified yoga teacher.’

I mean, a typical Penny thing to do. Not only is she a scientist with a PhD, but she also runs marathons and casually wants to become a qualified yoga teacher, as if she isn’t impressive enough already.

Pam twists her back and winces as it cracks. ‘If I do go to India, I won’t be doing any of this shit.’