Helen Monks Takhar - Precious You

I honestly don’t know why more people my age aren’t more like me. Why aren’t they angrier? We’re not much more than playthings to those older than us, to people exactly like KR. Her so-called Generation X are the worst . KR and her contemporaries think it’s their right to take us for everything we have, everything they think they can get away with, then minimise our pain and undermine us for our choices over the few things we can control.

Each week, when the concierge goes after his hour, I swallow my tears down like a meal, something to make me stronger. Afterwards, when I take my shower and scrub my body down with salt and honey, it’s very hard not to give in and cry. But I never do.

I’ve just pulled over the deadbolt and safety chain and put some soup on, my mum’s words ringing in my ears, a last-minute plea to create the impression she really did want me to stay with her: ‘You’ll never manage on your own. You can’t even boil an egg.’ To which I reminded her, ‘I don’t eat eggs.’

I log on and start to type, only remembering the soup when I smell the pan burning dry. I just hate it when the adults are right.

Time to show one of them how wrong they can be. In the morning, I’ll pop my head into Gem’s office and tell her I’ve thought of a great way to help Katherine Ross get back to her best, like she and I talked about.

I know I’m paying a high price to stay in this flat. But I can see KR’s place from here. I’m less than 100 metres away but from the darkened glass of the tenth floor, I am invisible to her.

For four weeks now, I’ve got to see her spill out onto her front steps every morning. I know what times she comes and goes. I know how weak she’s feeling before she puts on her daily ‘I’m doing fine!’ mask for the rest of the world as she drags herself to the end of her road and across Green Lanes to the bus stop at the foot of my block. I know on Sundays she tears around the park like something is chasing her, and in the afternoon strides to the pub with The Partner like they’re late for an important appointment.

All this insight makes the price for this apartment worth paying.

Katherine

This is how catastrophic change begins. Small disturbances at the surface, the first suggestion of the sinkhole opening beneath; the moment in the horror movie the protagonist sees something out of the corner of her eye and dismisses it witlessly. I used to love horror movies. I can’t bear them now.

Even though I felt uneasy about you, I couldn’t wait to see you that second morning. I couldn’t give what I felt a name. I still can’t. The best I can do is say it felt like a kind of imprinting. I’d been let down by my life and orphaned by my friends. I hadn’t talked properly to anyone who wasn’t my partner in so long, it was as if I had an overflowing store of friendship backed-up in me. You. Yes, Lily, even though I wasn’t sure about you, I was that pathetic; I was ready to bury my doubts. This is who you become when no one returns your calls, and the only people troubling your mobile are your GP, your partner, or Vodafone.

On Tuesday morning I spent ages choosing an outfit that might make me look fresh and relevant and not mutton dressed as lamb. I hopelessly tried to do my makeup to achieve a dewy sheen. I wondered if the time was coming when I should let my natural colour come through, or dye my hair something other than black, which seemed suddenly blocky and incongruous against my dulling face. I desperately wanted to collapse the years between someone like you and someone like me.

Part of me was glad when you weren’t at the bus stop. I was disturbed by the horrid dream I was struggling to shake off, but buoyed by the fact my articles would be live on the website and in the shiny new editions on everyone’s desks by the time I got in. You may have changed the cover for the issues they’d distribute at the awards, but this edition would be all mine.

I got to my desk. Still no you. And no coffee from Asif either. I turned to find the two of you nestled next to each other on the old sub editors’ desks, huddled around what looked like proofs of the most recent issue.

‘Good morning. Time for a quick catch up? Katherine?’ Gemma tried to get my attention from the doorway of her office.

‘Be right there,’ I said distractedly, watching Asif run his fingers over his beard as you looked to gauge his reaction to something you’d just said. I watched until I couldn’t anymore, closing Gemma’s office door slowly on the sight of you throwing your head back in glee. Asif looked as if he could just climb right inside you there and then.

‘Congratulations on this.’ She threw a fresh copy of Leadership towards me over her desk. ‘Some great foundations we can really build on.’

‘Thank you.’ Is that it? For 12,000 words from your most senior writer? Patronising.

‘What I want to talk to you about, today, is how we’re going to achieve that.’

‘Yes?’

‘I hope you’ll take what I’m about to say in the spirit in which it is intended … I’d like us to talk about reorganizing our content, making a few tweaks to your writing. So, to that end, I’ve asked Lily to look at what’s working and not working on the website. I should probably tell you, early indications on the two articles she posted—’

‘Two articles? I didn’t see any copy from her.’

‘Asif edited them yesterday evening. Well, they’ve already had more click-throughs and longer combined viewing times than all of your content in the last four weeks put together.’ I watched you through the glass. You were now flicking your fingernails under your chin, before biting your bottom lip as you started to type. I was ready to assume it was your picture byline driving your traffic. ‘She’s young, but she’s a quick learner and she knows how to give online readers in particular what they want, so I’ve booked some time away from the office for you and her. She’s going to help you look again at your writing. There’s no shame in needing to re-boot. You could find this is the best thing to happen at this stage of your career. Details to follow. Now, are you up for the challenge?’

What a slap in the face. The humiliation. You were going to teach me . I didn’t yet know you would teach me the lesson of my life.

I had no choice but to say, ‘Of course I’m up for it.’

You kept trying to talk to me all day, but I gave you the brush off. I needed more of an idea of what I was dealing with before I let you know anything else about me.

I read your pieces. A horrifying truth dawned. You were actually pretty good at this. A natural attention-grabber. Your headlines were nearly as enticing as your picture byline; your copy was as taut as mine was saggy. When I re-read my features, they felt in the reading how they’d felt in the writing: hard work. I was angry, I thought it was at you and Gemma, but it was really at me, for being so tired of it all.

But what had Asif been thinking, putting up two pieces from a day-old intern like that? He sent the odd smile over from his side, but knew me well enough to give me some space. It wasn’t until gone seven when the office had emptied that I heard him come up behind me to say goodnight.

I looked about. You weren’t at your desk, but your machine was still on, so if you were going to file any more sparkling ‘content’, it would have to go through me.

‘Late night at the office, K? Kind of reminds me of old times.’ Asif, hands in his pockets, took a step closer. I guessed he was trying to get back into my good books and it was only to make him feel better that I told him, ‘Ah, the days of yore. I miss them too. But you know me, Mr Khan, there will always be a part of me that’s down with the brown.’ I smiled and turned in my seat to face him.