The I.T. Girl (3 page)

‘Mate, I studied business and finance for three years,’ Cameron
stated. ‘I’ll resign before I’ll write code.’ But the threat had been mumbled.

Boris brought me back to the bustle of the canteen. ‘Michelle
and I bought a fish,’ he chirped.

‘That’s a serious responsibility,’ I said.

‘`Shell had one when she was a child.’ He looked at me.
‘Frankie the fish.’

‘I think Boris the fish sounds better,’ Cameron said.

The canteen had quietened down by the time we finished eating.
Some small groups were left behind, huddled over their lunch trays, looking like
they also had off-the-floor meetings to conduct.

‘Right.’
Boris clapped his hands. ‘Cameron,
Orla
and I have to discuss her project.’

‘No
worries,
mate,’ Cameron stood up.

‘He doesn’t mind,’ Boris said as Cameron walked away.
‘Right.
I just want to have a chat about METX because this one’s
under the spotlight. But, what I want you to understand is that although it is the
first
global
market data feed under CPR
‒
I’m not trying to scare you here
‒
it’s actually going to be quite straightforward in terms of business analysis.
We’ll be running a course soon – Introduction to Market Data.’

‘Cool. One thing I want to make clear with you... I don’t have
any desire to be a project leader or to move into a business role. I want to stay
technical.’

‘I hear you loud and clear.’ Boris pushed his tray out of the
way and crossed his hands over the surface. ‘Look, I’ll keep an eye on how things
are going. Make sure you’re on the right track, okay? And, if you have any questions,
just ask.’

‘Thanks, Boris.’

In the post-lunch stillness, the canteen doors swinging open
disturbed the quiet like giant butterfly wings. My stomach flip-flopped at the sight
of the late
luncher
coming in. He got a tray from a table,
since the tray pile was no longer out front, and then waved at the small square
window in the kitchen door. His hair was sticking up in vague clumps and he grabbed
one of the clumps while he waited. His sleeves were rolled up and the top buttons
of his shirt were open. A tie was hanging out of his pocket.

A chef minus her hat came out of the kitchen and put her hands
on her hips. They spoke and she went back inside.

‘Have you come across Jerome Ross’
5-Minute Snaps
yet?’ Boris was saying, draining the dregs of his coffee
mug.

‘I’ve heard of them.’ I tried to concentrate on Boris. ‘I’ve
seen one or two.’ The short documentaries were played on internal T.V.

‘Jerome will be here for the Data Centre opening and he’ll be
making one of his documentaries about London’s contribution to CPR. I thought it
might be something for you to get involved in.’

The chef came back from the kitchen with a small plate of salad
and bread rolls. She handed her customer the plate in exchange for money and he
turned towards the seating area. Our eyes met immediately. He went to the water
machine and filled a paper cup. Then he seemed to consider the empty tables. I could
feel myself stiffen when I realised he was walking towards where Boris and I were
sitting.

‘That sounds really interesting,’ I said to Boris.

‘It will be good for your profile and of course the
team’s
.’

‘What do you need me to do right now?’

‘I’ll send you the
5-Minute
Snap
website so you can sign up.’

The late
luncher
slid into our booth
next to me. ‘You can never get anything decent in this canteen after 2 p.m.’ he
said, and began making a sandwich.

‘Closing time is 2 p.m., mate,’ Boris said. ‘You’re lucky you
got more than a packet of peanuts.’ He lifted his tray. ‘We’ll chat later,’ he nodded
at me and shifted out of the booth.

‘How are you doing?’ I asked, politely, half turning.

‘Hungry. I’ve been in meetings all morning. I hate meetings.
They make me feel cornered, like a rat.’ He continued trying to fit dry bits of
salad on to the bread.

‘You haven’t rolled up your trouser legs today, I see.’

He paused before a bite. ‘The look doesn’t work without the
hat. Look, would you like to go for dinner this weekend?’

‘Oh. Yes, okay, let’s do that.’ I nodded after my high-pitched
words. I had imagined awkward conversations in the lobby; even romantic hushed tones
by the coffee dock. But this bold advance while stuffing his face, I had not anticipated.

‘Where would you like to go?’ he asked.

‘I’ve heard about this Vietnamese restaurant near where I live.
It’s supposed to be really good.’

‘Great. I love Vietnamese. So, how was the rest of your weekend?’

‘Fine,’ I shrugged shyly, feeling monosyllabic. ‘How was the
rest of yours?’

‘Fine also.’

He licked his fingers and wiped his hands and mouth when the
plate was clean. ‘That will have to do,’ he said.

I spent the next few days getting to grips with the scope of
my project, interrupted only with phone calls to my bank, trying to push my mortgage
application through each department. I felt like a part-time employee, becoming
so familiar with their process. The survey had cleared and it was just a matter
of completing the documentation for the solicitors. Everyone said ‘Don’t get your
hopes up, you can still get gazumped’ but I had already joined the local running
club and my first run was on Saturday morning.

The area was new to me and I tried to memorise street names as
I walked down a terraced road towards the park. All the houses looked the same,
with only a door frame or a pot plant to make them stand out.

I saw the colourful cluster of tracksuits through the iron gates
and hesitated. I had hated running in school; the monotony of the obligatory lap
before a game. But I had to do something to make friends. I went through the gates
and walked around the green. If there were a club at work it might have been okay,
but there was only the men’s football. The running club had a website which showed
photos of their sports events and socials, and it said ‘Come and go as you please.’
I was encouraged by the friendly tone.

But, it was hard to believe I was going to break into a run on
this early wintery morning, I thought, reaching the group with grass crackling beneath
my feet. The ground was hostile to the dogs that wanted to play and their scarf-wrapped
owners sent us bewildered glances.

I found a piece of railing to stretch against next to a group
of women who looked my age. There were about fifty people around; some in tracksuits,
others in slim-line shorts and tops. Next to me they were wearing a uniform of leggings
and
lycra
vests. I wondered what
their pace was like. Trying to conjure up my stretching routine from school, I listened
to their conversation. They were talking about a night out, laughing as they shifted
position. I attempted a smile at them but immediately felt silly when they didn’t
return it.

‘Don’t skip on the stretches. It’s very important.’ A plump woman
wearing a head-band to hold back messy hair strolled along the line. ‘Hello.’ She
stopped in front of me. ‘You’re new.’

‘Yes. I’m
Orla
. Do I need to fill out
a form or anything? Your website said to just turn up.’

‘Oh I’m not in charge. I’m just nosy,’ she said. ‘My name’s
Deelie
.’ Her clothes were obviously designer and colour-coordinated.
She had shorts on over leggings and a low cut tee-shirt over a sports-bra that would
look more at home in a night-club. ‘I want to see those buns working hard today
boys,’ she raised her voice at a group of men nearby. ‘George is looking fine today,’
she said quietly but the women within earshot looked away. I cringed inside; it
was obvious she was just here to meet men. When she didn’t get a reaction from anyone,
Deelie
cleared her throat and moved down the row to find
a space.

‘
Deelie
is the welcoming committee,’
the woman next to me said. She had heavy hair tied back and her skin looked freshly
moisturised.

The woman next to her laughed, while stretching over her knee,
her pony-tail dangled towards the ground. ‘What’s your distance?’ She turned her
head towards me.

‘Oh, I don’t know. I don’t really run.’

She tucked her chin back in to the stretch.

‘What’s this club like?’ I asked.

‘It’s essential,’ the first woman said.
‘Gets
me away from my Blackberry.’

They stood up, four in a row, and changed position.

A whistle blew and we gathered in front of a man wearing a luminous
arm-band. We were encouraged to run together and ‘Only do what you can, of course.’

We took off, forming a nebulous group that narrowed as we moved
forward. The women next to me sprung ahead like gazelles, weaving their way to the
front. I was at the back amongst a line chatting in tracksuits. But they were still
faster than me and gradually closed the gap as I fell behind. The website had said
beginners were welcome, hadn’t it? Was I the only beginner?

I trailed helplessly with my legs beginning to shake and the
distance stretching out before me. If they got too far ahead, I might get lost.

By the time I reached the end of the park I was barely hanging
on to the motion of running. The path curved back towards our starting point but
through watery vision I saw the figures ahead disappear through a gate. ‘Oh fuck,’
I breathed. The last runner up ahead went through and then I was alone. Finally
I stopped, gasping, and threw my hands down to my knees. I knew I should have done
a night course. Laughter came out as a hollow rush of air. I raised my hands behind
my head and started walking again slowly while my heart thumped against my ribs.
Through the gate I waited by a stream of cars going onto the main road, before crossing
into the second park. It was an open green, as big as the first. Maybe I should
just turn back. I’d look like an idiot, but I was beyond caring.
Deelie
, in her designer outfit, was on the path ahead. She had
some sort of space-age utility belt around her waist with gadgets attached. She
tugged at it every few yards. Beyond her, the woman with the ponytail was standing
beneath a tall tree talking to one of the men. He seemed to be showing her his shoes.
Deelie
stopped dead in the middle of the path and grasped
at the belt as it fell apart. Mini water bottles slipped out and rolled around the
ground. She chased them awkwardly, diving and gathering and glancing ahead. I thought
she was going to wave for help but suddenly she ran off the path into bushes along
the park wall, with the belt and bottles bundled in her arms. On the green children
were playing with a Frisbee and a dog walker was waiting for her squatting dog but
they didn’t seem to notice the unravelling woman disappear. She was noticed from
the big tree though. They were laughing in her direction.

I frowned at the bushes.
Deelie
must
have thought she was the last runner and no one would see her. I inched my way forward,
feeling like I was about to be caught. As I got nearer to where she disappeared
I saw a water bottle roll uncertainly towards a neighbouring bush. I picked it up.

‘Bloody ridiculous,’ I heard her say. ‘Oh shit, hi.’ She looked
up from the grass when I handed her the bottle. She was sitting down, cross-legged
and the belt was tangled in her lap.

‘Do you need a hand?’ I asked.

‘No, thanks.’
She smiled stiffly. ‘
Er
...
don’t
mind me.’

‘Okay.’ I averted my eyes and went back to the path, trying to
make sense of the scene. When I reached the tree, the couple had lost interest and
moved on. I glanced back but
Deelie
was still out of sight.
Well, at least that took my mind off my aching limbs, I realised. Feeling was coming
back; the perspiration on my skin was turning cold.

I followed the route back to the first park and began a trot
again. Embarrassment stung as I approached the turn towards the railings. Everyone
would notice the last person coming in. I probably looked ready to collapse. But
there were only two men outside the clubhouse, stretching earnestly.

‘Am I
back
at the right place?’ I asked
breathlessly.

Both men nodded.

Slowly I went through my school routine again, delicately easing
out startled muscles. I remembered something about too much stretching being just
as dangerous as no stretching at all. Everything felt heavy and reluctant to move.

I straightened up with a final benign stretch and turned to see
Deelie
arriving back with a flushed face. The belt was
reattached but she was holding onto it with one hand. She gave me a nervous, sideways
glance and kept going towards the clubhouse where I knew they had snacks after the
run. But I wasn’t going to follow her. It didn’t seem like
new members welcome
really meant new to running. The park exit was down
a small hill, away from the clubhouse. I negotiated the slope gingerly. It seemed
I wouldn’t have time for a running club after all.

Small bowls of fish and dumpling starters spread out over a chequered
table cloth. Kitchen noises echoed from behind a counter, and outside, traffic trundled
along a dirty street occasionally throwing shadows into the cafe.

‘Thank you,’ the waitress said, as she finished placing dips
in the remaining gaps.

I looked across the table.
‘Better than the
canteen?’
I asked.

‘Definitely,’ he replied. ‘Have one of these.’ He lifted across
a prawn.

‘Thanks. I will. Would you like some of this?’ I chased a dumpling
round a bowl with my chopsticks.