Page 16 of Little Miss Fortune

‘What about calling facilities management to fix th—’

‘Do. Not. Ever. Call. FM.’ He squeezes my shoulders and gives me a small shake with every word. His tone isn’t playful; his eyes are filled with genuine fear and dread.

‘Okay. I won’t.’

‘Good. It might just save you.’ He lets go of me and leads me to the printers.

‘This one doesn’t work.’ He points to the one on the right. ‘But we are too scared—’

‘To call FM?’

‘Exactly, so we use that one.’ He grabs my hand and pushes it down on a scanner, closing the lid on it. ‘You press this button, wait a second, and voila! Perfect copy of your hand.’ The piece of paper shoots out and flies across the corridor. ‘Huh, it’s never done that before.’

Something tells me that the printers and I are going to be at constant war. Toby continues his version of important information about our surroundings. He leads me down the stairwell into a little closet that has a No Entry sign.

‘Uh,’ I hesitate.

‘What?’

‘It says not to enter.’

‘So?’

‘Well. There’s probably a reason for that.’

‘Yeah?’ He leans on the door, a perfectly symmetrical smile appearing on his face, arms crossed over his chest. ‘Give me your best theory for that reason.’

My tongue clicks against the roof of my mouth. ‘It’s, uh...’—I rack my brain—‘where FM people keep their... people.’

‘People?’

‘Yes. There are cryogenic chambers for all the members.’

‘It’s just the one guy, actually.’

‘That’s what they want you to believe. They are all clones.’ I nod, convinced of my own theory.

Toby laughs and covers his mouth, as if surprised by his own reaction. A lock of his hair drops into his eyes. He brushes it away, not noticing that I am staring at him.

Why the hell am I staring at him?

‘All right, open sesame.’ Toby pulls on the door and lets me in.

It’s a room akin to a closet, but a massage chair occupies the middle of it, an open box of tissues on the floor beside it. The walls are lined with shelves filled with printing paper, loo rolls, tea bags and instant coffee. A tower of first aid kits teeters against one wall. Toby notices my confusion and explains, ‘Those are out of date.’

‘So they just keep the old ones here? Can first aid kits expire?’

‘They do, but I reckon they’d still be good to use if you were waiting for an ambulance. But I’ve never seen an ambulance here. This place is so tedious sometimes that I really would like some action.’

‘How did you even find this place?’ Is that a fax machine in the corner?

‘I like to wander. Want to try this bad boy?’ He rubs the leather of the chair.

‘Absolutely not. I do not like the proximity of the tissues to the seating. Someone definitely sat on it with their naked buttocks.’

‘Ew. Why would you say that?’ He pulls his hands away and wipes them on his trousers, too worried to use the tissues.

I giggle and walk out, opening the doors back to the office with the lanyard. He grumbles and leads me to the kitchen. There is good coffee that someone hides in a brown sauce bottle, and Toby likes to steal it. On the counter, there is a round tin with a ‘help yourself’ note.