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‘ThisisFrancescaMarchfromMarchFilms…’
Helistened to the entire message, but hung up before the beep.
Steppingtowards the front door, he realised it wasn’t properly closed.Somebodyhad left it on the latch.Notvery safe.Glancingleft and right, he tugged the door open and walked through.
Heroffice, number 105, was on the first floor.Fromsomewhere on the upper floors, heavy metal music reverberated through the halls.Krishclimbed the stairs, ignoring the tangled odour of urine, mould, and bleach.Hepassed an older woman on her way down, dressed in an ill-fitting grey suit and clutching her briefcase like she thoughtKrishmight relieve her of it.Standingaside, he smiled and nodded, pressing his tall frame into the corner of the landing, trying to be unthreatening.Sheclopped to the bottom of the stairs and rushed out of the building.Hesighed.
Thehallway made him think of a deserted secondary school with the magnolia-painted breeze blocks, flickering fluorescent lighting, and occasional noticeboards.Somebodyhad even written a cheery ‘FuckYou’ on one of them.Charming.
Francesca’soffice was at the end of the hall, behind a grey fire door covered in locks.Thepadlocks at the top and bottom were missing and he felt his pulse pick up.Maybeshe was in after all.
Heknocked.
Fromthe other side, he heard a chair scraping against the floor and items being knocked over. ‘Whois it?’Francesca’svoice shouted.
‘It’sKrish!’
Themuffled curse that followed confirmed that perhaps this had been a bad idea.
Metalscratched metal as she unlocked the door.Withsudden force, it swung open, a hand reached out, grabbedKrish’ssleeve, and pulled him into the room.Francescashut the door behind him and reengaged the locks.
Ittook a moment forKrish’seyes to adjust.Abank of three large video screens offered the room’s only illumination, sunlight blocked by thick black curtains hanging over the windows.Incontrast to the hallway, the room smelled strongly of pine, as thoughFrancescahad an economy box of air fresheners somewhere and had opened them all at once.
ButKrish’sgaze went straight toFrancesca, who had a cricket bat over one shoulder and a cross look on her face.Evenin the blue light of the screens, he could see the dark circles under her eyes.
‘Whatthe bloody hell are you doing here?’Herwords held fire, but the delivery sounded flat.
‘Jesus,Francesca, you look terrible.’Shewore grey tracksuit bottoms and a white tank top.Herarms were bare, showing off a surprising amount of muscular definition.Whenthey’d dated, she hadn’t been much of a gym person, but maybe that had changed.
‘Well, ifI’dknown you were coming,Iwould have hired a make-up artist.Gottena manicure.’
‘Youknow whatImean.When’sthe last time you slept?’Hekicked an empty can ofRedBullaside.
‘Tuesday?’
ItwasThursday.
Sheshuffled back to her desk, sank into the chair, and propped the bat against the leg of the table.
Onthe middle screen, a frozen close up of a laughing bride watched on.
‘Soundshealthy,’ he observed.
Francescasnorted. ‘Notime for healthy.Deadlines.’Shejutted her chin towards the screens.Graspingthe mouse, she clicked the play button.Thesound of applause and laughter filled the room for a moment before she hit pause again and nudged a slider to the right.Sheplayed the clip again, nodded, and moved on to the next clip.
Krishsighed.Thiswas not going well. ‘Ibrought you coffee and a donut.’
‘Thanks.ButIdon’t eat sugary snacks.’
‘Oh.Sincewhen?’
‘Sincenone of your business.’Sheswivelled her chair towards him. ‘I’lltake the coffee though.’
Hehanded her the cup.
‘Ugh.Starbucks.Thelocal cafe around the corner is so much better.’
‘You’rewelcome.’
