Dirty Sinks...

Dirty Sinks...



‘My mate was right about you’ - Directed toward a taken Alison, she almost dropped her used coffee mug into the dirty sink at the sheer brazenness ‘I beg your pardon?’ The new boy quick as you like, ‘You heard. My mate was right about you, and he hasn’t even met you’

Alison had noticed this flash ‘New Boy’ a few days earlier and had passed a few mutual pleasantries. If she was being honest, his arrival had broken up an otherwise dead-beat office situation and any tanned fit smile was a delight of small welcomes to the ever expansive desert, anything to break up the monotony and vacuous talk. Alison just as nimble countered with a smile ‘Oh yeah, what was he right about, then?’ On a six-penny the new boy escaped with his wry lips and the fragrance of BVL hanging over Formica worktops. Alison watched and cuddled fresh coffee, green eyes spied another missed opportunity. It would be more hours. Smart Ass!

Mostly, Alison spent vacant afternoons in unimportant spreadsheets, all the while entirely engrossed in sneaky glances across vast floor spaces. Occasionally she would be rewarded with caught eyes, the question of the day still stood - What was his bloody mate “Right about?” - This and other thoughts rattled until another long home time clicked by to an eventual end. 16:36 and he would sure head her way and as usual sweep on by, out of automatic doors, hissing the end of another day and she would have to wait for yet another distant morning.

The long weekends were the worse and were spent egging Monday morning on. Nothing else seemed to matter. ‘You’re amazing’ - It was that easy, surely? Over and over ‘You’re amazing! I don’t know why, but you are! Could it be the way you make tea? Could it be the way you rush to the toilet? Who knows, but you really got me.’ If only…! It was just a few mutterings away and the stuck rut would be loose, easier said than done, and such musing was certainly a stressful road.

Monday would surely arrive and certainly dark hair, tanned and trim next to spectacles and fading hair could not go unnoticed and most of the girls including a smitten Alison had said as much at many a fag time and with all girls together huddled in a corner, tall tales stood ever taller and the new boy towered. Every day it happened and it had been almost two long weeks since she and the rest of the girls had first spied a pink shirt in a sea of grey. Clock watching from a quarter past four ever since and waiting for rehearsed movement and a cue of impending vacation as always - Thanks to rigorous train schedules - the accented crease of a checked pink and blue lined shirt attached to the new boy would stroll on by.

As her nostrils flamed for a scent of Bulgari, another day felt wasted. Things wouldn’t be so bad but he hadn’t said a word since telling her of the observations a mate had once shared. Two or so long weeks had been spent exchanging occasional - ‘Mornings!’ and maybe a few awkward ‘How you doings?’ which were always delivered with a seemly cursory nervous smile on both parts. Just to utter more than those fiscal murmurings would take a flock of butterflies.

Days and numerous meetings passed and still his name evaded her, lots of occasional meetings. It was a vague time, and a longing watching period. Just recently, a late afternoon tea-break had accidently coincided and she found herself tightly cornered by the kitchen sink, frantically busying herself as she spied from her green eyes the new boy heading her way. The thought of serious conversation and she thought she would faint on the spot.

Walking back to her desk with a mug of tepid tea. Maybe sugarless, she couldn’t remember if she had spooned her usual two heaps. Thinking of nothing but the amount of eye contact was more important as she hunched over her cluttered desk and allowed a smile to curve over her full lips. She almost convinced herself it was but a dream and certainly may never have even happened. It surely did, didn’t it? He was definitely interested, surely?

This question spent another crammed train journey home. Most of the evening should have been expended watching recorded television, but ultimately was consumed with rehearsals of the next morning when she would conveniently postpone her visit to the communal kitchen for early morning coffee and cut the ice and lay her cards on the table. A frisson of delight and terror enveloped her as sleep eventually won.

With the finest ensemble and a newfound confidence, the morning ticked on by. Rain smashed against numerous windows as the countdown continued. Traffic piled through the hissing double doors and alighted at given desks, and still no sign. Tender hooks began to bend about mid-morning, all such trouble for nothing, the new boy never showed. Days and nights passed painfully by and it wasn’t until Wednesday that it became apparent. As more days passed and empty coffee morning musings were exchanged, the void encompassed the talk, it had not gone unnoticed by those who were concerned that the love of her life had in fact only been a temporary distraction and had flew to pastures new.

Wednesday had brought a finite realisation from the words of Mike from accounts that the new boy had flown onto better things in a world unknown and hope of finding out if love may have actually occurred evaporated along with a washed cup in the dirty sink over in the corner.


Thanks for reading....