Page 24 of People Change

‘I’m talking as a friend here, though. Are you happy there?’

‘Of course,’ Shirin says, though she is also not sure if this is the truth any more.

When she returns to the office, Lilian calls Shirin into a meeting room for a quick chat. Her heart beats uncomfortably at the words ‘a quick chat’ and she imagines all the possible reasons she might be being fired, from half-heartedly completing an admin task for a book, to bitching about the company to Mariam. They go to a tiny meeting room that people go to for private phone calls. Lilian leans against the table, so Shirin stands opposite her, hands clasped together.

‘Just a quick one,’ Lilian says. ‘How’d it go with Abigail?’

‘Good,’ Shirin says. ‘She said she’d like to do it.’

Lilian smiles and it doesn’t touch her eyes; it rarely does. ‘Brilliant. I was hoping you’d say that. I think you should pitch the project in our acquisitions meeting next week. I also wanted to quickly let you know that Florence will be working with you on this, so you’ll present together.’

Shirin’s eyebrows furrow ever so slightly. It is not like she is being paired with someone more senior to guide her, ormore junior to assist her. It makes little sense for them to work together, because Shirin and Florence are at the same level, both in competition for a promotion. That and the fact she thoroughly dislikes Florence and spends most of her time avoiding her stares. ‘Oh?’

‘I think it’d be good for you to have someone to help you with it. It’ll make it less work for you, as I know you’ve got a lot on.’

Shirin nods and they leave the meeting room. Her steps are slow to her desk. It doesn’t feel right to her that she came up with an idea for a book and used her connections to secure the author, to then have to share it with Florence. How will this show her as being ready for the next stage? Won’t it show she can’t do it alone? And won’t it benefit Florence too?

She sits back at her desk, looking at her screen, but isn’t processing any of her emails. Her mind is whirling. It is a strange feeling. She has never been the type of person to demand credit for her work, but she sees the way editors around her are praised for their ideas and is confused about why she can’t get the same treatment. Why Florence is brought into exciting projects, whereas Shirin is only really brought into conversations about diversity and inclusion. There is, she is realising, an imbalance between what Shirin and Mariam are expected to do, compared to their white counterparts. She thinks she must have known this, but it has never been quite so discernible before. Or maybe she wasn’t paying attention.

In the afternoon, once Florence has been briefed that she will be working with Shirin on the project, Shirin begins to see what is happening more clearly. Without discussing it with her,Florence uses Shirin’s original pitch email that she sent to their editorial team and sends it to the wider company, saying she would love to discuss this exciting exclusive proposal in their acquisitions meeting next week. She mentions Shirin in passing in one line, deeper into the email, and signs off with her own name.

Colleagues from the wider team – ones Shirin has never had the chance to be seen by before – reply to the email, saying it’s incredible they’ve secured Abigail exclusively, that this will be such a big acquisition for them.

The email from the MD, Allegra, is what really tips Shirin over the edge:Brilliant work, Florence. Looking forward to discussing.

She is left sweaty and angry and, beyond all, speechless at her desk. She looks through the gap between their monitors and catches Florence’s eye. Florence smiles; it is an excited, team-player smile, like she is unaware. And Shirin might think she really is, but then she remembers the industry they’re in, and how attention to detail is literally their job. Florence is not oblivious, and neither is Lilian – it is Shirin who is the fool.

That evening, Shirin jiggles the key into the front-door lock – it consistently jams and she has to lift it up as she rotates it at just the right angle for it to open. Once inside, she goes to her bedroom, removes her backpack and jacket and heads straight to the bathroom, where she takes a long, hot shower. The temperature is a touch too hot, but she likes the feeling of the water being uncomfortable, like dull needles jabbing againsther skin. It gives her a renewed alertness when she steps out of the shower, her skin pink afterwards. She gets into her pyjamas and bounds down the stairs to make pasta. None of her housemates are home yet, though her movements are reflexively quick to avoid bumping into anyone.

She boils more pasta than she thinks she should, and when it is finished she drains it, and adds half a can of baked beans and cheese to a pan. As she heats the ingredients together on the stove, the cheese melts pleasantly into the sweet tomato sauce, turning it a soft orange colour. Her cheesy-bean pasta is a dish reserved for comfort; when she consumes it, it’s akin to being hugged – albeit with the caveat that it is by someone she wants to be hugged by. She adds a sprinkling of ground black pepper, like that might make the meal more sophisticated.

She has been looking forward to this moment all day.

With her steaming bowl in hand, she trudges up the stairs to her room. She shuts her door, opens her laptop, puts a Netflix show on and gets into bed with her meal. She chooses a TV show she is not invested in, for background noise. Her life would be much more depressing, she thinks, if she did not have that noise. Silence is too much of a reminder of what we are, that we will all die, that she is alone in this big city with not many people who care much about her. She is not sure if such thoughts are entirely true, but they creep into her mind more and more lately. Perhaps because, since the author party, she has been more sporadic in taking her antidepressants. She thinks maybe allowing these thoughts in is better for her, rather than blocking them, leaving her feeling nothing at all.Or maybe that’s not quite true – it’s not nothing, that heaviness in her heart that she cannot explain.

Ten minutes later, once she has finished her food, she puts the empty bowl on her bedside table and nestles her head into her pillow, her hair still damp from the shower. She stares at her laptop screen, at the characters and their lives, with all of their friends and relationships. The laughter prompts annoy her, because it is not that funny a show. She lies like this for an hour before reaching for her phone. She texts Hana.

What are you doing at the weekend?

Hana replies almost immediately.

Hana:Having a quiet one I think

Shirin:Wanna do something?

Hana:I can’t I have no money

Shirin:We can do something free?

She sees Hana typing, for what feels like too long. It is long enough for Shirin to feel embarrassed that she is almost begging her friend to see her. It never used to be like this. When they lived together, it would be Hana who arranged things for them to do.

Hana:Yeah maybe

Hana:God Abi is relentless with her book. She won’t stop going on about it on her Insta stories, I’ve had to mute her lol

Shirin has not told Hana about her meeting with Abigail. Of course she hasn’t. Hana would only call Shirin a traitor and give her a hard time about it. She puts her phone down and looks up to the ceiling.

Her phone pings again. She lifts it up to see. When she sees who it is from, she drops her iPhone directly onto her face. It hurts. She curses, scrambling to retrieve her phone and bring it to eye level once more.