Page 59 of People Change

Shirin shrugs. ‘It’s life, isn’t it?’ Not realising she’s mimicking Maman Bozorg’s words. She thinks she notices Hana watching her, though she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t add anything to the conversation. It has continued to be strange between them, their closeness morphing into awkwardness. Even over text, they have less to say to each other, so it fizzles out quickly. ‘I’m surprised you actually came,’ Shirin says.

‘Well, you said his last one was so good,’ Hana says. ‘I thought I need to see Jasper in action myself.’

Shirin’s eyes keep glancing at the door, like Kian will walk through it at any minute, which makes no sense at all. ‘This is the first time I’ve been in Brixton since Kian left last month,’ she says, thinking aloud.

They both give her pinched faces. ‘Do you guys talk much?’ Millie asks.

‘We sometimes text, or FaceTime, but it’s probably better that we don’t too much. It’s too confusing otherwise.’ Her voice is empty, like she is trying to convince herself. What she wants to say is that she doesn’t want them to talk too much because a year is such a long time; before long, Kian will findsomeone in New York and her heart will be broken again. She misses him in such a different way from all those years they were apart. There was so much hurt and anger back then, it clouded her longing for him, for their friendship. Now the happy memories make it even harder. That and the fact that Kian didn’t once bring up trying long-distance with her, and it’s something she’s realised she wanted him to suggest, but didn’t dare bring up herself, for fear of rejection. Because if he didn’t want to do long-distance with Salma, and that was the reason they broke up, why would he want it with Shirin?

‘Maybe when he comes back you guys can get together properly?’ Millie says, as though this will cheer Shirin up.

She doesn’t want any more false hope, which is why she shakes her head and replies, ‘If he wanted us to be together, he wouldn’t have been so opposed to long-distance.’

‘But you didn’t even ask him to do that yourself,’ Hana adds, a bit too quickly, as though forgetting that she’s meant to be tiptoeing around Shirin’s feelings.

‘He made it very clear he wanted to be free in New York,’ Shirin says, before asking, ‘Where’s Henry?’ – not that she is particularly looking forward to seeing him, but he is always at the centre of these events – and she needs to change the subject.

Millie rolls her eyes. ‘We had a fight. We’re always arguing lately … I was telling Hana, before you arrived, that I’m thinking maybe we aren’t quite right for each other after all.’

Shirin leans forward ever so slightly; it is reflexive. She catches Hana’s eye and it is gleaming, in afinallykind of way. With this news, she can be distracted.

‘And I said she can do so much better,’ Hana says.

‘What do you argue about?’ Shirin asks.

Initially it looks like Millie isn’t going to respond, or if she is, she’ll say something generic, but then she also leans in and says, ‘He can be so toxic, you know. Puts me down, to make himself feel better when he’s done wrong.’

Shirin shakes her head. ‘Damn. You do deserve better. I always thought he was a bit …’

‘Let’s just say it. He’s an arsehole,’ Hana interjects, waving her hand in the air. ‘An arsehole with a huge dick.’ Shirin gasps at this candidness and hits Hana in the stomach jokingly, while Millie bursts out laughing, covering her mouth. ‘And you can’t get annoyed at me for saying it because you shouldn’t have shown it to us, that one time.’

When they first got together, Henry had sent Millie a dick pic, which she had shared with them both, not knowing that he would soon become a long-term fixture in her life.

‘It is a pretty good dick,’ Millie says, at first forlorn, and then they all burst out laughing again at the ridiculousness. It is the first time in a very long time that Shirin has laughed so effortlessly.

Fruit Flies

There are fruit flies everywhere. They dance in front of Shirin and her colleagues, travel close to their ears, their noses, their mouths, their eyes. Joanie says they like the moisture. An email was sent round by the facilities team detailing the fly problem. The staff are blamed for eating food at their desks and are told that Tupperware will be put on everyone’s desks over the next few days and all food must be stored within these boxes. The cleaners have been briefed to throw away any food they see left overnight that is not in the aforementioned Tupperware.

When Shirin went to make her morning coffee, she saw that the flies had made their way into the coffee machine and were festering within the ground coffee. Rather than say anything, she went down to the café, where she paid £2.80 for an Americano instead. Now she has returned to the kitchen and sees one of the catering staff emptying out the coffee machine, throwing all the coffee into the bin.

‘It’s gross, isn’t it?’ she says.

He shakes his head, the picture of disappointment. She does not know his name, but sometimes sees him and they make small talk. He is passionate about the coffee machine, about filling it up. He tells her occasionally about the differentkinds of coffee, or the mechanics of the machine. He is bald-headed, with kind brown eyes. ‘I think there’s mice,’ he says. ‘Dead mice somewhere in this building.’

Shirin frowns and cringes simultaneously. She has lived among mice in two flats before and their presence both times was the reason for her departure. It is their speed, their thin dirty tails, the way they can move through the smallest of spaces. If they were slow, less agile, she would begrudge them less.

‘Do you think?’ she says. ‘That’s even worse.’

He shrugs. ‘The flies are here for a reason.’

She gives him a closed-lipped smile as she walks back to her desk, swatting flies away from her eyes in the process.

In the afternoon all Hoffman employees are called into their main event space. It is one of the rooms in which they sometimes have author parties, with spectacular grey views of London. At the front of the room is a podium with two large screens. Chairs are placed in multiple rows for the audience, and people are also sitting on the floor to the sides or leaning against the walls to watch the presentation. All the highlights for the year – the big books that they want everyone to be talking about – are pitched by various editors and publishers.

Twenty minutes into the presentation the CEO, David Hoffman, saunters onto the stage. David is a middle-aged man with a square face, thin defined lips, and he is wearing his signature thick black circular glasses. He frequently wears chinos and cardigans and dresses like a middle-class dad – today is no exception. He speaks with a confident lispas he says he has a very special announcement to make. He says, ‘Next slide please,’ and that is when a headshot of Rob Grayson appears large on the two screens either side of him. Shirin is so taken aback by the image that her body jolts and she looks round, like it must be a mistake. People around her appear mildly confused, but do not match the abject horror on her face. Rob is looking dead into the camera, with a steely expression.

There are low murmurs around the room. David doesn’t say anything for at least a minute, letting the speculation mount. Shirin’s throat is dry and she shifts in her seat, crossing her legs, one over the other. She thought the room was a touch too warm when she initially entered, and now it is stifling. She has the urge to pretend none of this is happening; she wants to shut her eyes, put her hands over her ears and just pretend. That is the reason why she avoids Mariam’s gaze next to her and keeps her eyes down on her chunky loafers.