Page 7 of People Change

Shirin sips her Shloer. The bubbles tickle her throat and the sugar clings to her teeth, but she drinks for as long as she needs to, to think of what to say next. ‘No,’ she finally says.

‘Shirin, we lived together for two years and have been friends since we were eighteen. I know when you’re lying.’

She sighs. ‘Fine. The guy I was speaking to – Kian – that wasn’t the first time I’d met him. We went to school together. In Hull.’

‘Okay …’

‘I got a bit freaked out, seeing him at the party. Like, we haven’t spoken in ten years and we kind of ended our friendship on bad terms. It was very weird to see him. Thenwe chatted in his summerhouse and it became quite intense, so I got out of there. I’m sorry I didn’t say bye.’

‘What happened with you both?’

Shirin shrugs. ‘Just school stuff. It’s silly now.’ The words come out with difficulty because that’s not how she feels at all, but she can’t dredge up the past; she doesn’t want to. So she smiles, waves her hand in front of her and says, ‘Honestly, it’s nothing. It was bizarre at the time is all.’

Hana drops her cigarette on the floor and puts it out with her heeled boot. ‘If you say so,’ she murmurs. That’s the thing about Hana; she knows when to drop something. Well, except when she adds, ‘He could be at Jasper’s gig on Monday. I’m just going to leave that there.’

The past four times Shirin has had an excuse for not going to their friend Jasper’s gigs, and while Hana has a legitimate reason for not going to this one – a Hinge date – Shirin can’t justify producing yet another fake excuse. But gigs just aren’t her thing.

‘I don’t really have time to think about it. I’m so busy with work …’ She doesn’t really consider her words, and a flicker of irritation shows on Hana’s face, but it is too late. Shirin is so attuned to Hana; she can tell exactly what she is thinking, and instantly regrets bringing the subject of employment into their conversation.

‘How is work, anyway?’ Hana asks, her face now apparently devoid of any emotion other than mild curiosity.

Shirin has been working at Hoffman Books for more than two years now. It was a long adjustment, but she finally feels settled in. The marker for this is that her anxiety doesn’t spikein every team meeting when she has to speak. Instead of saying this, though, she quickly replies, ‘I mean, I’m still an assistant. The majority of my day is spent doing admin, or working on other people’s projects, not my own. It’s not, you know, the ideal or anything.’

Hana nods, relief plain on her face that Shirin is apparently unhappy, as she is too. ‘Graduate life, eh?’

They graduated five years ago, but when Shirin is with Hana, they always move backwards to their university days. Time is divided into pre- and post-university. It is a marker Shirin feels finally ready to move past now, though she is not sure how to tell Hana this.

‘How is the job hunt going then?’ she asks Hana gently.

Hana closes her eyes. It is the kind of expression none of her other friends would consider pulling; it is theatrical and does not look at all natural, but maybe for Hana it is. ‘Let’s not talk about it. I’d really rather not,’ she replies. There is a short silence before Hana says, ‘Your eyeshadow is perfection, by the way.’

‘Thanks,’ Shirin says, a strange glee within her at the compliment, at the validation from Hana, which she realises she craves more and more. It is like she needs it, sometimes, to feel good about herself.

Despite this, her mind lingers on Kian. Her dream had always been to live in London and work in publishing – to put her past behind her. So it’s strange that now she has everything she wanted, she cannot stop thinking about whether she made the right decisions all those years ago – and whether seeing Kian again means something in relation to this.

She even considers asking Hana what she thinks, when Abigail appears before them wanting to take a picture together. They raise their copies of the book in the air, in something like jubilation, as she leans in towards them to take a selfie. Abigail’s hand is pressed against Shirin’s back as she tilts her head and smiles for the photo. Afterwards she asks if they’re having a good time, and they lie and say they are.

‘Your time will come soon, don’t worry,’ she says, like she is a bride and they are single women desperate for marriage. Shirin has her mouth open to say actually they’re good, but then Abigail is already off to talk to other people, and she isn’t given the chance.

‘God, she’s bloody annoying,’ she says.

Hana lays her hand heavy on Shirin’s shoulder, looks her dead in the eye, a solemn expression on her face. It is so solemn, Shirin becomes worried. ‘Don’t worry, your time will come,’ Hana mimics, in Abigail’s nasally Irish accent.

Hoffman Books

In Shirin’s peripheral vision she can see Florence Ainsworth. She is looking at Shirin through the gaps between their computer monitors. Shirin pretends she cannot see Florence looking, but her presence across from her is inescapable, like she’s a snake peeping through woodland foliage, watching, waiting.

The editorial team’s desks are joined together in five rows of three. They often joke that they are battery editors in the open-plan office, squished together like hens, expected to produce perfect manuscripts one after the other in quick succession. If she holds her arms out to the side, Shirin will be touching Poppy, a quiet editor from Australia, on her left, and Joanie, a dry-humoured and often hot-and-cold commissioning editor, on her right. Her manager, Lilian, is seated behind them, at her own separate desk, as though she is an island, with a short bookcase between her and her employees.

The office is situated inside the Shard; the walls are all glass, with a view of London that is expensive and surreal. Lustrous light shines in most days, providing them with much-coveted and needed doses of vitamin D. Since workingas an assistant editor at Hoffman, Shirin’s seasonal affective disorder has drastically improved; she no longer yearns for daylight, compared to her previous dingy office jobs, where she saw the sky for merely half an hour on her lunch break.

Shirin is not fond of Florence, who is still looking at her now. Florence is from Hertfordshire and went to Cambridge, like most of her colleagues at Hoffman. Her father, Tom Ainsworth, is the MD of the one of the biggest publishers in the UK. Her mother, Robin Joyce, is a successful novelist and writes the kinds of literary novels not many people truly understand, but everyone pretends to. She recently wrote a long feature inVogue, which Florence brought into the office. There were multiple spreads of Robin in Gucci, Prada and Givenchy, as she attempted to convince the public that she is just like us. Her latest book is about an interracial relationship and has been heralded as ‘The only book you’ll care about’ and ‘Thebook about race and relationships.’ Robin is a white woman, married to a white man. Privilege aside, it is not for these reasons that Shirin does not like Florence. It is for the fact that they once had a heated argument, across tables, in which Florence declared that ‘paki’ is not a derogatory term, but a shortening of a place. Exchanges such as this happen regularly with Florence, though Shirin can tell that, despite this, Florence likes her and wants them to have a connection, even though Shirin makes it clear she is not interested (by never returning her stare).

Hoffman Books was founded by David Hoffman eight years ago. David is a man who is a multimillionaire by birth, but who never mentions this in press interviews about the quick rise of the publisher, which is reported to give the bigfive a run for their money. Shirin’s closest friend at Hoffman is Mariam, a marketing executive, who sits across the office from Shirin, but is still close enough that they can see each other from their seats. This proves useful when they need to exchange quick glances, though they usually spend the day messaging each other on Microsoft Teams. Mariam has been at Hoffman only four months longer than Shirin, and very quickly they banded together. She messages her now:

Shirin:Book bin???

Mariam:1 min