Agency

In Which the First Day at a New Job is Never Without Surprises

Although she hardly needs it given the temperature, she clutches her Egyptian cotton Marks&Spencer robe around her. It no longer smells of home. But then, she no longer has an inclination to miss home all that much, things being well and truly in the past with Archie. She'd not be making any more pleading phone calls in the dark. Her time in Toronto had, possibly, cured her of her interest in married men.

For all the fun and carrying on, there was no end game in it.

As she looks around her upgraded living space, she wonders if it might be time to upgrade her personal life as well.

As the kettle comes to a boil over the gas range, she wakes up the voice-connected tablet that promises to deliver her morning news, take her grocery orders and act as a concierge to her every need.

"Find the closest animal shelter," she says bossily. "Let's hope they have a proper English Bulldog breeder in Asia."

***

"Christ on a bike!" he roars, soreheaded, from his place on the floor beside the bed where he must have fallen at the end of an evening of pure debauchery, Singapore style. He'd been absolutely scuttered when he came in.

The alarm, distressingly out of reach from his spot on the floor, has been shouting from its perch on the bedside table for at least 30 minutes.

When he first heard it, he'd shoved his ear underneath his arm and wished the clock dead before falling back into his muddled dream. The muffled sound had woven itself into dreams flitting through his desiccated brain: a siren, a dog mouthing off down a country lane, and finally, a ringing bell telling him he was late for the first day of school.

His eye cracked open. The floor again at close proximity. The smell of his beer breath and cigarette fug. The sudden, jarring remembrance that he isn't a schoolboy, but a full-grown man with a whopping hangover.

Niall Flannery, newly minted Executive Creative Director, Singapore office, is going to be late to work on his first day.

He puts his head back down on the rug and assures himself -- that's what they expect of a creative genius. Wouldn't do to show up on time like a fecking keener.

Eventually, he'd get up, if only to throw the alarm clock across the room. But it was going to take some time to pull himself together, the way he was feeling.

***

It's nearly 10:30 am by the time Niall swooshes through the sliding glass automatic doors of the Agency's Singapore offices. The only interview he'd had to do had been remote with some know-nothing arsehole in the UK. With his references from Dublin and the fact that he'd been the creative mind behind the Atrabax success (admittedly backwater, but big for Canada), he was a walk-in for the Singapore job.

This is his first look at the Agency's Asian outpost.

He has to admit, it's got a sense of glamour about it. Nothing like the painted brick and broken wood floors of the Toronto office. This is a stunning, world-class building—a tower of glass, metal and soaring hopes.

The Agency's logo glows snootily at him from behind reception.

"Well?" he says to the pretty woman sitting behind the desk. "How's the craic?"

She looks confused but not ruffled.

"Crack, sir?" she asks.

"No, I'm just saying how's about ye?"

She shakes her head and rolls her (downcast so he can't see) eyes just slightly. "You must be the new Irish ECD. They told me you'd be in by 9."

"Sure. That's me. I'm late, am I?" He smiles his most winning smile. If he wasn't so hungover, he thinks he'd probably ask this girl out for a drink later. Maybe he'll see how he feels by lunch.

"Yes," she replies. "You're late. Here's your pass card and your new phone -- IT has set up for you already. You'll want to see your office and meet your team, I imagine, but as it's already 10:30, I'll just take you straight to the top floor."

"Fantastic," Niall says, rubbing his hands. "Cafeteria up there, is it? Just about tea time."

The receptionist says nothing, but stands and walks him to the bank of shining elevators. She presses a floor number on a digital screen and says primly, "This will take you up. Good luck."

Niall steps into the pristine elevator and, as it glides upward into the Singapore sky, he has a big, yawning stretch. This'll be a dawdle, he thinks.

His ears pop with the changing air pressure.

In the mirrored glass, he practices the little half-bow he's seen people doing since he arrived. He flashes himself his most charming smile.

And, finally, finally, the doors sweep open to reveal the executive floor. Several uncomfortable looking people are standing in a circle in the middle of the cavernous space.

They all turn their faces at the ding of the elevator.

"Niall," says a dreadfully familiar voice. "So glad you've decided to join us. At long last."

Niall Flannery and Allegra Wood-Crosbie share a long look over the heads of the confused, uncomfortable, standing executive team.

This situation they now find themselves in, is, of course, nobody's fault but their own.

THE END