The Dr Pepper Prophecies Read online

  Once I’ve caught my breath, dragged myself over to the sink to get a drink and had a pre-dinner snack of scampi fries and a chocolate mousse, I almost feel human. By the time I’ve had a shower and changed into sweat pants, I feel ready to appreciate my alone time.

  Of course, by then Beth has come home.

  The joys of flat-sharing.

  'Is there any more lasagne?' I ask hopefully, from my prone position on the sofa. I love lasagne. Love it. Just like Garfield. Except for the whole cat thing obviously.

  'Huh?' Beth says. She looks puzzled, like I’ve just spoken in Greek and she’s trying to translate. 'Oh…no, Will ate it all.'

  Damn.

  It’s hard to love a man who eats the last piece of lasagne.

  'What are we having then?' I ask.

  'Umm…pizza. Unless you would prefer to wait?'

  'Pizza’s fine.' I hate waiting.

  I watch Beth through half-closed eyelids. She looks distracted. She keeps picking things up and putting them down again. She’s all flustered. Very un Beth-like.

  I open my eyes properly and struggle into a sitting position. Then I pull my knees up and hug them to my chest.

  'What’s up?' I ask.

  Beth, God love her, actually glances at the ceiling. Sometimes I think we really are speaking two different languages. I mean, I know she went to private school, but she must have had a seriously sheltered childhood to be confused by that.

  'Nothing,' she says. The back of her neck has gone red beneath her little blond bun. Beth only ever seems to blush from the chin down. Disturbing thought really.

  She’s avoiding my gaze. I’m intrigued. Beth’s life is usually even more boring than mine.

  'Really, tell me,' I say. 'I’ve spent the whole day being watched by the love child of Big Brother and Adolf Hitler. I need something to take my mind off the pile of crap that is my life. Spill. What’s going on?'

  Beth fusses some more, getting a pepperoni pizza out of the freezer compartment and taking off the wrapper. I wait. Beth is like the Terry’s Chocolate Orange in the adverts – prod it a couple of times and it’ll open up. As opposed to the real ones, which take a sledgehammer to break apart.

  Once the pizza is safely in the oven, she’s ready.

  'Something just happened at work today, that’s all,' she says.

  I nod. It’s best not to interrupt.

  'I was asked for a date,' she adds, blushing more.

  I sit up, riveted.

  'I’m just not sure if I should accept,' she says, frowning a little. 'We are colleagues, after all.'

  Not another person. Work-based romances don’t always go bad. Don’t 70% of people meet their future spouse at work, or something like that?

  I’m about to say this, when it occurs to me to get one more tiny piece of information.

  'Who was it?' I ask.

  Beth looks shyly at me. 'I don’t know if you’ll remember him, I introduced you to him at the staff Christmas party.'

  I do a quick re-cap of everyone I remember meeting. Which isn’t many.

  Oh! I have it! The completely gorgeous Italian guy who works in the library café to practise his English! This is fantastic!

  I’m not even remotely jealous. Really.

  Okay, maybe slightly.

  'Angelo!' I squeal.

  Beth looks amazed, as if the fact that such a sex God even existed has completely passed her by.

  'No,' she says, 'Andrew.'

  My smile fades. Just the tiniest bit.

  'Andrew,' I repeat, trying to sound enthusiastic. 'That’s…great.'

  Not that there’s anything wrong with Andrew exactly. I’m sure he has a lovely personality. It’s just that… How can I put this? If Angelo is Blackadder, season three, Andrew is Mr Bean. Both fascinating characters, I’m sure, but it’s not exactly hard to figure out which is more attractive.

  'I told him I wasn’t sure that we should mix a personal relationship with a professional one,' Beth says. 'Do you think that was right?'

  It’s clearly my duty to save Beth from herself. She’s so soft-hearted that she might actually accept him if I don’t keep her on the right track. Beth is beautiful and sweet and a total innocent. She’s like Jane Bennett from Pride and Prejudice. And with no Bingley on the scene, she’s in grave danger of saying yes to Mr Collins.

  'While obviously the decision is yours and I wouldn’t dream of interfering,' I say, knowing that Beth is no more likely to ignore my advice than a vampire is to take up sunbathing, 'I think that you’re right not to date someone you work with. Look at me and Martin. It would be terrible when you broke up.'

  Beth nods slowly. 'That is what I thought,' she says. 'I was right first time. It would be terrible if we didn’t stay together.'

  I smile encouragingly at her until she starts to smile back. Weakly, but it’s there.

  'Thank you,' she says.

  For the rest of the evening, I bask in the glow of satisfaction.

  I’m like cupid. Only in reverse.

  **

  Later, on Messenger…

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

  ‘Repeat after me. I am a good person.’

  Dumped!!! says:

  ‘I am a good person.’

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

  ‘I deserve to be treated well.’

  Dumped!!! says:

  ‘I deserve to be treated well.’

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

  ‘Martin, you are a complete git.’

  Dumped!!! says:

  ‘Martin, you are a complete git.’

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

  ‘I fart in your general direction.’

  Dumped!!! says:

  ‘?????’

  Will is another person who seems to speak in another language half the time. He doesn’t even use regular swearwords, he likes alien ones from the five thousand science-fiction TV shows he watches. Very disorienting.

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

  ‘Just say it. It’ll make you feel better.’

  Dumped!!! says:

  ‘I fart in your general direction.’

  Then I start to laugh. It’s so ridiculous it’s funny.

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

  'I told you so. ;-)’

  Dumped!!! says:

  ‘I’m not laughing.’

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

  ‘Liar.’

  This is my strategy for getting through Tuesday. I went to bed on top of the world and woke up at the bottom of a cess pit. I hate my job. I hated it even before Martin. I have to find a new one.

  Although maybe I should start playing the lottery. Just in case.

  How great would that be? Walking into work around noon and saying 'Screw you Martin. I don’t need your job, I’m worth 7.8 million.'.

  In slightly stronger language, of course.

  Dumped!!! says:

  ‘Is Natalie coming round tonight?’

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

  ‘No.’

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

  ‘I’ll probably regret telling you this, but we had a small fight.’

  Why do they never have large fights? Why can’t she drop her Snow White act and reveal the evil queen inside?

  Dumped!!! says:

  ‘What about?’

  Note to self: bring up topic frequently.

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

  ‘She wants to throw a dinner party.’

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

  ‘For the Big Boss at my company.’

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

  'So we can make the right connections.’

  Making the right connections in Will-speak means plugging your keyboard into the right bit of your computer.

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

  ‘She thinks I’m wasted.’

  Dumped!!! says:

  ‘She’s right.’

  Dumped!!! says:

  ‘You’re too cute to be an accountant.’

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

&nb
sp; ‘LOL. Thanks.’

  'And this is Cynthia Burnett and Melanie Parker, two of our administrators.'

  Crap! Martin. I close Messenger instantly. Will’s pretty used to being cut off without warning.

  I look up quickly and smile innocently.

  Mmmm, who is that?

  'Matthew March, our new negotiator,' Martin says.

  I’m positive I didn’t ask out loud.

  'Nice to meet you,' Matthew March says. 'Call me Matt.'

  Australian accent. I love Australian accents.

  'Call me Mel,' I say, gazing up at six foot of pure, sun-bleached hunk.

  'Moving on, moving on,' Martin says impatiently, as he ushers Matt away from me again. My eyes are glued on him until he leaves my sight. He looks back at the door and gives me the sexiest grin I have ever seen. I smile back. No red-blooded woman could have resisted the temptation.

  The second he’s gone, I open Messenger again.

  Dumped!!! says:

  ‘Will? You know how I gave up men?’

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

  ‘Uh-huh?’

  Dumped!!! says:

  ‘I think I’ve changed my mind.’

  A pause.

  SciFiFreak3001 says:

  ‘One day, seventeen hours and twenty-three minutes. I think that’s a new record.’

  I stick my tongue out at the screen.

  **

  By lunchtime I’ve convinced Will to come over and help me write a new CV. Even the very fine addition to the scenery isn’t enough to make me want to stay. Plus Natalie gets pissed off every time Will hangs out with me and I live in hope of getting her to get her claws out in front of him. Then Will will go back to being with me all the time.

  I climb up the stairs again, after getting my sandwich from the bakery, all the way to the top floor where the staff room is. The lift is broken again. There are too many hills in my life.

  I reach the top and shove open the door.

  Inside sit Matt and Martin.

  This is the definition of ambivalence.

  'Hi again, Mel,' Matt says, in that gorgeous voice. Is it my imagination, or does he sound the tiniest bit relieved?

  'Hi,' I say. Then, because I have to, 'Hello, Mr Murchison.'

  'Melanie,' Martin says, smoothing down his tie as I walk into the room and sit down as close to Matt and as far away from Martin as possible. He gives me a look so pointed it nearly blinds me. 'I was just bringing Matthew up to speed on our intra-office dating policy. Perhaps I should remind you of it too?'

  'I think I have it down now,' I say, resisting the temptation to bitch-slap him.

  'Good,' he says stiffly. He gets up like he’s in finishing school and has a book on his head. 'I’m glad to know that you’ve begun to take your work seriously.'

  He walks out slowly, as if he’ll spin round if we make the slightest sound. Matt and I sit tight and wait.

  When the door swings shut behind Martin, I turn to Matt.

  'The intra-office dating policy is simple,' I say. 'Don’t let him find out.'

  Matts laughs. 'Is he for real?'

  'I’m afraid so,' I say ruefully, ignoring my sandwich and starting on my doughnut instead. Sugar is going everywhere.

  'What did you do to get on his most wanted list?'

  I stare at the jam oozing out of my doughnut.

  'I slept with him,' I say.

  Matt looks beyond horrified.

  'Seriously?' he says. 'With him? How drunk did he get you?'

  I nearly choke on a mouthful.

  'That’s the worst part, I was completely sober,' I say, wiping sugar off my chin with the serviette Matt hands me. 'But, in my defence, it was before he turned into such a nightmare. He wasn’t my boss. He had hair. And an earring. And a sense of humour.' I frown. 'I might have imagined that last part.'

  'And you dumped him when he became robo-employee?' Matt asks, sipping his coffee.

  'I didn’t have a chance,' I say, licking sugar off my fingers. 'I went away for the weekend and the Martin I knew mutated into that prat. Although, looking back, maybe he was like that all along and I just didn’t notice.'

  'Have you thought about an eye-test?' Matt asks, dead pan.

  I groan. 'If they made loser-vision goggles I’d be first in the queue, believe me. They crawl to me like ants to a jam jar.'

  Matt grimaces. 'That’s no ant,' he says. 'Possibly a skunk.'

  I grin. In a strange way, Martin’s done me a favour. You always get sympathy when you’re dumped in this office, but you get a lot more when everyone has daily proof of what an ass-hole your ex is.

  And if Matt were to offer me a shoulder to cry on, it would be only good manners to accept.

  'How do you like it here?' I ask, starting on my sandwich. 'England, I mean.'

  Matt rolls his eyes. 'I’ve lived here since I was twelve, I just can’t get rid of the accent.'

  'Don’t try,' I say. 'It’s sexy, gives you an edge in the dating game. Does your girlfriend like it?'

  'I don’t have a girlfriend.'

  That’s what I like to hear.

  'What do you think of this place?' I say. No point in rushing things.

  'It’ll do,' Matt says, glancing around the staff room. I see his eyes fall on a dying pot-plant on the window ledge. He gets up and goes to the little kitchenette. 'It’s hopefully a stopgap thing. I want to get into web design,' he says, carrying a glass over and watering the plant, 'but I’m still building up a portfolio. Honing my skills. It’s pretty competitive.'

  'I know someone who’s great with computers,' I say, immediately thinking of Will. 'I know he’s done websites before and he’s always saying he wants to work seriously on one. You two should get together.'

  Matt comes back to the table and starts drinking the rest of the water. 'I was hoping you meant yourself,' he says. 'Shame you didn’t. I was hoping for an excuse to get to know you better.'

  My insides turn to marshmallow. I love this bit.

  'Who says you need one?' I hear myself say.

  'True,' Matt says.

  We smile at each other.

  'There’s no reason why two people who work together can’t be friends too,' I say.

  'Exactly,' Matt says, nodding.

  We smile some more.

  Matt looks at his watch. 'I have to get back to work,' he says. 'Otherwise the walking rule book will probably fire me. See you around.'

  'Bye,' I say happily.

  When he’s gone, I slide down in my seat and say a silent thank you to the universe.

  Goodbye Martin, hello Matt.

  Chapter 6

  'So, what do you think?' I ask nervously

  Will studies my CV from several angles. His eyebrows draw down. That’s never a good sign.

  'Well,' he says, handing it back to me. 'One thing does jump out at me.'

  I scan it quickly. I see nothing. I look more closely. I still see nothing.

  'You couldn’t make it jump any further, could you?' I ask finally.

  'Look at the top,' Will says, folding his arms.

  I look. I see my name and address, like I’m supposed to. I raise my eyes and gaze at Will, utterly confused.

  'Mel,' Will says gently, 'you spelt your name wrong.'

  He can’t be serious. I check.

  Menalie Caroline Parker.

  Menalie

  Oh, God. I did. I actually did. It’s official, I’ve lost my grip on reality.

  I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or hyperventilate.

  'So, all in all,' Will says dryly, 'I think it needs a little work.'

  I give him a watery smile.

  'But that’s why I’m here,' Will adds. 'To spot things like that. Have another biscuit.'

  He pushes the plate closer to me. We’re sitting across the dining table from each other at my flat, which is the usual venue for our counselling sessions. Beth is in her room. Probably reading the collected works of Dickens or something.

  I take a ginger bi
scuit and dunk it in my mug of orange squash.

  I have juvenile tastes, so sue me.

  'It’s basically fine,' Will continues, taking my CV back from me and running an eye over it again. 'It just needs tweaking. For example, you don’t necessarily have to put that you got a third.'

  I stare at him. 'You’re telling me to lie on my CV? What happened to it being fraud? You gave me that whole long lecture about it.'

  'That was when you wanted to put that you got a first,' Will says firmly. 'That was fraud, this is just selective honesty.'

  'Not ‘the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth’ then?'

  'For CVs,' Will says, taking a biscuit and dunking it in his coffee, 'you can skip the middle bit. Just put BA (Hons) Economics, it looks better.'

  'What else?' I ask, munching my nice soggy biscuit.

  'Don’t put you were unemployed.'

  'But I was,' I protest. 'What else am I supposed to put?'

  'You helped out at that old folks group, didn’t you?' Will says, as his biscuit starts to disintegrate into his mug.

  'That was for about eight hours a week,' I say.

  'So?'

  'So I spent the other however many hours filling in application forms, watching daytime TV and eating Jaffa Cakes,' I say.

  'Which is exactly what you did at university,' Will says, winking at me, 'but you still claimed to be studying full-time.'

  Hmm. He has a point.

  'So I was volunteering in my community,' I say slowly.

  'Right,' Will says, nodding encouragingly.

  'Why did I quit?' I ask.

  'Because you realised that your talents lay elsewhere.'

  'Right,' I say, picking up my pen and crossing out ‘unemployed’. 'Obviously. You should have told me earlier.'

  'You didn’t ask,' Will says, with a Cheshire Cat grin.

  Sometimes I just don’t know if I should kiss him or kick him.

  'Speaking of talents,' I say (it’s best to change the subject when he’s in this mood). 'I found you a potential web-design partner.'