Chapter 6A

Another shift in Point of View ... this time to Debbie's perspective

I was nervous when I got to the office, I'll admit that. I'd thought that using CareSpan's party to resolve some of the stuff I'd left unspoken would be a good idea ... and it had worked, after a fashion. Phil had liked Dave, Dave had seemed to like Phil ... and then I'd gone and asked him about his sex life. How stupid was that? And now I have to meet him the next day. Meet him with a woman I knew he'd slept with ... and a stunningly beautiful one at that. I felt mousey, insignificant and incompetent. In fact, I felt the professional facade I'd maintained for a decade slipping away. This was not good.

I'd left Phil with Karina, his daytime carer, grateful that she'd been able to come in at short notice on a Saturday, knowing that he knew I was going to meet Dave. As adults, we'd had The Conversation, many times. We both knew he was dying, would never again be my lover in any physical sense ... and he'd OK'd my seeking 'solace', as he put it, wherever I found it. Not that I ever had. For five grim years I'd watched the fit, athletic man I'd met lose one function after another until by now ... he could breath, for sure, swallow, had some movement in his right hand. God knows what it felt like for him ... but it screwed me up ... and that made me feel like a selfish bitch.

So, when I got to the office and let myself in, I wasn't best pleased to find Carla already sitting there - at my desk, as it happens, though I suppose she wouldn't have known that. Nonetheless, I was professional enough to greet her amicably, equally to enquire how she got in in the first place.

"Come on, Debs," she said - I hate being called Debs - "you know PCW own this building. I got them to send some poor fuck on a bike with the keys. I have to say, though, you'd do better to get some sort of alarm fitted on this office ... there's a lot of sensitive data on these hard drives."

Yes, I thought, a lot of data - and all of it heavily encrypted... very heavily encrypted. And a fair amount of it replicated on Dave's home network, I knew, and that probably wasn't protected at all. So I realised that I had to retreat from the moral high ground ... and made time. We had a coffee machine in the office, by now, obviously, but I still went down to the one in reception. It was a risk - and I wasn't sure how calculated a one - but, hell, it gave me a chance to calm down.

Which I did. Deep breaths, positive thoughts. I'd survived in the corporate jungle for a fair while, I'd learnt the techniques. And I really didn't want to lose it now.

When I got back upstairs, coffees in hand, Carla was no longer sitting at my desk. Instead, she was sitting at our coffee machine. I almost dropped the mugs I was holding - Dave didn't hold with cups and saucers - but recovered myself well enough. I could feel tears in my eyes, knew that I was sweating. Go fuck yourself, I thought ... you might be a mistress of the universe or whatever ... but this isn't California, this is my space ... I didn't invite you here...

Carla took the coffee, took a sip, said it was good. No mention of the fact that it could have been as good made on the machine behind her. No mention, either, of the obvious fact that I was standing in front of her almost in tears, looking and feeling like a chastised child.

Dave ... did not appear. Carla did not speak. It was strange, I thought ... she'd been friendly enough, professional enough ... when I'd met her the night before. Now, I was carrying a whole load of stuff - needed to explain our security, our forward plans to this woman. And she was standing there making appreciative noises about the coffee ... and I was feeling that everything I'd worked for was somehow crumbling into dust.

Dave still didn't appear. Carla - who'd been apparently admiring the decor (OK, Dave's post-its) quite suddenly looked me in the eye ... I almost jumped, so preoccupied had I been with my thoughts...

"Debs," she said (I winced inwardly), "I really liked you when I met you yesterday ... I really admire what you've done with the organisation around here ... and I don't think I've been unpleasant to you ... so why are you being so hostile?"

Hostile? Me? No, I was the compliant one ... you pat my bum, I grin and bear it ... And stuff. I thought for a second, reviewed the situation. What I saw was a woman in a smock dress, copious hair tied into a pony tail, looking at me kindly.

God, how I hated her. Hated Dave for not being there. We kept looking at each other. There was no hostility on her part, I began to realise. Just from the way she was looking at me, from her body language as she made an effort to relax. I recognised a nice woman being nice. Strangely ... or maybe not ... I almost wanted to hug her.

I wondered, bleakly, what on earth was going on ... and what had happened to my ability to ... deal with ... things.

Dave arrived. He apologised for being late, although he wasn't, and looked slightly warily at the pair of us before turning to me.

"Hi all", he said briskly, " ... Debbie ... Carla must have invited you ... though god knows why as its the weekend and I thought we were only going to go through routine slave/owner stuff ... I was planning on doing the actual work on a y'know work day ... like Monday, for instance. Still, nice of you to let the Boss in."

I couldn't process this, or at least, not fast enough. Was he saying that I wasn't welcome? Or just not necessary? Which would I prefer? Flummoxed, I looked between Dave and Carla. Carla answered for me.

"I asked Deborah to come in - I'm not in Europe for long so I thought it made sense; also I actually let myself in. Your security is crap, by the way."

Dave visibly bristled at that ... I was still standing there like a statue, trying vaguely to keep up... "Oh ... and how crap exactly? There are five PCs in this office, a printer it took two guys to get up the stairs, some office furniture and bugger all else. Unless your rather attractive sculpture thing would attract a burglar, I'm not sure what we're risking."

Carla rolled her eyes. "The data, Dave, the CastList matrices that are kind of our raison d'etre?"

"Are all encrypted to a higher standard than your Department of Defence uses for its critical stuff. OK, so some of our potential competitors do have access to supercomputers but ... personally I prefer quite a relaxed working environment, which involves not having to jump through hoops to get to your desk in the first place."

So, eat that, Californian, I thought ... relieved that it had been said, confused that I hadn't said it. Carla wasn't satisfied, however.