Breathe Read Free

stacks hard copy documents into his arms. ‘You’ll also need to read these. As Health and Safety Officer, you may talk to staff only about health and safety issues directly affecting your department. Your first report will be due this Friday.’
    Ben tries a tentative smile. It usually works. ‘Well, I’m happy,’ he tells her.
    ‘Don’t waste a smile on me, Mr Harper, you won’t be the son I never had.’ Fitch turns on her chunky heel and stalks away.
    Ben looks around. The offices are dark, silver-grey slate and cherrywood, the new colours of corporate cool. The work-floor is futuristic, ergonomic, designed to prevent time-wasting, a mix of odd perspectives that sometimes curve unexpectedly around corners. There’s even a burbling fountain surrounded by grey pebbles and Japanese plants. Fierce little spots of light pinpoint the workstations like static prison searchlights. It’s elegant but weirdly oppressive. Touches of humanity exist in the way staff have decorated their booths; a photo pinned here, a small vase of flowers there. The workstations still look like hutches. The semi-private supervisor offices line the open centre, underlit glass boxes that are uncomfortably reminiscent of cages for battery hens.
    The staff are highly focused. Workers flit quickly and efficiently or remain hunched at workstations like gargoyles, concentrating on their net-linked computer screens. Ben is perversely excited by the energy and technology he sees all around him. He sees ergonomic headsets and lower back pain, call-waiting and eye strain. He’ll have a lot to do.
    He examines his workstation, checking the drawers, and is surprised to find that the bottom one has not been cleared out. There are odd items in this little haven of untidiness; photobooth strips, a conker on a string, an uncleaned mug, a pair of socks, yards of tinfoil, a fierce-looking army knife, lots of aspirin bubblepacks.
    Ben doesn’t see that he has been seated next to the girl from the elevator. The name on her tag reads: JAMESON. She doesn’t appear to have noticed him, or perhaps she’s just too busy. Needing to load the DVD, Ben surreptitiously attempts to turn on his computer, but can’t find the right button. He climbs around the back of his desk, searching for it.
    The girl’s noticed him now, and watches in amusement as he tries to discover how to turn the iMac on. After letting him fumble about for a while, she leans over and discreetly boots the computer up for him.
    ‘Bottom left,’ she whispers, and points.
    Ben feels for the button but still can’t find it.
    ‘No, your other left. You’ve never used one of these before, have you?’
    Ben feigns indignance. ‘Of course I have. I’m just used to a different type. Uh, brand. You know, model.’
    She smiles witchily. ‘You use firewire or infrared for Powerpoint spreadsheets and Word docs?’
    ‘Oh, well,’ he says casually, ‘you know, either really. Both. Whatever, I don’t mind.’
    ‘Which OS did you train on, then? Ten?’
    He studies the ceiling, thinking. ‘Oh, er, the usual one. Yeah, ten, probably, or maybe eleven.’
    ‘Okay, sport, it’s all yours. Take it away. Let’s see what you can do.’
    Ben is screwed. Aware of being watched, he tentatively taps the keyboard and shuts everything down again. The girl scoots her chair beside his and holds out her hand.
    ‘I’m Miranda, corporate slut.’
    ‘You don’t look –’
    ‘Corporate, I know. What I mean is, I’m a temp. That’s how they see us, the management. High pay, low dignity. And you don’t know your way around an iMac. We met in the lift.’
    ‘The shoe hammerer.’
    ‘Don’t worry, I’m gentler than I look. Listen, I’ll keep your secret. Just tell me what the hell you think you’re doing here.’ Ben gives her a look of bruised innocence. ‘Oh, come on. Anyone can see you’re a company virgin. How did you ever get this gig? Is your daddy a director? Can’t be your mummy, this place has