Carnival Sky Read Free Page A

of the decision to resign, to anticipation of the choices it offered. Chris, however, was taken by surprise. ‘Jesus, Sheff, this is all a bit sudden. It’s not the llama, is it?’ He leant well forward, as if he might find the answer written on his chief reporter’s face.
    ‘No, nothing like that.’
    ‘What the heck then? Money? You haven’t been head-hunted by some business outfit?’
    ‘I haven’t any idea what I’m going to do, but I know I need a break. Something to take the rind off me so that things are fresh again.’
    ‘I can give you a few weeks off. I could swing that. Have a camel tour in the Gobi, or shack up with a mademoiselle in Paris. No need to throw everything over just because you’re feeling down.’
    Sheff knew that part of the editor’s response was selfish: a resignation created one more complication, one more problem to be addressed, but he knew also that Chris was concerned as a colleague.
    ‘I’m fine, honestly. It’s not some impulse thing. I’ve thought it all out, and leaving’s the best way. I’m at a sort of dead-end. I need to try some other things, for a while at least. This place isn’t to blame. It’s more personal than that somehow.’ All part truth, but he saw nothing to be gained by making Chris feel guilty about aspects of their profession he couldn’t control.
    Chris’s PA appeared at the door, but he waved her away, came from behind his desk and sat down in the remaining uncomfortable, armless chair next to Sheff. ‘Have you thought maybe it’s some delayed reaction to all the family stuff?’ he said. ‘You’ve had a hell of a pounding. Or maybe it’s the mid-life crisis thing all the magazines go on about?’
    ‘You think I should read up on it.’
    ‘Well, you’re bang on the age, aren’t you?’ They both felt more at ease with offhand evasion than personal revelation. They were comfortable on professional ground, but preferred not to probe each other’s emotions. ‘Anyway,’ Chris said, ‘I refuse to accept a resignation for two weeks, and then we’ll talk about it. I really hope you change your mind, but whatever’s best for you. Come and chat about it any time you want to. Right? Ring me at home if you like. Christ, Sheff. Talk about a bombshell.’ From habit he ran his hand over his fine, sparse hair, and the almost yellow strands were pressed close like inlay on a leather cover. ‘You’re making a pretty significant decision here you know,’ he said.
    As he went back through the reporters’ room, Sheff had the feeling he was already distanced from his colleagues: that their application and concerns were no longer as important to him. Some emotional tether had been cut and he felt himself both oddly and advantageously set adrift. His own office, even, seemed to have undergone a subtle change, so that he was more aware of its plainness, its signal of laborious intensity. Unable to settle immediately to work, he began to tidy his desk. He forgot the damaged stand of the computer screen, and when he accidentally nudged it with Strunk and White’s
Elements of Style
, the monitor fell forward with a crash.
    ‘Fuck.’ The division between his office and the larger room was largely glass, but no one out there had noticed what had happened. Sheff sat and watched his workmates for a time, the blank, plastic back of the screen before him. Their space was full of activity, and he was very still in his. ‘Fuck it all,’ he said with deliberation, andnoticed how Donna played with her hair while talking on the phone, how Paul hunched at his desk, how people’s faces mirrored their mood although their voices couldn’t be heard. It was a busy place, with constant pressure and deadlines for editions that so quickly were superseded, forgotten, placed beneath the cat’s bowl, used to wrap the peelings, or line garage shelves.
    Sheff didn’t change his mind. Rather, he became increasingly focused on leaving the paper, yet with no clear idea of