The New Girl

I know it sounds intimidating being the only female in the room but it was more comic than sleazy and everyone accepted it with a tolerant shrug. Needless to say, they both tried their well practised chat-up lines on me and without thinking I fell back on my old default position of phantom 'Steve', although just to add a bit of interest I rechristened him, Marcel. Marcel, my long-distance fiancée lived in Paris and was a doctor with Médecins Sans Frontières. I was pretty proud of Marcel, not only was he French and therefore sexy, but he also had a saintly vocation which 'sadly' meant he was rarely around. I know, I was laying it on a bit thick, but it did the trick and the randy duo backed off. I felt a little ashamed that I was hiding behind this fiction, but my old fears stopped me from dropping the 'I prefer girls' bombshell.

Although I'd envisaged Marcel as low maintenance, the occasional friendly enquiry from my fellow workmates necessitated developing a bit of backstory as well as anecdotes from the medical front-line. Agnieszka had sent me a picture of her skiing with her older brother, and with the help of Photoshop I manage to produce a plausible picture of Marcel and I skiing in the Alps. This sat in a silver frame on my desk so that I could give him the odd dreamy glance when required. The dispatches from the front line were trickier, I was obliged to subscribe to the MSF newsletter and become a donor, so at least someone got to benefit from my deception.

Despite appearances, I didn't actually resort to celibacy. There were a couple of casual affairs but they were random and fleeting. I hated the whole lesbian scene and didn't want to hang out in bars filled only with women, or do the whole gay pride thing. I understood why others found it empowering but it wasn't for me, I didn't want to be out or closeted. I longed for mundane normality, a state where I wasn't identified by or ashamed of who I loved. So you can imagine, meeting someone wasn't easy. There weren't many like-minded girls around and I tended to find myself stuck with the closeted who lived life like they were spies in enemy territory. Getting drawn into those games was tiresome and emotionally draining. Let's just say I didn't see a lot of action.

My job was well paid and I was able to get a mortgage on a shoebox-size flat, which Mum and Dad helped me decorate and furnish. I was thrilled to have my own place but I could see they were sad to have me leave home again. By now I was well acquainted with loss and I understood their feelings. Mum and I both had a cry and Dad would have joined in but, as he said, someone has to keep it together. I assured them I wasn't going anywhere, my life was settled, my job was rewarding and I loved them to bits. But they still worried I was alone.

I didn't think of myself as lonely, as an only child, I'd spent enough alone time growing up to get used to it. If I gave it any thought I assumed everyone felt some absence in their life. I was lucky. I had a good job, my own flat and a loving family, no one had everything. I told myself I was content and life ticked over without much to trouble the placid waters. Then Brian announced his retirement.

Although he was the oldest member of our little team, Brian was only in his mid-fifties and we expected him to be there long after we'd all moved on. The truth is we took him for granted. He was the adult in the room and no one bothered to ask about his life outside of work until one day, out of the blue, he told us that his partner Geoff had retired from teaching, he'd decided to follow suit and they were going to open a boutique hotel on the coast. We must have looked a comical sight, the five of us struck dumb, it was like listening to your Dad tell you he'd decided to have a sex change and move to Brazil. Brian was gay! He had a partner called Geoff! And they were running off together to run a boarding house!

For a moment we all sat there like a bunch of slack-jawed idiots and lovely Brian started to look worried. I could let him think we had suddenly turned against him, because nobody had, so I leapt up, threw my arms around him and gave him a big kiss. It broke the ice and everyone else piled in with congratulations and about a million questions. I think the poor man felt like he'd been interrogated by the FBI after we'd all finished with him. Dennis and Keith immediately appointed themselves farewell party organisers, which turned out to be something they were really quite good at. Everyone had a great time and amidst the drunken good wishes and hollow promises to stay in touch, Brian quietly slipped away and we never saw him again.

The following week we all watched his empty desk, speculating who they would bring in to replace him. Naturally, the boys were hoping for another girl since I'd proved something of a dead end, but they kept us guessing for two weeks. Then mid-way through the third week, the HR manager walked in followed by Sofia, the most stunning girl I'd ever seen outside of a fashion magazine. She was tall, at least 5ft 10", with long black hair that hung straight. Her face had a Hispanic quality that reminded me of Penelope Cruz and I found myself gawping at her with the same fascination as Dennis and Keith. Everything about her was perfect, great legs sculpted by high heels, a bust made all the more impressive by her slender frame and an utterly bewitching smile. She must have felt like it was feeding time at the zoo, but I guess when you look like that you get used to being stared at.

She handled it pretty well, shaking everyone's hand and saying how pleased she was to be joining the team. I was at the end of the line and when she took my hand I found myself staring into her soft brown eyes. I did my best to be cool and professional, but as she smiled at me I found myself blushing like a teenager. Luckily everyone was too preoccupied to notice and I hoped Sofia hadn't either. This girl was spectacular and I realised I was going to have to very careful or my whole house of cards would come tumbling down.

Over the next few weeks as Sofia settled into the job, we (that is Dennis, Keith and I) managed to quell our libidos and treat her like a person. It turned out she was absurdly unassuming for someone so gorgeous and everyone was charmed by her good-natured optimism. As the two women in the room, we naturally fell into each others company, chatting over coffee, and before long, lunching together. I knew I should resist our growing friendship, particularly since she'd already become an unwitting participant in my solitary sex life, but somehow I couldn't persuade myself to stay away. It was like playing with fire, exciting and dangerous.

The worst of it was we got on so well. She seemed as pleased with my company as I was with hers and as we grew ever closer I found myself speculating whether our connection could be more than friendship. I knew it was magical thinking on my part but I couldn't help myself, so a subtly as I could, I began to quiz her on her past relationships. I could tell it was a sensitive area with her and I wasn't keen on inviting similar questions in return, so all I got were veiled references to a past relationship that was clearly the source of some pain. I had to back off and content myself with my fantasies that were becoming increasingly heated.

The problem was, becoming such close friends seemed to exacerbate my unacknowledged loneliness. Worse still I felt like I was beginning to fall in love with her and I didn't know if I could stand it. Every day, sitting in our favourite coffee bar, chatting about everything that didn't matter, I'd steal glimpses of her lips, her eyes, any part of her perfect face to hoard like treasure. It was a hopeless situation and I felt sure she must see through me, yet somehow she appeared not to notice. Then one day when I was lost in thought as she talking, she reached out and touched my hand. I practically jumped out of my skin and she smiled back at me somewhat bemused.

"Earth to Lizzie."

I blushed, realising she had just been trying to attract my wandering attention.

"I'm sorry, I didn't sleep much last night and I must have drifted off."

"Dreaming about Marcel?" I shook my head, regretting that she'd been caught up in my fictitious affair.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"I need to ask you about something. It's a bit awkward.."

My heart was suddenly in my mouth, Oh God, this is it, she knows. I could feel the hideous embarrassment rearing up.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

This was a nightmare in real-time. I only managed to nod, dreading her next words.

"It's about the boys."

I must have looked blank because she quickly added,

"Dennis and Keith."

I was so relieved I rather blurted out "What about them?"

She sighed, "They're great of course, nice guys and all, but they keep hitting on me and I really wish they wouldn't."

My nerves were so shaken I wanted to laugh and barely managed to steer the impulse it into a reassuring smile.

"Have you told them?"

"You know what they're like, it's water off a duck's back, they just won't give up. I know it's harmless and I don't want to make a big thing about it.."

She looked really uncomfortable and I hated to see her that way, so I made a rash decision. I squeezed her hand and leaned closer lowering my voice conspiratorially -- not that there was anyone near our table who would have been interested.

"You know Marcel, well.. he's not my fiancée." She looked confused.

"What do you mean? Have you split up?"

"No, I mean he doesn't exist. I made him up. I had the same problem with the boys when I started and I thought the best solution was to invent a fiancée."

"But you have a picture of him on your desk."

"That's the brother of an old friend. Actually, I've never even met him, I'm just good with Photoshop."

For a moment she just looked at me and I thought she might storm, off offended by my deception. But then, like a cloud clearing the sun, she burst into laughter.

"That's brilliant!"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, I didn't know how to. I hated lying to you."

She waved her hand dismissing my excuses as tears of laughter ran down her cheeks.

"They all think he's some kind of saint! The MSF story is bloody perfect."

I shrugged, delighted she'd taken it so well.

"Well, I do donate.."

Then I found myself laughing too.

By now we were attracting attention from the other diners and it seemed a good moment to leave. Sofia stood up.

"Come on, let's go."

She took my hand and with both of us still giggling like schoolgirls, she led me outside. The street bustled with office workers on their lunch break and as we still had half an hour Sofia led me back via a small park that had an ornamental duck pond. We held hands all the way, me because I desperately wanted to and Sofia I guessed from simple good humour. We sat on a park bench watching the birds and enjoying the spring sunshine.

"So, do you think it would work for me? Maybe Marcel has a brother or cousin?"

I wasn't sure how I felt about her taking the same path, everything was already so confusing to me, but at least it would deter the boys and to be honest, I was jealous.

"Mmm, that might be too obvious, but there are a lot of fish in the sea."

She seemed to ponder the problem for a minute or so, then her face lit up.

"I've got it! This will be perfect."

"What?"

"I'll say I've met a girl!"

I was shocked, horrified even. I felt like I'd just become the butt of some cruel cosmic joke. My turmoil must have been obvious because she looked so alarmed.

"You think it's too much, don't you?"

I didn't know what to say, it was impossible to explain my feelings.

"No, it's not that. It's.. Don't you think it might cause you problems? People can be funny about stuff like that."

"And you'd feel awkward being seen as my friend."

"No of course not, I'd never think that. I don't want anyone judging you behind your back."

She gave a little laugh.

"Everyone does that all the time. The important thing is not to care."

She could see I was unconvinced.

"OK, not a girl then. Back to plan A, Lizzie finds me a boyfriend."

"Why me?" I asked, relieved in an odd way to be back on safer terrain.

"Because you're the best."

Later that afternoon she dropped a note on my desk as she walked past. I felt like I was back in school as I checked to see if anyone was watching, before unfurling it on my lap. It said 'Planning meeting 7.30 Marco's?' Marco's was the wine bar where we'd held Brian's farewell party, it was also a popular dating venue. I glanced over at Sofia and nodded without any thought of the consequences.

That evening we met up and over two bottles of wine and a great deal if laughter, we created a boyfriend for Sofia. Malcolm was 32, worked in the oil industry which involved a lot of travel, and made tons of money which he freely lavished on his adored girlfriend. We even scanned the bar looking for suitable candidates, but by that stage, we were far too wasted to do anything but giggle. It was the most fun I'd had since Agnieszka went home and if it had been a date it was as near perfect as I could imagine. But of course, it wasn't. As we left the wine bar we hugged and she kissed my cheek, whispering thanks in my ear before disappearing into a cab. It was emotional torture.

When I got home, my lovely shoebox flat seemed more like a cell and the notion filled me with dread. Then the room began to spin and I ran to the bathroom and threw up. It was mostly the gallon of wine I'd drunk, but it seemed an apt response to the evening. Later, as I stood under the shower, I promised myself this had to stop, I would play it cool, back away while I still had a shred of dignity left. Needless to say, I did no such thing.

The next day at the office we both looked the worse for wear and morning coffee came with a Paracetamol chaser. We didn't feel up to lunch and as the office emptied out we found ourselves alone. I knew I should say something but really I had no idea how to reconcile my feelings with rational self-preservation. The atmosphere was strained, neither of us seemed inclined to speak, so we both sat at our desks, communing in the shared misery of a hangover. I closed my eyes pretending to doze while Sofia aimlessly browsed the internet. I wondered if this was our new normal and instantly regretted my vow to back off.

"Lizzie, are you awake?"

I did my best impression of waking and looked over at Sofia who was grinning at me. I can't tell you how relieved I was that the awkward moment had passed.

"Come and look at this."

Sofia wasn't the comic cat video type and I wondered what she was so pleased about. I walked over to her desk and peered at the monitor. On the screen was a page from a Miami newspaper with a prominent picture of a ridiculously smooth city type with slicked-back hair and a sharp suit, like a young Michael Douglas. The headline read, 'Real Estate Tycoon In Million Dollar Cocaine Bust'. I was puzzled.

"What am I looking at?"

"Meet Malcolm, my new incredibly devoted boyfriend."

I laughed, "Wow, you're dating a drug lord."

"Well, only if my best friend approves.."

She looked up at me, and I could see a flash of vulnerability behind the winning smile. It made me want to throw my arms around her, tell her I approved of everything about her. Instead, I reverted to safer territory.

"It's brilliant, but what if someone sees this story?"

"Come on, do think this lot the read the Miami Herald. Besides if they do find out, who's going to bother a drug trafficker's girlfriend?"

By now we were both caught up in the joke and all the earlier tension seemed to have vanished.

"OK, so how did you and Malcolm Corleone meet?"

"A club, somewhere expensive. He plied me with champagne, and whisked me away in his Ferrari."

"Sounds rather nice, does he have a friend? I could always ditch Marcel."

"And break his heart? Think of all those people he helps around the world, if you leave him he'll fall into depression and start self-medicating and before you know it he'll be expelled from MSF."

"Your right, of course, I must sacrifice a life of luxury and devote my remaining years to supporting his saintly mission."

"Who could wish for a better girlfriend?"

We were still laughing as the others began to file back from lunch. Later that afternoon I sent her a text. 'Had a wonderful night, can't wait to see you again. Maybe next time we could take the jet and have dinner in Paris. Malcolm xxx' I watched as Sofia read the message, her eyes briefly darting in my direction, before her fingers tapped out a surreptitious response. My phone vibrated and I read, 'Me too, Paris sounds dreamy, would you like to make it breakfast?' She signed it with an emoji of a cupid heart. I could see her watching me read the text and struggled not to blush. Fortunately, I was interrupted by Keith clutching a stack of papers he wanted me to look over. It kept me busy for the rest of the afternoon and by the end of the day, things had returned to relative normality.

That evening I made my weekly visit for dinner with Mum and Dad. Although we chatted away in our usual playful fashion, Mum sensed something was troubling me. After we'd washed up and Dad retreated to his greenhouse, Mum asked me what was wrong. At first, I was reluctant to tell her, more out of a sense of foolishness than anything else. Then my phone buzzed and I glanced at the screen. It was a text from Sofia, 'Hi Malcolm, I was just wondering if you'll be back from Dubai this weekend?' it was signed with another love heart emoji. Mum could see the look on my face and I found myself pouring the whole bewildering mess out to her.

To her credit, Mum sat and listened to it all without ever attempting to offer advice. All she said was I had a lot less to lose than I might gain by keeping an open mind. It was a gentle rebuke that made me realise for all my liberal upbringing I was the cautious conservative member of the family, always frightened of stepping outside the fold of social norms or being rejected.

That night as I lay in bed, my thoughts still in turmoil, I knew she was right. My courage had always been contingent on someone else taking the lead and that wasn't good enough. The only option now was to jump and hope for the best. I reached for my phone and tapped out a reply to Sofia. 'Back on Friday, longing to see you. Malcolm xxx' I pressed send before I could give in to the inevitable impulse to delete it, then turned off the bedside light and hid beneath my duvet wondering what on earth I had done.

The next day at the office was as before, no awful sea-change. Sofia and I fell back into our usual coffee break/lunch routine and I might have concluded that the whole thing was a figment of my fevered imagination but for the texts. What had started as a joke now took on a life of its own, messages bounced back and forth between us with increasing frequency. Content that was parody flirtation rapidly evolved into something far more steamy, given sanction by the shared fiction of millionaire Malcolm and a besotted Sofia. Neither of us ever mentioned the texts, it was as if they existed in some separate reality, to which we dare not refer. All I knew for certain was as the week progressed my panties were wet almost all the time and concentrating on work was becoming impossible.

I realised I couldn't go on like this, the whole situation was driving me crazy. I barely slept and my emotional life was in melt-down. Thursday night, with the weekend upon us and Malcolm's return from Dubai imminent, fantasy felt like it was on a crash course with reality. There was really only one way to untangle this mess and it was down to me. My hands were shaking as I typed out the message, 'Can we meet Friday night? I need to..', I hesitated, torn between 'talk' and 'see you', the former felt too direct the latter too painfully true. My courage wavered to the point I almost deleted the message, but Mum's words bore down on me like a guilty conscience. I pressed the back delete key and re-typed, 'Can we meet Friday night? I want to see you.' Signing Malcolm felt like a lie, so I and added a heart emoji and pressed send.