E3 - The Insurance Policy: Personal Concierge

Had I not just had a cigarette, I'd be straight out the door for one. Instead, I get up for the fruit salad and Chantilly cream I stuffed in the fridge earlier. But as I push my chair back, it bumps into Cailin, who'd crept up behind me. The jolt resurrects a sharp pain. Briefly exhibiting itself on my face and then out my lips.

Ohh hun, sorry. That wasn't what was supposed to happen. I was coming to surprise you but not like that.

Its okay.

I say, voice a little strained.

She gives me a big hug, then pulls back to study me. 'Hun… should Cillian have even let you out the house this morning?' Her response both a question and a statement.

I don't answer her. Instead I nod, gesturing for us to head to the kitchen.

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In the kitchen, I go straight for the fridge and pull out my fruit salad. Open and stare down into it as if I unaware of what my husband had made. Cailin, she starts bashing a 'Bean-to-cup' coffee machine that wasn't there the last time I was here.

This gobshite is brand new but it never works. Can you believe it?

Turning to me with her proclamation. I look over at the machine feeling sorry for the wrath it's come under from Cailin. Cailin however, turns back to it and gives it another bash. It's response, though, is the same.

Is it on? I ask.

She only huffs, crosses over to the old coffee vending machine and I make my way over to the mains power switch of this new appliance. And when pressed, a light came on followed by a clicking sound. She looked back at the machine and then me. Unimpressed.

Just can't get the staff these days, can you? Shaking my head at her in mock disappointment.

'Should you even be here?' She claps back at me.

I chuckle but move back to my fruits which doubles as a means in which I avoid her question. She pauses, fingers hovering over the machine's keypad, then drops them entirely.

'Well?'

I give in. (Sighed.) 'The doctor signed me off.'

'Really?' She doesn't say it again but her face does.

'Well, I couldn't take Cillian's fussing over me anymore. Every minute, it's... Do you want a coffee? Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat? Are you warm enough? Do you want me to get you anything?'

I pause.

'Plus I couldn't have a cigarette.'

'Should you be having a cigarette?'

'No. But that’s the thing. I know he means well. But after what we've been through…' I trail off, pick at a strawberry. 'It just feels too much sometimes. Like I keep waiting for him to drop some ball.

I drop the fork and exhale. 'And now that he works from home? It’s just... constant. Like there’s no space to forget myself for a minute.'

'Jaysus, Mary and Joseph,' she exclaims in that Donegal accent I love. 'Do you know how many women would kill for their husbands to pick up their fecking clothes or make themselves their own coffee, never mind make you a coffee? Who's he suppose to fuss over anyway? The last I checked, you're the one who's unwell.'

I leaned back against the counter. Massaged the shame in my temples. Though it wasn't the fussing. Not really.

'Lora.' Cailin squares my shoulders, looks me dead in the eye. 'You and I volunteer at enough women's shelters to know that Cillian is a rare find. And I am not saying that just because he's my brother but he dotes on you. So much so, I doubt you even know where the potato masher is in your kitchen.'

I chuckled. Not because she was funny but because she was truthful. About the *masher.

'Lora?'

I lean off the counter for where my manager is calling for me. We meet in the doorway and she apologises for not being around when I came in. A succession of meetings she says. Meetings about the burden of meetings. Except she schedules us a meeting so that I could catch up on the meetings of the meetings I missed. And when she goes off to check the availability of meeting rooms I walk back to my fruits.

Cailin glances at her phone while taking a sip of her coffee, then screws her face. I am unsure which of the two acts caused that.

'Anyway, I'm going back to my desk.' She says, dropping her phone back in her trouser pocket. 'You know who might just be entering this coffee break into their data tracking spreadsheet of my keystrokes per minute.' Tips her head towards her department.

I laughed-coughed. The combination sends another sharp pain through me and Cailin catches it again.

'Hun... seriously, what are you doing here if you're not better? Ah yes, you needed a cigarette. Fecking eejit.'

'I love you too.' I say to her.

And she gives me another hug before she dashes off and leaves her coffee. I am forking strawberries and grapes into my mouth when she sidles back next to me.

'By the way,'

'Uhmm.'

'Remember that guy I told you I met a few weeks ago on the flight back from Dublin?' Whispering in my ear.

I look up from my tub of fruits to her, for something juicier. 'Aha.'

But she only winks and dashes off for the second time. This time, I dash after her but my boss has impeccable timing. Instead I watch Cailin cross the office.

'What are you Halvey women up to now?' I shake my head and chuckle.

Along the Thames River

Though, there's a meeting room free we choose the scenic path. Because, a walk along The Path means we could have a cigarette. So, I snap my fruit bowl shut, place it back in the fridge next to his homemade potato salad made the West Indian way and follow Noemie out the office doors.

She’s got thirty minutes before her next meeting about a meeting (the most important kind, of course), she tells me. We talk about me. Always riveting. Then about her upcoming trip to Italy. Which, apparently... I'd missed several key details of. So, naturally what do we do? We talk about the trip to Italy some more. Then we circle back to me, just to keep things balanced.

Thirty minutes is a lot in the cigarette break sphere but coupled with holiday plans and a welcome back chat it isn't much. Still, we head back to the office, wiser, refreshed and 'cigaretted'. Noemie right on time for her next meeting and me just in time to find a colleague looking for me.

'Lora?' She says. 'I’ve got Mr. Lennox on the phone for you.

'Okay.'

'Says he needs you to arrange for his yacht to be moved from The Med to Miami.'

'Oh… what's happened to it?'

'It doesn't sound like anything has happened to it.'

'Then why would we move… Has he confused us with his logistics firm or something? I think, he thinks, you're his personal concierge.'

She shrugs. 'I tried to get more info, but he insists on speaking to you.' Noemie and I part ways and I march back to my desk.

***

'Hello Mr Lennox, its Lora here how are you?'

Lora, I need you do do something for me please. I need you to get my yacht over to Miami.

'Is it damaged, sir?'

'No, the yacht isn't damaged, I just need it moved to Miami.'

I massage across my forehead again but more out of habit than anything else.

'Mr Lennox, can I check you're aware you've called Lancaster & Lowe and not your yacht transportation company, yes?'

'You don't work for another company Lora, do you?'