I’d remember Manchester

UberPA, for those who are wondering, has a delightful personality. She sat at a spare desk all day, moved only for allotted breaks, which consisted of a quick trip to the loo. For lunch, she set her watch, powered down her computer, ate a yogurt, then sat there until her watch beeped. She then turned her computer on and went back to working.

We didn’t speak, other than the first exchange, for the rest of the day. Yeah, stellar personality.

Really, what has happened is that Giles has sent a robot to look after me, which I guess is okay if I need rescuing from a cyborg.

Although, the quiet was handy because I used today to work on some manuscripts. I told the Intern to research MyAuthor (she wasn’t familiar with her work, heaven help us) and to try to have her latest novel read before she accompanied MyAuthor to the reading. So, the Intern freaking started reading the novel at work. She’s only in the office a few hours a day, I needed her to get on with other stuff. She really is a chancer.

Come the end of the day, it was gorgeous outside. Absolutely beautiful. I’d had a sneaking feeling that I could walk home quicker than taking the bus, so I tried to do so. I have no idea how I did it but I ended-up on the other side of town, just over the border into Angus. I freaking got so lost, I walked myself out of town. Which meant I had to get the bus home anyway.

Just as I was coming I to the city centre, so I could get another bus to my house, I got a text from HP, ‘On my way to the airport. See you Tuesday.’

What!?

I rang him, and he swore he told me about his trip to Manchester, but I think I’d remember something like my boyfriend not being home for six days. But, as usual, I was the one who was wrong. (Wish I could remind him about my blog and say, ‘If you told me I’d put it in my blog and I didn’t, so you didn’t tell me.’ But I really think it might be a bad idea to point out the blog to him, so I’m just going to take the hit on this one.)

Anyway, he’s being sent on a two-day training course in Manchester to learn to use some software, then on Tuesday he’s shadowing some coworkers as they present a new game to a buyer in London. He doesn’t really have anything to do with the game (HP is print design) but Candy wants him to see all aspects of the company. (I bet she fucking does.)

So, he’s in training Thursday and Friday in Manchester, then Roger is going to meet him and they’re having a long lad’s weekend, then he’ll meet his colleagues in London on Tuesday morning then back to Dundee.

I think I would have remembered something like this. HP certainly did not tell me, and I was positive it was an excuse for a dirty weekend away with Candy. I just needed proof.

I skipped the bus from the city centre and jumped in a taxi. I had to talk to Katie. She’s Candy’s flatmate, she’d know if Candy planned on being away for the weekend. I ran up the stairs to our landing and banged on the door to Katie’s flat.

Much to my surprise, Candy answered. Without thinking I blurted out, ‘You should be on your way to Manchester.’

‘Why would I be going to Manchester?…oh, HP. I’m sure he can manage on his own. And I don’t need training.’

I was a bit stunned, then I realised her response may be a cover, and she’ll be off to meet him at the weekend, so I said, ‘Fancy coming around for dinner this weekend?’ I would call her bluff.

Then she called mine and said ‘Sure.’

I’ve got my eye on her.

At least I had the flat to myself for the night, and Candy was a safe distance from HP, I curled up on the sofa and fell asleep watching ‘Houseboat’ on Netflix. Only just woke up. They don’t make men like Cary Grant anymore. Well maybe George Clooney. He’s a dead ringer for Cary Grant.

You know, I think I’ll have a browse through Netflix for a Clooney film. I don’t trust HP, but it’s good to have the flat to myself.

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