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fussing around with
     the receipt book.
If only you knew
, I thought.
    ‘I read a
     book once,’ he continued, ‘about a man who was stuck. His life had gone
     so far from the direction he wanted it to that he barely knew himself any more. He
     was sad, exhausted, and felt completely alone in the world.’
    ‘Oh, yes?’
    ‘This man didn’t know what
     to do, so he began by hugging himself throughout the day. Telling himself that
     everything would work out fine.’ He paused. ‘It touched me. I tried it,
     and it was lovely. Maybe you could try it some time.’
    After he’d gone I stood in the
     reception area for several minutes. I hadn’t expected that at all.
    I went home, ate two Gü chocolate
     mousses and passed out after fifteen minutes of a Jeremy Paxman documentary about
     the Great War. I didn’t hug myself.
    I received a call at eight fifteen the
     next morning.
    ‘It’s Stephen Flint,’
     said a vaguely familiar voice. ‘How are you!’
    The blue-eyed boy. He must have been
     back to my website. To my surprise, I rather liked that idea.
    I watched the rammed Overground train
     pull into Homerton station, people squashed up against the doors like gherkins in a
     jar. My heart sank. The sky was filthy brown and if I didn’t fight my way on
     I’d get soaked.
    ‘Hi, Stephen,’ I said,
     tensing anxiously as I prepared for the scrum.
    ‘Would you like to come and work
     for us in-house?’ Stephen asked, as casually as one might say, ‘Would
     you like a packet of crisps?’
    I had managed to lever myself into the
     train but my
worn Burmese bag was trapped
     between a pregnant belly and a briefcase. I tried to coax it out without squashing
     the belly.
    ‘Hello?’ Stephen sounded as
     if he’d just walked into a coffee bar. ‘Double espresso, please,’
     he said, in the other direction. ‘Can you hear me, Annie? I was asking if
     you’d like to come and work for us. That massage was top rate, and if I
     brought someone like you into the offices our wellbeing coaches would die happy. You
     don’t want to carry on schlepping around London, do you? We could give you the
     treatment room of your dreams here. Soft lighting. Oxygenating plants. A man with
     pan pipes.’
    The carriage, stuffed with people, was
     completely silent. I was shoved up against an old man with a bobble hat who smelt of
     death. He had done nothing at all other than smell bad but already my heart was
     thumping anxiously at his proximity.
    ‘Erm?’ I said. Was Stephen
     Flint seriously offering me a job? I arched my back to keep as far away from the
     bobble-hat man as possible.
    ‘I could even try to get a little
     health-food shop installed.’ I could hear him grinning. ‘Hemp bars and
     beetroot juice and, er, other disgusting things.’
    I wanted to laugh but I was scared
     someone on the train might actually kill me. The atmosphere was silently
     furious.
    ‘Come in and see how we
     work,’ Stephen invited. ‘Our building will knock you out. We’ve
     got pool rooms, a gym with classes and a yoga studio, music spaces, kitchens run by
     some of the world’s best chefs and even a little spa. Famous musicians come
     and gig here. There’s three
concierges, and two lovely office dogs that come in to
     de-stress anyone who’s having a bad day. We’re determined to wrestle
     Employer of the Year off Google this year.’
    Kate Brady worked for Google in Dublin.
     The day we’d met, in one of the few travellers’ bars in Bangladesh,
     she’d had my jaw on the floor with her tales of the offices there. We’d
     pondered our respective jobs one hot night while getting drunk on Bangladeshi rice
     beer and, even though I’d only ever wanted to practise alternative therapies,
     I’d felt strangely jealous. I’d found myself longing to work somewhere
     like Kate’s office, where I’d have a routine and someone else organizing
     my day. Somewhere nice and safe where I could just sort of disappear among