FORTY-TWO

8.40 P.M.

Stacey glanced towards the Bowl before taking out her list of names again.

Penn had turned his back, but she could tell he wasn’t resting from the fingers drumming on the desk.

She just hoped he came out in a better state of mind. She also couldn’t help feeling mortified that his outburst had been witnessed by Frost, whose opinion of her colleague might now be inaccurate.

‘I don’t care,’ Frost said as though reading her thoughts.

‘How’d you know what I was thinking?’ Stacey asked.

‘Your eyes are darting from me to him and I’m not stupid. Plus, as I said, I don’t care.’

Stacey realised that the woman could sit in that seat for a hundred years and she still wasn’t going to warm to her.

She turned her attention back to the list of volunteers who had assisted with the litter-pick what felt like three days ago but had only been that morning.

The names blurred into one mass of scribble. She tried to blink away the weights that were attached to her eyes. For the first time since 7 a.m., she felt the seeds of frustration. She’d been at the screen for almost fourteen hours with barely a toilet break. They were all tired. She knew that, but it was starting to feel that no one was looking out for her.

Again, she stared at the names, wondering where to start.

‘Take a break, Stace,’ said a voice from above.

She hadn’t even noticed Penn leave the Bowl against the boss’s instructions.

‘I’m fine. I just need to?—’

‘I know exactly what you need to do. I’m back, Stace. I outrank you, and I’m ordering you to take a break.’