One in a Million

‘Once more for luck,’ I said under my breath, rapping as hard as I could for as long as I could.

My hand was still mid-air when the door opened. The tall, skinny man had tied back his long hair in a man bun. His beard was still enormous, and not in a cool, hipster way and though it was huge, it completely failed to disguise the annoyance on his face.

‘Dr Page?’ I enquired with a forced, friendly smile.

‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, looking me up and down.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘At least, it wasn’t the last time I checked.’

‘Right, you can go away then?’

He phrased it as a question but it definitely felt more like an instruction.

‘I’m sorry, I’m Annie,’ I said quickly before he could close the door again. ‘We’re office neighbours. I work upstairs? I came to say hello, welcome you to the building.’

He pushed his smudged spectacles up his nose with a long, slender finger.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Hello.’

And then he slammed the door so hard, I felt it rattle my fillings.

‘Bugger,’ I whispered, the door a fraction of an inch from my nose.

There was the slightest of chances this was going to be more difficult than I had hoped.

‘That was quick?’ Miranda looked surprised to see me back in the office so soon. ‘How’d it go?’

‘He only answered the door after I cut up my knuckles knocking for half an hour, asked if anything was wrong and then told me to piss off,’ I replied. ‘So not great.’

‘So, he isn’t a natural conversationalist,’ Mir shrugged. ‘How did he look?’

‘Think Tom Hanks in act two of Castaway, only without the social graces necessary to make friends with a volleyball,’ I said, punching the call button for the lift. ‘He’s the least likeable human I’ve ever met – and I’ve met Jeremy Kyle, Katie Hopkins and the man who plays the Fox in the Foxy Bingo adverts.’

Miranda grimaced.

‘We’ll work it out,’ she promised. ‘Or we’ll call it off. It doesn’t matter, it’s only a stupid bet.’

‘Oh, absolutely not,’ I replied. ‘There’s no way we’re not winning this. I’m not giving them the satisfaction.’

‘You know you could just shag Charlie and get this out of your system,’ she said, holding her hands up in front of her to create a human shield. ‘Not saying you have to; just putting it out there as an idea.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said primly, tossing my long ponytail over my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Mir; one way or another, we’re going to win this.’

I walked over to the huge whiteboard in the corner of the room and uncapped a bright blue marker. On one side of the board, I wrote the word ‘followers’ and added a big fat zero underneath. On the other, I put down the number thirty. Thirty days to make this man the internet’s latest leading attraction. Taking a step back, I folded my arms and stared at the board as though it might have the answers I needed.

‘This is going to be a piece of piss for you,’ Miranda said. ‘A month is practically forever. You’ve got this.’

‘Yeah,’ I replied. Now I had the numbers literally staring me in the face, I was suddenly not quite as sure as she was. Zero to twenty thousand with nothing to go on. Inside thirty days. ‘I’ve got this.’

Hopefully, the more times I said it, the more likely I was to believe it.

CHAPTER FIVE (#u3c569fcd-37ff-5ccb-bd7b-6fe4c9450652)

Thursday, 5 July: Twenty-Nine Days to Go.

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‘Are you planning on sleeping here?’ Brian asked. ‘Because, if you are, I’ll get you a sleeping bag.’

It was late, again. I looked up from my laptop to see him stood in front of my desk, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, clearly ready to leave.

‘I want to stay and finish this, my brain isn’t working today,’ I said, pointing to a half-edited vlog on my computer screen.

‘You are allowed to leave and finish it tomorrow,’ he replied. ‘It’s almost nine.’

I blinked at the time on my watch. So it was. The day had completely got away from me. I’d had a breakfast meeting with one of our mummy bloggers who was writing a book about her first year as a single mother then I’d run straight over to meet Miranda at Apple to discuss a possible TV show they were interested in developing with one of our podcasters. By the time I got back to the office, I had fifty-seven emails to read, three videos to edit and a whole host of Twitter and Instagram posts that had to be checked and scheduled to make sure they came out at just the right time. Running Content meant wearing so many different hats at once, I really could have used an extra head.

‘There’s just a few bits and pieces I want to get finished,’ I assured him, yawning bigger than Bagpuss. ‘I’ve got that event with Lily Lashgasm in a couple of days and I need everything to be perfect.’

Brian gagged at the mention of our least favourite client.

‘The joy of being the boss, amirite?’ he replied, rubbing the top of his closely shaved head. ‘Just don’t stay all night. I’ll be in The Cross Keys with Rob if you want to join us for a pint.’

I did want to join them. Brian’s boyfriend Rob had once been in the chorus for Cats and I had not spent a single night in his company that did not end in someone singing Memory. Admittedly, that someone was usually me and it was possible Rob didn’t like me nearly as much I as I liked him, but still.

I held up my own hand in a Brownie Guide salute. ‘If I get this done, I’ll be there with bells on,’ I promised. Brian gave me a wave as he closed the door behind him, leaving me all alone in the office.

Once I was sure he was gone, I closed up my laptop and sighed. While I did have a date with Lily in the diary, I also had another challenging situation demanding my attention … I leaned back in my chair and pressed my fingers into my temples, staring up at the accusatory whiteboard that stared back at me across the office.

One of the reasons my brain was broken was because I just couldn’t seem to concentrate. In between every single one of my tasks, I had run downstairs and knocked on Dr Page’s door. I must have done it at least ten times over the course of the day and I was sure he was there. The light was on inside and I was certain I’d heard more than one tut and sigh combo, but he refused to acknowledge me. It was going to be very difficult to make him a social media superstar if I couldn’t even get him to give me the time of day. I literally knew nothing about him. I couldn’t find anything solid online. There had to be a hundred different Dr S. Pages in the world and, even with my advanced slightly stalky cyber techniques, I could not seem to narrow them down.

But there was one way I knew would definitely work and now that I was alone, I couldn’t ignore the idea that had been prodding me all afternoon.

Right at the back of my desk drawer was a small, simple, silver key. A few months ago, I’d locked myself out of our office and needed to come in on a Saturday afternoon. Miranda was away and Brian was incommunicado, so the weekend security guard had let me use the master key to get in. He also said I could hold on to it until Monday because he wanted to nick off early and watch the FA Cup Final. Bloody football, causing problems for people, as per usual. I didn’t have a specific evil plan in mind when I ran out to Timpson’s to get a copy of the key made, it just felt as though a master key for the building in which I spent 75 per cent of my time could be a useful thing to have.

And right now, as devious as it seemed, I needed a helping hand. Was it wrong to break into a very antisocial person’s office and have a little poke around to see what you could see? Well, yes, of course it was, but desperate times called for desperate measures and a quick peep around Dr Page’s office might give me some pointers on who he was and how we could work together. And, it had also occurred to me that he might only be using the office as storage space, which would mean he wasn’t really a tenant at The Ginnel which would mean I could probably convince Martin and Charlie to let me trade him for someone else. Anyone else, really, I wasn’t fussy at this point.

The first floor was already empty when I stepped out of the lift. The strip lighting in the hallway buzzed quietly but the darkened offices were silent. Even though there was absolutely no need for stealth, something about the deathly quiet building demanded it and I tiptoed along, ignoring my racing pulse and screeching conscience. Once outside the doctor’s office, I stopped in front of his papered-over windows and pressed my ear against the plywood door.

Silence.

Sliding the key into the lock, I opened the door very, very, very slowly. He seemed just the sort to booby-trap his office with some Home Alone-style shenanigans and the last thing I needed was a night in A&E. Even though the sun was only just setting outside, down here on the first floor with only one tiny window that faced our infamous alley, I couldn’t see a blind thing. As dark as his office had been in daylight, it was pitch-black now.

Until something moved.

‘Fuck!’ I shrieked, grabbing for something heavy from the desk and hurling it in the general direction of the noise.

‘Ow!’ a voice grunted as my missile struck its target.