All sorts of awkward

Will Bertha agree to help Liz and Fatma after all that has happened?

On Monday morning when I open my eyes and shoot up out of bed feeling nervous; it takes me a while to get my bearings and realise why I am feeling jittery.

Today is THE day that Fatma and I do something to see if we can rescue Mariam from the trap she is headed into with Philip… and it will require Bertha’s help. Talk about workplace relations becoming all sorts of awkward.

I get to work rather early and watch all the early birds come in as I sip coffee and think things through. Louise bustles by on her way to her desk, and on spotting me, turns on her heel and makes her way towards me.

“I thought you weren’t speaking to me,” I quip, referring to our conversation about me using her to get easier access to Bertha’s info. She rolls her eyes.

“Why are you here so early?” she asks.

“I am changing my ways,” I smile. “I’ll be the most serious worker this company has.” We both laugh.

“Good luck with that,” she says, and goes over to her desk. A few minutes later Bertha walks in. I put my cup down and bend my head, pretending to be deeply absorbed in something on my laptop.

She makes her way past my office and straight to hers without at least saying good morning. It’s almost as if we did not spend Saturday afternoon together.

That sort of blackout can only mean one thing: Bertha wants to put this past weekend behind her. This is not a good sign considering what Fatma and I have planned for the day.

My cell phone ringing startles me and I glance at the screen to see that it is Fatma.

“What time should I come over?” she asks urgently, without even saying hello.

“Good morning, Fatma,” I reply pointedly.

“What time, Liz?” she is starting to sound impatient.

“I don’t think today is a good day. She walked past my office without even saying good morning. I think she wants to pretend I don’t exist until she gets over it.

“Can you not try to see if she will speak to us?” she asks.

Before I reply, my desktop extension rings. It’s Bertha. “Speak of the devil,” I tell Fatma quickly, “Bertha’s calling so I will get back to you in a bit. Then I hang up and take Bertha’s call.

“Do you have a minute?” she asks in clipped tones. As a matter of fact, I do.

I find Bertha sitting behind her desk. Her eyes are clear white, indicating there has been no crying. Or maybe there has been a liberal application of Visine. She does not look particularly tired or stressed or unhappy either.

The only way to describe Bertha this morning is ‘flat’.

She beckons me into a chair and asks if I would like some herbal tea. I nod yes, thinking that having the tea cups present might lend this awkward meeting the air of a girlfriend-type chat at a coffee shop.

Once she has poured out two cups of hot water and dunked some ginger and lime teabags into it, she settles down into her chair and fixes me with a serious look.

“About Saturday…” she starts.

I start waving my arms frantically. “I had no idea that Philip was… That you were… That he was coming,” I say.

“It’s okay,” she says. She nods and takes a sip of her tea. “I know you had no idea. I mean, I don’t think that you would set me up like that.” Then she sets her cup down in its saucer, and raises and eyebrow at me. “Would you?” she asks pointedly.

“What?! No!” I yelp. “Fatma and I had no idea. None at all that you and Philip had a history. And even if we did, none of us had any clue he would show up!”

“Okay,” she takes a deep breath as if she is finally letting relief into her lungs. “Naturally, I don’t want any reminder of that incident, ever again.”

“Um…” I say, prepping myself for one of the hardest conversations I have yet had in this office that I have had lots of awkward conversations in. “I did need to talk to you about that. You see, Fatma and I, we would like your help getting our friend out of Philip’s clutches.”

Bertha leans forward, looking suddenly and surprisingly interested. “Tell me more,” she says. And I do, with glee.