Steve

“How Steve get on?” Enrique asked me in the debriefing at the end of Steve’s first day.

“Really good,” I told him. “Yeah, no, he’s really… picked it up… all up… straight away.” I pretended to think about the day just gone. I pretended I was trying to think of a bad thing he’d done, a fuck up, as that would give what I’d said a more considered and realistic tint. I held my finger up and I sat for a moment, my eyes looking around the office, my mouth turned down at the sides before seeming to snap out of it and saying, “Yeah, no, no problems.”

“Bueno!” Said Enrique nodding. He was surprised. I nodded too. “H’okay,” he said. I turned to Steve.

“Okay?” I asked.

“Yes, I still can’t remember the codes, for the bread, don’t know why, it’s only seven numbers!” He chuckled apologetically.

“Ah, you just pick that up with time,” I told him. “Tomorrow, right, bring a cup, yeah?”

“I’ll dig one out.”

“Cool,” I told him. “See you tomorrow,” Steve, made to stand and I nodded so he did stand then took his coat off the hook.

“You all packed?” I asked Enrique just to show Steve how tight Enrique and I were.

“Si, I no have much stuff,” Said Enrique. I nodded. I heard Steve’s zip go up on his jacket.

“So… nearly all packed?” I asked Enrique again, because Steve was still there.

“Si, one, two box left.” I nodded.

“See you tomorrow!” Said Steve and I pretended I was surprised he was still in the office. I did this by starting my reply with an ‘oh’.

“Oh yeah, see you tomorrow,” I said. “Cup!” I said and chuckled. I turned and watched Steve leave. When I turned back Enrique’s lower lip was sticking out, his eyebrows were raised and his head was tilted.

“So, he go-“

“He’s not fucking good, the guy’s a full on retard!” I said quietly and rapidly leaning onto the desk. I turned to the door while propped on an elbow. When I turned back Enrique’s face was altered only by virtue of lowered eyebrows. “Guy’s a mong.”

“Chu say!”

“He was right there, what am I going to say? Jesus Christ. He can’t remember the fucking code for a sausage roll. Seven numbers. Can’t remember it. Stands there like an idiot when people bring sausage rolls up. Squinting at the sheet. Jesus, you fucked up Enrique!” I checked the door again then shook my head.

“Ez firs’ day!”

“Fuck that, you know what the worst thing is?”

“Wha?”

“He’ll probably batter you when you tell him he’s sacked. He’s got tattoos.”

“Well.”

“On his neck!”

“Few days, man, we see.”

“There’s no point, I’m telling you. You’ve gotta sack him.”

“I don…”

“Right, I’m not helping you move.” I told him.

“Hey, come-“

“You’re alright, you’re leaving, I’ll be stuck with him. Come on, please, Enrique. Sack him. Please. Please?”

“He’s… we see, man.” Said Enrique.

“Please.” I said.

Enrique took a deep breath, held it for a moment and then let it out.

“You’re a fucking twat,” I told him.

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