Hartfield Gallery Workspace chat at 10.53 am

Frank Choudhary
hey
about this meeting
am I on minutes?

Emma Wu
G:\\Hartfield Gallery Team Site\Management\Office Admin\Meetings\2023\Minute Rota

Frank Choudhary
you know it wouldve taken literally one more click to answer my q
but thanks you're the best :*

Emma Wu
I know

Workspace chat at 11.47 am

Emma Wu
Hey, can you send me the link to the evening photos please?

Frank Choudhary
sure thing hon

Emma Wu
Honestly Frank
We are colleagues

Frank Choudhary
so you keep saying
/3stc2wv9

"Hey," said Frank, turning round to face her. "What are you doing tonight?"

The office was quiet today. Everyone else was out in meetings or on leave. Emma had remembered this on her way in, and she'd tried to hide her smile for the rest of her walk.

She didn't turn around yet. "I'm going to the pub with some friends."

"That sounds fun," said Frank. He tossed a rubber band ball in the air and caught it without looking. "Ask me what I'm doing."

She played along. "What are you doing?"

"Well," said Frank. "My flatmate is doing a gig in Brixton. His band is pretty good; they're kind of like early Arctic Monkeys with a dash of Nancy Sinatra."

She turned around. "That sounds fun." An indie rock gig in Brixton wasn't her thing, but it couldn't be worse than chamber music in Holborn.

Frank grimaced. "I'm dreading it. The thing is, I've got some history with the lead singer."

Nancy, presumably. "I see," said Emma. She tried not to smile. "Please elaborate."

"I would say… it ended badly."

Emma raised one delicate eyebrow. "Did you behave badly?"

"Me? I would never. But, in this instance, yes I did."

"What did you do?"

He sighed. "It was a while ago. I'd just come here and I was really missing Singapore, so when we started seeing each other I was pretty needy. Then it fizzled out and I started seeing someone she knew quite well. And… there may have been an overlap. Because she didn't realise we were broken up."

"You mean, you didn't tell her."

"I hinted!"

"You didn't have the spine to tell her—"

"I know, I know, I'm awful."

"Frank," said Emma admonishingly. She was smiling. "That is definitely bad behaviour."

"I know," he said, sounding not at all sorry. "Emma, what am I going to do?"

She felt a kind of pleasure when he said her name. She liked Frank, and she liked the fact that he was in her orbit. He was charming, careless and slightly laddish, but he had a softer side too. She found herself being haughtier than usual around him, if only to allow him to soften her resolve. When he flirted with her, she chastised, gently, but was beginning to wonder if he would mistake that for demurral.

She was clearly curious—not urgently or desperately, but curious all the same. In two months of seeing each other five days a week he'd never mentioned a girlfriend, and in Emma's experience guys who were attached would let you know it immediately. When they didn't, an unspoken question drifted over them, like a cloud: a cloud that would either pass, unremarked upon, or turn into rain.

Emma's experience was, she would grudgingly admit, not large. But she'd been right to sense that Frank should be treated cautiously, with a queenly reserve she'd borrowed from the rules of courtly love. Given time, she thought, she might descend from her dais. And more and more she was thinking that time should be now.

Emma had told Frank she was going to the pub with some friends. In truth, it was just her and George.

"I like that jumper," said Emma, sliding into the opposite seat with a gin and tonic in hand. "It suits you."

George put his book on the table and looked down at the royal green Shetland sweater he was wearing. "You bought this for me. Three Christmases ago."

"Five," she corrected. She peered at his book. "Miss Marple," she read, upside down. "Cute."

"Not really," said George. "She's quite bloodthirsty."

Emma sighed. "I know how she feels." She took a long sip of her drink.

He watched her cautiously. "Rough day?"

"Actually, it was pretty quiet today. Just me and Frank."

"Ah yes," said George. "The guy who misgendered your own artist."

"That was literally one time," said Emma. She swirled the ice around her drink. "He apologised properly, and it's all fine. Ugh, I really regret telling you about that. You're going to be so weird when you meet him."

"Is this a hypothetical future meeting, or have you already arranged it?"

"I told you about this!" said Emma. "Remember? The late night at the gallery? You're coming, I've booked you in. There'll be free canapes."

"Do I have to dress up?"

"George, you own one suit. Wear that."

"I haven't worn that since graduation."

"What about John and Isabella's engagement party?"

"Why would I have worn a suit to that? It was in a barn."

"A rustic local venue," Emma corrected. But he was right: she remembered he'd worn a linen shirt and light trousers, but no suit. "Anyway, we're getting off-topic. I was going to say that Harriet and I are having a housewarming in two weeks on Saturday. Will your flatmates be free then? We're providing drinks."

"I don't know," said George. "Why are you inviting them instead of me?"

She gave him a look. "Of course you're invited," she said. She added, disarmingly, "You are my best friend, you know. I always want you around."

"Thank you," said George, secretly touched.

"So?" she pressed. "Please, I need you. Harriet's inviting all her musician friends. Thank God I don't think the quartet can make it, but I still need to look good."

George sighed. "I am obviously free. I'll ask Will and Gytis if they are too."

"Put it on your group chat," Emma directed. "Say Katya and Xander are invited too, and we'll have beer and punch."

"Would you like to type it out? Since you've already composed it?"

She made a face at him. He sent the message.

"So who else is coming?"

Emma ticked them off her fingers. "You, me, Harriet, Harriet's college friends, Harriet's school friends… Annie, West, your flatmates, Katya, Xander… maybe some people from work?"

"You mean Frank," said George flatly.

"Well, yes," said Emma, and drank a bit more. "I can hardly invite my boss. She's literally fifty; I don't think it's her scene. And Frank is nice! He's not like most pretty boys—he's a guy's guy, you know? He's very difficult not to like."

George's eyes had been narrowing throughout this spiel. Then his face changed. "Do you like him?"

She chose to misunderstand him. "Of course I do. We work together. He's easy to like."

George said nothing for a long time, which made Emma feel as if she needed to defend herself. The only thing was if she did say something, then it'd be like blinking first in a staring contest. She didn't want to break the stand-off; she had nothing to surrender.

Finally, he said, "All right. You don't have to tell me."

Her eyes met his.

"There's nothing to tell!" she said hurriedly. "Just because he's a single guy and I'm a single girl—all I did was make an observation!"

"A weighted observation," said George. He was as smug as she'd ever seen him, and the expression didn't suit his face. "And you called him pretty."

"That's just objective," said Emma weakly. Was she so obvious that even George could pick up on it? Did Frank know too?

"Well, all this denial is definitely helping your case." He leaned against the back of the booth. "Emma, it's fine. We don't have to talk about it."

She was glad he'd said that. She spoke to George about everything, but she didn't want to discuss this. What could he say that she would want to hear? Her feelings for Frank were bright and delicate, like copper coils. She wasn't ready to say any of it out loud and tarnish the fantasy she was planning.

"What about you? What's your dating life like?"

He shrugged. "Not much to tell."

"Oh come on!" said Emma, much preferring this conversation track. "We never talk about this stuff. Do I have to bribe Gytis to find out?"

"Fine," he said, folding easily. He scratched the base of his neck, stretching his jumper in the elbows. "I went on a date last week. Friday, to be precise."

Emma gasped. "So that's why you couldn't come to the cinema!"

"Yes," said George, pained.

"I want details," said Emma. Her curiosity was running faster than her sense. "Did you sleep together?"

"Do you think I just put out on the first date?"

"Well, I wouldn't know."

"I don't know if I want to tell you about this."

"You're avoiding the question." Another gasp. "So you did sleep together!"

"Oh my God," said George, and he was definitely blushing now. "No, we didn't, but she…" he trailed off. He downed his drink, opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

"Well," said Emma, after a fruitful pause. "I'm glad to hear that your sex life is full and healthy."

He groaned and covered his face with his hands. "Emma, please let's stop talking about my sex life."

Emma was insatiably curious and had no intention of stopping. It was strange to think of George as dating, although she knew that he did it, and had even (very unfortunately) encountered women emerging from his bedroom, on one or two occasions. If she considered him objectively she could see what women saw in him: he was tall, it was true, and he had nice eyes. He played football and he was a good listener. What more could you want?

It was weird, she decided, that she and George never talked about this stuff. Their friendship didn't run on those lines. In fact, it had been inversely affected by George's relationships before. In the four months that George and Jane were together, Emma had hardly seen him. These days he was mostly single and she saw him all the time. Now if he was dating, Emma wanted to know who these girls were.

"Can I see a picture of her?" she asked.

"No," said George.

"Why not? I want to know what your type is."

"That's what I'm afraid of," he said. "Plus, you're going to think she isn't as pretty as you."

"I am not!" Emma protested, although he was probably right. "What about if you brought her to my housewarming?"

"Absolutely not," said George.

"No because you don't want me to meet her, or no because you're never going to see her again?"

"This is my fault," said George. "I shouldn't have brought up Frank. Now I'm being punished for it."

"Exactly," said Emma sweetly. "And since you won't tell me anything about her, I have to text Gytis."

Emma got home just after eleven, clutching a chicken nuggets sharebox that she'd started eating on the walk back. She turned on the lamp and sprawled out across the sofa, eating chicken nuggets and scrolling through her phone.

"Hey," she said, when Harriet came into the living room. "How are you?"

"Good!" said Harriet. "How was your night?"

"Oh, fine," said Emma. "I just went to the pub with George." She held up her sharebox. "I got hungry on my way back. Want some?"

"Er, no thank you," said Harriet, who had eaten a normal dinner at a normal time. "How's George?"

Emma shrugged. "The same. How was your evening?"

"Well," said Harriet. "I went on a date."

Emma paused her eating. "Oh! You didn't tell me before. Who is he?"

"Yeah," said Harriet. She looked nervous, but that was hardly unusual. "It was… it was with a girl, actually."

"Oh!" said Emma again. "I'm sorry, I didn't know—"

"No, don't—don't worry. It was my first date with a girl. I do usually date guys."

Apparently there was a theme to today's conversations. Frank dated his exes's friends. Emma, for her part, dated no one. Harriet was starting to date everyone. And George dated unattractive women he wouldn't allow Emma to meet.

"How did it go?" asked Emma.

"It was fine!" said Harriet, which coming from her meant akin to a disaster. "She's very pretty, but we didn't talk about much. We kissed a little though."

"Ah," said Emma. She thought suddenly what a parody this conversation was of the one she was having earlier. Harriet was painfully honest where George was frustratingly obscure. But for both, Emma had been the curious onlooker, with nothing to share of her own.

"How about you?" said Harriet. "Have you been out with anyone? Not George, I mean."

Emma's usual answer, which she gave now, was "I don't really date." Harriet was nodding empathetically and Emma was afraid she'd think she was asexual or something, which wasn't true. "But," she added, "there's a guy at work who I have a bit of a crush on. I don't know if he likes me though."

"I'm sure he does," said Harriet loyally.

This was why it was much easier to tell Harriet than George. Harriet told Emma exactly what she wanted to hear. George, on the other hand, had a vendetta against Frank without having even met him, and he was sure to have another set of opinions about Emma's crush on him, none of which she had asked for.

"Anyway," said Harriet, "I was just finished brushing my teeth so I'm going to bed now. Goodnight! I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight," said Emma. Harriet went into her room and shut the door.

Emma ate another chicken nugget. Her phone was boring and she tossed it aside. Nothing had really happened tonight, but she felt almost emotionally drained. Talking to Frank always filled her head with giddy thoughts, and then George had dropped a bombshell about his sex life that Emma had stupidly not been expecting. How could she have thought that George lived like a monk? Just because she did… And Harriet! Good for her, that she was experimenting. Emma hadn't expected it, but she chided herself on her assumptions.

Everyone else was just doing what they wanted. What was stopping her from doing that too?

Emma picked a day when the office was quiet again, which was not until the following week.

"Tea?" she asked the room at large, which only contained herself and Frank.

He smiled. "Emma, you are an angel. Yes please."

In the kitchen, Emma talked herself up. This gesture could be interpreted as friendly. She had plausible deniability. There was nothing to be scared about.

"Here you go," she said, placing the mug on his desk. "Erm, so. Question: what are you doing next Saturday?"

Frank frowned. "Not sure. Why?"

Emma affected a casual disposition. "I'm just having a small thing at my place. A housewarming, actually, for my new flatmate. We're buying a ton of beer and making punch, and it'll be really nice, really relaxed. You're welcome to swing by if you'd like."

He smiled crookedly. "My my. Are you asking me to a non-work social event?"

Emma rolled her eyes, but inside she was relieved—and excited. "If you insist on seeing it that way."

"Emma Wu in her natural habitat," he said musingly. "I can't pass that up. Emma, I'll be there."

"Oh," she said. She hadn't expected it to be that easy. "Great! I'll text you the details."

"Great," he said.

"Great," she said.

He smiled. She turned round to her desk, but she was smiling too.

A/N: Meet Frank, everyone!

Very sorry that the housewarming didn't make it into this chapter. I had to lay the groundwork for Frank first, and then the housewarming was too big in itself. That will now be the whole of the next chapter.

Emma's chicken nuggets sharebox experience is directly based on me going to McDonald's a few weeks ago and getting a chicken nuggets sharebox and then eating half of it on the way home. Opinions are divided as to whether or not it's grim to eat the leftovers the next day.

Oh my god, and just last chapter I was saying that the ENO has lost their funding, and lo and behold what happened a few days ago? They were granted a cool £11.4 mil. Perhaps I am blessed with the gift of prophecy?

This is obviously George/Emma endgame, but please know that Harriet's lesbian experimentations are not throwaway gestures. Emma and Harriet's friendship is very particular—I think all the time about Steven Marcus's observation that Emma uses Harriet as a sexual stand-in for herself, envisioning for Harriet sexual relationships that Emma is actually envisioning for herself (Mr. Elton, Frank Churchill, Mr. Knightley).

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