Excerpt: Broken [Working Title]

I woke up in my Deansgate flat one solitary Monday morning (because Monday is always on its own, isn’t it? The rest of the week hates it, as does the world) to an obnoxious buzzing. It wasn’t the incessant buzz of the mobile phone on my bedside table, and it wasn’t the unrelenting buzz of the old fashioned alarm clock. It was the ‘let me in now I have news and breakfast’ buzz of the telecom by my front door.
I rolled over, groaning into my pillow and getting a mouthful of brunette hair in doing do. I didn’t want to get up. You’d think, that being a twenty eight year old working woman, I’d be used to the early mornings. But seven am was never going to agree with me, and I had known that for the six years I’d been working as a personal assistant for the PR firm, ‘Wow’.
The buzz squawked again and I let out a cry of fury, pushing myself upright, glaring over my shoulder through my thick fringe. It wasn’t going to stop until I answered.
Grudgingly I swung my legs around, bare feet landing flat on the shaggy white rug hiding part of the wooden flooring. My bed room was so bright, it was almost cruel. I snarled and got to my feet, straightening my blue lace nightie, and padding down the hall to the front door, complaining under my breath about the sheer ridiculousness of Manchester sunshine in October.
“What.” I groaned, holding the button on the intercom down, leaning my head against the white wall.
“You know what! Breakfast time! Lemme up! I’ve got an egg McMuffin with your name on it!” The voice called back, too excited for such an early hour.
“Ella...” I sighed. Some mornings I just couldn’t handle her, but I always had to. Ella chose to never give me a choice in the matter.
“Lorna...” An irritating impression of me came back through and I knew there was nothing I could say. I buzzed her up and span around, pressing my back against the wall and opening the door with one hand.
Ella was my best friend. She had been since college, and while I loved every bit of her, she wasn’t the easiest person to handle in the mornings, especially during hangovers, which she was usually the cause of.
Then she was bursting into the hallway, ‘McDonalds’ paper bags clutched in either hand as she shoved the door closed with one foot. I watched her bustle into the kitchen, running a hand through my hair before following her.
Ella threw the bags down onto the metallic island table top and busied herself, still not looking up at me as she removed the contents of each bag, placing the contents down on the counter. I positioned myself in front of her on one of the two stools and watched with growing exasperation as she messed up my sparkling kitchen. I wasn’t necessarily a tidy person, I was just one of those who left things until they became unbearable, than had a huge clearout. That had been yesterday, and Ella was throwing my hard work out of the window. I refrained from throttling her.
“So, what’s the word on the street?” I asked, my voice still sounding distant and groggy. Ella looked up at me, green eyes shining, golden brown hair bouncing.
“They’ve finally promoted me!”
I blinked, too amazed to react right away. Ella had been working in Cafe Nero for years, and she seemed content with that. If she was happy where she was, so was I. A promotion was excellent.
“To what?” I asked, awaiting her answer with cool anticipation.
“Assistant manager!” She was unravelling the layers of paper covering the McMuffins now, positively radiating joy. “I got the call this morning. Great, isn’t it?”
It certainly was, and yet I was momentarily silent. Ella wasn’t the most organised person I knew. Sure she was good with mornings, and retrieving breakfast, but when it came to deadlines you’d be lucky to see the work a week after. Of course, Ella didn’t agree with the persona which she had been given. Not that it was wrong. In our second year of business university, during January exams, Ella was the ‘helpful’ student who convinced me to ‘get fucked’ rather than revise. I somehow passed, but Ella ended up retaking the year. She’d never wanted much from life, just fun, which was why she was assistant manager in Cafe Nero now.
“It’s great!” I finally answered, brighter than expected, pulling the food towards me. “So that’s a better wage then?”
“Much better!” She beamed back at me, taking a bite out of her sandwich and muffling the last word as she chewed.
“So maybe you can get a car now?” Not that she’d be able to navigate it around the damn Manchester one way system.
“Maybe.” She shrugged as she chewed. “I think for now walking is fine, and taxis if necessary.” I smirked.
“And buses?”
Ella looked up at me, completely still, completely serious. I wondered fleetingly if I had gone too far.
“You know how I feel about buses.”
“Right.” I laughed, taking a bite so large out of my McMuffin it took out half of the bun. “I can see it now,” I swallowed. “Ella Harris, business tycoon of the hottest new coffee shop chain.” It was intended as a compliment, and Ella’s face was cheerful and giddy for a moment, until she caught sight of the time on the kitchen clock.
“Yeah,” she said, eyes wide. “I can see it now. Lorna Penrose, late for work.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of a clock. “Again.” I dropped my sandwich in surprise. Half seven, when had that happened?
I shoved myself away from the table, sending the stool screeching across the floor.
“God damnit!” I yelled as I catapulted myself out of the room and down the corridor, grabbing a towel and darting left and into the bathroom, before slamming the door shut.
Because that was me. I was always late.