Three day weekend?

"Computer says nada," Deborah shouted across the office, hands held up as if in surrender.

David slapped his computer keyboard. "Come on," he shouted. "Come on."

Nothing. No internet. No email. No intranet. No access to anything. The office shimmered with it. People looking up from their screens to establish it wasn't just them. 

"We need Mikey." More than one person said this. More than one person called Mikey's extension.

Mikey appeared, at last, flustered and red-faced and miserable. "Server's down," he said. "I've tried everything. It'll be Monday, I reckon."

A collective shrugging of shoulders. Nothing to be done. 

Eleven o'clock Friday morning. Tim sent the lot of them home. 

Which is how Susie bumped into Jeremy. If she'd been at work they'd never have been on the same bus at the same time. Jeremy with his fancy camera, taking photos out of the window. And if she hadn't chosen the seat opposite him they'd never have looked up at the same time, and she'd never have said.

'Oh, you.'

And he'd never have said. 'Susie. Susie Parker? No?'

And they'd never have gone to that pub on the corner - the one that used to stand on its own in amongst the car parks and the old school and the scrap yard, but was surrounded now by flashy new buildings, neat bricks and polished glass. They'd never have ordered one beer and then another, and he'd never had suggested dinner and she'd never had said yes, and so no, none of any of this would have happened. 


[Thanks to everyone for watching/tweeting/talking/getting involved. I'm heading off now. Check out Gemma Seltzer writing live out and about in London on Thursday 7th November]