The I.T. Girl (10 page)

We looked at each other and kissed. His tongue tasted of wine.

‘We’re going to waste another bottle,’ he said, pulling me down
so my head lay back on cushions.

‘I know,’ I whispered with a slow smile.

‘Monday Morning,
Orla
.’
Boris stated the obvious, striding to the other side of the floor. The team followed
him, with blank faces, meandering around cubes like ducklings, towards our meeting
room.

‘I’m coming,’ I called after them. I sipped coffee so burnt and
bitter it reminded me of smoking and clicked through the job sites I had applied
to. My cover letter was the same as last year, it didn’t need to change. But my
C.V. had a new paragraph about my fictional travel over the past six months. I hit
the delete button, removing it from each site.

As people opened up their notebooks, Boris read the minutes of
the previous Monday’s meeting. I stared over at the building next to ours. The glass
was tinted so I could only see shapes moving inside. The top disappeared into a
fat purple cloud that hung low across the sky.

‘Let’s get through this quickly then.’ Boris clapped his hands.
‘I know you’re feeling the pressure.’ He pulled a tight smile. ‘We all are at the
moment. That Data Centre deadline is looming.’

Each person gave their project status. It was an opportunity
to share information and raise concerns but the complaints made at the start of
the merge were beginning to peter out. Small projects made stats look
good,
we were painfully aware, watching Felix’s emails going
around saying how well everything was coming together.

Cameron gave his status. ‘I think I’ve fixed that Bahrain bug
now.’ He had because I’d fixed it for him. ‘And I’m looking at an XML feed.
Also, trying to find some time for training tutorials, on the C++.’

‘How do you feel about taking on the Warsaw upgrade mate?
A little C++
jobby
, eh?
It’s a small
one.’ Boris coaxed.

‘I
donno
.’

‘We’ll talk about if after, mate.’ Boris reassured him. ‘Sam.’
Boris looked along the row for the next status.

‘Working on Sweden,’ Sam said.

‘Let me explain this to you again, Sam. You each give a status
and raise any concerns you may have. Working on Sweden and it’s all going swimmingly.
Working on Sweden and
it’s
all going tits up would even
give me some indication of how you’re actually doing. This is how this usually works.
So start with Hi I’m Sam and I’m a programmer, if it helps.’

People started to snigger. Sam’s reluctance to take Boris seriously
as a project leader was a regular meeting highlight.

‘Have to make some changes based on conformance tests but it
should be fine,’ Sam offered. ‘It’s going swimmingly. Since when I started the project
we were still in separate teams and an analyst did the analysis and I did the coding.
That’s how
this
usually works.’

‘
Orla
?’
Boris
turned to me, ignoring the dig.

‘Well, I’m handing over
AsiaCap
to
Sam. And I guess I’ll be starting
BelOpt
shortly. Also,
have a new bug report this morning for Madrid. Actually it’s a functional update,
not a bug.
Working on the design for that.
And that’s it.’

‘What’s this bug report?’

‘They’re getting duplicates. Exchange is sending them so not
our fault but I’m going to add some code to filter them out.’

‘Okay. Are you happy with that?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Are you happy? Do you want a second opinion or anything?’

‘No I do not!’

‘Okay. There’s no need to be so defensive.’

I went back to staring out the window as chuckling circled the
room. I had only just started the revision programme and already Boris was treating
me like a junior.

I tried to look busy, sitting low in my chair and continuing
to frown at my screen if anyone leaned over the wall of my cube, until they spoke.
But Sam came round to the back of my chair and rattled it. ‘Shall we get this handover
out of the way?’

‘
Oi
!’
I jumped
forward reclaiming my chair. ‘I suppose now is as good a time as any.’

‘The poisoned chalice,’ he said.

‘No. I already took that myself.
Em
,
listen...’ I lowered my voice. ‘I don’t want anyone else to know about my programme.’

‘Okay.’ He sounded accused.

‘No, it’s just that Boris was really obvious in the meeting.’

‘I’m sure everyone thought he was just being over-cautious...
because of METX.’

‘I guess... it’s just... I want to get through this thing as
smoothly as possible and well, you know what people are like.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘People will think I’m incompetent,’ I said, annoyed he was making
me explain.

‘No...
everyone
knows
CouperDaye
is heavy-handed... but sure, I won’t say a word.’

I looked down at the specs and moved them around on my desk.

‘This ours?’
He picked up one of them.
‘Looks like there’s a good bit of work to do.
Some global ID formatting?’

‘Yep.
A good bit of
development.
Here’s the Exchange spec I’m working off.’ I picked it out of
his hands. ‘Perhaps have a read through first. Let me know if you’ve got questions.’

‘What’s this?’ He held up another spec.

‘That’s the spec for Desktop. I’ve no idea if I’ve done the right
thing. Maybe you should try and set up a meeting with Phil or something but he’s
always busy when I try him.’

‘That’s got nothing to do with me.’ Sam dropped the spec back
on my desk.

‘Oh well,
good
for you. I guess I shouldn’t
have bothered either.’

‘Hmmm,’ he said, reading. I folded my arms waiting for his comments.

‘Okay, thanks.’ He walked away with his head in the papers.

I was determined to make Boris see how difficult my job had become.
Sam and Cameron
tutted
to each other over the low cubicle
walls, knitting contention, but I ignored it, trying to write the Desktop spec for
BelOpt
. I included Boris on my emails to Phil letting
them know the only way I could write the spec was by copying an old spec from a
similar project. Portugal had requested the same functionality a year ago. So I
took the Portugal spec and changed everywhere it said
Portu
to
BelOpt
. There was a section of acronyms against tick-boxes
to enable various bits of functionality. The acronyms were listed on the Desktop
website but the explanations were just as obscure. I tried to keep sarcasm from
my tone, telling Boris in an email that I had to copy over the whole Portugal check-box
selection and would just have to hope the Belgium traders were expecting the same
functionality as the Portuguese. I removed specific paragraphs about project deadlines
and market opening times since I didn’t have that information for
BelOpt
yet.

I read it over. The finished document was two pages of superficial,
possibly incorrect information. I tried to pad it out by adding a paragraph about
the
BelOpt
Exchange. I described the new feed as taking
prices and volumes for options trading in a new Belgian Exchange with an additional
requirement of graphical market analysis – that would be handled by Desktop. I requested
Phil review my work, at the very least and then uploaded the spec onto our
BelOpt
website with a note saying I’d provide more information
when it was available.

It was depressing releasing something that was so flimsy but
I knew making my deadline was the important thing now. I missed the days of working
with Cameron. He could read the Exchange documentation and know exactly what information
to give all the downstream teams. Then I could concentrate on my job; finding the
fastest way to extract the data from the feed. Where did I go wrong? I couldn’t
help hearing his lament in my ears.

When the first
BelOpt
meeting came
round, Phil gave me a list of questions to ask. I read through them realising I’d
have to repeat them like a parrot – I had no idea what they meant. I looked up the
meeting schedule to see how many people would be there. Members of the Exchange,
people from Desktop and the trading floor. I sank down behind my desk. They’d all
be looking to me to direct things. My eyes darted over the agenda: research scope,
market assumptions,
time
constraints. Maybe I could ask
Cameron for help.

I went around to Cameron’s cube. His hands were covering his
head over his desk.

‘Hey, Cam.’
I lightly tapped his shoulder.

‘Can you explain pointers?’ He asked miserably.

‘Do you have a solid idea on what variables are?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Then probably not.
I was looking for
a firm yes there.’

‘Is it an address or is it memory?’

‘It’s an address in memory.’

He thought for a moment and then lowered his head to his hands
again. ‘Fuck sake.’

I looked over at Sam’s cube. I could see the top of his head.
‘Sam,’ I called. ‘You have a moment?’

‘Yeah?’
His voice travelled over.

‘Can you give Cameron a hand? I have to go to an Exchange meeting.’

‘What’s up?’

‘He doesn’t know what a pointer is.’

‘Don’t know what they’re teaching them in college these days,’
he said coming round.

‘Yeah.
What kind of programmer are you?’
I joined in.

‘You’re not funny,’ Cameron said.

‘What project you working on Cam?’ I asked.

‘Warsaw.’

‘Can you help him with Warsaw?’ I asked Sam.

‘Do you mean can I do it for him?’

‘Perhaps you can do it for him, next to him, showing him what
you’re doing.’

‘I suppose so. This is bloody ridiculous. No offence, Cameron.’

‘None taken.’

‘You know, we could just let you do it yourself,’ Sam said.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘I mean indulge upper management’s delusions, let it fall on
its face.’

‘Mate,’ Cameron groaned.

‘He won’t get the blame,’ Sam continued. ‘He’s a junior and he’s
not a programmer. They need to see how crazy this is.’

‘We can’t just make Cameron the scapegoat.’

‘Why not?’

‘You can’t just do whatever you want you know.’ My hands went
to my hips.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing,’ I said, dropping the stance.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Cameron said again.

‘Ahoy ahoy... what do we have here?’ Boris stopped as he passed
by, naturally drawn to a group.

‘Just chatting,’ Cameron eventually replied when Sam and I didn’t
respond.

‘Chatting? There’s no project code for that on your timesheets,
is there.’

‘How about we stay ten minutes late to make up for it?’ Sam asked.

‘Oh, whatever, son.
No need to be so
touchy. I’ll leave you to it.’ Boris went back to the aisle but then turned around.
‘Sam, Desktop
haven’t
received that
AsiaCap
spec yet. Can you see you get it to them by
Friday.
’

‘I’m not writing their spec.’

‘What do you mean you’re not writing it?’ Boris said. ‘You don’t
have a choice mate.’

‘I’m not writing a spec for a group I don’t know anything about.’
Sam bent down looking into Cameron’s screen.

‘Excuse me, mate.’ Boris came back to the cube. ‘We haven’t finished
talking. Leave Cameron’s screen alone for a minute. Now I’m asking you to do something.’

‘It’s not happening.’ Sam straightened up.

‘I can probably help him with it,’ Cameron said between them.
‘And Sam could help me with Warsaw.’

‘Well, I’ll have to talk to Felix.’ Boris was still looking at
Sam.

‘Fine by me.’
Sam replied, holding the
stare.

Boris adjusted his tie and walked away while people within earshot
pretended not to be looking.

Sam pulled up a chair next to Cameron and sighed. ‘I don’t know
what I’m doing here.’

‘That makes two of us,’ I said. I turned towards the meeting
rooms realising that now I was late.

Chapter Seven

No one accepted Boris’s drinks suggestion on Friday night. I
replied by copying him on an email to Phil about the Exchange meeting. I had felt
backed into a corner as I tried to answer queries from all sides. Traders, heavy-set
in pinstriped suits scowled and huffed, well practiced in using annoyance as an
intimidation tool. In the minutes I included all the unanswered questions, reporting
my inadequate responses. It was all I could do to protect myself. But, it wouldn’t
be Phil who would get the blame if the project came in late or wrong.

I snuck out early, my mind numb with boredom and anxiety, just
as a
5-Minute Snap
was starting on internal
T.V.
Sails Beneath The Sales
opened with
the Sales team waving from a yacht washed in sea spray and champagne. I longed for
my couch.

When I got home, I briefly considered cooking something but there
was no food in the fridge and the supermarket was ten minutes away. I ordered Chinese
instead and collapsed in front of the T.V.

Over a movie I could hear a wind picking up. I woke through the
night to hear it crashing down around the house like waves. Outside streetlamps
were creaking and moaning and every now and then something was whisked along the
ground bringing me back from sleep.

In the morning a gentle deluge was coming down. I lifted my sheet-curtain
to see light branches had fallen across the road and leaves were stuck to the roofs
of cars. The rain was making a smacking sound, beating up an abandoned umbrella.
I turned back to my bedroom and looked at the scattered clothes and cosmetics. Still
waiting for a wardrobe and with only a makeshift dressing table on the floor, the
place was a mess.