New Start short story competition - Winner

Orla looked at her face in the mirror and gently teased the comb through her hair. After years of keeping it short and neat, she had finally found the courage to let it grow. Yesterday, she had been to the salon to have it professionally styled and conditioned, and the light feeling of it skimming her shoulders was a titillating novelty. She placed the comb down on the dressing table, picked up her favourite blush-pink gloss and applied a slick coating to her pursed lips. She pouted ‘selfie-style’ at her reflection then smiled back at herself. She was all made up and ready to go. She slipped her feet into a pair of low-heeled shoes, grabbed her tote bag and keys, and headed out of the apartment.
Arlo walked purposefully down the street towards the bus stop carrying his bag over one shoulder, just like all the other commuters on their way to work. He stopped at the bakery on the corner to buy his usual take-away breakfast coffee, then checked his watch. He had woken early this morning and had several minutes to spare, so decided to take a long-cut across the green and catch the bus further along the route. It was a sunny and warm Spring morning with daffodils nodding gently with beads of morning dew.
Orla chose a seat towards the front of the bus, near the driver, because she felt safer with a clear view of the road ahead and easy access to the door. She didn’t enjoy using public transport but it was a necessary part of her city life since she had given up commuter-cycling after the near-miss with that taxi two years ago. She stowed her bag on the floor between her feet and took out the folded letter from her jacket pocket. She had read it over and over in her apartment but wanted to check one last time that she had perfectly understood all the details and performed all the instructions exactly as required. Four o’clock at Marley Street, it said. There was plenty enough time before then to do her morning’s work and run a few errands.
Arlo looked up from reading as the bus he was on jerked to a hasty halt. The closer it got to the city centre, the busier and the bumpier the journey had become. A white delivery van had pulled into the bus lane without indicating and stopped, blocking the route. Arlo watched with a frown as the courier hopped out of the van with an armful of packages and dashed into the nearest shop. Less than a minute later, he jumped back into the van and sped off as recklessly as he had appeared, waving an apologetic hand to the bus driver but unaware of the tutting and tongue-clicking of a bus-load of disgruntled passengers. As the bus lurched back into motion, Arlo felt a wave of nausea rise in his throat. This was not a good day to get travel sick. He closed his eyes, loosened the collar on his shirt and took a few deep breaths.
Orla reached out to press the ‘STOP’ call button but she needn’t have bothered as this was a popular bus stop on the fringes of the central business district. Like many of her fellow morning commuters, she chose to get off here and walk the last quarter of a mile to the office because it saved her money on the bus fare. Travelling into the CBD zone was exclusively for those business travellers who could claim back the costs from their corporate accounts. People began to stand and move towards the front of the bus as it slowed down to stop in a yellow-lined bay. Orla picked up her bag but waited for the bus to stop completely before getting out of her seat to join the queue of people shuffling out of the door and down onto the uneven pavement. Off the bus, she hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and allowed herself to be swallowed up by the sea of suits flowing towards the city centre.
Arlo fitted his new earbuds into his ears and selected a podcast to listen to as he walked from the bus to the office. This was always the worst bit of his daily commute, with so many busy people jostling for space on the pavements and not watching where they were going. He regularly got shouted at by angry-looking guys on their phones who bumped into him because they didn’t see why they should have to give way. Turning up the collar on his jacket, Arlo turned up the volume on his phone and tried to blend into the crowd.
Orla kicked her bag under her desk and hung her jacket on the back of her swivel chair. Her first job of the day, as usual, was to make coffee for the senior leadership team stand-up. It was a novel approach, designed to make the meetings quicker – coffee to energise them but no chairs to get comfortable on – but in reality the big-wigs just hung around chatting after the business on the agenda was done, usually with Marcus from IT perched on the edge of her desk. Her job title, Private Secretary, was supposed to reflect her experience in briefing and policy analysis, but many of the senior managers assumed she was a glorified personal assistant who had managed to wangle a semi-partitioned booth away from the admin pool. It suited her to play along with this mistaken assumption as it allowed her to listen-in on their informal conversations when they thought she was audio-typing (it was amazing how many people assumed you couldn’t hear them when you had headphones on) and gather intel for her boss, Frances, on a wide range of business activities. Avoiding being noticed was a skill Orla had been practising for years and it afforded an extreme advantage in her line of work.
Arlo was only working a short day today and there were several loose ends that needed to be tied up before he could head off after lunchtime. At 11am, he sat down with his manager in the corner office with windows on three sides to handover the dossier he had been working on for the past six weeks. The file was thick with interview transcripts and diagrams and a digest of the best, worst and most-likely financial scenarios. Arlo was good at his job but there had been some challenges at work since he had joined the company two years ago. Things had come to a head when Human Resources were called in to arbitrate an accusation of bullying and harassment. Subsequently, Arlo’s manager had been supportive and understanding about the request to take a period of extended leave and had even helped to negotiate a small lump sum and retaining salary to cover the absence. Arlo agreed that taking a few months away from the company would allow the dust to settle before returning to a new role in a restructured department.
Orla left the office at two o’clock and bought a bagel and a half-litre bottle of water from the pop-up stall on the corner by the pharmacy. As per the letter, she had a couple of last-minute items to pick up: a disposable toothbrush, ear plugs, hand sanitiser and wet wipes. She placed the goods securely in her bag and hailed a cab to take her to the station. The train ride was scheduled to take about an hour – plenty of time to eat and prepare mentally for her long-awaited appointment with Dr Scherwitz.
Later that afternoon, freed from the shackles of work and in a new part of town, Arlo walked up to the heavy black-panelled door and pressed the buzzer. The intercom clicked and the door latch unlocked. Arlo pushed the door, stepped into a tiled foyer and headed towards the reception desk. He was greeted by a young blonde woman with an overly-friendly smile, who spoke in with slow, quiet voice that had clearly come from a training course on sensitive conversations. She handed Arlo an envelope and a pen and indicated that he should make himself comfortable in the adjoining room. There was water in case he was thirsty and the whole place smelled like dried oranges. Sitting on a green chair, Arlo opened the envelope, took out the four sheets of paper and began filling his details into the check-in forms.
Orla stood up expectantly as Dr Scherwitz came out of his office to greet her. He smiled warmly and extended his arm to shake her hand. Orla accepted the doctor’s hand and noted the confident firmness of his grip. She nodded when asked if she had completed all of the necessary paperwork.
Arlo handed the forms over and re-confirmed his name, address and date of birth. No known allergies, no next of kin, no questions. Having ticked all the required boxes and signed to say he understood the procedure he was signing up to, he handed over his credit card. This was a pivotal step towards a completely new way of life. He looked around at the place that would become his sanctuary, his home-from-home for the next few weeks – the chrysalis for a journey of rebirth and self-discovery.
Orla asked for the opportunity to quickly freshen up before starting proceedings. The receptionist indicated the way to her room and Dr Scherwitz said he would call for her in five minutes. Orla picked up her bag and walked down the corridor in the direction shown. She opened the door with her initials on and stepped inside. As the door clicked shut behind her, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and breathed a sigh of relief. She was here now, there was no turning back. From tomorrow, she would never again see Arlo’s face looking back at her.