‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ Tash says, sitting on the sofa, curled over a mug of coffee. ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this.’

She stayed again, I still haven’t heard from Max, I’m still invisible. And now it’s fucking Monday. And not just fucking Monday, five a.m. on fucking Monday.

‘I don’t want to change my mind,’ I tell her. I’ve got a towel wrapped round me and another around my head and I’m trying to find something half-decent to wear. ‘Mel’s been on this account for twenty years. If I’m going to come up with something fresh, I need to see everything that’s already been tried. I need to know what worked, what didn’t work. I need the full picture.’ I lean over, take the towel off my head and rub at my hair.

The best thing about being a Planner is that I can work remotely. Trevor wasn’t being hyperbolic when he told us to ‘fuck off and come back with something brilliant’; I can literally stay out of the office and no one will care. But Fancy Bantams is such an old client that their original case files aren’t online.

I push my damp towel in the washing machine – which is full; probably why I can’t find any decent clothes – and then realise that Tash can’t see me anyway, so force the towel I’ve had wrapped round my body in there too. I must remember to put a wash on when I get back later.

‘Found anything yet?’ Tash says, crossing to the kitchen and putting her coffee cup in the sink.

‘Not really.’ There’s a pile of clean knickers on top of the dryer, at least. ‘It doesn’t matter though, does it? No one’s going to see me. And if I suddenly reappear in the middle of the office, I don’t think they’re going to be focusing on my outfit.’

‘Fair point,’ Tash says. She heads into the bathroom while I pull leggings and a hoodie out of a drawer. I pull my hair back in a ponytail, find my trainers under the bed and I’m good to go.

We decide to walk to the office. Mostly because both of us need to clear our heads, but also because we figured we wouldn’t be able to talk on public transport. If we’re walking we’ll have passed people before they have a chance to realise Tash is talking to no one and there’s a voice coming from nowhere.

Even though it’s so early, there are still lots of people around and I keep seeing people looking at Tash, but it really doesn’t bother her that they clearly think she’s talking to herself. She’s used to people looking at her. And I’m used to feeling invisible next to her.

And I’m actually loving not having to worry that people are looking at me. I’ve always been self-conscious, I don’t know why. Tash says it’s my most irritating quality. I used to wish I could be invisible when I was a kid – is that why it’s happened now? Some sort of satellite-delayed birthday wish? But it was honestly a relief not having to straighten my hair or put on make-up or worry (much) when I couldn’t find anything to wear. I’m not even holding my belly in. It feels really good.

Tash stops for coffee, but obviously I can’t get one. A takeaway cup bobbing through the air on its own would attract attention. I’m gasping, though, so once we’ve crossed over into Dean Street, I ask Tash if I can at least have a sip.

‘Bloody hell,’ she says, holding her coffee out as if she’s feeding a baby from a sippy cup.

Two blokes in low-slung jeans and black vests walk past and one says, ‘Alright, tits?’ to Tash. I look at her over the top of the cup, but she just rolls her eyes.

‘Wankers,’ she mutters.

‘I could be flashing them right now and they wouldn’t even know,’ I say.

Tash snorts. ‘You’re not, are you?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘Bit nippy.’

She rolls her eyes again – at me this time – then announces, ‘Nothing to see here! Just giving my imaginary friend a slurp of coffee!’

I laugh, squirting coffee both back at Tash and up my own nose. I cough as Tash wipes the coffee off her jacket.

‘God, even invisible you’re still managing to show me up.’

And then her face turns serious. ‘Shit, Iz, I can see you!’

I feel for a second like the pavement is sliding away under my feet. ‘What?!’

‘God, not properly. You haven’t – you know. But I can see bits of you where the coffee splashed. Wait. I could. You’ve gone again now.’

I open and close my mouth but I can’t think of what to say. Because I’m surprised to find I feel relieved.

‘Are you still there?’ she says, frowning.

‘Yeah. Sorry. I… That just freaked me out a bit. I thought I was back, you know?’

‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Sorry.’

‘That’s okay. Thanks for telling me anyway. Obviously liquids are the key. If I really need someone to see me, I just need to throw a glass of water in my own face or something.’

‘That’ll work.’ Tash pats me on what I assume she thinks is my invisible arm. She actually gets side-boob, but I don’t tell her.

Tash swipes my card into the front door of the building and I follow her inside. That was actually the bit I was most worried about – someone seeing a card swiping itself and the door opening with no one around. Once we’re inside the building I breathe a sigh of relief. We get the lift up to my floor and swipe again to get inside the office. It’s early so there’s no one around, but the main lights are on – they’re always on – and I direct Tash to my desk.

‘I don’t know how you work like this,’ she says, gesturing both at the mess on my desk and the open plan nature of the office. ‘God, if I couldn’t shut my door and keep the idiots out, I’d never get anything done.’

‘It fosters creativity, darling!’ I say, quoting Mel.

I sit down and boot my Mac up. I need to copy some stuff to a pen drive first and then we can get the actual files from the archive room.

‘Do you want a coffee before I go?’ Tash says. ‘You’ve got coffee here, right?’

‘Yeah, there’s a machine in the kitchen.’ I point out the kitchen in the far corner of the room, before realising she can’t see me anyway. ‘And you’ve got a caffeine problem.’

‘There’s a cute boy in your kitchen,’ Tash says when she gets back.

I glance at the clock in the corner of the computer screen. It’s still only 7 a.m. ‘Really?’

‘Yep. I just told him I was here with you. He didn’t seem entirely awake.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Glasses, long hair, big teeth.’

I snort. ‘You make him sound like the Big Bad Wolf!’

‘He could eat me anytime,’ she says, waggling her eyebrows.

‘Oh god. Just give me my coffee, you perv.’

She grins. ‘Who is he? And why haven’t you told me about him?’

‘I have, haven’t I?’ I say. ‘Alex?’

‘Ah!’ she says. ‘The Australian? How come you didn’t mention he’s so hot?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t think he’s so hot. Oh and wait – because you’ve got a boyfriend.’

‘I wasn’t planning on marrying him!’ she says, rolling her eyes. ‘I just thought I might let him throw a prawn on my barbie, climb up my gumtree… or whatever Australians do.’

‘I don’t think they do that,’ I say, still staring at my screen.

‘He is definitely hot. You need to take another look,’ she says. ‘You could stare at him all afternoon and he wouldn’t even know.’

‘And that wouldn’t be creepy at all,’ I say.

Tash’s phone buzzes repeatedly and eventually she picks it up and checks her messages.

‘Oh for god’s sake,’ she says, rolling her eyes. ‘I need to go in. Panic meeting at nine. Can you manage now, do you think?’

‘Yeah, I’ll be fine,’ I tell her.

‘You’re going to walk back?’ She’s already putting her scarf back on, getting ready to leave. As much as she moans about her job, she loves it just as much as I do mine.

‘No, I thought I could get an invisible Uber. Course I’m going to walk back.’

‘Wow, you’re narky when you’re invisible.’

Once Tash’s gone, I download all the files on the local drive, but there aren’t as many as I was expecting. I cross-reference the client with the file directory and find that the first ten years’ files are actually physical files, not online. And they’re in the archive room.

I obviously won’t be able to carry them home with me today, but if they’re there and easily accessible maybe I could send a courier for them. Or maybe Tash could come again and bring them home for me. I doubt anyone else is going to bother even looking at them, but if someone does want them, I can always send them back.

I can’t remember the last time I even had to go into the archive room. All the accounts I’ve worked on have been relatively new. It’s an L-shaped room with shelving down one side and rolling file cabinets at the end. There are no windows and it smells of dust and carpet tiles.

I’ve only taken a couple of steps inside when I see Alex. He’s at the end, standing just to the side of the first rolling file cabinet. He’s got an old lever arch file in his hands and he’s humming to himself as he scans over the paperwork inside.

I frown as I watch him. I don’t know why he’d be in here, why he’d need to be looking at an archived file, but I assume Mel’s asked him to find something for her and he’s just being very thorough. I should leave – get out before everyone else gets in – but there’s something about him. I like watching him.

He’s definitely looking for something and he’s got a good rhythm going – checking a list on the front of the cabinet, opening the drawer, riffling through the hanging folders, taking out the files. He’s quick at it too, although every now and then he takes longer to read something and turns slightly, presumably so the weak light in here shines better on the paper, and when he does that I can see his face.

He’s grown a bit of a beard since he started working here a few months ago – more scruff than beard really, but it suits him, even though it’s kind of gingery. Actually, his hair is kind of gingery too. Dark ginger. And it’s quite long. As he’s reading, his hair falls forward and he reaches up and tucks it behind his ear and I feel something clench in my stomach. I’m not sure what it is at first, but then I realise it’s just the gesture. It’s not something I’ve ever seen a man do – not that I can think of – and something about it… I have to lean back against the wall.

Alex carries on checking the files and I carry on watching and in the time it takes him to do the rest, I’ve studied every bit of him I can see. He’s wearing jeans and he’s got a very nice arse and strong-looking thighs. I bet he’s got ‘v’ lines. I wonder if he plays football. Do Australians play proper football or just that Aussie Rules thing? Although the Aussie Rules players wear really short shorts, don’t they? I try to picture his legs in really short shorts and then I drag my eyes back up his body. He’s wearing a black jumper with the sleeves pushed up. He’s got nice forearms. When he flicks through the folders, I can see the muscles move. He’s got nice hands too. Short square fingernails. Clean, which is important. He’s wearing a silver band on the middle finger of his left hand.

Finally he straightens up and clasps his hands behind him to stretch. Under his jumper, I see his shoulder blades move and the jumper raises just enough that I see a narrow strip of skin. He’s moving towards me before I even realise and I hold my breath and close my eyes as he passes. The air moves and flutters over me.

He closes the door behind him, and I slide down the wall and sit on the floor.

What the hell was that?