Literally. She is our office cleaner and her baleful glance takes in our slovenly habits. Dirty coffee cups littering surfaces. Food eaten at desks. Banana skins discarded in wastepaper bins.
She thumps her broom on the floor.
“Things are gonna change round here.” She points at all of us, and lights up a cigarette.
“You can’t – ”
The glare silences me. The last two decades’ no-smoking rules don’t apply to Moll.
“I’ll stop smoking when you b*****s clean up after yourselves.”
“Aren’t you supposed – ”
I fish the banana skin out of my bin.