Give me a good computer game any day. Call of Duty—” I ignored his inane wittering.
“Did you fix it?” I asked him. “Yep,” he said, sounding pleased. “You had quite a nasty virus.
I’ve cleaned up your hard drive and reset the firewall. You should run a full system scan once a week, ideally.”
He must have noticed my uncomprehending expression. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
We walked along the corridor. The floor squeaked beneath his hideous training shoes.
He coughed. “So... you, eh, have you worked here long, Eleanor?” he said.
“Yes,” I replied, increasing my pace. He managed to keep up with me, but was slightly out of breath.
“Right,” he said. He cleared his throat. “I started here a few weeks ago.
I was at Sandersons before. In town. Do you know them?” “No,” I said.
We reached my desk and I sat down. He hovered, too close. He smelled of cooking and, faintly, of cigarettes. Unpleasant.
He told me what to do and I followed his instructions, committing them to memory.
By the time he had finished, I had reached the limit of my interest in technological matters for the day.
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