Replacement Shift

Shirley arrived at the office early. She needed to make a good impression. Three weeks off sick and numerous polite but increasingly insistent phone calls from HR asking for a return-to-work date. Her doctor had wanted to sign her off longer. Her nerves still weren’t right and her left hand still trembled, but once HR casually mentioned formal interviews Shirley had started to panic.

Now, back on the floor, even the fluorescent lights felt accusatory.

The office buzzed with the usual morning murmur. Keyboards clicking, someone talking in the kitchen area. Shirley tried to let the familiarity settle around her. See? This wasn’t so bad. But her chest felt tight.

Her desk was near the window, third from the left. She wondered if her Christmas mug was still there and felt faintly embarrassed if it was, given it was April and she hadn’t washed it the last time she’d been here. Her pot plant would surely be dead.

She walked over to her desk.

Someone was already sitting there.

Shirley stopped.

The person had Shirley’s haircut. Or a version of it. It looked like she’d actually gone to a hairdresser rather than nervously hacking at it herself with trembling hands and kitchen scissors. The woman also wore a navy jumper identical to one Shirley owned, except this one had fewer bobbles.

The woman looked up.

“Oh,” she said. “I think there’s been a scheduling overlap.”

Shirley blinked.

“Sorry, what?”

“Your desk.” The woman gestured at the monitor, the keyboard, the Christmas mug. “I’ve been using it for the last fortnight. HR said it was available.”

Again Shirley’s chest tightened.

“I was off sick.”

“Right.” A small nod, though not particularly sympathetic. “Must be a system error.”

She turned back to her keyboard and started typing.

Shirley glanced around. Mary from accounts walked past with a stack of folders. Simon laughed at something on his phone.

“I’ve been here five years,” Shirley said.

“I know,” the woman said without looking up. “I’ve seen your file.”

Shirley swallowed. This was a mistake. Someone in HR had made a mistake. Or were they punishing her for being off sick?

“I’ll just go speak to Laura.”

“Sure.” The woman carried on typing. “Take your time.”

Shirley stood there a moment longer, bag still on her shoulder. She felt an urge to snatch up her Christmas mug, but noticed it was half-filled with coffee.

---

The lift took too long to arrive, so Shirley walked the three flights up to HR instead. By the time she reached the third floor her chest felt so tight she started to fear a heart attack, though the irony of it happening on her first day back would have been almost funny.

Laura sat at the front desk scrolling through something on her phone. She glanced up.

“Shirley. Good to see you back.”

Relief washed over her.

“Hi Laura, listen, there’s been a mix-up with my desk.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Laura waved a hand. “IT sorted your login this morning. Should be fine now.”

“No, I mean someone’s sitting there. At my desk.”

Laura’s expression didn’t change.

“Right. Okay. That’s you.”

“No. I mean someone else is sitting there.”

A pause. Laura’s smile thinned.

“Shirley, are you feeling okay? I told you not to rush back if you weren’t ready. What did your doctor say?”

“No, you said … wait, that doesn’t matter. There’s someone sitting at my desk and she’s refusing to move.”

As she said it, Shirley realised she hadn’t actually asked the woman to move.

Laura turned back to her phone.

“Why don’t you go back downstairs and give it another go? Sometimes things take a minute to update.”

---

Downstairs, Simon passed carrying a sandwich.

“Morning, Shirley. Feeling better?”

Before she could decide on a reply he had already walked away.

At the desk, the woman was typing steadily. Faster than Shirley these days. Shirley noticed her mug was now empty but still didn’t have the nerve to reach over and take it.

The noticeboard behind the desk held photos. Team drinks after the Manchester presentation. Summer barbecue. Shirley scanned them.

There.

That was the woman.

Same navy jumper. Same haircut. Standing where Shirley should have been, arm around Mary from accounts.

That was the time when …

Shirley pushed the thought away. She’d been through that enough with HR and everyone agreed it was best to leave it alone.

Instead she pulled out her phone, opened the work portal and typed her username.

Password incorrect.

She tried again.

A message popped up:

**Account locked.**

The replacement glanced over.

“Still having trouble?”

Shirley didn’t answer.

She noticed the notebook on the desk,  her notebook, but the handwriting had changed. Neater. Sharper.

Mary walked past again.

“Nice to have you back, Shirley. You look so much better.”

Shirley started to reply but Mary kept walking.

The replacement looked at her.

“Bit awkward, isn’t it?” she said. “Being here when you’re not needed anymore.”

---

Shirley stared at her, then rummaged in her bag.

There. Her ID.

She pulled it from her wallet.

“Look. This is me. Shirley Thomas. I’ve worked here five years and this is my desk. I don’t know how you changed those photos but …”

“What’s wrong with your face?” said the woman.

Shirley touched her cheek.

“What do you mean?”

“No, the photo. You look blurry.”

Shirley looked at the ID card. It still showed her face, but the woman was right. The features looked softer somehow, less defined.

“Here’s mine,” said the replacement.

She held up an identical card.

Shirley Thomas.

Shirley’s employee number.

The photo sharp and precise.

Shirley looked at the photo, then at the woman. Why hadn’t she seen it before?

The woman had her face. She looked back at the team photos and there she was again, except it wasn’t really her, was it? It was the woman wearing her face.

“You’re shaking,” said the woman.

She reached out as if to steady Shirley, but Shirley stumbled away.

“Suit yourself.”

The woman slipped the ID card back into her bag,  Shirley’s bag, and carried on typing.

---

Shirley rang IT from the stairwell. A man answered on the third ring.

“Yeah, your account’s active. Been active since you started. Two years ago.”

“Five years. I’ve been here five years.”

Pause. Keyboard clicking.

“System says two. Started March twenty-first.”

“That’s wrong.”

“Might want to speak to HR about that.”

---

She was in the ladies’ toilets trying to compose herself when Mary walked in.

Shirley grabbed her sleeve.

“Mary. What’s going on? Who’s that woman at my desk? Why does she look like me?”

Mary frowned.

“Sorry?”

“Mary please, I think I’m going insane. Please tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m sorry I don’t know… oh what’s wrong with your face?”

Mary was looking past Shirley, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

Shirley turned.

Like the photo, her face looked softer now. Less defined. Fading at the edges.

“What?”

She turned back to Mary, but Mary had already walked away.

---

Shirley left the toilets and saw Simon in the kitchen pouring coffee.

“Simon. You know me right? We did the Manchester pitch together. We saved the account.”

“Did we?” He sounded distracted. “When was that?”

“Last June.”

“I wasn’t in Manchester last June.”

“You were. We both were.”

“Oh yes that’s right. I did the presentation with Shirley.”

“I’m Shirley!”

He looked at her properly then. His face went blank.

“Sorry, do I know you?”

Shirley felt something inside her shift.

Was this how they punished people for being off sick? She’d come back, hadn’t she? Even when she still wasn’t right. Even when the doctor had wanted to sign her off longer.

She walked back to the desk.

Other Shirley looked up, hands poised over the keyboard.

“Still here?”

Shirley noticed how solid and present her hands looked. Well manicured too. Shirley’s nails were always raw and torn. Now they looked almost translucent.

“We need to talk,” said Shirley.

Other Shirley stopped.

She had the same freckle on her left temple. The same small scar above her lip from when she ran from the dog.

But her skin looked tighter somehow.

For the first time, though, something cracked in her composure. Not fear.

Weariness.

“Okay.”

“How long did you say you’d been here?”

“Two weeks.” She rubbed her eyes. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“They said I’d slot in. No disruption.”

“Who said?”

“Doesn’t matter. They were right though. It’s like I’ve always been here.” She looked at Shirley. “You probably did this too.”

“What?”

“Before you, someone else sat here. There’s always someone else.”

“But not another me.”

The woman scoffed.

“You think you’re special? I bet you stole her face.”

Shirley thought back to her first day, five years ago, or was it two? She couldn’t remember anymore. There had been a woman, older than Shirley. She wasn’t well and HR had intervened. But Shirley couldn’t remember anything about her, not even her name, and no one had ever spoken about her again.

“Shirley,” someone was grabbing her arm. She hadn’t heard the security guard arrive.

“Come on, love. Let’s get you out of here.”

His tone was the one people used for drunks who’d wandered into the wrong building, and that wasn’t her. She hadn’t touched a drop for three weeks.

Three weeks.

Even the doctor had been impressed.

“I work here.”

“I know you think that.” He guided her towards the lifts. “But you’re not authorised anymore. System flagged it this morning.”

---

Outside, the pavement felt uneven. Cars passed too slowly and someone’s laugh sounded distant, muffled, as though Shirley were hearing it underwater.

She looked back.

Through the ground-floor window, the Other Shirley sat at the desk. Their desk. Shirley’s desk. Whatever it was now.

Mary stood beside her laughing at something.

Other Shirley picked up the Christmas mug and took a sip.

Why hadn’t Shirley at least taken the mug?

Her legs felt too weak now.

She sat on the building steps and rummaged in her bag for the bottle she’d been saving to celebrate her first day back. It had always tasted better from the Christmas mug.

She took a swig and felt the familiar loosening inside her chest.

A shadow fell across the glass, letting her catch her reflection in the window.

It was solid now.

Her face had settled back into place.

Time passed.

A woman pushing a pram tossed a pound coin in Shirley’s direction.

“Thank you,” Shirley called after her, but the woman was already walking away.