Until the moment a man was in danger of dying right before her eyes on the 08:05 train, Aiona's day was like any other. She always left her house at half past seven. It took her on average twenty minutes to walk to the station, wearing heels, which meant she usually arrived fifteen minutes before her train departed for Waterloo station. Two minutes later, if she was wearing Louboutin pumps. Arriving on time at the station was of utmost importance since she wanted to secure her usual seat in her usual carriage, which was exactly what she wanted. Innovation might be a wonderful thing in fashion, cinema, or even pastry making, but it was unwelcome when it came to her daily commute to work.
Aiona's editor-in-chief once suggested she start working from home. "It's very trendy," he told her, and her job could be done just as well remotely. He tried to persuade her to give up her personal space in the office with various incentives, such as an extra hour of sleep and greater flexibility, but when these proved futile, he tried to force her into a fait accompli by making her comply with a dreadful practice called "hot desking," which—as Aiona discovered—was corporate jargon for shared desks. Since childhood, Aiona had hated sharing things. That little episode with the Barbie doll had been indelibly etched in her memory, as undoubtedly it had been in the memories of her classmates.
