by James Birk
Chapter 15
Ian cracked up as I walked into the office.
‘I’m glad someone sees the funny side,’ I said, as I sat down, bacon baguette in hand, ready to start another monotonous day at Freedom Financial Services.
‘Listen mate, I’m really sorry,’ laughed Ian, ‘Hope I didn’t ruin your night.’
‘You’re just lucky I only live up the road from the Earnest Willows,’ I replied sternly, ‘but I don’t think I’ll be wearing those trousers again in a hurry.’
‘Funny, I thought you were wearing them today,’ said Tim, ‘but apparently that pungent stench is just your aftershave.’
‘Happy New Year to you as well mate,’ I replied.
It was the beginning of January, and the vast majority of FFS staff had returned to work. Both Tim and Ian had been back to their respective homes in the South East of England over the festive period, and so it was the first time I had seen either of them since Black Friday.
I had actually been in work quite a lot though. FFS never fully closed down, even for Christmas and there was always a skeleton-staff present on the few working days between Christmas and New Year. I had opted not to take any time off, reasoning that being in the office on those days wasn’t really like ‘proper work’ anyway as most of the managers generally took the time off and there was very little in the way of new application forms coming in during that time, so aside from any backlog, there really wasn’t much to do.
It had been a fairly relaxing period, mostly just sitting around surfing the internet and eating chocolates from the various ‘morale boosting’ tins of Quality Street provided by senior management. There was still the occasional irksome phone call to answer, and the absence of most other staff made it even more tedious than usual, with few people to talk to, but at least I started the New Year with my full complement of annual leave, and with my thirtieth birthday and a possible trip to Paris both in the imminent future, it was probably a pragmatic move.
Surprisingly Grant and a few other senior managers had been present on one of the days between Christmas and New Year, but they hadn’t really bothered me that much as they seemed to have something fairly important going on and had spent most of the day going in and out of meetings. I wasn’t sure what it all meant and I wasn’t hugely interested.
‘So, anyone got any New Year’s Resolutions?’ asked Dean conversationally.
‘Absolutely. I am one hundred per cent going to leave this shithole of a workplace,’ said Tim emphatically.
‘Really?’ I asked, slightly concerned that he meant it; he may have been a bit of an arsehole, but he was still pretty much the closest thing I had to a friend at FFS.
‘Yeah, it’s about time I got the old five-year plan into action,’ he replied.
‘And what five-year plan is that?’ I enquired.
‘To become a multi-millionaire in five years,’ he explained, ‘I always assumed my suave good looks and award winning personality would be enough on their own, but I reckon now I’m actually going to have to put some effort in. I’m going to be thirty in three years and I don’t want to waste the rest of my youth doing this job.’
‘But you can’t just leave,’ I said, ‘You have to have somewhere to go to.’
‘I can always work for my father,’ he said, ‘I’d get paid double what I earn here. I’ve only stayed this long because I like living in Cardiff, but in the absence of better prospects, a return to the Kent homestead is far from unappealing.’
‘Well we’re not all lucky enough to have a Daddy who can just get us a job anytime we want,’ I said sarcastically.
‘I am,’ said Ian, ‘I might leave too.’
‘What!’ I was appalled and also a little alarmed now, ‘whatever happened to living in a meritocracy! It’s no wonder there aren’t any jobs for poor graduates like me when rich daddy’s boys like you are taking them all.’
‘The reason there aren’t any jobs for poor graduates like you is because you are poor,’ scorned Tim, ‘not financially, but calibre. You are a poor calibre graduate. I’m much more qualified than you.’
‘Well, yes you are,’ I reflected, ‘but it still seems like a case of ‘it’s not what you know, but who you know’.’
‘That’s always been the case,’ said Tim, ‘and I for one don’t apologise for taking advantage of having connections.’
‘Wow, this has all got a bit political,’ laughed Dean, ‘I only wanted to see if anyone had any New Year’s resolutions!’
‘Yeah, I have,’ said Ian, ‘I’m not going to drink as much this year.’
‘On behalf of my trousers, I thank you,’ I said, ‘what about you Dean?’
‘I’m going to ask Antonia out,’ said Dean, ‘I’ve fancied her for ages.’
Dean’s admission was not really a revelation as such, for everyone had known how he felt for a while but it didn’t stop a chorus of mild teasing from the boys. How Antonia felt was not clear and she was not present that day, as she was still on Christmas leave.
‘I might ask out Antonia too,’ joked Tim.
‘Me too,’ added Ian
‘I won’t mate,’ I said reassuringly.
‘No offense Chris, but you’re the only one I wasn’t worried about,’ laughed Dean, to my mild irritation.
‘So what’s your resolution Chris?’ asked Ian.
‘Well I suppose I’d better get fit enough to actually run this marathon,’ I replied.
‘So you’re still going to do it then?’
‘Yeah, I’ve been training quite a bit since Christmas actually,’ I said, with some truth, for I had trained to a greater or lesser extent every day of late, as being dumped by Cheryl had freed up my social calendar considerably.
‘I still think that you’re all talk,’ said Tim.
‘Well maybe I am,’ I acknowledged, ‘but I’m definitely starting to feel better thanks to all this exercise and I’ve never actually been to Paris, so I’m going to try and see it through. What’s the worst that can happen?’
‘That you utterly fail and completely embarrass yourself,’ said Tim.
‘I don’t know if that’s worse that not trying though? I mean, I’ve got a crap job, a crap flat, and an ever decreasing circle of friends. I’ve just been dumped by a girl that I didn’t even like that much, and I only went out with because having sex with her was better than having no sex at all. I am the least successful of three siblings and a recurring disappointment to my parents. Attempting and failing to run a marathon isn’t going to make my life suck any more than it already does.’
‘But is succeeding necessarily going to make it any better?’ asked Tim.
I pondered his question for a moment.
‘I think it just might,’ I said.