The Medium

by David Hatton

  4.

  “The archetype – let us never forget this – is a psychic organ present in all of us.”

  - Carl Jung (1941)

  The doors of the elevator opened. Dozens of consultants cold-called businesses across the northwest, enquiring whether they required the recruitment services of Bradshaw’s Resourcing Expertise. The company provided skilled employees to local businesses for a commission rate based on twenty percent of the candidate’s salary.

  It had been two years since Michael Walker had walked through these doors and despite the refreshed paint and new telephone headsets, the workplace appeared almost identical to how he’d left it. A framed poster advertised the organisation as one of the top one hundred employers to work for, but the frowns on the callers’ faces said otherwise. The pressure of meeting targets brought high turnover and the goalposts of those targets moved further out of reach each year.

  His plain black suit had grown loose since he last pulled it out of the closet. Beneath, a light blue shirt and mismatched stripy black and white tie shadowed his former self. His original seat by the window, peering over the city centre one hundred feet below, had since been filled by a young graduate who entered the organisation straight out of university on a salary Michael could have only dreamed of.

  A short man in a royal blue suit left one of the meeting rooms and walked towards him. Craig Williams’s floppy black hair was gelled back and his tanned skin shone almost orange within the glare of the office lights. While short, he was buff and his chocolate brown eyes caused the singletons of the office to blush as he passed their desks.

  ‘Michael! How wonderful to have you back. Please step into my office.’

  ‘Your office?’ he said, peering around at the seemingly open plan space.

  ‘Yeah, I took one of the meeting rooms and made it my own. Come on through.’

  They walked into the pokey room which fitted no more than a desk and two chairs. Behind his seat, a Ferris wheel provided tourists a glimpse over Piccadilly Gardens. On his desk, a photograph of Craig’s supermodel girlfriend took pride of place next to his Manager of the Year award. The windowed walls gave the manager full view of his employees; just one opaque wall remained to the right of the room, which Craig had filled with his multiple degrees and photographs of his graduation.

  Described as a wunderkind, Craig was only twenty-five years old, ten years Michael’s junior, but had already climbed the ranks to become one of the youngest managers in the company. Craig was everything that Michael wasn’t; young, attractive and successful. An alumnus of Eton and a graduate of Cambridge, Craig stank of wealth and connections displayed effortlessly through his Armani suits and crystallised Dolce & Gabbana watch. Despite his success, he hid his insecurities behind a thick goatee.

  ‘Michael, it’s wonderful to have you back at work.’ Craig smiled and placed a hand out to invite Michael to sit down in front of him. Leaning back on his chair, he raised his legs and placed his feet on the desk, showing off his black Barker shoes to the struggling salesman before him. ‘May I begin by saying how sorry I am to hear the last few months haven’t been too easy for you.’

  ‘Well I think it’s fair to say the last two years have been pretty much a mess,’ Michael replied, choking back the quiver in his voice.

  ‘Two years, is that so? Wow, how time flies. Back then, I was just a team leader. Now look at me.’ A smirk crawled across his face as he glanced over his certificates. ‘Well, with that said, I’m glad to see you’re on the mend. I really hope you are, Michael. I can’t have you distracted or going off again.’

  Michael’s fists tightened and his incisors pierced his bottom lip.

  ‘Well I’m looking forward to getting back in touch with my clients.’

  ‘Oh I’m afraid we had to give your clients away to other people, Michael. We couldn’t have them going cold while you were away. You know what our competitors are like… snap snap snap!’

  ‘So I’ll be starting again from scratch then, will I?’

  Michael sighed. Endless cold-calling, numerous presentations and countless briefs had all been for nothing. There was big money to be made in recruitment but it was a long way to the top. He began with a telephone and the Yellow Pages. These kids today had internet job boards and social networks, something he wasn’t as clued up on.

  ‘Building a new client list shouldn’t be too hard for you though, should it? You were once the best performer in the office! You didn’t miss a target in over five years.’

  Craig picked up Michael’s employee file and pointed towards his previous successes within the organisation on a printed spreadsheet. A bar chart displayed the growing sales along the period axis until July 2009 when it suddenly dropped to zero.

  ‘Yeah you’re right, I did meet all my targets. Maybe if I hadn’t lost my wife and son, I’d be sat where you are right now.’

  ‘Maybe, but maybe not. However that’s the price you pay when you become a family man.’ Craig gazed into his reflection in the window and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I myself remain young and far from being tied down. It makes me flexible and ambitious. Nothing will stop me! Companies like that.’

  ‘Well let me tell you, as someone who had a family and lost it, no matter what I’ve lost out financially and how much pain losing them brought to me, if it was a choice between money and having my family back, I know which I’d choose.’

  ‘Well we’re all different, are we not? It makes the world a more interesting place to live in. We have to have winners and losers at the end of the day, Michael, otherwise who would make the coffee?’

  He picked up his empty mug and tapped it in the direction of his assistant sat across from his office. She nodded and made her way to the kitchen. Exasperated, Michael left the office and sought out a hot-desk. He found a space beside a red-head, who he recognised from his last visit to the office.

  ‘Hi, Louise!’

  ‘Oh, Michael, it’s so lovely to see you!’ she replied with a north-eastern twang.

  Louise was eight years his junior and nearly twice as energetic. Her enthusiasm shone through her erratic hand gestures, and a thousand words a minute poured from her rich red lips. The consultant avoided fashion trends, frequently criticized by her peers for breaking company policies as her arms, cleavage and thighs were exposed. Despite her inability to keep within the guidelines, she delivered on her targets and her Geordie charm won over her superiors.

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear about your wife, your son… well everything really. I know it seems like a stupid question but how are you?’

  ‘Oh I’m OK. Just trying to settle into this new chapter of my life. I see Craig hasn’t changed.’

  He nodded his head towards his manager’s office. Inside, Craig inspected the backside of his assistant as she picked up a pen off the floor.

  ‘Oh he’s a dick, but ignore him. I’m so glad you’re back!’

  She grabbed him, lingering in an embrace. As they held each other, he caught the scent of her perfume, the same brand as Suzanne’s. The reminder forced him to lightly push her away.

  ‘What’s new with you?’

  ‘Oh my God! So much has happened right! Kim and Kanye are engaged, Mark and Michelle are at it, and Joey and Sam have broken up!’

  ‘Are these friends of yours?’ a perplexed Michael asked.

  ‘No silly,’ she chuckled and tapped his arm. ‘They’re reality stars. You’ve been away far too long!’

  ‘Oh, I see. But what about you? Any love interests?’

  ‘Sadly not, I’m having a bit of a life crisis at the moment.’ She lowered her head.

  ‘Oh no, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Well Zac from IT came up the other day to look at my computer and I was just about to ask him out and I spilt coffee all over my desk. It was so embarrassing. Now he’s seeing Nicole from accounts.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that… I’m sure you’ll find someone else in no time.’ Michael rubbed her arm before tur
ning away to roll his eyes over her first-world issues. ‘Listen, I better get on with things. I’ve got a lot to catch up on now all my clients have been given away.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that, Michael. I have to admit, I benefited from it.’ Louise lowered her head. She opened her top drawer and lifted out a binder. ‘But here… take them.’

  In her hand, a list of local businesses and their key contacts filled reams of paper. The page was familiar to Michael, who’d spent years building up the names listed. Many were missing, handed out to his other colleagues, who would find Louise’s kind gesture laughable.

  ‘No, I can’t do that. You’ve worked hard for them and you’re their account manager now. You should continue that relationship. It’s me who’s been off work, not you.’

  ‘I’ve been keeping them warm, Michael. But you’re back now, so you should take them.’

  ‘I can’t, please don’t make me do this.’

  ‘And I say please take them. Believe me, you’re going to need every bit of help you can get, because if you thought it was hard before, it’s a thousand times harder now. More and more firms around here are building their own in-house recruitment teams and our client list is reducing by the day. The economy isn’t too bright either so our remaining clients don’t even have jobs to offer. Just take them.’

  ‘Thanks, Louise, I really appreciate it.’ Michael took the list, located a desk next to her and picked up the telephone to let his clients know that their favourite recruitment consultant was back in business.

  After a tiresome day catching up with his clients, he returned home to his apartment. The previous weekend, he’d spent hours cleaning the kitchen and living room. There was at least some chance of him now receiving his security deposit back when he eventually ended his lease.

  Following a satisfying cigarette on the balcony he logged on to his computer. The PC sat in the corner of his bedroom. Above the workstation, a framed family tree hung on the wall, beginning with Jason and travelled back in time to the 1500s. The tree was a present from his father following the birth of his grandson, having spent months on an online historic record site to build the pedigree chart.

  Logging on to FaceHub, a social networking platform, he read over his emails. Hundreds of messages expressed concern as he became increasingly withdrawn from society. Posts of sympathy from old school friends clogged up his inbox. Responding to every notification would take weeks, therefore he simply updated his status:

  ‘I’m now back at work, thank you for all your kind words. I’m on the mend.’

  Ignoring invitations to reunions, he clicked on Suzanne’s page to establish if she’d logged on but there was little action besides a few old friends leaving messages, desperate to get in touch with her. On his own profile, he found a message delivered just weeks before Jason died.

  ‘Love you, chicken,’ she’d sent during a weekend away with the girls on a hen party when her phone lost connection. He could hear her voice as he read out his pet name.

  They met at university in Leeds. They lived in the same halls of residence at their campus in Headingley. A party brought them together and by the second year, they were living together with four other friends. Besides a year away travelling the world separately with their own friends, they hadn’t spent more than a weekend apart until Jason died. Upon graduating, they married and bought a house together in Didsbury; a small three-bedroom semi with a small garden at the back. While limited in space, it was enough for them and Jason, who arrived four years after moving in.

  One final glimpse at Suzanne’s profile led him to a photograph of her mother; a recommended friend suggestion in the corner of the page. Jane Buchanan had left a plea four months before asking about her daughter’s whereabouts. He read over her bare profile. There was little activity besides a few shared articles. Clicking into her photo albums, Michael selected to view the photographs which Jane was tagged in. There were snapshots of family dinners, christenings and the odd wedding. The ninth photograph captured his attention; it was of Suzanne and Jane, dressed in purple sarongs, standing before a colossal pyramid in the middle of the Egyptian desert.

  What the hell… Suzanne’s never been to Egypt?

  A tattoo of Jason’s name was stamped on Suzanne’s wrist, a move she’d made after he died. Her hair held grey wisps, a far stray from her usual blonde bob. She was always pristine even in her darkest of days. Michael’s heart raced. To the left of his computer a house phone was plugged into the wall; Suzanne insisted on it for emergencies. He picked up the handset and dialled.

  ‘Hello?’ a jittery voice answered.

  ‘Hi, Jane, it’s Michael. Can we talk?’

  5.

  “The interpretation of dreams is the via regia to a knowledge of the unconscious in the psychic life.”

  - Sigmund Freud (1900)

  A thatched roof concealed the Tudor home below. Wattle and daub surrounded wooden beams. Outside, a bloom of golden daffodils covered the front garden, and wicker hanging baskets swung down from bluestone window ledges. The house captured the character of the historic town of Stratford-upon-Avon. Shakespeare’s legacy was embedded in the town which had remained static in history while its neighbouring cities developed.

  Michael whizzed down to Warwickshire in his Monaco Blue BMW convertible. He pulled up to the house and stepped out of his car. His in-laws stood waiting beside the door, placing an arm around each other for support as they hobbled across the garden. They smiled and waved at their son-in-law.

  ‘Theodore, Jane, how lovely to see you both.’ Michael had hidden his northern twang when he first met his in-laws, a habit he’d struggled to shift off years on.

  ‘Oh, Michael, you should know by now you can call me Ted! There’s no airs and graces around us, young chap!’

  Ted was approximately six feet in height and towered over Michael, who was of average height. He sported a tweed jacket, a lemon short-sleeved shirt and mulberry cords. What was left of his hair had grown longer and was combed over his balding forehead. He puffed away on a pipe, removing it from his lips to greet his son-in-law.

  ‘New wheels, Michael?’

  ‘Yeah a hand-me-down from my brother. Robert’s got a Merc now.’

  ‘Oh very nice! And good for you… not a bad little car.’

  ‘It’s a little scuffed, you should see his parking skills, but you can’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’

  ‘Touché! We’ve just got ourselves a little run-around ourselves,’ he said, pointing towards the shiny new black Baby Jag on the drive, the reflection of the sun winking at him off the bonnet.

  ‘Very nice.’ Michael gave Ted a thumbs-up before turning to his mother-in-law. ‘Hi, Jane. It’s been a long time.’

  ‘It’s wonderful to see you, Michael.’ A much shorter Jane barely met the chest of her spouse. She kept herself warm in a cream embroidered cardigan, despite it being twenty degrees, and white trousers. Her white hair was permed and a necklace containing a photograph of her grandson hung above her chest. She embraced Michael and kissed him on the cheek, before rubbing her purple lipstick off his skin. ‘Come inside.’

  He followed them into their home. Stone flag flooring ran along the hallway, a rough clay wall closed him in on every side and large oak beams towered up to the ceiling. No more than two metres in width, the gateway into their home was uncomfortably cool and their voices bounced across the bare walls.

  The lounge contrasted; the warm living space held a large open fire and a sheepskin shag-pile rug, and lavender carpet kept his feet content after he removed his shoes at the request of his in-laws. A painting of a watering can filled with daises hung above the fireplace and a cream leather couch, along with a fifty-two-inch television screen, broke the rustic tranquillity of the historic home.

  A framed photograph of Suzanne in her nurse’s uniform hung from the wall; to her right, Michael stood proudly beside her in a suit. He walked over to the portrait and glanced at the radiant smile he’d missed
for over two years. They were over a decade younger; Suzanne was naturally blonde and Michael had a full head of hair. They had fewer wrinkles and their waistlines were trimmer. But the real draw was their happiness. Their ignorant eyes held so much hope for the future.

  ‘It was a wonderful day, wasn’t it?’ Jane stood beside him and admired the picture. ‘She worked so hard to get there.’

  ‘She spent her day checking everyone’s pulses and looking at her fob watch, declaring anyone over the age of thirty clinically dead. Thirty soon creeps up on you.’

  ‘Try seventy. Honestly, what was she like? She always had a wicked sense of humour.’

  ‘We lost that when Jason died. He took her last laugh with him.’

  Jane welcomed him to take a seat and she brought over a trolley with biscuits and tea. To his right, a small coffee table held a standing photograph of his son on his first day at school in his navy blue uniform. He had a gap in his teeth but he appeared as a radiant as his mother on her first day at work.

  ‘Hi, Michael,’ a fragile voice came from the corner. He turned to find the spit of Suzanne hovering beside the doorframe, hiding half her face behind a wall. She dressed in a pink dressing gown and matching slippers and her greasy dark hair was tied up.

  ‘Hi, Pamela.’ He smiled and nodded.

  ‘My sister’s not here,’ she coldly replied.

  ‘No, I know. I came to see you guys.’ He shrugged and shot a smile her way.

  ‘Why?’ she asked with an unwelcoming tone.

  ‘I thought it would be nice to see you.’

  She mouthed a silent oh and scurried off upstairs without further comment. Michael turned to Jane who shrugged, while Ted stared on at the television, shaking his head.

  ‘Her anxiety’s still crippling her.’ Jane said, staring up at the landing where her daughter disappeared to.

  ‘Don’t worry, she’s been through a lot.’ Michael smiled and rubbed his mother-in-law’s arm.