When I get to my desk, I have to let out a little chuckle, as I see a brand-new red watering can sat next to my in tray, with a little bow wrapped around the handle.
Somebody – probably Nadia – is having a little fun with me, it appears. I’ve spent the last couple of days using one of the old cups in the kitchen to ferry water to my pot plants, and I guess this present has been donated to make my life a little easier.
I’m actually quite touched.
‘Morning, Ellie,’ Nadia says as she appears from the kitchen. ‘I see you’ve got our gift.’ The grin on her face is enormous.
‘Yes. Thanks very much,’ I reply ruefully.
‘We had a whip-round. Figured if you kept using that World’s Best Mum cup with the chip in it, you’d probably end up killing half the plants. Who knows what horrific germs lurk in its stained porcelain?’
‘You’re probably right.’
I look up to see the same amused expression on the faces of everyone else – they’re all looking at me with no small degree of joy. Amisha and Joseph are particularly pleased with themselves at the back there.
‘Thanks, everyone,’ I say to them. ‘I’ll put it to good use right now.’
I pick up the watering can, pull off the bow, and go through to fill it up at the kitchen tap. I can’t help but smile to myself as I do so. I have now become the constant gardener of the office, so why wouldn’t I have my own special little watering can, to help me with my daily task?
The smile starts to drop off my face as I stand at the sink though.
That’s because the small and slightly distracting itch from a few minutes ago is now starting to get worse. It’s gone from a little irritating to quite annoying, in no time at all. I would have another satisfying scratch, but there’s no door into the kitchen, so several members of staff would get a right eyeful of me playing with my backside.
Instead, I’ll just have to grin and bear it, until I can get to the toilet and sort it out – after I’ve finished watering the plants. I should be able to put up with it for at least that long.
With a full can of water, I make my way back out of the kitchen. I go over and water the rubber plant by the photocopier, and then move over to the succulents along the windowsill. By the time I’ve done them, the itch is becoming almost unbearable – partly because it’s spread in an extremely disconcerting manner to areas beyond my backside.
Well. This is marvellous.
I hurriedly finish watering the rest of the pot plants, going over to do the Wingardium leviosa outside Nolan’s private office last. It doesn’t look like he’s made it in today yet – this seems like the kind of guy who has no issue being out of the office for long periods. It’s not all that easy to see through the tinted glass door, but I can see enough to know that his chair is empty.
I’ll just get this last plant done, and then get to the toilet for a good rummage. I can only imagine it’s the hemp pants that are causing me such distress. If I can just get them off and go commando for the rest of the day, I should be okay. Not wearing underwear isn’t a situation I’m particularly happy with, but it’s certainly better than having holly-bush vagina for the rest of the day.
Good. That’s the Wingardium watered. Now to get these pants sorted.
I just about manage to get across the office floor and down the corridor to where our two toilet cubicles are, without having to scratch myself enthusiastically – but it’s touch and go, to be honest.
Though I have to let out a small groan of dismay as I reach the toilets and find that they’re both occupied.
Damn it.
What the hell do I do now?
There’s nowhere else in Viridian PR’s office space that has the privacy I need!
I could go back out and get in the lift, but I have no guarantee somebody won’t be in it.
The prickling has now ramped up another notch. I have to get this bloody hemp material away from my private parts as soon as possible. God knows what level of damage is being done down there!
Then inspiration strikes.
Nolan’s office is private – and empty right now. There’s no lock on the door, so I should be able to get in there and do what’s necessary without being seen by anyone.
Yes. That sounds like a plan!
I hurry back along the corridor and over to my desk, where I plonk the watering can down and pick up a random couple of bits of paper, which I carry over to Nolan’s office, studying them carefully. I’m hoping this makes me look like I’m delivering highly important documents. People delivering highly important documents can go into other people’s private offices with alacrity and confidence. This is the way of things.
Nobody’s really paying much attention to what I’m doing anyway, to be honest. They’re all hard at work trying to justify their continued employment.
I close the office door behind me, throw the bits of paper on Nolan’s desk, and unzip my trousers. Yanking them down around my thighs, I shove my right hand into the gusset of the hemp pants, pulling the material away, and immediately breathe a deep sigh of relief as the prickling sensation stops.
With the other hand, I move my shirt aside to have an inspection of the area. I’m expecting to see a very red and sore lady garden, but I’m pleasantly surprised to see that it all looks fine down there. No damage has in fact been done. I haven’t had a hideous allergic reaction or anything.
My bottom is still prickling like mad though, so I hastily move my right hand around the back, to push the hemp pants away from that as well. Again, the instant relief is palpable.
Good. This is good. As long as I can get to the toilets as soon as possible, and get these stupid pants off, I should be fine.
The crisis will be averted, with no real harm don—
‘Yeah, I’ll call you tomorrow once I know what’s happening.’ I hear Nolan’s voice from behind me . . . and the blood instantly drains from my face.
I then hear the door swing open, and I know that my fate is sealed.
My hideous, hideous fate.
Because here I am: Eleanor Rose Cooke – thirty-four years old and in what should be the prime of her life – with her hand down the back of her arse and her trousers around her knees, presenting herself to her new boss like a horny street cat.
‘Jesus!’ Nolan screams, as I whip my hand out from the hemp pants.
Ohgodohgodohgodohgod. WhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo?
How on earth can I even begin to salvage this? What possible good can come of this situation?
Nolan Reece is looking at me, bent over his desk, with my pants on display like a lunatic sex monster!
. . .
. . . pants.
Hemp pants.
I’m wearing hemp pants!
‘Hey, Nolan!’ I exclaim. ‘I told you I have Hempawear pants, didn’t I?!’
Look . . . I’m clearly and inextricably fucked here. There’s no getting away from it. And there’s no way I can possibly make this situation any worse, so I might as well do what I came here to do today anyway – let Nolan Reece know just how much I love wearing itchy hemp knickers.
‘What?’ Nolan cries, slamming the door behind him so no one else can see me presenting myself.
‘Hempawear, Nolan! I love wearing Hempawear!’
And then, because I’m not sure my boss is clear enough on what I’m trying to get over to him, I thrust my bum in his direction, just so he can get a really good look at the marvellous Hempawear pants I obviously love so dearly.
‘Bloody hell, Ellie!’ Nolan wails, coming around his desk to face me. He’s gone beetroot red with embarrassment.
This gives me the opportunity to yank my trousers up and zip them up again, finally covering what’s left of my modesty.
. . . now it’s time to talk my way out of this.
Ha!
‘I’m so sorry, Nolan!’ I gasp. ‘I’m just so excited about us having Hempawear as a client that I got carried away!’
‘Pardon m
e?!’
‘I really wanted to show you how much I love my Hempawear pants!’
Jesus Christ, girl. What the hell are you doing?
‘You did?’
‘Yes!’ I flap my hands about a bit. ‘I just get too excited when I think about being environmentally friendly, and do silly things sometimes!’
‘You do?’
‘Absolutely! I’m just so keen to show others how important it is to be environmentally conscious!’
Nolan appears to actually think about this for a moment – to actually consider the words of a woman who was showing him her arse twenty seconds ago. He’s either a saint, or clinically insane. ‘Well, I guess you did do the protest the other day . . .’
‘Yes!’
‘And it’s good to see you’re enthusiastic about Hempawear.’
‘It is!’
His reddened face crumples. ‘But you really didn’t need to show me the pants, Ellie. You could have just told me you like them.’
I nod feverishly. ‘Yes. I know. I’m sorry, Nolan. I get caught up in the moment sometimes.’
‘That’s okay.’
‘I’ll . . . I’ll leave you to it then, eh?’ I ask him.
He blinks at me a couple of times, a flabbergasted look on his face. ‘Yes. I guess so.’ He swallows hard. ‘Thanks for . . . thanks for coming in to see me.’
Oh dear. The poor man. I think I’ve broken him.
‘No problem!’
I chuck Nolan a quick smile (it misses by about two feet), before throwing the door open and getting the hell out of Dodge. The horrendous prickling has already come back, and I need to do something about it.
One of the toilets is thankfully empty now, so I’m able to get these stupid bloody knickers off in short order.
As I’m pulling my trousers back up again – grateful that the prickle has been permanently banished – I have to wonder what additional damage I’ve done to my chances of keeping my job.
I’m forced to conclude that the damage must be enormous.
Even more enormous than my silly hemp pants.
Sigh.
Maybe I’ll just stay here in the toilet for the rest of the day. I might have a hunt for the macerator while I’m in here. At least I’ll have somewhere to stuff the pants.
And so, we come at last to the day of reckoning – Friday.
I didn’t stay in the toilet for the rest of the day. But I did keep my head down at my desk and not look anyone in the eye. Not that anyone else saw what happened in Nolan’s office, but they must have heard a bit of a kerfuffle going on.
For his part, Nolan didn’t speak to me, or even acknowledge my presence, for the remainder of the day. This was entirely understandable.
I threw the hemp knickers in the bin when I got home. I would have ritualistically burned them out in my postage stamp of a garden, but I developed an irrational fear that the hemp fumes might get me high if I did that. Spending the rest of the night on a pant high would have just about finished me off.
As it was, I slept fitfully – knowing full well what was coming today.
This is it.
This is the day I lose my job.
. . . yes, I know I’m being pessimistic, but what chance do you realistically give me of keeping it at this point? The man’s seen me with my hand down my gusset.
Things really aren’t looking good.
I’m not the only one with a pervading sense of gloom in the office this morning, though. At least half of my colleagues look equally unsure of their fate. And even those like Amisha and Joseph, who are guaranteed to be staying on, look a bit downcast. Nobody likes to see their work colleagues thrown under the bus.
I spend the first few minutes of this trying day watering the pot plants again. I’m wearing the comfiest pair of knickers I own, so there’s no repeat of yesterday’s shenanigans.
At just gone 10 a.m., Nolan appears from his office and calls us all to attention.
‘Um . . . hello, everyone. Can you just look and listen my way for a moment, please?’
He really is dreadfully polite.
This will somehow make it worse when he shows me the door. I’d much rather be shouted and screamed at. It’d give me something I can get my teeth into. Having a placid, pleasant person like Nolan tell me I’m out of a job will be like being bitten by a puppy.
‘I’m afraid I’ve come to a decision about who I have to let go,’ Nolan continues. ‘It’s been a very hard choice to make, and I am hugely regretful that I’m having to downsize like this.’ He does look regretful . . . and not a little stressed. I wonder whether that Hempawear contract has come in or not. ‘Could I please see both Terry and Mark in my office, one after the other. I’ll speak to you first, Terry, if that’s okay.’
From the back of the office, Terry stands up. ‘Nolan . . . don’t worry about it, mate. At least not on my account. I figured this was coming. You don’t need to chat to me privately about it.’ Terry’s face screws up. ‘In fact, I’d rather you didn’t, please. Just let me know my end date and the details of my leaving package in an email. I’ll get everything sorted out at my end.’
Nolan looks a little taken aback by this. ‘Oh . . . alright, Terry. Thank you for being so understanding.’
Sarky Marky looks like he doesn’t understand. Not in the slightest. He’s gone grey.
Nolan looks over at him, that same regretful look on his face.
It’s admirable he wants to do the firing face to face, but perhaps he could have picked a slightly less dramatic way of doing it? No wonder Terry wanted to avoid playing his part in this impromptu ritual. It all feels very clumsy and cack-handed.
I guess Nolan Reece has a little more to learn about being a boss. It’s easy to forget that he’s never done it before. I wish Peter had stuck around a little longer to show him the ropes.
‘If you could come through, Mark,’ Nolan says, and retreats back into his office. He holds the door open while the distraught-looking Sarky Marky walks over and goes in with him. Nolan then closes the door behind them both, sealing Sarky Marky’s fate.
If I’m honest, I’m not too troubled about Mark leaving the company. He takes an unwholesome interest in my breasts every time I wear a low-cut top in the summer, and I’m pretty sure he’s been stealing teabags for several years now. He offends me slightly, as both a woman and a British person.
But nobody deserves this kind of humiliation, the poor bugger.
Looking very much more on the bright side though – Nolan didn’t say my name! He hasn’t called me into his office! I think I might be keeping my job!
Yay!
I look over at Nadia, who looks similarly relieved.
As does everybody else – even those who were more or less guaranteed to be keeping their jobs anyway.
Of course, we all feel sorry for Sarky Marky, but it’s only human nature to celebrate a little when you find out the hammer isn’t falling on your head.
We all remain respectfully silent as the minutes tick by, with Sarky Marky being given his marching orders.
I even jump a little when the door to Nolan’s office opens a few minutes later, and Mark comes back out.
Oddly, he doesn’t look too traumatised any more.
He sees us all looking at him as he wanders out, and a smile crosses his lips. ‘Don’t worry, everybody. It’s okay.’ Mark jerks a thumb back at Nolan, who is just behind him, standing in the doorway to his office. ‘Mr Reece here has offered me and Terry a generous severance package.’
‘Has he?’ Terry says, looking up from the box he’s started filling on his desk.
‘Yeah!’ Sarky Marky assures him. ‘It’s not too bad at all, mate!’
And with that, Sarky Marky trots over to Terry’s desk, and starts talking animatedly with him.
Oh well.
All’s well that ends well, I suppose. At least Nolan is taking care of his now ex-employees properly, which is good of him.
And thank God this is over.<
br />
It looks like I did just about enough to keep my job here. I guess the disaster of yesterday’s knicker-flashing must have been offset by the dying-panda impression and pot plants after all.
‘Ellie?’ Nolan says, looking over at me. ‘Could you come into my office now, please?’
My heart plummets.
My soul blackens.
My bowels loosen.
My eyes water.
‘Um . . . okay,’ I reply, voice shaking.
I try to get out of my seat, but my legs won’t hold me. I take a deep breath and try again, and this time they just about manage to function.
I catch sight of Nadia looking at me with abject pity. This only makes me want to cry even more.
No.
No, Eleanor Cooke. You will not do that.
That steadies me a little, and I’m able to plaster on a stoic expression as I turn to face Nolan and follow him into his office.
I can feel a dozen sets of eyes boring into my back as I go.
So, this is it then. I haven’t escaped the chop. Nolan was just stringing things out a little, for maximum dramatic effect.
The bastard!
The towering, idiotic, ungrateful, nasty bastard!
Anger has utterly consumed my dread as I sit in the chair in front of Nolan’s desk. If I weren’t a girl who had been brought up in a decent, upstanding household, I might be about to launch into a tirade of swear words at the way I’m being treated.
Nolan sits down opposite, and regards me for a second with those piercing eyes of his, before speaking. ‘Ellie, I need to talk to you about something.’
‘Yes, I get that,’ I reply, barely able to get the words out through my gritted teeth.
‘Something very important. That’s why I called you in here.’
‘Okay. Well, you’d better get it over and done with then,’ I tell him, hands gripping the arms of the chair in a way that will probably leave permanent marks.
Hah! No more Permanent Marks around this office any more!
And no more Permanent Ellies, either!
Nolan takes a deep breath.
Here it fucking comes.
‘I’d like you to be my number two here at Viridian PR.’
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