Going Green

by Nick Spalding

  I feel faint.

  Taking a deep breath, I force myself to look into Nolan’s eyes. ‘That’s why he was in your office that day, wasn’t it? The real fucking reason?’

  He doesn’t say anything. This is probably for the best, because I think you get about twenty-five years for murder, don’t you?

  I hold one finger up and point it at Nolan’s face. I can’t stop it shaking. ‘And I thought . . . I thought he bullied you into seeing him. I thought you were upset he was there. I thought you were upset with me!’

  ‘Well, I was.’

  ‘What?!’

  Nolan shrugs. ‘You came in just as we were starting to talk numbers. He got put off when you appeared, and—’

  ‘Shut the fuck up, you fucking fuck fuck!’ I scream, my ability to swear effectively having deserted me completely in my all-encompassing rage.

  I was so sorry!

  I was so guilty!

  I went around thinking I’d betrayed Nolan by not being honest with him!

  And all the time, he was the one lying through his teeth! He wasn’t scared of Robert, or disgusted with him being in his office. He was the one that probably organised the meeting in the first place!

  Aaargghh!

  What an absolute fucking fuck fuck!

  ‘You wanted me,’ I spit, ‘to help you sell Viridian PR to Robert Ainslie Blake?’

  ‘Yeah, probably.’

  Jesus Christ. He really means it. He would have actually tried to make me do that.

  ‘It’s a bloody good job it didn’t get that far,’ I hiss. ‘Because I would have told you where to fucking stick it!’

  Now, for the first time, I see something in Nolan Reece’s eyes I really, really don’t like. He sneers at me. ‘Really? Well that would have been bloody stupid of you, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘No! No, it bloody wouldn’t!’ I stab a finger at him. ‘And I’m not going to let you get away with this!’

  The sneer gets bigger. ‘Ha! What are you going to do about it? I’m your fucking boss, Ellie. Remember?’

  The total change of demeanour knocks the stuffing out of me. This is a different man standing in front of me. This isn’t Nolan Reece.

  Of course it is – you’re just meeting the real Nolan Reece for the first time. A man who actually manages to make Robert Ainslie Blake seem like a nice chap.

  But what are you going to do about it?

  I think I’ll hit him.

  Yes.

  That’s what I’m going to do.

  But I’m not going to punch him. No. I need something more appropriate to whack him with than my fist. I’m just as likely to hurt myself as I am him if I do that.

  I know. That Primark bag is good and heavy, isn’t it?

  Yes.

  That’ll do nicely.

  I bend forward, forcing Nolan to pin himself against his front door again. Then I pick up the large Primark bag and swing it up over my head with all the power I can muster. When I bring it back down again, it is borne upon the winds of unholy anger.

  As the bag connects with Nolan’s face, I let out a scream of such primal rage, it will leave me with a sore throat for days.

  But it’s oh so bloody satisfying.

  To batter this stupid, lying bastard with a bagload of cheap pants is the greatest feeling in the world.

  ‘Aaaargh!’ Nolan squeals, as I thwack him, sending his cheaply made clothing flying in all directions.

  ‘Yes! You squeal!’ I cry to the heavens. ‘You squeal as I belt you with pants! You scream as I assault you with knickers! You cry as I box you with boxers, you lying . . . worthless . . . little shit!’

  The Primark bag splits asunder, cascading the rest of its contents across Nolan’s entire doorstep in a glorious explosion of cotton and polyester.

  ‘You’re bloody mad!’ he exclaims, arms held up protectively in front of him.

  ‘You’re damn fucking right I am!’ I draw myself up to my full height and stab my finger right at his chest. ‘I doted on you!’ I roar at him, probably revealing more in my anger and frustration than I should. ‘I admired you! I . . . I . . . changed my life because of you!’

  He actually tries to smile, and shrugs his shoulders. ‘Well . . . that’s good then, isn’t it? I must have had a positive effect on you! I’ve done you good!’

  This comment is so unendingly awful and self-serving that I am momentarily struck both dumb and immobile by it. For a second, all I can do is stare at Nolan. Stare at this man – who has so convincingly pulled the wool over my eyes for so long, that I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to trust anyone ever again.

  Then I pick up a pair of Primark boxers and start to thrash him with them.

  Have you ever tried to thrash someone with a small piece of thin material? It’s not easy. But I am, in my heightened state, giving it a good bloody go.

  ‘Meeargh!’ Nolan wails, as I flick the boxers around his head and neck, like I’m trying to kill a particularly large and fast mosquito.

  I look like an enraged morris dancer.

  ‘I can’t believe I trusted you!’ I scream, as I take another swing. ‘I can’t believe I took your advice!’ Whack. ‘I can’t believe I thought you were committed to making the world a better place!’ Thwack. ‘I can’t believe I felt so guilty about not being honest with you!’ Thwack. ‘I can’t believe . . . I can’t believe I had sex with you!’

  ‘Stop hitting me!’ he spits, trying to dodge the thwacking boxer shorts as best he can.

  It’s a good job Nolan Reece has never come across as much of an alpha male. I would be in some danger of getting hit in retaliation if he were a different man, but as it is, I’m pretty sure I could stand here all day assaulting him with pants, and not get smacked in return. He’s just not that type of bloke.

  What type of man is he, though?

  This type, apparently . . .

  ‘I’ll sack you!’ he screams. ‘I’ll sack you right here and now if you don’t stop doing that!’ Nolan threatens, as one of the plastic buttons on the fly of the boxer shorts leaves a satisfying red mark on his forehead.

  ‘Sack me?!’ I scream indignantly. ‘How the hell are you going to sack me, Nolan, when I fucking QUIT!’

  A few months ago, the idea of screaming at my boss that I was going to quit my job would have filled me with horror. After all, you’re talking about a person who was so scared of being out of a job that she faked an entire lifestyle just to keep it.

  But now, it feels like the most natural thing I’ve ever done. I absolutely know it’s the right thing to do, and – even in the midst of my enraged boxer-shorts assault – there’s a small part of my brain that realises becoming environmentally conscious isn’t the only change that working for Viridian PR has brought about in me.

  I am a different person in more ways than I thought.

  I may know how dangerous palm oil, light bulbs and plastic pollution are, but I’m also . . . braver, I think. I’m also stronger. In my newly discovered desire to make the world a better place, I’ve inadvertently made myself a better person.

  It’s because of all the things I’ve done. All the crazy, crazy things I’ve been through in pursuit of doing a better job for me, and then doing a better job for the environment. The taking part in protests, the dressing up in a foam bottle costume, the sticking my head down a septic tank.

  . . . okay, maybe not that last one, but you get the point.

  I’ve gone from someone very passive to someone entirely active – perhaps a little too active, in some respects.

  But all in all, I am better. I am more than I used to be.

  I am now the kind of person who can bellow that they quit in their weasel boss’s face, and not regret it for a moment.

  This revelation stops my assault on Nolan’s person as quickly as it started. This is just as well, as the Primark boxers aren’t holding up under the battering, and have already torn themselves to bits.

  I don’t need to be doing this.

&n
bsp; I don’t need to be standing here, making a spectacle of myself in public like this.

  I need to leave.

  I need to get away from this horrible individual and think.

  Think about what I’m going to do next, now that I have the truth laid out in front of me.

  I drop the boxer shorts and give Nolan the most derisory look I can possibly muster.

  ‘You’re a sad little greedy troll, Nolan Reece,’ I tell him. ‘And I don’t want to work for somebody like that. Ever.’

  ‘Oh, piss off, love,’ he sneers at me. ‘You’ve had it great working for me. And you could have had so much more, if you’d just gone along with it a little bit longer.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I tell him in a low voice. ‘I’m not going to pretend I’m something I’m not just to keep a bloody job. Not any more.’ I fix him with a stare. ‘I’m not like you.’

  The sneer now turns into a full-blown look of hate. ‘No . . . you’re not. You’ll never be a success like me, because you don’t have the killer instinct. I didn’t get where I am today being all righteous and up my own arse. I got where I am today by – FUCK ME!’

  I’ve just picked up a new pair of boxers and have started thrashing him again. It was either that or listen to him monologue. I don’t want to listen to him monologue – he’s only going to say a lot of things I already know.

  I only stop again because my arm grows too tired to continue.

  It really is time to leave.

  ‘Yeah! Go on! Piss off!’ Nolan spits at me, as I begin to walk away. ‘I don’t need you, Ellie! I can run that company fine without you!’ And then he says the first thing I’ve heard all day that makes me genuinely fearful. ‘Nobody will believe you, you know! They’ll all believe me! I’m Nolan Reece!’

  He’s right.

  He’s absolutely right.

  I may have exposed Nolan’s real personality and his real intentions today, but that doesn’t mean anybody else will turn away from him. He’s the boss. He’s the great Nolan Reece – PR genius, and all-round good guy.

  What can I possibly do to—

  . . . ah, but of course.

  I pop a hand in my pocket, and feel the reassuring cool metal of my iPhone . . . with its lovely video camera and large hard drive full of recently recorded clips.

  And as I climb into my equally lovely Mercedes hybrid, I look up at the dashcam – which I put on constant record earlier, didn’t I? And its hard drive that can hold up to three hours of footage. I distinctly remember my cocaine-happy car salesman telling me that when I bought the car.

  There are three hours of me following Nolan Reece around in his vomit-green BMW on that dashcam. All in glorious high-definition vision and audio.

  What a clever girl I am.

  What a clever and decidedly lucky girl I am.

  From through the windscreen I give Nolan Reece a smile. It is a shark-like smile, laced with such a huge degree of intent, that it can’t help but make him physically balk, right there on his doorstep.

  I’ve got you, you little toad. I’ve got you.

  Still with the shark’s grin on my face, I reverse the car, pull back out into the road, and stamp on the accelerator.

  I have things to do.

  I have plans to make.

  Plans that are already formulating in my mind around this central hypothesis:

  How can I both expose Nolan Reece for the deceitful wretch that he is, and ensure that my future is not equally damaged by today’s events?

  In short – how can I screw him, and at the same time, save myself?

  By the time I get back to the offices of Viridian PR, I think I know how I’m going to do it.

  And it’s going to involve theft.

  Grand-scale theft – the likes of which I don’t know if I have the courage, or the capacity, to accomplish.

  But I’m going to give it a bloody good go . . . because I’m brave now. I’m brave, and perhaps more importantly – I’m motivated. Motivated to save myself, and this bloody planet while I’m at it.

  ‘Ellie? Ellie? Are you alright?’ Nadia asks me when I get back to my desk and start to pack my stuff into a small brown box.

  What the hell do I say? Do I tell her what’s just happened?

  No.

  Not yet . . .

  This has to be done right.

  ‘I’m . . . I’m fine, Nadia,’ I tell her, and I walk over to briefly put a comforting hand on her shoulder, before going back to my desk. ‘Look, things are about to happen that are going to seem horrible, but they will work themselves out, I promise.’

  The blood drains from her face.

  We are joined by Amisha and Joseph, who both look as understandably perturbed as Nadia.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Amisha exclaims. ‘Why are you putting your stuff in that box?’ She recoils. ‘Are you leaving?’

  ‘Yes. I’m done here at Viridian.’ I look up at everyone in the office – most of them have also clocked what I’m doing. ‘But I’m not done, Amisha. Not by a fucking long shot.’

  From my desk, I pick up my sweet little succulent pot plant, and pop it into the box. I bought that thing in an effort to keep this bloody job – it’s only right I take the plant with me now I’m leaving it.

  I wait for the bloom of fear and doubt to suffuse my entire being.

  When it doesn’t happen, I smile to myself.

  Everyone is staring at me now. They know something fundamental is happening.

  It only feels right to say something.

  ‘Guys . . . this is my last day here at Viridian PR.’ There are a few gasps. Not much of a surprise, really. ‘But I just wanted you all to know, it’s been great working with you.’ I steel myself. ‘And I hope . . . I hope that you’ll all want to work with me again very soon.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Nadia asks, rising from her seat.

  I smile at her. There’s steel in it. ‘You’ll see, Nadia. Very soon, I promise.’

  I pick up my box and walk past a sea of confused and worried faces.

  Oh boy. That looks familiar.

  I am transported back all those months to when Stratagem PR was in deep, deep trouble – until it was saved by a man I thought was decent and good.

  And now Viridian PR is in as much trouble, even though my colleagues don’t know it yet. Nolan will sell them all down the river as soon as he thinks he can make enough cash from the deal.

  And I have to stop that. I have to stop it for them, and for me.

  That begins with walking out of the door, and starting to act out the plan I came up with on the way over here.

  This whole thing started with me trying to impress my new boss.

  It’s going to end with me trying to become one.

  Time to get to work.

  Chapter Thirteen

  TWO STOPS AND A START

  ‘Are you okay, sis?’ Sean asks me.

  ‘Yes, Sean. I’m absolutely fine.’

  ‘Do you . . . do you need some help?’

  I give my brother a fond look.

  That’s Sean. The sensible one. Always there to lend a helping hand. Always there to offer advice. Always there to lead his little sister down the path away from destruction and regret.

  Not any more though. Not after all this.

  I shake my head. ‘No, Sean. I’m fine, thanks. I can handle this all on my own.’

  I get up from my seat and go to stand in front of his class.

  ‘Hello, guys,’ I say to The Sticky Things, smiling as I do so. The last time I stood here in front of them I was shaken, unsure of myself, and deeply perturbed by everything they knew about climate change.

  This time, the smile is genuine, and I’m standing tall. Because I know as much as they do now.

  I get a chorus of hellos in return. Some even sound quite pleased to see me. Summer has a bright smile on her face, at least. Children can be very forgiving, if you give them half a chance.

  ‘Now,’ I continue, ‘if you reme
mber the last time I came in, we had a chat about the climate, didn’t we?’

  This earns me lots of nods.

  ‘And I didn’t really say much that made you feel better about the whole thing, did I? In fact, you might have felt worse after I left.’

  A lot of the class look a little stunned at this. They’re not used to adults admitting their mistakes or flaws. That is not meant to be the dynamic between children and adults at all.

  I smile again. ‘Well, I wanted to come back and talk to you all about the new thing I’m going to do that will help the environment. And I’m hoping that you’ll want to give me a bit of help with it.’

  ‘What is it?’ Aiden asks, finger hovering in its eternal place just below one nostril.

  ‘Something I hope will help make the world around us a bit better, Aiden,’ I tell him. ‘Something that I’m quite scared about starting, but really want to, because it could be great.’ I look fondly around the whole class, at the sea of faces that fundamentally shifted my outlook on the world all those weeks ago. ‘And I need you guys to help me give it a name,’ I tell them, pulling out my recycled notepad and pen.

  The offices of R.A.B. Developments are as swish and modern as you’d expect for a company that specialises in building luxurious flats and houses.

  I grimace as I walk in through the sliding glass doors and up to the reception. There’s no pot plants anywhere, and I can see the amount of paper wastage that goes on just behind the semicircular reception desk in front of me.

  This place is anathema.

  ‘Hello,’ I say to the guy behind the counter, who must be struggling to breathe, given how tight that tie and collar look.

  ‘Can I help you, madam?’ he replies, affecting his no doubt well practised welcoming smile.

  ‘I want to see your boss Robert,’ I reply, a little curtly. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here at all, but I have a question that needs answering. ‘Is he in his office?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not sure he’s available for a meeting right now. You’ll have to make an appointment.’

  I smile. It’s not a warm one. ‘Well, Robert’s never been one to worry about silly things like appointments, has he?’ I tell the receptionist. ‘So I’ll just pop through and go speak to him. His office still the big one at the back, is it?’