Going Green

by Nick Spalding

  I don’t wait for a reply. Instead, I stride right on to the office floor that spreads away to the left of the reception, and make a beeline for what I remember to be Robert Ainslie Blake’s sumptuous office.

  The receptionist tries to stop me, but by the time he reaches me, insisting that I withdraw, I’m already banging his boss’s door open.

  ‘Morning, Robert!’ I say brightly. ‘You and I need to have a chat.’

  Robert Ainslie Blake is sat with his feet up on the desk, playing with his iPhone.

  Having a busy day, then . . .

  ‘Ellie!’ he squawks, nearly tipping himself back off the luxurious leather seat he’s parked his manspreading arse on.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Ainslie Blake! She just barged her way in here!’ the receptionist cries.

  I nod. ‘That I did.’ I give the guy a cheeky grin. ‘Don’t worry though, your boss is well used to doing this kind of thing, so I’m sure he won’t mind.’

  ‘It’s okay, Troy, yeah?’ Robert tells him, as I cross the floor of his office to stand right at his desk. ‘She’s a friend.’

  I shake my head and cross my arms. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, Robert.’ My eyes narrow. ‘It gives me no joy to come and speak to you . . . but I have a question to ask.’

  Robert rolls his eyes.

  Another little woman getting all hot under the collar, he’s probably thinking. Probably on her period, or something.

  ‘Okay, Gorgeo. It’s fine. Calm yourself down . . . and ask away.’

  ‘How much?’ I snap, as the receptionist wisely withdraws.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How much money did you offer Nolan Reece for Viridian PR?’

  ‘Well, I don’t think that’s any business of yours, Ellie,’ Robert blusters. ‘I mean, it’s a private thing, between two men, and I don’t—’

  ‘Robert, you either tell me how much you offered Nolan, or I’m going to post that naked picture of you I took in Sicily all over social media. I still have it.’ I smile slyly. ‘You know the one. After you’d got out of that plunge pool? That cold plunge pool?’

  I don’t still have the picture at all. I deleted it the day I split up with him, but he doesn’t know that, does he?

  ‘A million!’ Robert squeals, knowing just how bad what I’m threatening to do could be for his reputation.

  My jaw clenches.

  So, there you have it. That’s how much it costs to sell people right down the river. I had to know. I just had to.

  ‘Thank you,’ I tell Robert, looking at him like he’s a bug under a microscope. ‘You might want to rethink that offer, though. Nolan’s company is about to become worthless.’

  Robert’s brow furrows. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Robert. You’ll find out very soon.’

  I turn on one heel and head back to the door. Before I reach it though, something occurs to me, and I turn to face Robert Ainslie Blake for the last time in my life.

  ‘You know, I do owe you an apology,’ I tell him.

  ‘Do you, Gorgeo?’

  My turn to roll my eyes. I breathe deeply. ‘Yes. I do. Because I made you the villain, Robert. I made you the big bad guy. But that’s not what you are, is it? You’re not evil. You’re not a monster. You’re just a reckless, stupid man who wants to manspread himself about as much as possible, to make up for his inadequacies – and you don’t care who or what you destroy in the process. Up to and including any wildlife sanctuaries that might be nearby.’ I heave a leaden sigh. ‘And God help us – the world’s full of people like you, isn’t it?’

  ‘Here, I don’t think you can come in here and say all that to me, yeah?’

  ‘I think I just did,’ I say in a weary voice, opening his door. ‘You’re not the villain here, Robert. But I fucking know who is, and you might want to pay attention to what I’m about to do next . . . just in case you get any ideas in the future.’

  I go through the door and slam it behind me, never to see Robert Ainslie Blake again.

  The arms of Nolan Reece’s office chair have been worn smooth by his hands.

  He has a habit of running them up and down the threadbare cloth when he’s thinking about something. I’ve seen it happen many times, during long conversations about how we can make the world a better place by providing ethical, environmentally friendly public relations to companies trying to make the planet greener and more sustainable.

  At the time, I thought he was as committed to this cause as I have become, but now I know the truth. Now I have all the facts.

  You know who else has all the facts?

  . . . oh my. You’re about to find out, and it’s going to be glorious.

  Nadia let me in to the offices of Viridian PR this morning. She – along with Joseph and Amisha – has been an absolute rock over the past couple of weeks. As soon as I’d told them all what Nolan had been up to – and showed them the footage I’d captured of his double life – they were all 100 per cent behind what I had planned, both for him and for them.

  Without all three working with me, I wouldn’t have known that Nolan was coming into the office late this morning due to a ‘meeting’. I put the word in quotation marks here, because for all I know he’s actually choffing down an Egg McMuffin somewhere, while simultaneously kicking a polar bear in the testicles. The bastard.

  Knowing his movements in and around Viridian PR has allowed me to set up today’s entertainment. I’m probably verging on the melodramatic here (hell, there’s no probably about it), but I feel this entire situation needs wrapping up with something ostentatious and memorable – if only to keep Nolan Reece off guard long enough so I can get him to do what I want.

  Besides . . . the man has humiliated me for the past few months without me even knowing about it. Payback is due.

  Which is why I’m sat here, at this desk, waiting for Nolan to come in.

  According to the watch that sits just above my shaking left hand, this will be in about a minute or so.

  Through the glass door that leads to Nolan’s private office I can see the whole of the main office floor, including the glass double doors that lead in from the elevator foyer. I will have a clear view of my ex-boss and ex-boyfriend as he comes through it and walks towards me.

  The pot plants are looking a little limp, it has to be said. I’ll have to take them with me.

  This will be the first time I have seen Nolan since that day on his doorstep, when I thrashed him with his underpants. He hasn’t attempted to communicate with me, which has probably been wise.

  I did receive an email from Young Adrian, regarding when I’d be getting my last pay cheque, but that’s been the only contact I’ve had from Viridian PR in any official capacity.

  Unofficially, things have been very different, though. Oh my, yes.

  Unofficially, there has been a lot of communication between Ellie Cooke and the staff of Viridian PR – everyone except Nolan Reece. My lovely Mercedes hybrid has been toing and froing between the homes of everyone I know from work with remarkable frequency. It’s a good job the car is so green to run.

  I’ve had a lot of fast-talking and a lot of convincing to do, you see.

  All of this activity might explain why just about everyone out there in the office is looking directly at the main doors to Viridian PR, with expressions on their faces ranging from barely concealed disgust to outright anger.

  I have set the stage, my friends.

  Now we just need the star of the show to come in.

  The door flies open, and in walks a dishevelled Nolan Reece.

  My . . . that’s very interesting, isn’t it?

  He looks like a man on the edge.

  Could that possibly be because of the way people’s attitudes have subtly – and in some cases not so subtly – changed towards him in the past couple of weeks?

  I do think that might be the case.

  I’ve asked them all to stay silent until today, but I’m sure a man as smart as Nolan Reece can pick up o
n the fact that something is wrong.

  His demeanour today suggests that this is very much the case.

  My hands involuntarily grip the arms of the chair as the nerves try to take hold. I am instantly transported back to that day in this very office, when I sat in the chair opposite, gripping the arms as tightly as I am now, because I thought Nolan Reece was about to fire me from my job.

  The day he actually offered me a better job, because he thought I was environmentally conscious. Little did he know I was lying through my teeth back then. And little did I know he was lying through his.

  Maybe he actually knew damn well I wasn’t being honest with him, and saw a kindred spirit.

  Blimey. That might be exactly what happened!

  There I was thinking I’d been so clever to pull the wool over Nolan’s eyes, when maybe he knew all along what I was up to, and the only wool-pulling going on was resolutely over my stupid head.

  Nolan was a lot smarter than me, back then. I hope to Christ he isn’t now.

  I take a very deep breath, and allow my grip to loosen a bit on the arms of the chair. I’m not the one who should be nervous here today. He is.

  I continue to watch as Nolan attempts to say good morning to his staff as he passes them – in much the same way he has done every other morning (or afternoon, depending on what secretive bullshit he’s been up to that day). He doesn’t get much of a response – and the ones that he does get are cold in the extreme.

  As he gets closer and closer to the tinted glass door that leads to his private office, I feel my pulse quicken. The moment is nearly here.

  The moment I’ve prepared for over the past fortnight.

  The moment I laid awake in bed thinking about until the early hours of this morning.

  I’ve planned everything down to within an inch of its life, but that plan playing out successfully now depends on how Nolan Reece reacts to what I’ve done.

  He’s reached the door.

  Here we go then. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  ‘Nadia? Can you get Adrian to make me a coffee, please?’ Nolan barks at my colleague, as he pauses with his hand against the door. If he peered in here through the tinted glass he’d easily see who was inside – but he’s clearly quite stressed and off kilter. Good. That’s exactly how I want him to be. ‘I’ve barely slept,’ he continues, pushing the door open, ‘and need something to wake me – oh bloody hell !’

  Yes!

  That’s more or less the reaction I was hoping for.

  ‘What the hell are all of you doing in my fucking office?!’ he exclaims.

  ‘Waiting for you, you lying pig’s scrotum!’

  That wasn’t me.

  I wouldn’t use the phrase ‘pig’s scrotum’ if you paid me.

  Mordred O’Hare would though.

  In fact, he just has. And for Mordred O’Hare to start naming the parts of animals in his insults, you know he must be in a bad mood. Usually he’d avoid anything to do with pig parts. That’s kind of his raison d’être.

  Nolan stares at Mordred in horror. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Because Ellie asked us to be!’ Petal O’Hare says, from where she’s stood next to her ambulatory bush of a husband. When you’re confronting someone the way I am today, it’s great to have a woman who channels Joanna Lumley so effectively right beside you. It’s very comforting.

  ‘Why?’ The blood is draining from Nolan’s face. He might be a lying bastard, but he’s also clearly a smart bastard.

  He’s probably putting two and two together right now, and coming up with fucked.

  ‘Because she’s told us – and shown us – what’s really been going on around here!’ says Bandy, my best friend from Worriors For The Plonet.

  See?

  I have been busy, haven’t I?

  In fact, you can barely move for the Viridian PR clients I’ve persuaded to come down here this morning to confront the owner of the business.

  There’s Mordred and Petal on my left, with Sierra from The Green Tangent on theirs. On my right is Bandy, along with Kyle the twelve-year-old CEO from Hempawear, Clara from Protocol Waste Management, and Donald from Earth’s Future Lighting.

  These are the only clients I could get here at such short notice, but I’ve been in touch with all of Viridian’s now-extensive list over the past two weeks.

  I did a very good job as Head of Client Relations – keeping communication channels open as much as possible, and staying friendly with each and every one of the people running the businesses we represent.

  Every client was pleased to hear from me, even though I am no longer at Viridian PR, and has been happy to listen to everything I had to tell them. And show them.

  They’ve all had a good look at what Nolan Reece gets up to on his days off. I put together a lovely video package with Joseph and Amisha’s help – featuring all of that iPhone footage I captured, along with highlights of the three hours that my car’s dashcam caught.

  Most of Viridian’s clients were very surprised at the audio quality of the dashcam footage. They couldn’t quite believe that it managed to pick up every word exchanged between Nolan and me on his doorstep. Especially all that stuff about Nolan selling the company off. They were extremely interested in that part of the video.

  How do you think it went down with them all?

  ‘You’re gonna sell us all off, are you?!’ Kyle from Hempawear exclaims. He looks so full of frustration and dismay he could almost pass for an adult.

  ‘What? I . . . what?’ Nolan splutters.

  ‘I don’t appreciate having my company used as a tool just to earn you a big fat payout!’ Donald remarks in a cold voice, looking about as incandescent as one of his most popular products.

  ‘I’m sorry? I don’t know what you’re all talking about. I have no clue why you’d all . . . why you’d all . . .’ Nolan says, before grinding to a halt and fixing me with a stare of pure hatred.

  He takes a deep breath, gaining back some of his composure. You can see the cogs whirring away up there in his brain, trying to think of a way out of this. ‘I don’t know what Miss Cooke has been telling you,’ he says, addressing everyone in the room but me, ‘but I would advise you that I’ve had to let her go from Viridian PR, due to some unfortunate incidents of sexual harassment she’s been guilty of towards me.’

  . . .

  . . .

  You hear that?

  You hear that sound, do you?

  That’s the sound of every atom in the universe collectively wincing at the lowest thing anyone has ever said or done since the dawn of time.

  The entire snake population of our planet is positively airborne in comparison to how low Nolan Reece has just sunk.

  ‘It’s a real pity that she’s stooped to such a petty act like this,’ Nolan carries on, resolutely ignoring me and concentrating completely on them. You can feel the force of his persuasive personality in full effect now. It’s quite a thing to behold.

  A crying shame that it will do him no good whatsoever – and in this particular case, is making things even worse for him.

  ‘Ellie is a very troubled girl, so please don’t believe anything she may have told you about me or Viridian PR,’ Nolan says, sporting the most ingratiating smile he can. ‘I can assure you that your businesses are in safe hands with us moving forward.’

  ‘Ahem,’ I cough lightly into one hand, placing the other atop the laptop on Nolan’s desk. I swivel it around so that the screen faces him. I then look up, straight into Nolan’s eyes, and press the enter key.

  On the screen, the video footage from my dashcam appears. I’ve got the volume turned up nice and loud.

  ‘There’s a lot of money in environmental stuff, Ellie. You know that. And they don’t have that many people fighting their corner, so I thought it’d be a good idea to target them. Get them all on board with a company that understands them. Get the business really going, before—’

  ‘Before what?’

  ‘Nothing!’<
br />
  ‘You’d better say what you were going to, Nolan, otherwise I’m likely to start doing things to your person that we will both regret. Talk!’

  ‘Before I . . . before I sell it off.’

  ‘Sell it off?!’

  ‘Yes! That’s the endgame with these things! Get a company up and running, get loads of clients, and then sell both to the highest bidder once you’ve earned a good reputation. There’s millions to be had!’

  The video freeze-frames on this moment, and zooms in on Nolan’s face. As it does, cartoon horns sprout from Nolan’s forehead and the entire screen is washed in a red colour.

  Then, in a horrible slow-motion voice, dripping with electronically engineered malice, Nolan repeats, ‘There’s millions to be had . . . millions to be had . . . millions . . . millions . . .’

  I roll my eyes. I knew I should have stopped Joseph playing about with the video too much. It’s rather undercut the impact.

  Mind you, it’s obviously had the desired effect on Nolan. He looks like someone’s just inserted something unfortunate into him.

  He clearly doesn’t need to see any more. My point has been made. I close the laptop, cutting off his slow-motion drawl as it repeats the word ‘millions’ over and over again.

  Nolan goes to open his mouth to make up another excuse – but immediately closes it again, as soon as he gets a good look at everyone’s faces.

  ‘I think the phrase you’re looking for is “done up like a Christmas turkey”,’ I tell him.

  ‘Ellie,’ Mordred chides from beside me.

  ‘Sorry, Mordred,’ I reply, forgetting how the mention of prepared meat tends to make him quite upset. I turn my attention back to Nolan. ‘Now. Here is what is going to happen,’ I tell him, sitting a little more upright in the chair. I feel like I’m channelling Helen Carmichael as I speak.

  No.

  To hell with that.

  The only person I’m channelling here is Ellie Cooke, and that’s all I bloody need.

  ‘You are going to release all of these fine people from their deals with Viridian PR,’ I inform Nolan in the steeliest of voices. ‘I’ve looked into their contracts, and the clauses state it can easily be done.’