The Christmas Party

by Carole Matthews

  ‘Ready now?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you, Martin,’ she said. He looked at her in the rear-view mirror and their eyes met.

  Martin pulled away down the snowy drive of Wadestone Manor. As they made their way through the overhanging canopy of trees, the line of coaches waiting to take what remained of the Fossil Oil staff back to their homes came into view. They were covered in a sharp, glittering sheen of frost. They all stood in darkness, showing that the drivers had at least had the sense to abandon their charges and seek refuge in the comforts of the manor. The car crunched past them until the headlights picked out the personal number plate of Tyler Benson’s Mercedes parked at the very end of the row, furthest to the house.

  ‘Could you possibly pull over please, Martin?’

  He stopped the car at the edge of the drive and turned in his seat. ‘Anything the matter, Mrs Harvey?’

  ‘I’m going to do something that you shouldn’t witness, Martin. Could you please oblige me by looking the other way for a moment?’

  ‘Certainly, Mrs Harvey.’

  As she’d predicted, her husband had already lapsed into a drunken sleep. She eased Lance’s head from her lap and laid it on the leather seat. Lance grunted but didn’t stir, so she slipped out of the car into the cold night. Her footsteps crunched unhappily on the frozen gravel as she walked away, each step of her delicate and totally impractical evening shoes sending a lonely ricochet of noise into the all-encompassing silence.

  From her handbag she removed the penknife that Kirsten Benson had received as her present in the Christmas cracker. Didn’t that feel like a lifetime ago? She flicked it open and gingerly ran her thumb over the blade. Surprisingly sharp for a novelty gift.

  The car was Tyler’s pride and joy. He certainly treated it better than he did his women. She’d miss him, and she hoped she wouldn’t love him for long. The only thought that frightened her was the one that said unrequited love was often the only kind that endured. She wouldn’t want to go through the rest of her life loving someone so undeserving as Tyler Benson.

  She stepped forward to his car. The car park was dimly lit and there was no security that she could see. No CCTV. Perfect.

  The sharp tip of the penknife pierced the sugar coating of frost and then the glossy paintwork as she dragged its tip over the door with the painful shrieking noise of a parrot being strangled. A bow wave of frost flakes showered to the ground. She carried on along the side of the car and up and over the boot, her hand never wavering in its steady progress, never needing to stop and retrace a fumbled line. The night was still, silent; there were no sounds to disturb the peace except for the steady bubbling exhaust of the patiently waiting Bentley, the uneasy screech of metal against metal, and the crunch of the hard, frosted grass beneath Melissa’s feet.

  When she reached the front of the car again, she defaced the bonnet with a deep and ugly scar – a scar just like their affair had etched into her heart. Then Melissa joined the line perfectly to where she had started her task. The act of doing it was pleasingly cathartic. She was purging herself of Tyler Benson, and that felt good.

  The tyres were more difficult, but just as satisfying. Melissa pressed the penknife against black, unyielding rubber. She was slight and the Christmas-cracker penknife struggled to penetrate the hard material but she leaned all her body weight against it until she eventually felt it give. There was a small, satisfying gasp, which may have come from her mouth or from the tyre.

  Moving round the car, she did the same to the others. This was for her and for Kirsten. She hoped this time Kirsten would realise what he was really like and leave him before it was too late.

  She remembered complaining, at that frightful dinner – which already seemed a hundred years ago instead of a couple of hours – that there had been no joke in her cracker. It had taken her this long to realise that, all the time, she’d been the joke. No more though. Now Tyler Benson was the joke.

  To finish, she put the tip of the penknife against the windscreen and dragged it down the glass with a pitiful screeching noise. She wondered if Martin would look round to see what she was doing. But when she glanced back at the car, he was staring resolutely in the opposite direction.

  She continued scratching her message. However, she’d run out of windscreen before she’d finished. Melissa stood back and regarded it.

  BASTAR

  That would do. It was enough for Tyler to understand the gist of it.

  Snapping the penknife shut, Melissa put it back into her handbag. It had certainly come in more useful than a plastic magnifying glass, toy whistle or any of the other frightful garbage one usually got in crackers. She smoothed her hair and then her dress. Despite her sadness, there was a triumphant elation in her heart.

  Slightly breathless, she walked back to the Bentley and climbed in.

  Lance hadn’t even noticed she’d gone. His breathing was more even, less ragged, and he snored gently. It looked as if he’d recovered from his earlier wobble.

  ‘Thank you, Martin. We can go now.’

  The driver eased the car into gear and they moved away. She watched the snow whirl past the windows and fought down the tears.

  Martin glanced back at her. ‘Was it a good Christmas party, Mrs Harvey?’

  ‘It was lovely, Martin,’ she said. ‘Just lovely.’

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Karen from Customer Accounts was drunk. And when she was drunk she became maudlin. It always happened. Perhaps it was because she mixed her drinks. Champagne, cherry brandy, vodka and Jägerbombs were, it appeared, a lethal combination.

  She was sitting at a table by herself. How had that happened? Wasn’t she usually Miss Popularity? Karen tried to scowl, but wasn’t sure that her face was responding in the required manner. It was all that Louise Young’s fault. She’d waltzed off with Josh Wallace and he was meant to be the one she got her hooks into tonight. Louise was the new girl. She thought she was her friend. What was she doing snaring the best-looking talent at Fossil? It wasn’t fair. She’d thought that he was looking at Louise with puppy-dog eyes in the office earlier today, and had tried to dismiss the notion. But as soon as Josh had seen Louise all dolled up like that, he hadn’t given Karen a second glance.

  Tears were rolling down her cheeks and she bet her mascara was running. One of her false eyelashes had fallen off into her drink, which was tragic. It was too far down the glass to fish it out. Never mind. She swigged it anyway. You probably couldn’t catch germs from false eyelashes. Or not many, anyway.

  In front of her was the ice bucket full of the bow ties she’d collected. It was supposed to be for charity and it was supposed to be great. That had all gone tits-up too.

  She’d tried to do her very best and make it a fun evening. Normally she was the centre of attention, but that hadn’t worked out this year. Lance’s stupid speech had made everyone a bit weird. Then the bloody magician went and nearly sawed Tyler Benson in two. That had been fantastic, obviously. But she’d felt that a measly raffle for charity would have been a bit of an anticlimax after that. She remembered taking the bow ties, wresting or cajoling them from nearly all of the men with lavish promises. There’d been a plan. A good one. She knew that. Trouble was, she couldn’t quite recall what it was.

  She looked at the bow ties once more. Now what was she to do with them all?

  There was a slow song playing but she had no one to dance with. When she couldn’t cop off with Josh Wallace, she’d had high hopes for one of the firemen, but now they seemed to have disappeared too. She thought she’d last seen one of them with that Stella Swift from Production Planning on his lap. Typical. If she couldn’t have Josh Wallace, she’d have settled for one of them. Either of them.

  She scoured the room. Everyone had got someone. Except her. Even Josie Jones from Lubricants, who was WeightWatchers’ biggest failure, was clamped in an embrace with Trevor Royston from Refinery Logistics. Alex Bercow from Group Performance Reporting had his tongue down the throat of Natal
ie Wilson from Distribution. And those two, Rose Collier and Rob Thomas, both married to other people, might be regretting this in the morning. There’d be plenty of red faces in Quality Assurance too.

  ‘Thank you and goodnight, Fossil Oil!’ the DJ shouted out. ‘A very merry Christmas to you all!’

  That was it. She was out of time and it looked as if she was going to go home alone. Merry bloody Christmas!

  The music stopped and, after one last desperate snog, everyone left the dance floor. Her colleagues started to drift out of the marquee. The office party, it seemed, was over for another year. Karen sighed to herself. It hadn’t been her best.

  Still, perhaps there was time for one last drink. Everyone would be making their way out to the coaches, and that would take for ever.

  Karen reached out for a bottle of wine, but misjudged it. The bottle toppled and she lurched to grab it. In doing so she knocked over the candelabra. She missed the wine but caught the candelabra by its base and righted it. What she didn’t notice was one of the candles teeter and fall gracefully out of its holder and straight into the bucket of bow ties.

  She staggered to her feet and mopped up the wine with a Merry Christmas to One and All napkin. Then she screwed it into a ball and tossed it into the champagne bucket on top of the now-smouldering bow ties.

  There’d probably be some more abandoned wine on the other tables, she thought. She could even take a couple of bottles on the coach, which might liven up the journey home. There might be a spare bloke on there yet.

  Left to its own devices, the napkin caught light and sparked into flame. That, in turn, helped the fire among the smouldering bow ties to take hold.

  Karen tottered off in search of something else to drink. In doing so she knocked the table, and the ice bucket wobbled. So did Karen; she clutched the tablecloth to steady herself, which made the ice bucket crash to the floor. The flames licked out of it. Karen didn’t see them and she couldn’t be bothered to bend down to pick up the bucket. Instead she pulled the tablecloth down over it so that no one would notice it there.

  The flames kissed the edge of the tablecloth and slowly licked along the length of it. Soon it was engulfed, and the flames jumped on to the gauzy folds of fabric festooning the marquee.

  But Karen was oblivious. She’d found a bottle of wine and was appeased for the moment. She walked out of the marquee, muttering about the dullness of the Fossil Oil Christmas party to herself, and went in search of her ride home.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  I wonder how long it will take Tyler to realise that I’m not returning with a first-aid kit, or new clothes for him. Not much longer, is my guess.

  I’ve decided that I can’t stay at this party for a second more. I’ll have to face Tyler’s wrath tomorrow and will probably go to the very top of the SACKED list, but so be it. I couldn’t stand by and let him bully or sexually harass me any more. No one should have to put up with that kind of behaviour in this day and age. And I’ve decided that I’m not going to.

  I want to do a good job at Fossil Oil, not feel that my every move is being monitored by a sexist pig who thinks the only way for women to get on is to shag their way to the top. If that’s what’s expected of me, then I’ll find another way to make a living. One where my business skills are appreciated more than the size of my boobs. So much for women’s equality, eh?

  Well, let Tyler Benson stew for a while. I can imagine him pacing up and down the Chinese rug in the nip and getting more and more irate. It’s not a picture I want in my head.

  Making my way towards the cloakroom, I note that some of the staff are streaming out of the manor now and it must be time for the coaches to leave. If I get a move on, then, perhaps I could be on one of the first to go and be out of here before Tyler realises what I’ve done to him.

  I come to a waste bin and dump Tyler’s bloodied, shredded dinner suit and shirt into it. His underwear follows. It’s all beyond redemption, anyway. For good measure, I toss in the key to the library door. That should hinder him from coming after me for a bit longer. Now I feel like going to scrub my hands with bleach, but that will have to wait.

  At the cloakroom, I queue up to retrieve my coat. When I’m finally handed it, I turn to find Josh Wallace standing right there.

  ‘How did it go with Tyler?’ he asks me discreetly.

  I pull him to one side, away from the wiggling ears and wagging tongues of our colleagues in the queue.

  ‘Badly,’ I tell him. I lower my voice to a whisper. ‘There was a magician who got Tyler up on stage and he’d somehow managed to cut him across the stomach while trying to saw him in half.’

  Josh laughs. ‘You’re making this up.’

  ‘I wish.’ I risk a smile. At some time in the future I’m sure I’ll find this funny, but not now. I’ve probably just called a dead halt to my fledgling career. ‘I’ve left him naked and locked in the library. I’m supposed to be in search of a first-aid kit and new clothes for him, but I’ve had enough of his bullying and innuendo. I’ve just dumped his clothes in that bin.’

  Josh’s eyes widen. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yep. I’m out of here.’

  Now he guffaws. ‘Remind me never to cross you, Louise Young.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re a wiser man than that.’ Dad’s words about people doing silly things when they’ve been drinking ring in my ears, but what’s done is done. I’ll have to suffer the consequences.

  I see more of my colleagues leaving the manor. There’s a steady stream now going out into the cold night air. ‘I have to go. I want to be on the first coach out of here before Tyler realises I’m not coming back.’

  My phone rings and I check the display. ‘Talk of the devil.’ I show it to Josh. It’s Tyler calling. I turn it off.

  ‘He’s going to be apoplectic with rage.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘He is.’

  Then we laugh together. Josh is such a handsome man and he looks younger and even cuter when he smiles. I should imagine he’s under a lot of stress working for Tyler too.

  ‘You realise people will be talking about this for years?’ he says.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll be around to hear it.’

  His eyes meet mine. ‘I hope you’re wrong about that.’

  I shrug. ‘I’m sure I’ll know by tomorrow.’ Some of our colleagues start up a raucous chant, laughing as they leave. ‘Look, I should go.’ I want to get a seat at the back of a coach where I can sit and brood by myself.

  Moving away from Josh, I think it’s a shame that we work together, because I really do quite like him. He’s a nice guy. Probably too nice for this company. If he thinks he’s going to climb the ladder like Tyler, he’ll probably get eaten alive; or he’ll have to toughen up, turn into a corporate animal and lose himself in the process. But since I probably have no future at Fossil Oil now, perhaps it’s OK if we do keep seeing each other.

  I just want to set the record straight with him. ‘Tonight, what we did before, it was … well, it wasn’t me. I don’t do that kind of thing. But … well … it was fun.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘I didn’t want you to think that’s what I’d normally do.’ I spend all my working week fighting off advances from Tyler Benson. Josh must know it was a one-off lapse.

  ‘Don’t go on the coach.’ He catches my wrist. ‘Let me take you home. The car’s just outside and I could take you straight to your door.’

  ‘Now you’re asking me to break another of my own rules.’ Yet I’m sure he can tell that I’m wavering.

  ‘I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.’

  I chew my lip indecisively.

  ‘You’ll be home much quicker that way.’

  I smile. ‘I can tell why you’re Fossil’s top sales executive.’

  ‘Nice warm car with your own personal chauffeur, or a noisy coach with a load of pissed-up people from Chemical Processing?’

  ‘That was the closer,’ I tell him. ‘Where do I sign?’<
br />
  He takes my coat from me and holds it open while I slip my arms into the sleeves. Gently he envelops me in it.

  ‘If we leave together, we’ll be the talk of the office tomorrow,’ I note.

  Behind us is a couple in a passionate clinch. He has his hand up her skirt. I don’t even know which departments they’re from.

  Josh grins. ‘I think we might be a long way down the queue.’

  So we make our way out of the manor house and into the snow. It’s coming down thickly now. The tyre tracks of the cars that have already left are almost obliterated by fresh falls. As we head down the steps, they’re becoming slippery with ice and Josh tucks his arm protectively under my elbow to help steady me.

  Turning back towards the splendid house, I risk a glance at the library windows. Thank goodness there’s no sign of Tyler in nothing but his socks. I wonder if he’s huddled in front of the dying embers, trying to get a bit of warmth. I shouldn’t laugh, but I do.

  ‘What’s funny?’ Josh asks.

  ‘Nothing,’ I tell him. ‘Just glad to be going home now.’

  ‘So? How was your inaugural office Christmas party?’

  ‘Not quite what I expected,’ I admit.

  He raises an eyebrow. ‘I bet.’

  I might be feeling smug with my ingenuity now, but already I’m wondering just how very cross Tyler’s going to be in the morning.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Tyler paced up and down in front of the dying embers of the fire. It was getting steadily colder in here and there was nothing to cover himself with. All he had was a cushion, which he was holding in a strategic position.

  Louise wasn’t coming back, he knew that now. She had duped him and he’d fallen for it. He’d texted her, he’d left abusive messages on her voicemail, but she hadn’t responded.

  He tried one more time. A more cajoling manner.

  ‘Louise,’ he cooed into his phone. ‘Just call me. Come back. Bring me some clothes. I’m still bleeding and I’m worried.’ He looked down at his stomach. There was a thin line of dried blood where the cut had been. Tyler gritted his teeth. ‘This is a really funny joke and you got me. Ha, ha, ha. Now come back.’