The Last Stand Down
Page 10
"But it's still unfair!" said Mary sitting back running her fingers through her short, thick hair.
"Ye sound just like a young baker I once had a chat with!" said Isobel. "Would ye rather be them - happy in their misery, unwilling and unable to communicate nicely. And frightened."
"Frightened?" asked Mary.
"Yes, frightened. I was," said James. "Anger comes from unmet expectations - the world owes me this and I'm not getting it - and then there's fear in not being able to control the world. Yes, anyone who is angry is frightened."
"Oh, I hadn't thought about it like that," said Mary, sitting forward again. She looked at her watch. "Gosh, it's late and I'm keeping you from your dinner, aren't I?"
"Aye and ye're welcome to join us," said Isobel. "But I suspect ye'll be wantin' to go home and sell a few buns."
Outside her parent's house she stopped and listened. The only sound was the television. She wondered if they ever really talked with each other and realised, sadly, that it may never change and that it wasn't her job to try and change it. She immediately felt lighter and skipped up the steps and into the kitchen for a glass of cordial.
"Why're ye looking so happy with yeself, lass?" asked her mother, without turning as she mashed potatoes.
"Not sure really," said Mary. "I guess I'm just happy to be home."
"Ye wouldn't be so happy if ye had to do the work to feed another mouth, would ye!" said her mother gruffly.
"Would you like some help there, ma?" asked Mary.
"Aye no, I've done it on my own for all these years and I suppose I'll be doin' it this way till I die," said her mother, spooning mashed potato into a bowl.
Mary went through and watched television with the men, in silence, watching the thoughts going through her mind. Actually, there weren't many at all where, before, her mind would have been a whirl of anxiety, trying to anticipate problems and solve them before they happened.
Dinner was held in silence, upon laps in front of television. Mary actually enjoyed the silence and the company - she needed nothing of anyone. They continued their silent dance while they each got themselves dessert and then cups of tea and Mary began to see the comedy of it all - three people in one house, doing practical things around each other and actually living in their own separate worlds. She had as much companionship living on her own!
Eventually, the television was turned off and her father, getting up from his chair, said, "Aye, Mary, this London may be a wondrous place but I ken you're needing to come back home, time to time, for a dose of sanity!"
Mary detected a wee smile and appreciated that she had, at last, been acknowledged. And, maybe, in his own way, he was seeing the insanity of his household but had not the skills to make it sane. Maybe.
Angus, who now felt he had permission to address his sister, said, "Aye Mary, it is grand to see ye lass. Will ye be stayin' a few days?"
"Yes, a few days," said Mary. "Do you want me to bring your lunch down to your work, tomorrow?"
"Och aye ... ah ... I suppose," said Angus, caught between gratitude and embarrassment of having his sister at work. "Aye, I suppose ye could if ye wanted to."
'Whoopee!' thought Mary. 'I've passed the first test - being allowed into the men's domain. I think I've sold two buns tonight ... well, one and a half anyway.' As the men left she stood up and bumped into her mother and then realised her mother had come over to hug her. 'This is a first,' thought Mary, uncertainly. But she wasn't going to miss the moment. She hugged her mother back, easing into it gently, softly. It felt so warm and good. Then she heard her mother sniffing over her shoulder. Her mother pulled back and retrieved a handkerchief from her sleeve.
"Aye it's a chill place, this. I have a wee sniffle," her mother said. "Aye lass, I ... ah ... ye used to push us away all the time but yer ... ah ... nicer this time." Her mother fled and Mary dabbed at her own tears and smiled dreamily.
'Whew!' she thought. 'Maybe I've sold three buns tonight. A world record in the Collins household!'
She sat back down while the others shuffled around upstairs, going to bed, and wondered if everyone was so lonely, so separate, as those in her family. As she pondered while the upstairs became quiet, a deep peace overcame her and she had the strong impression, somehow, of everyone in the world, desperate to feel connected, desperate not to feel alone but not knowing how to ... in fact, most not believing that they could ever feel connected and at one with anyone else. A sadness came to her and she realised that's how she'd felt all her life - alone, separate and yet yearning for the opposite - to be connected with someone, something, anything ... but knowing that it was never possible. And, as that thought of separation became more personal, more about her, she realised that she could feel connected - did feel connected, even just a little, to her family when she'd stopped grasping for it. The years of isolation, feeling like she was different, didn't belong ... all of it washed past her as debris in a swollen river. She watched the dirty water and broken logs of her discontentment flood past and the raging river eventually slowed to become a gentle brook - clear, sparkling and alive. Yes, so alive and content with itself. She had a clear sense, somehow, of being enveloped in loving arms - warm and caring - and they stayed around her as she climbed the stairs to her bed and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
The rest of the week passed rather amicably. More amicably than she'd ever known. Mary didn't learn anything - no hidden secrets, no unfulfilled dreams, no deep wisdom - but she did feel something ... a fullness in her heart.
Of course she did pop back into her old behaviour from time to time - whining, demanding, asking questions - and, eventually, she'd catch herself asking, 'Will I sell any buns doing what I'm doing now?' That question would bring her back to surrendering to the moment, to giving up, giving in and feeling that now-familiar peace envelop her. Even when she messed up, they seemed happy that she apologised - something she'd not really done before.
Staying out of her mother's kitchen, that sacred space, she bought food and took it round to the Fordyces, several times. Amid their protests that she shouldn't, they enjoyed convivial chats and they reminded her, often, what a quick learner she was - even quicker than James had been! This pleased her immensely.
Her brother, Angus, promised to visit her sometime in "that London town". She knew he wouldn't but his attempt at connection was touching.
Her father had obviously spent some time ferreting around in the attic and gave her three photos of her childhood and two of him as a child. He'd explained the photos with obvious and badly concealed emotion. On the last evening her mother had asked Mary if she'd help with the dinner and, though much of what she did was the wrong way 'o doin' it, she knew it was an honour never bestowed on anyone else before.
She left for London with an empty head and a full heart, quite oblivious that the universe had hatched plans to test her new-found sense of deep peace.
The Empty Nest
Monday 12th July, 2010, 9.30 a.m.
Sam Lord settled back into one of the three deep leather chairs around the coffee table in a corner of his office. "So Mary, the position you're looking at is Assistant Manager but, really, you'll be the manager here," he said. "I've recently become Director of Government Liaison which means that I'm actually part of a head office team and I'm not here all the time."
Sam had obviously chosen the chairs to fit his large frame but, for Mary, a foot shorter, it felt like being engulfed in a leather cloud - very comfortable but she wondered how she'd lever herself out again. She was relieved that she'd remembered to wear a long skirt today, given the awkward chair and Sam's frequent, flitting looks at her legs during their previous interview, before she'd left for bonny Scotland ... bonny Scotland, it seemed a whole world away now and she'd only just returned from there two days ago.
"So that's partly why the great salary," said Sam as Mary smiled. She'd never imagined such a large income this soon in her career. "We're going to have to be gentle with each other." Sam smiled impishly.
"In a manner of speaking!" said Sam, laughing at her coy reaction. "I'll need to show you the ropes as best I can, when I'm here, and you're going to have to learn them when I'm not. You won't always be able to get hold of me so we'll need to trust each other and you'll need to be making some decisions without me. This is all new for both of us - both with new jobs and it being a bit tenuous at times - but I know you are very capable of thinking independently. That's what you got fired for from your last job, wasn't it!"
"Yes it was," said Mary, ruefully. "So I'm being promoted here for what I was sacked for at Commonwealth Insurance?"
"Absolutely!" said Sam, laughing as he flicked back his blonde cowlick with his hand. "I ... we need someone who is not afraid to take a stand but we also need someone who understands the framework. You'll be at a higher level than you've been before and different rules apply now." Sam's smile had vanished.
"Different rules?" asked Mary as an uneasy lump formed in her stomach. She leaned forward, knowing she must not miss anything he said.
"Look, let's go through them as they arise," he said, leaning back with an uncertain smile. "Let me introduce you to a few of the chaps across town at head office, this afternoon, and, in the meantime, we'll get your office set up how you like it, make sure you have lists of who's who and how to access the system and then I'll introduce you to some of the team downstairs."
"Right, yes," said Mary, with so many questions needing answers. The foreboding lump in her stomach hadn't moved.
"Then I'll shout you to lunch so you can grill me on what you've learned this morning and I can update you on some of the head office team before you meet them," said Sam. "Does that sound like a grand plan?"
"Oh, gosh, that would be nice," said Mary, settling back while feeling a lightness enter the room. Her lump dissolved a little.
Sam really didn't seem to know his junior staff very well, or much of what they did. "Oh, they get on with what they need to do. I sign their assignments off and stay out of their way. Justin Talbot always saw to the details," he said at one point. He did, however, know the senior staff well and had left her with Stephen Lawrence, the Finance Director, a round, florid man with a fluffy, ginger moustache and little hair above it. Stephen took her round and stiffly introduced her to the staff on his, the sixth, floor. He suggested they have a guided tour of one floor a day. Very logical and systematic. Just like an accountant, she thought.
Justin Talbot, Mary assumed, was her predecessor and she determined to find out more about him and why he left.
"Ah, the silly sod," said Sam, as if reading her thoughts, after he had returned while she was rearranging her office, "had his hand in the till, so to speak ... taking backhanders from claims. Quite unsavoury."
'Unsavoury? Unsavoury!' thought Mary, 'it's illegal and bloody immoral!'
"That's why I need someone I can trust," said Sam evenly. "Been quite shaken by the twerp's underhand tactics and why I've had the research done on you."
"Oh," said Mary, knowing it was a compliment that she passed his close scrutiny but, all the same, felt queasy at the thought of an undercover team filtering through the life she held so privately.
They entered the Executors Club for lunch, and Sam knew the staff better there. He asked Andrzej, the doorman, how his son was getting on with his rugby (something he was obviously proud of) and asked Henri, the Maître d', how his wife was recovering. It turned out she had the plaster taken off her leg yesterday.
Mary felt quite special, escorted in by the two men - the swarthy, dapper Henri in front and the blonde, pink Sam behind, in pinstripe suit, pink shirt and florid, multi-coloured tie. She tried to take it all in, walking as gracefully as she could across the thick, burgundy carpet, feeling cosseted by the old oak panelling, several chandeliers and the expensive shine of silverware and glassware. Sam's hand touched her shoulder lightly, several times, giving her assurance as he exchanged restrained greetings with diners already there - mainly, it seemed, men in pinstriped suits with shirts and ties that clashed absurdly.
Their table was in an alcove in a distant corner of the dining room and, she noticed, it had a thick, red curtain to the side - able to be pulled across for private chats and trysts. Mary declined alcohol, determined to keep a clear head for the day, while Sam was served whisky and water. Obviously his 'usual'. She enjoyed the entrée of caviar - the first time she'd tried it - and Sam recommended the grouse, which was in season. Mary didn't watch television much but, as she looked around discretely, she fancied she saw some faces she'd seen on the small screen.
"Yes, you might recognise a few faces here," said Sam, as he tucked into his grouse enthusiastically.
Mary looked at him and smiled uncertainly. The blasted man just seemed to know what she was thinking!
"Let me know if there's anyone you'd like me to introduce you to," said Sam. "In their own environment, with their chums, they're generally quite friendly."
So Sam was chums with these movers and shakers - it fitted with his role as Director of Government Liaison.
"But I've put the flag up so we won't be disturbed," said Sam, obviously enjoying his meal. "And what do you want to know from this morning?"
"Put the flag up?" asked Mary, suddenly aware of a whole new set of behaviours and customs in this lavish setting.
"Ah, yes, the candle's on the front of the table; it says I'm busy," explained Sam, smiling. "If we put it back here, I'm bound to have some visitors wanting to inquire about my new guest! Now, what questions do you have?"
Mary was interrupted by a waiter taking their dishes away. As he left, Henri materialised to ask how their meal was. Mary noticed a small piece of paper pass to Sam. He unfolded it on the table to read while Henri inquired of Mary's first impressions of the club.
"Yes, that's fine, Henri," said Sam, folding the paper and putting it in his coat pocket. Henri smiled, bowed subtly and moved away. "Now, Mary, if you will indulge me a moment, I would like to help a fellow traveller on his way."
"Oh," said Mary, mystified. "Should I leave you for a moment?"
"No, no, not at all," said Sam, smiling and patting her hand. "No need for secrets here." As he said this she realised that the red velvet curtains were drawing themselves quietly together. The alcove darkened, a light came on and, suddenly, between them, a small door opened and a solid barrel of a man squeezed himself through. Mary recognised him as Andrzej the doorman, who, with his crewcut, could have passed as a bouncer at any London club. He closed the door and sat on the bench between them.
"So, Andrzej, your brother is in trouble and wants to come here and start again? Like you did?" asked Sam quietly.
"Yes sir, he is good man and was in wrong place at wrong time," said Andrzej in his thick Eastern European accent. "Bad man in Kraków want to cover his tracks and so he accuse my brother of his deeds."
"And your brother - does he have some qualifications, some trade, some expertise that would recommend him to the British authorities?" asked Sam.
"Oh, yes, Dominik be champion wrestler like me and he be good, very good plumber, too," said Andrzej, his eyes beseeching Sam's.
"Dominik? A plumber? Yes, we certainly need good plumbers here! We don't need any more English plumbers making our bad plumbing worse. A shot of new plumbing blood is just what we need, Andrzej, more hard-working and reliable Polish plumbers. I will have a chat with a friend in the immigration business."
"Oh thank you, thank you, Mr Lord!" said Andrzej.
"Shhh Andrzej, please keep it quiet," said Sam evenly. "Now, do I have your number?"
"Ah yes, I have it written on paper here, Mr Lord," said Andrzej, passing a piece of paper which Sam placed in his shirt pocket.
"Thank you Andrzej. You need to get back to the door before you're missed," said Sam. "And you will hear from me very soon."
"Yes, it
OK, Mr Henri look after door for me, but I go," said Andrzej, standing. "Thank you from bottom of my heart, Mr Lord. Thank you so much." He disappeared back through the small door.
Sam smiled uncertainly at Mary in the dim light of the alcove.
"So you're going to bypass the government system to ship this man to England ... this Polish man who's in trouble with the law there ..." said Mary, indignantly.
"Yes I am, Mary, yes I am," said Sam firmly. "Andrzej has had a chequered and abusive past and since he's been here he's been a model citizen and an asset to us all ... in ways you don't yet understand."
"But it's illegal ..." said Mary, trying to get the information arranged neatly in her brain.
"Yes, it may well be but when the law's an ass, you've got to kick the ass in the ass and use other means to serve justice," said Sam as the curtain began to quietly slide back.
"But what do you know of this brother, this alleged innocent in trouble with the Polish law?" asked Mary, still aghast. "You might be getting yourself into great trouble too and ..."
"Yes, I might be getting myself in trouble, Mary," said Sam, interrupting quietly. "But I'm taking a chance on behalf of a good and honest friend - something no immigration bureaucrat is ever going to do. Don't judge too soon and I'm happy to tell you all when we have a little more time."
"But Sam, you can't just go ..."
"Look Mary, do you remember before the last month's election, Michael Caine's latest movie came out?" asked Sam patiently.
"No," said Mary, puzzled by the change in direction.
"It was called Is Anybody There?," said Sam. "Anyway, floating round the hustings with our most probable prime-minister-to-be, David Cameron, was the normally apolitical Michael Caine."
"Ah, yes, I remember that. He was promoting Cameron's Youth Citizen Service Plan," said Mary.
"And did you hear what Mr Caine said about the Youth Citizen Service Plan?" asked Sam.
"No, I didn't, actually," said Mary.
"And nor did most people, actually," said Sam with a smile. "He just wandered round in front of the cameras, looking dastardly handsome and, when asked for a comment, talked mostly about his new movie. And you know what? That movie was the highest grossing British movie at that time."