‘Oh Lou,’ was all Karen said by way of a reply. She stood up then and squeezed Lou’s shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s get up to the flames of hell before Jaws sends her four horsemen down to fetch us.’
Zoe was waiting for them just outside the office door. She was all dressed up in a trendy blue top and a black skirt.
‘I’ve got an interview at lunchtime,’ she whispered. ‘It’s at a firm of solicitors round the corner. Stacks more money than here, too. I am dead excited.’
‘Good for you, darling,’ said Lou. ‘You look lovely.’
‘Hope so. This outfit cost loads. I just hope I can keep it clean until twelve. No coffee for me today–I’m taking no risks!’
The clock said that it was one minute to nine. Nicola gave them all a satanic glare at cutting it so fine. She knew they had done that to annoy her, so prepared to annoy them back. She stamped on Zoe’s buoyant mood by telling her to add some toner to all the machines on the floor. Just about the messiest job she could saddle her with.
‘But that’s not my job!’ cried Zoe with dismay. ‘And I’ve got my new top on.’
‘Isn’t your appraisal happening soon?’ said Nicola, impervious to the girl’s watery eyes. The implication in her words was crystal clear.
Zoe slumped off to the stationery cupboard just as Stan bounded in at nine minutes past nine, so Nicola had someone else to vent her spleen on. He had barely got his coat off when she silently stalked towards him.
‘Can I have a word, Stanley, please? In the glass bubble.’
Stan humbly followed her to the said meeting room where the walls were Perspex. There were no chairs in the bubble, just a table at standing height. It was a room intended for short meetings so that people wouldn’t get too comfortable and nod off. Lou noticed how stooped Stan’s shoulders were. He had always been so smart and straight-backed until Nicola’s regime began. It wasn’t right that she could strip away a man’s dignity like that, Lou thought, as she observed Nicola’s destructive persecution of him through narrowed eyes. She watched Stan plead an obvious case in vain as he wiped sweat from his beetroot face with his white handkerchief. It looked like a flag of surrender.
‘I’ve got toner on my jumper,’ said a quietly horrified Zoe, with tears flooding down her face–and at that moment, with Zoe’s crying and Stan’s sweating, something within Lou boiled up and over like milk in a pan.
When did I become the sort of person that doesn’t make a stand? said Lou suddenly to herself. When did I start watching the little guys get hurt and turn the other way? For years now she had been increasingly pushed further back into the corner by various personalities, discouraged from making a fuss about anything that didn’t sit quite right with her, cowed into accepting order imposed by other people. And when did I stop protecting myself? Shirley Hamster would have wiped the floor with Lou Winter. She wasn’t her father’s daughter any more. Well, maybe it was time to be Shaun Casserly’s girl again.
‘I’ve had just about enough of this,’ Lou said, striding out with purpose–like the young Lou Casserly did when she was going to sort Shirley Hamster at playtime. OK, maybe life had progressed a little from decking someone to sort things out, but there were other ways of opposing authority.
‘Lou, where are you going?’ called Karen.
‘Somewhere I should have gone ages ago,’ she threw over her shoulder.
As luck would have it, the Head of Human Resources, Bob Bowman, was looking down at a black sticky mess in a plastic cup which the Executive Floor’s coffee-machine had just delivered to him.
‘Mr Bowman, can I have a word,’ said Lou confidently.
‘Official or unofficial?’ he said, immediately recognizing her as ‘Little’ in Accounts.
‘Both,’ she returned.
He checked his watch. ‘Yes, I’ve got ten minutes now if you have. Coffee?’
‘Not for me, thanks,’ said Lou, following him into his office.
Bob Bowman threw himself into his big plush leather seat and invited Lou to sit at the other side of his desk.
‘So what can I do for you…Lou, isn’t it?’
‘Lou Winter, yes,’ she said. ‘Well…’ She took a big breath and blurted out: ‘It’s about the Accounts department. Something needs to be done about the management there. Zoe has to fill up the machines with toner and has ruined her new jumper, Stan is at the end of his tether about his buses, Karen’s leaving…’
Lou’s voice trailed off as she watched a glaze come over Bob Bowman’s eyes. She couldn’t blame him–a grand rhetorical speech this was not. Lou sighed and rubbed her forehead.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Bowman, this must all sound very petty to you, but I’m a bit too old to stand by and watch people I like and admire be bullied like this on a daily basis without taking some sort of stand. You think when you leave school that you’ll never encounter bullying again in life, but in the workplace a bully causes as much, if not more, misery.’
Bob Bowman pricked up his ears at the repeated use of the word ‘bully’, for it was a word he was particularly sensitive to at the moment. It had always had mild and childish connotations for him, until he saw first-hand the torment and the misery his granddaughter Natalie had recently endured at school. He sat forward in his seat.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Start from the beginning. What’s the problem?’
‘It’s Jaws–er–Nicola Pawson–that’s the problem. Our office junior is half-terrified to come into work. She’s presently filling machines up with toner and has just ruined her clothes.’
‘That’s the technician’s job, not hers, surely?’ said Bob Bowman, pulling his neck back in mild disbelief.
‘Yes, you’re right, but when you’re threatened with a bad appraisal for not doing it, you do it, don’t you? Or at least that’s how it works in our department. Did you know that my fellow accounts clerk, Karen Harwood-Court, will today be handing in her notice because no one here’s done anything to advance her career? Roger Knutsford sends work down to her because she’s far more competent than his own team on twice the salary, although no one has actually ever acknowledged this fact publicly. So she is going on somewhere that has recognized her abilities and will capitalize on them. And don’t get me started on all the people who have come and quickly gone or been off with stress. I wonder sometimes if our department is invisible to the rest of the company.’
Bob Bowman was following her every word now. He stiffened at the name Roger Knutsford. He was part of the breed of industry executive ‘King-Bees’, like Piers Winstanley-Black and Laurence Stewart-Smith, who got all the kudos because they had an army of little people propping them up, covering for their mistakes, wiping their backsides. That lot couldn’t fart without an assistant helping them out. It wouldn’t be the first time he had had to sort out one of Knutsford’s messes where he had recruited entirely unsuitable people. Amazingly enough, he never seemed to set on anyone who wasn’t female, attractive and available.
‘Then I come to Stan. You know Stan, of course.’ Lou took a deep breath. She had to get this part right for Stan.
‘Stan Mirfield? Yes, I know Stan. He’s been here how long now?’ Bob Bowman tried to work it out.
‘One hundred and fifty years,’ said Lou with a straight face.
Bob Bowman smiled. ‘Yes, it must feel like that to him.’
‘You know what a good worker he is, Mr Bowman.’
‘He’ll be retiring soon, won’t he?’
‘Less than a year,’ said Lou. ‘If he makes it.’
‘Why on earth shouldn’t he?’ said Bob Bowman. ‘He’s not unwell, is he?’
‘He lives in the country, he doesn’t drive and his bus timetable was changed–so to get in at nine o’clock on the dot he has to run like a maniac. If he doesn’t die of a heart-attack then Jaws–Nicola–will kill him with stress. It’s not only ridiculous, it’s bordering on sadistic, the way she treats him.’
‘What time does he get in?’ said Bob Bowman.
&
nbsp; ‘I don’t think he’s ever been later than quarter past.’
‘But every department has a flexi-time option. He could come in any time from eight until ten. Why isn’t it exercised?’
‘Jaws…’ poop…‘Nicola says she has had a word with you and you denied him the right to flexi-time.’
‘I certainly did not!’ Bob Bowman was outraged. Ooh–big mistake.
‘Stan puts more time in than any of us. He works through his lunch-hour, he stays late and yet that doesn’t count, apparently.’ Lou could feel her temper rising inside her. ‘These are good people being tyrannized by a woman who has created a climate of misery and fear, and they can do nothing but leave or turn up for their daily humiliation. Oh, she’s very clever–has her bullying down to a fine art so that no one dare complain without making themselves look ridiculous. Hasn’t anyone ever looked at the staff turnover in any department Nicola Pawson has worked in? I tell you, it’s like living in a George Orwell novel!’
Bob Bowman was still gnawing on being held to blame for such inflexibility, especially as he had fought tooth and nail to bring in flexi-time to attract back the good people that incompetent idiots like Roger Knutsford had driven away. Bob Bowman prided himself on being Mr Flexible, for God’s sake.
He flicked on his intercom and spoke to his PA.
‘Fiona, ask Stan Mirfield to come down here at ten-thirty, please. Then get Nicola Pawson here at eleven.’
Lou had a momentary panic. ‘Please, Mr Bowman, Stan won’t want to stir up any trouble. His life in the office is miserable enough as it is. Jaws will make it hell for him. I didn’t come here to contribute to his stress levels.’
‘No, she won’t,’ said Bob Bowman firmly. Stan Mirfield had slipped under his radar for some recent early-retirement packages he had created. Bob was going to make that up to him and more in the next hour, and clear it with the board later before they had an uprising.
‘I know I risk being labelled an insurgent,’ Lou said, not realizing she even knew the word and hoping, with her track record for making the English language ‘her own’, that she’d got it right. ‘I also know there isn’t such a thing as an “off-the-record” chat with HR, so I’m putting all my cards on the table to you, and then I’m leaving too. Now. Today. I’ve had enough.’
It was an impulsive decision but it felt right.
‘There won’t be any need for that,’ said Bob Bowman softly.
‘I don’t want to work here any more, Mr Bowman,’ said Lou. ‘I thank you for the wages you’ve paid me over the years but I don’t want to be in a company any more that promotes bullies and tyrants and totally ignores the people who could really make a difference in a positive way.’
Bob Bowman nodded. ‘I’ll make sure there are changes. But I won’t accept this as your notice. Please take some time to think…’
‘No, I’ve made up my mind,’ said Lou adamantly. In her mind, Nicola and her career in accounts had just been thrown in the skip and Tom was about to tow it far, far away to the landfill site at the other side of Leeds, and it would be the biggest relief to see it go.
Bob Bowman considered her determined little face. Blasted Roger Knutsford again! He’d be the first to dance on that man’s professional grave when his reign ended. And he’d do his own investigations on this Jaws…er, Nicola Pawson…woman–discreetly, of course. He hadn’t had a lot to do with her but on the few occasions their paths had crossed he’d always found something a little ‘off’ about her.
‘I’ll make sure you aren’t penalized for leaving without notice,’ Bob Bowman said. He held out his hand to her and she shook it. ‘But we could really do with people like you in this firm, Lou. Please think again.’
‘You’ve got plenty of people like me in this firm already, Mr Bowman,’ said Lou. ‘Lots of good, hardworking people who deserve better.’
All eyes were on her as she strode into the office. Nicola slid straight over, smiling like a crocodile with a mantrap hidden in its mouth.
‘A word in the bubble with you now please, if you don’t mind.’
‘No,’ said Lou, and walked past her to Zoe. She gave her a tight hug and said in her ear, ‘Make a joke about the jumper in your interview and they will love you. Good luck, love.’
Then Lou gave Stan a big hug and said secretly, ‘Have a wonderful holiday and a wonderful retirement, and don’t let the bastards grind you down.’
She gave an astounded Karen the biggest cuddle of all and said, ‘It’s been totally rubbish working with you. Go knock ’em dead, kid, and I’ll see you soon about your dad’s sausages.’
Then Lou Winter grabbed her coat and her bag and faced Nicola with eyes that glittered like chips of green ice. There was nothing behind those eyes for Nicola–no liking, no loathing, nothing. They barely acknowledged Nicola’s nickel-gobbed existence–and that was the ultimate torment for the younger woman. She squared up to parry verbally with whatever Lou might say on her exit. Something beautifully bitchy, no doubt. Something–anything–that would bring them to confrontation point at long last. But Lou Winter said nothing. She merely walked out of the office with her head held at a dignified angle, uncrushed, undefeated–mistress of the unspoken word.
People in the whole building talked about it for months, long after Stan Mirfield left with a fantastically generous retirement package. What could ‘Little’ in Accounts possibly have done to have such a weird effect on Rogering Roger’s bit? Office legend had it that Nicola turned into a sort of rabid combine-harvester and had to be restrained and tranquillized with WD40. And why was she moved so quickly over to a permanent place–in Operations Manchester?
Chapter 47
Fillet steak with all the trimmings, thought Phil with suspicion as Lou delivered his tea to the table. He didn’t have to wait long to learn why a king’s supper had been served up to him.
‘I packed in my job today,’ Lou said, just after he had taken his first mouthful.
He stared at her as if she had just escaped from a secure mental hospital and repeated her own words back to her flatly. ‘You packed in your job.’
‘Yes, with immediate effect,’ she said.
‘With immediate effect?’ he echoed.
She was tempted to say that long place name in Wales to see if he repeated that too. That’s how she used to treat Shirley Hamster when she tried to play the ‘let’s annoy Lou and repeat everything she says’ game. ‘Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.’ That never failed to shut her up.
‘Now why would you do that?’ asked Phil with calm annoyance. It wasn’t that they needed the money from her job but it was another uncharacteristic display from this new Lou and, as such, it needed further investigation.
‘Because I hated working there, that’s why,’ she said.
‘And what are you going to live on now?’
That rankled her so she retaliated. ‘I’ll start charging you for your accounts work. If I put a bill in for all the back work, I could probably buy Microsoft.’
Phil needed this like a hole in the head, especially today. There had been a letter delivered in that morning’s post from Sharon. The twins were going to be thirteen in a couple of weeks. They were getting expensive, she said, so she thought an extra payment of five hundred pounds on their birthdays and Christmas from now on wouldn’t be unreasonable. Not each though, she added–which Phil thought was very fucking big of her! He’d spent ten minutes on the calculator working out how much extra that added to the overall bill. Then he came home to find that Lou wanted to parasite off him as well.
‘The café will be up and running in eight weeks anyway, so I’m sure I’ll have lots to do.’
Phil stopped chewing his meat, dropped his cutlery and rotated his finger in the air.
‘Whoa, rewind–café? What do you mean, café?’
‘What do you mean “what do you mean, cafe?”. My café!’ said Lou, totally bemused. ‘I told you I was going into business with Deb.’
‘Yes, we have. We’ve got finance and property and we open in August, all being well.’
Phil couldn’t quite believe his ears. ‘Hang on, when did all this happen?’ he demanded.
‘It’s been happening since I first told you about it,’ said Lou.
‘You’ve done it all behind my back?’
‘I have not!’ said Lou indignantly. ‘I did tell you. And if you remember, all you did was tell me that I obviously wasn’t clever enough to run my own business, so I didn’t bother you with any further details.’
‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this.’ Phil pushed his plate across the table in a tantrum and it knocked over the salt pot. He got up slowly as if coming out of a trance.
‘You’re nuts, you are, Lou. You need to see a doctor.’ He tapped his temple hard with his finger. ‘Loop the fucking loop.’
‘Where are you going?’ said Lou. If Phil had left a steak, he was seriously annoyed.
He didn’t answer her. Just grabbed his car keys and his jacket and slammed the door behind him on the way out.
After she had tidied up the table, Lou took herself off to her new bath to try and relax her nerves, which were still jangling from her altercation with Phil. The experience of sinking into a pool of bubbles wasn’t half as wonderful as she had been imagining over the past months; it felt rather ordinary, to her disappointment. Nevertheless, she took a glass of wine with her and the cordless phone and checked the messages that were flashing up on the handset. Firstly she heard Keith Featherstone’s humble-pie voice asking her if she was happy with the work, and saying that he hoped she had found the cash refund he had left hon the work-surface in a brown henvelope. Then he lightly enquired if she had made up her mind about the Casa Nostra quotation for phase one.
A Spring Affair Page 29