As he looked up, he saw that the three students were still staring at him, mouths open.
His voice came out in a growl. ‘What the fuck are you looking at?’
CHAPTER 15
Hannah sat at her desk, staring into the distance at absolutely nothing.
Stella looked down at her. ‘I think we broke the new Tina.’
‘Her name is Hannah!’ shouted Grace from a distance.
‘I dunno. All these white people look the same to me.’
‘That is enough of your militant nonsense, young lady. Have you finished filing all those boxes?’
‘Jeez, what did your last dogsbody die of?’
‘Talking back!’
Stella disappeared from Hannah’s field of vision and was replaced by Grace, concern etched across her face. She was holding a large mug of tea.
‘I made you a cuppa, and look – custard creams. I keep some in reserve for, ehm … special occasions.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to drink tea again.’
Grace looked horrified. Her world view was based on the core principle that a good cup of tea or the good Lord Jesus could fix all problems.
‘Six hours,’ said Hannah.
‘There were a lot of people.’
‘Six hours,’ she repeated. ‘It was like the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan only, y’know, longer. And the bullets were crazy people. And there was no Matt Damon at the end, just more crazy.’
‘It is not normally that bad.’
‘Six hours,’ said Hannah. ‘Who knew there was that much crazy in the world?’
‘Anyone who was here last month,’ called Stella from the far side of the room.
Grace’s head swivelled round. ‘File!’ She turned back to Hannah. ‘Normally Ox and Reginald would be here to help too. It was just bad luck that today was your first time.’
A thought struck Hannah. ‘How come you two don’t do it?’
‘Ehm …’ faltered Grace. ‘Like I said, I am not part of the journalism staff …’
‘Yeah,’ said Stella, ‘that’s the reason, and not because a dude came in, said he was in league with Satan, and Grace tried to drown him in holy water.’
Grace shot daggers in Stella’s direction. ‘I wasn’t trying to drown him,’ she snapped. ‘It was a misunderstanding.’
‘That’s not what the judge said.’
Grace forced a big smile at Hannah. ‘Ox and Reginald will be here next month.’
Hannah pointed at Stella. ‘So why doesn’t she help?’
‘Because I don’t want to.’
Grace shot whatever was the next level up from daggers at Stella. ‘We can’t have her doing it. She is not. Good. With. People!’
‘People ain’t good with me. Ya get me?’
‘I will something you in a minute, young lady!’
‘I used to really like people,’ said Hannah. ‘I mean, most people – not all people, obviously. I didn’t like Osama bin Laden or Hitler …’
‘Or the dude you married,’ chipped in Stella.
‘That’s it,’ said Grace. ‘No dessert for you this evening.’
‘Whatever.’
There was a slam of a door as Stella marched off to be in a huff elsewhere in the building.
Grace pulled up a chair and sat down beside Hannah. ‘You’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.’
‘I’m not so sure. After listening to that woman who claimed the CIA were using her dreams as a secret training base for an army of space monkeys, I’ve got a horrible feeling they’re going to start doing that to me too. It’s the kind of thought that sticks with you. She was very graphic about the poo-throwing. God, I really hate people now.’
‘You do not mean that,’ said Grace in a cheerful tone of voice. ‘You have just forgotten how nice most people are. As soon as you meet somebody who does not think their tortoise is a vampire or that Sigourney Weaver is trying to control them through the TV, you will remember how much you like people.’
‘Grace!’
The shout came from Banecroft’s office.
Grace looked up and addressed the heavens. ‘Seriously? Give me a little help here!’
After a loud crash and some industrial-strength non-swearing – Banecroft must have been giving it quite a lot of thought – the door to his office flew open and he stomp-limped out.
‘Where the hell are those two idiots?’
‘That is a rude way to describe them.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Banecroft, ‘but you knew who I meant, didn’t you? Now, where are they?’
‘Scotland,’ said Grace. ‘You do remember sending them to Scotland?’
‘I do, but what I don’t remember is hearing from them. I would like a report on their progress.’
‘Well, then, why not just say that?’
‘I just did!’ Banecroft stopped and looked at Hannah. ‘What’s wrong with the new Tina?’
‘She had to do the whole of Loon Day by herself.’
‘Oh, big deal!’
Grace stood up. ‘Do you remember the one time you tried to do it, in order to stop people whingeing about it?’
‘That is beside the point.’
‘That sweet old lady—’
‘She was no lady. Ladies don’t kick a man there. My point is …’ Banecroft trailed off and looked at the floor. ‘Wait, what was my point?’
‘You came out to apologize for something.’
‘No, that doesn’t sound like me. Idiots – that’s it. Get ’em on the phone.’
Grace sighed and picked up the extension on Hannah’s desk. ‘You have a phone in your office, you know.’
‘Actually, Miss Smarty-Pants,’ said Banecroft, ‘I don’t! It got shot yesterday.’
Grace finished dialling and held the receiver to her ear. ‘Only you could say that like you think it proves some kind of point.’
Reggie looked up in alarm as an oncoming car honked at them. ‘Keep your eyes on the road!’
Ox tugged the wheel to manoeuvre the car back into the left-hand lane. ‘All right, all right. Chill out. You do your bit, map boy, and let me worry about the driving.’
‘I think this map is erroneous.’
‘Really? “Erroneous”, is it? You only realized half an hour ago you had the thing upside down, now you’re an expert in cartography?’
‘If you would just let me use the GPS.’
Ox shook his head emphatically. ‘No, no, no. GPS technology was developed by the US Air Force. I’m not having the military-industrial complex knowing my whereabouts, thank you very much.’
‘Well, at the moment, you are particularly safe, seeing as we don’t know our whereabouts. We should’ve arrived two hours ago.’
‘Relax. It’s a toilet. It’s not going anywhere.’ Ox pointed out the window. ‘Does that cow look familiar to you?’
‘Which cow?’
‘The one we just passed.’
‘It is a cow. I don’t think they look familiar even to other cows.’
Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, arranged for the mobile phone, filled the car.
‘You promised me you turned your phone off!’
‘I made no such statement,’ said Reggie, patting the various pockets of his jacket and waistcoat.
‘Right. Well, I’m sticking me Primal Scream tape back on.’
‘Oh, no.’
‘It’s a classic album!’
‘Not that.’ Reggie held up his phone. ‘It’s the office.’
‘Ah, man. Don’t answer it.’
‘Yes, because he always responds so well to being kept waiting.’ Reggie answered the call. ‘Reginald Fairfax the Third.’
Ox couldn’t make out anything other than the fact that it sounded like Grace on the end of the line. His car’s engine was loud, but not that souped-up, obnoxious type of loud that some individuals embrace in an effort to make up for a massive shortcoming in the personality stakes. No, it was the kind of loud that comes right before the
very quiet – possibly permanently so.
The car was old. Not classic old, just old old. He’d tried to sell it last year but couldn’t interest even the scrapyard in purchasing it. He called it ‘the Zombie’ because, despite bits falling off, the sickly engine and a near-constant groaning noise from the suspension, it inexplicably kept going.
‘Yes,’ said Reggie. ‘We are still driving, due to some navigational issues, but spirits are high and we remain confident of achieving our objective … What? Oh, Lord knows. Please don’t put him on the—’
Reggie pulled the phone away from his ear as the unmistakable sound of Banecroft losing his rag filled the car’s interior. Reggie held the phone in front of him, Banecroft’s roar achieving the effect of a loudspeaker.
Reggie tried pleading with their boss as you would do an irate baby. ‘No, we have … No, we are … Yes, we will … Honestly—’
Ox grabbed the phone out of Reggie’s hand and sat on it.
‘What on earth are you doing?’
‘What?’ replied Ox. ‘It’s not like he’s gonna let you talk, is it?’
Reggie pursed his lips. ‘Hmmm, that is true.’
‘Jeez, I think I can feel his rage vibrating through my colon.’ The car swerved alarmingly as Ox took both of his hands off the wheel to point. ‘Seriously, man, there’s that cow again!’
‘… and if you don’t, then I will have both of you chasing sewer monsters that don’t exist for the next month. You see if I don’t!’
Banecroft slammed down the phone. ‘So help me …’ He looked around the bullpen, surprised to find himself alone. ‘Where the hell has everybody gone?’
Grace’s voice carried from the reception area. ‘I sent the new girl home.’
‘What? When?’
‘Twenty minutes ago.’
‘But I was …’
Grace entered, carrying a stack of forms. ‘You were doing one of your unnecessarily long and venom-filled rants. I have things you need to sign.’
Grace placed the forms in front of Banecroft and held out a pen.
‘Since when do you have the right to send people home?’
‘Since I decided I did. The poor girl does not need to stay late listening to you be horrible to someone. She can hear enough of that in ordinary hours.’
‘But I …’
‘But nothing. I like her, and more importantly, we need her. Much as you dislike the fact, this paper needs staff.’
Banecroft worked his way through the pile of papers, signing everything without reading it first. ‘I’ll have you know that people used to go to great lengths to learn the newspaper business from me.’
‘Yes, but then you went crazy and now we need people who will put up with you.’
‘Oh, really? So how come there’s someone standing outside right now, literally begging for the chance to work here?’
‘If you are referring to Simon, he did not show up this morning.’
Banecroft shook his head. ‘Pah! Young people today. No patience!’
‘This from a man who yesterday screamed at the kettle for not boiling fast enough.’
‘Oh, speaking of which …’
‘No, I am off home. Make your own cup of tea.’ Banecroft winced as Grace shouted at the top of her lungs, ‘Stella! Come on, we are leaving.’
‘You don’t need to shout.’
Grace gave Banecroft a long, hard look. ‘If that is not the pot calling the pot a pot?’
‘You’re saying that wrong.’
‘I am not blessed with your way with words.’
‘Few are.’
‘And for that, the rest of us are eternally grateful.’
Banecroft got to his feet and hobbled off. ‘Right, you and I aren’t friends any more.’
Grace couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. ‘We were friends?’
CHAPTER 16
Not much further. Only three floors.
Simon had never been particularly good at sneaking, despite considerable practice. Not in a ‘thief in the night’ way, but in the way that you develop from encountering some blowback from your more knuckle-dragging classmates when you take to school the rather fetching leather briefcase your uncle Alan has given you. Simon had been assigned the nickname ‘His Lordship’ and then treated in a way that made it clear none of the other children were royalists. School had not been fun, although it’d been nowhere near as bad as the hour directly after school when the knuckle-draggers went looking for him. Hence the sneaking.
He’d elected to take the stairs rather than the lift, as it was important he wasn’t seen by the security guards – his source had made that very clear. Simon was worried that the lift might set off some kind of alarm. Well, that and the fact that he didn’t like lifts at the best of times, especially not in a building that was still under construction. In any case, forty-two floors was a long way to climb. Luckily, he had strong legs from cycling everywhere. Unfortunately that also meant he had cycled here and so was already a bit tired before he’d even started.
Two floors to go. The inconvenience was nothing when it came to the chance to gain the scoop of a lifetime. After this, The Stranger Times would have to take him on. Mr Banecroft would be so impressed. Admittedly, this was a weird place and time to hold a meeting – on top of a not-quite-completed forty-two-storey building at midnight – but when he thought about it, it did make some sense. There was, after all, nowhere you’d be less likely to be overheard in the whole of Manchester. You’d probably have to shout just to hear yourself over the wind. Simon tried not to think about the wind. He wasn’t a big fan of heights either.
One floor. The man had approached him earlier in the day, after he’d seen Simon talking to DI Sturgess. The detective inspector hadn’t been very receptive to the information Simon had tried to give him, but that was the police for you. They had their set ways of thinking and they wouldn’t keep an open mind. Simon’s ‘source’ had said as much when they’d chatted. It had all been very rushed and hush-hush. He’d said he had information that would be of great interest to Simon, but it was very important that they discuss it in private. Nobody must know. Discretion was key. The man had advised Simon to keep the story to himself until he had all the facts. As he’d put it, Simon didn’t want the police interfering or the mainstream press latching on until he was in a position to maximize its impact and fend off the inevitable naysayers and sceptics.
Simon had instantly liked the man. That was Americans for you. Despite what some people might claim, Simon had always found them to be considerably more polite than your typical British citizen. Though he might have been basing that opinion on the fact that no American had ever attempted to pull Simon’s underpants over his head while he was still wearing them.
Zero floors. Breathing hard and with aching legs, Simon reached the door at the top. He took a moment, attempting to regain his breath. He hoped it would be a lot easier on the way down.
Bob-a-Job
James Rochester, from Orpington in Kent, was shocked to discover when he moved to a job in Reading that Bob, a colleague from his old office, was working there too.
James explained, ‘Bob is a nice guy but a bit unusual. He makes very odd small talk, like asking people if they reckon Earth has developed light-speed travel capabilities, how would they feel if the government were replaced by nicer people from far far away, and how many kidneys the human body contains. To be honest, nobody minds as he does really good accounts and is happy to sign off a lot of things as expenses. Also, the watermelon outfit he wears for casual Fridays is fun.’
James was even more shocked when he rang one of his former co-workers, who confirmed that Bob was still definitely sitting at his desk in his old office. At that point, there was a loud popping noise and both Bobs vanished simultaneously.
‘It was a nightmare first day,’ confirmed James. ‘The disappearance of the new office’s Bob went down very badly as he was due to bring in cakes the next day.’
CHAPTE
R 17
As she walked through the park, Hannah was shocked to discover that she was whistling. From a distance, she must look like someone who was, at least temporarily, happy with her lot in life. Given how life had gone recently, this was really saying something.
Yes, yesterday had been long, exhausting and, frankly, full to the brim with crazy. She had been physically and emotionally drained, so much so that she’d fallen asleep on the bus home and had a very vivid dream in which a space monkey was trying to sell her stories about its sexual relations with a ghost. She’d awoken with a start to see other passengers looking at her – she had the horrible feeling that she had been talking in her sleep. Embarrassed, she’d got off the bus at the next stop, only to realize she’d already missed her stop – although luckily not by that much.
When she’d got home, she’d had a microwavable meal and, over a bottle of wine, chatted through her day with Maggie. Maggie had been fascinated – both with the onslaught of ‘colourful characters’ that made up Loon Day and with the boss from hell that was Banecroft. Hannah was not used to people being fascinated by what she had to say. Quite the opposite.
She had always had the fear, deep down, that she wasn’t the world’s most interesting person. It came from a lack of self-worth, she realized. In fact, Dr Arno Van Zil, in chapter twelve of Only One Direction – ‘Loving You, Loving Life’ – had said as much. She had always felt nervous when chatting to others and, in hindsight, Karl hadn’t helped. Her husband always gave off the vibe that he would be happier talking to someone else. On reflection, Hannah thought, she might have misjudged that – he was really just focused on having sex with other people as opposed to talking to them.
The other thing was that, back in her ‘old life’, she hadn’t had much to talk about. She did now. Working at The Stranger Times was a lot of things, but it certainly wasn’t boring.
Maggie had seemed genuinely disappointed to have to break up her conversation with Hannah to leave for the dinner reservation she had with her husband – Tuesdays were Maggie and Gordon’s date night. The last thing she’d said was that she really wanted to hear more about Hannah’s day when she got back. Hannah had been flattered. Then she’d gone up to her room and read a couple more editions of The Stranger Times.
The Stranger Times Page 12