Curse of the Potency

by Oliver Franks

  At that point, I couldn’t help but take a moment to ponder on the strangeness and injustices of this world.

  My solitude was soon disturbed when Daryl spotted me and headed my way from the far side of the room, bringing with him his own little band of party companions. There was his mum (the doc), and she was holding the arm of a smart and vaguely chubby middle-aged man I thought must be Daryl’s dad. There was also a bored-looking young woman and a chubby, red-faced, hair-bursting-from-ears middle-aged bloke. They were all uniformly dressed in ultra-smart-black-tie-type attire, tuxedos and proper dresses and that. The doc was wearing a lovely, expensive-looking purple velvet cocktail number, her eyes delicately adorned with a smidgen of shadowy make-up.

  “Ah, Dave,” said Daryl, “so glad you could make it.”

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to ignore the cold hard stares his dad and that other bloke were giving me. “Couldn’t say no, could I?”

  “You know my mother already, obviously,” said Daryl, putting a hand on the shoulder of the doc.

  “How are you, Dave?” she said, beaming a far too bright and rather false smile at me, one of those smiles that’s stuck to a face with superglue and can’t be removed without considerable difficulty.

  “Yeah, I’m alright,” I said.

  “I’m so glad you found somewhere you can be yourself,” she said. “Funny how Daryl is the one to take care of you now though, isn’t it? Who would’ve thought?”

  “Yeah…” I said, nodding at the odd choice of words. “I can’t believe it myself sometimes.”

  Daryl, watching me closely, stepped in to introduce his father.

  “Dave, this is my dad, Charles.”

  “Hi there,” I said, doing my best to look him in the eye, quite an achievement since he was still glaring at me like I was an escaped convict, which I suppose, in a weird sort of way, I was.

  “Hello,” he said.

  We stared at each other coldly. God knows what ideas they all had about me.

  “And this is my sister, Gwen.”

  Daryl indicated to the other young woman, a decidedly grumpy and unhappy-looking person with a furrowed forehead who gave me the most momentary of short, fake grins. Somehow and rather uncomfortably, I looked at her and couldn’t help but see a female version of Daryl. Ugh, not a nice thought. She was dressed as smart as hell in an extremely elaborate red and black lace cocktail dress that didn’t seem to suit her at all.

  “Hi,” I said, giving her a short and sharp smile and for some reason also deciding to politely kiss her on the cheeks.

  She responded by going red, yet still without anything resembling a real smile.

  “Don’t get any ideas, Dave,” said Daryl. “She’s out of your league.”

  The cheeky git! As if I’d want to have anything to do with her.

  “I was just being polite—”

  “And this is my uncle, Mike,” said Daryl, shaking his head at me and indicating the red-faced bloke who swayed gently and breathed heavily as he leered at me.

  “Ah, the troublemaker himself,” he said, frowning at my clothes.

  “I try my best,” I said.

  “Well,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “as long as you keep doing what the company needs you to do, you can make as much bloody trouble as you like, for all I care. It’s Daryl here who has to clean up the mess…”

  He laughed to himself, rather nastily, I thought, and slapped Daryl on the shoulder.

  “Mum and dad have been on at me constantly for updates on your condition,” said Daryl, who seemed decidedly uneasy in the presence of his uncle. “Ever since that day at the house, you’ve been quite the topic of conversation around the dinner table.”

  “Well I hope you only told them the good parts,” I said.

  “Don’t worry, Dave,” said Daryl with a little laugh. “We’re all grown-ups. And of course we all understand the need for secrecy.”

  His assembled family members were all staring at him uncertainly. I took this as a good moment to down the rest of my vodka and Coke.

  “Of course,” said the doc, nodding at me. “You deserve only understanding, support, and the fullest discretion possible. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you, still to be… you know. It must be so hard, really. You poor thing. Any time you need a chat and a cup of tea, or just to get away from the city, you’d be welcome at our house. Honestly. Just let Daryl know and we’ll—”

  “Alright, dear,” said Daryl’s dad, placing a hand on her arm, still giving me that sour look. “I’m sure this young chap has far better things to do than make visits to the boring old countryside. There must be lots of engaging things here in London for him to—”

  “Well, actually”—I took great delight in cutting through all this bullshit—“even if I wanted to visit you, I couldn’t. I’m not allowed out, you see. Surely Daryl told you that. The police outside are for me, mostly. To keep me in. I did like your house very much though. Great wine, big garden, lovely spare bed, very good sleep. Thanks for letting me borrow your clothes too. Not really my style, but at least we’ve got the same build, eh?”

  I flourished that little dig with a wink, a giggle and a cheeky hand on my belly, which I proceeded to wobble up and down. The look I got from the lot of them was priceless, I can tell you.

  *****

  Awkward introductions over and any chance of conversation killed, Daryl and his flock moved on elsewhere. Once again left to my own devices, I made myself another drink, observing the party as best I could without actually coming into contact with anyone. I spotted Bill, who waved and gave me a smile as he danced with a very intelligent-looking dark-haired girl wearing thick-rimmed glasses. The girl from reception, Christine, danced alone. When she caught me watching her, she turned in the opposite direction.

  After a couple of minutes of wondering at what point I should slink out, the music died and there was a loud booming and scratching sound from the speakers—a microphone being switched on.

  Daryl’s amplified voice blasted across the room for all to hear. “Good evening, everyone.”

  Silence fell, and everyone turned to see him standing on the stage.

  “Well, well, well,” he said with a smirk.

  Of course we all had to listen to him launching into his big end-of-year speech, now didn’t we?

  “What a year we’ve all had. Okay, I’ll keep it brief. I know you all want to get back to your food and drink. Especially you, Dave.”

  A ripple of laughter shuddered through the crowd. I saw the doc giving me a motherly smile. I nodded sourly and did a little bow. Then I glared at Daryl. No more jokes at my expense. He only smiled sweetly back at me. The git knew full well I’d hate to cause a scene in front of everyone. Christ, I thought, this could very well turn into total bloody torture.

  “But seriously, folks,” he continued. “There really aren’t words to express the enormous respect I have for the work that we’ve all done this year. So I’m going to start just by asking that we all give each other a pat on the back and a big round of applause. Yes, even you, Dave.”

  I clenched my fists, mainly because it seemed better than telling Daryl to shut his gob, but also, it was nice to imagine lamping him with them. He proceeded to clap, and gradually, the room joined in.

  “Come on, folks. It’s Christmas. Don’t be shy.”

  I found myself reluctantly clapping, though only because I knew that not doing so would make me look like an arsehole.

  “Great,” he continued. “We really need to show the love. That’s been my guiding philosophy with this marvellous little company. Show love to everyone, spread peace and goodwill, and, of course, pay my employees more than the competition. A lot more. Phew…” He wiped imaginary sweat from his forehead. “Just ask Marcus and Byron on that score if you don’t believe me.”

  Half-hearted laughter rippled through the room. God, this was nauseating.

  “Before I get to the presentation part,” he continued. “That’s going
to be really fun, by the way, but before we get on to that, I just wanted to mention a few special people who we are fortunate to have here with us today. Firstly, all the way from the Omega Group headquarters in California, we have Frank Stalbaum.”

  Daryl clapped and the rest of the crowd followed him with respectful applause.

  “I hope they’re suitably impressed over in San Fran at what us Brits can cook up, Frank.”

  “Sure thing, Daryl,” I heard Frank reply. “Awesome work you guys are doing here. Awesome.”

  “Thanks, Frank,” said Daryl. “And if you wouldn’t mind, once you have had enough Champagne, I thought we could sit down and discuss an increase in funding. I’m sure everyone here would be extremely grateful for a little extra Christmas bonus.”

  A few cheers rippled in the audience and I heard Frank laughing.

  “Well, if you guys can get this product of yours ready by the spring, I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “Right, that’s a deal, Frank,” said Daryl. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Sure thing,” said Frank.

  “Moving swiftly on,” Daryl’s voice boomed, “I want to mention my mum, dad, uncle Mike and little sis. Thanks for coming up all the way from the countryside and seeing what kind of a party your little Daryl-kins can put on. I won’t disappoint you. I promise. In particular, I know you are all keen wine-lovers who will drink only the best. Well, believe me, we’ve got the best, and talking of wine, thanks for acting as our supplier, Uncle Mike. Nice of you to step in. The booze is truly excellent, though I can’t say the same for the discount you gave us. Hint, hint, there was no discount. He always was a mean old scrounger, you know…”

  “Cheeky little troublemaker!” called Uncle Mike.

  There was a burst of laughter, though only really from Daryl’s family.

  “Alright, alright.” Daryl raised a hand, continuing in an increasingly over-the-top fashion. “We need to keep this as business-like and professional as possible. So without further ado, I give you the annual Solar Ray big giant Christmas presentation of presentations!”

  Now came a big raucous round of applause and cheers.

  Here we go, I thought. I’d been to enough office Christmas parties to know this was the part where the CEO, manager, or whichever nitwit was in charge presented a hastily pulled together series of dodgy slides featuring unreliable sales figures and whatever silly staff photos they could pull together from the year gone by.

  I sighed to myself, took a big glug of my drink, and prepared for the onslaught.

  Chapter 21

  The presentation started with a horrible, cheesy introduction to the company. There were pics of Shoreditch and a pic of the Solar Ray office building, followed by a series of cringeworthy little talks about each of the top staff members and their particular achievements. For some reason, all the slides had been given a comic book style, black and white photos inlaid on storyboards and given speech bubbles and oversized sound-effect phrases. “Crunch!” was used to describe a meeting earlier in the year where they’d realised how little money was left in the company coffers, followed by a respectful use of the Omega logo when mentioning a rescue package. “Whoosh!” popped up during a part about Daryl’s recent progress in finding advanced orders for the material, while “Zap!” featured on a slide showing Byron at work in his lab. They missed a trick there, I thought—should’ve used “Kapow!” for the bit where I lamped Daryl. Even without that, people found it all very amusing.

  There was a section dedicated to the “company mission,” taking a light-hearted perspective on the fully named super-strong-poly-mega-dega-carbon-alloy, its potential uses and the apparently game-changing impact it was going to have on human society. A large “Wow!” accompanied a picture of rocket ships flying through radiation barriers in space to underline that last point. Several other applications of the material were skirted through, though I wasn’t sure if some or all of them weren’t just jokes because, apart from sounding ludicrous, they were presented in lightning-speed succession and using that same silly comic book style. To list just a few, there was a submarine, a type of indestructible “Iron Man” suit, an unbreakable safe, the protective gear worn by American footballers, and even the humble “box” a cricket batsman wears to shelter his privates. Those last two had to be jokes, surely.

  “Right, folks,” said Daryl when it was all done, rubbing together his hands in that overly excited way of his. “That’s about it for the presentation. Personally, I am just tingling with excitement and anticipation for the year ahead. I mean, just think back to this time last year—who would’ve thought we’d be where we are today, talking about this stuff? It just boggles the mind, doesn’t it? We’ve certainly come a long way, folks. A long, long way. And whatever adversities we’re facing, I just know that, working together, we will pull through and come out all the stronger for it on the other side.”

  I clapped along with everyone else at that point, not so much with appreciation as with relief to hear what, to my mind, were the words that brought an end to the awful production.

  And I hadn’t received a single mention!

  At least I thought that was the end. It certainly bloody well should have been.

  *****

  So there I was, clapping away along with everyone else.

  All of a sudden, bright red and white lights started flashing on the DJ mixing table behind Daryl. There was a loud wail of a siren, an ambulance siren maybe, or a police car. It didn’t much matter, really, for it did its job, causing everyone to hush, me included, eager to find out the next hilarious twist on this rollercoaster of work-based tomfoolery. I’m being sarcastic, of course, but it really did seem that a fair amount of planning had gone into this part.

  “Wait, what’s this?” said Daryl theatrically, putting a hand to his ear. “Is that the emergency services I can hear?”

  “Hello, hello, hello…” A deep, amplified male voice suddenly boomed through the room, delivering the immortal words of the traditional British bobby.

  It was all quite entertaining, actually. Everyone was looking around for the owner of the voice, but there was no one I could see on stage or anywhere with another microphone.

  “Is that the police?” said Daryl, putting his fingers to his mouth in a gesture of fear.

  “It is,” said the voice.

  “Well, hello, officer.”

  “Hello,” it said back, making everyone laugh with its over-the-top aggressive tone.

  Finally, the siren died down.

  “How can we help you today, officer?” said Daryl.

  “It has come to our attention that your company has been harbouring a certain… individual.”

  “An individual? Whoever do you mean?”

  “Don’t interrupt me!”

  Everyone laughed at that—and at Daryl when he gave a meek, “I’m sorry, officer.”

  “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” the police officer voice continued, “it has come to our knowledge that you are harbouring a certain individual known well to us for his extremely dangerous tendencies.”

  “Dangerous?” said Daryl. “Oh no. There’s nobody dangerous here. We’re all well-trained professionals here. Every one of us is—”

  “Don’t interrupt me, I said!”

  “Sorry…” he whispered again.

  More laughter.

  “Good,” said the officer.

  It was a nice little act, I had to admit. And stupidly, I still didn’t get that they were talking about me.

  “So are you saying there is nobody dangerous in your organisation? Nobody at all?”

  Daryl made a big show of considering that question. He put a finger to his lips, cocked his head, ummed and ahhed and all that. At this moment, it finally clicked. I felt something like an iron brick dropping straight through my stomach. This was about to turn into something mind-blowingly embarrassing—at least, embarrassing for me. I should have known earlier, I suppose, but I am n
ot the brightest in these sorts of situations. Silly old me. I had simply been enjoying the show!

  “No, I don’t think we’ve got anyone like that,” said Daryl. “Not in our lab team anyway. I mean, Byron does scare the hell out of me sometimes, and there are a few other blokes in there I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley, but…”

  “Not in your lab team, Sonny Jim,” said the voice. “Think again.”

  Sonny Jim? It couldn’t be, could it? Not Butter, come all the way up from Crawley to see his old ward who he so enjoyed driving out to that poor field to piss in? DCI Phillip Butter. No. That would be way too much. Plenty of people used the phrase “Sonny Jim,” surely, especially if they were pretending to be an over-the-top police officer.

  Daryl continued the act. “Um, not anyone from finance, surely? They may be good with fixing the numbers, but I hardly think—”

  “No…” said the voice, struggling to keep its cool. “Not your finance team.”

  “Well then, I’m—”

  “Haven’t you got another little section to your company? A very… unique little department staffed by someone who is, how should I say, not exactly your ordinary, run-of-the-mill employee?”

  “Oh I don’t know,” said Daryl, looking really confused. “We’re all unique here.”

  As you might imagine, this was all winding me up something proper now. Just get on with it! Get it done so we can all move on with our lives. Well, so that I could move on swiftly to the conclusion of this awful evening, preferably with the aid of several more vodkas.