Martin Dash

by Andy Bailey

  ANDY BAILEY

  MARTIN DASH

  Bonja Books

  Published by Bonja Books Ltd

  Moonwood, Cheddleton Road, Leek, Staffs. ST13 5QZ

  www.bonjabooks.com

  Copyright © Andy Bailey 2015

  The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form without the prior permission of the publishers.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Dedicated to my beloved Mum and Dad

  1.

  Martin Dash is sitting on a bench in the park. It’s a fine day with mere wisps of white cloud streaked across an azure sky, the yellow daffodils and green grass combining to produce a chartreuse riot. In fact the whole scene – as we look at it now – has a too perfect sheen that suggests a day in time when trouble is far away and the aims of creation have been achieved.

  Martin is handsome; beautiful, even. His soft blond hair has recently been cut sharp but the front falls playfully across his forehead and high cheekbones underpin sapphire blue eyes that are gazing, without looking, across the Serpentine, that lies before him. Full feminine lips finish off a look that is celebrated more widely in some times than others but is never really out of favour.

  Martin stood up and buttoned his coat – not against the cold (although it was, in fact, a chilly spring day) but because he thought employers liked to see a neatly-dressed candidate. He was on his way to a job interview with the legal firm Stone Rose and his whole outfit was calculated to give the right impression – regulation black Crombie over dove grey suit over clean white shirt, pattern tie and black patent shoes.

  It's all about making an impression.

  2.

  Martin Dash sits in Stone Rose’s reception on one of the soft boxy armchairs beloved of swanky law firms throughout the land. He sits very still with an assured air; gazes through the glass walls at the street below; checks the lawyers and clients who pass through between the lift and the smiling receptionists. This public face has had all the care lavished on it that a firm must bring to bear if it wishes to project the requisite image of money and modernity – a lot of glass; the curved marble desk; the TV screen tuned to Bloomberg Business.

  A door the other side of the desk swings open and Gerry Bild walks in, his eyes straight away spotting Martin; a quick check with the desk who nods, 'Yes, that’s your man'. Martin has also registered that this is Gerry Bild (he's done his homework on the Stone Rose website). Affirmed, Gerry strides over to Martin and – in a courteous, professional manner – asks “Martin Dash?” with a proffered hand. Martin stands, extending his hand, in turn – “Yes, hello.”

  “I’m Gerry Bild, Martin. You’re going to be seeing myself and Vanessa Carr – she’s waiting for us.” And with that he motioned back through the door to the meeting rooms beyond.

  Gerry was a well-built man of medium height in his 40s with sandy hair that had been wavy until it started thinning on top and so was now trimmed to avoid the unseemly contrast that would be on display otherwise. His handshake, his gait as he strode in front of Martin now, his tailored camel suit, in fact everything about him, was designed to speak of confidence, strength and acuity and, as they passed the meeting rooms on both sides of the corridor, with the frosted glass façades so that you could see the shapes of the players inside (but not their faces), Gerry allowed himself the odd complacent smile, content with the buzz of business going on inside each cell.

  Finally, he stopped at one (“Here we are”), tapped and opened the door to reveal Ms Carr sat at a shiny black table that occupied much of the room. She had been working diligently at her laptop but now stopped and looked up, straight at Martin. With her large brown eyes, long auburn hair, and olive skin she looked vaguely Mediterranean but when she spoke it was with the standard received pronunciation generally encountered in these parts.

  “Good morning Mr Dash – oh, I’m sorry, that sounds rather formal; do you mind if I call you Martin?”

  “Not at all – Martin’s fine.”

  “Good – I'm Vanessa and you’ve already met Gerry. Please sit down.”

  Pleasantries ensued and the three soon got down to the business of trying to establish whether Martin’s beautiful face would fit into the shiny world of Stone Rose – a solid, respectable legal firm just edging into the top 100 nationwide, with offices in London, Manchester and Leeds and currently doing as well as ever on the back of a long property boom that no-one thought would end.

  “OK, Martin – so we’re here to talk about a possible role for you in our Development Team – Gerry’s team.” Vanessa motioned abstractedly to Gerry. Martin looked at Gerry. Gerry smiled. Martin smiled. “I see from your CV that you’ve been doing predominantly development work at Chard Bone for the last four years. Cornel Vine has given you a very good reference.”

  Cornel had been Martin’s boss at CB until six months ago, when he’d taken the job of managing Stone's Leeds office. Cornel was always full of praise for Martin’s work at Chard and, when they’d met at a seminar – subsequent to Cornel’s move – and Martin had spoken of his wish to work in London, Cornel had no hesitation in recommending Martin for a job at his new firm’s London office.

  “Yes, Cornel has been very good to me,” said Martin. “I enjoyed working for him at Chard and was sorry to see him leave.”

  “Is that why you want to leave now? – because Cornel’s gone?” asked Vanessa.

  “Oh no; Chloe - who’s taken over – is great; I like working for her but, no, it’s simply been my desire for some time now to come and work in London.”

  “Where the real action is?” interjected Gerry, jokily.

  “Yes,” laughed Martin, joining in on the joke.

  Vanessa cast Gerry a look with upturned eyes and a smile.

  Martin continued, “I’ve enjoyed the work at CB and some of it has been big, national deals but, at the end of the day, London is where most of those deals are done, is it not?”

  “Yes, you’re right, there’s no doubt about it,” said Vanessa. “80% of commercial property transactions in the UK, by value, are done here and many of those are international too. There’s a definite buzz about working here – it is one of the world cities after all. And you want to be in on it?”

  “Well yes, I want to test myself, I suppose.”

  Gerry beamed and nodded to Vanessa, as if to say: 'There, I told you so – he’s what we want.'

  Vanessa simply continued to pore over Martin’s CV in her hand. “You’ve worked on the Wood Halls, the PFIs and for The Carter Group. That’s an impressive track record – in Leeds too,” the last comment smiling, with mock condescension.

  “Sophistication? – he’s been to Leeds,” laughed Gerry.

  Martin recognised the joke, from the Harry Enfield sketch about the northern businessman. He smiled, “Yes, there’s plenty going on up there.”

  Vanessa continued, business-like, “And you’ve got no ties up in Leeds? It’d be no problem for you to up sticks and move down here?”

  “No.”

  “Your CV doesn’t say much about you personally. Not married?”

  “No.”

  “No partner? Sorry, I’m not meaning to pry but we have taken people on before who’ve retreated back to prior entanglements after we’ve put considerable time and investment into them.”

  “No, none of that.
” This was firm from Martin and a slightly awkward silence followed, that pretty much brought to an end that line of questioning but Vanessa looked at Martin a little more intently. Then back at the CV – “You were in Bristol before Leeds and working as a security guard before starting your legal studies, it says here?” Vanessa looked up again at Martin but more quizzically now.

  “Yes, a former life. That was my misspent youth before it dawned on me that I’d probably make a better living at law.” This was slick from Martin and Vanessa recognised it.

  “Did you choose the law just for the money then?”

  “Yes.” Martin’s answer seemed abrupt and cast a slight chill over the proceedings for a moment (although a definite smirk could be seen on Gerry’s face). Again Vanessa regarded Martin intently and then she seemed to recall something and searched the document in her hand.

  Having found what she was looking for she addressed Martin again, this time in a rather kindly, sympathetic way.

  “Martin, you’ve included here – and I wouldn’t bring it up but for the fact that you have sought fit to include it – a detail regarding a . . . a medical condition you have.” This last phrase she enunciated rather gingerly.

  Martin simply cocked his head slightly, as if he was unsure of what she was referring to. Vanessa ploughed on: “In the personal section you have stated that you suffer from a condition . . . aah . . . Anhedonia. I’ve not come across that before but your CV says that it’s a condition whereby you don’t feel emotion.”

  Vanessa looked genuinely puzzled now. Gerry had been looking at Martin benignly but his eyes narrowed now. Martin, however, appeared unfazed and seemed only concerned to explain this, in a matter of fact way.

  “Yes, I’m anhedonic. I realise that it may seem odd to include this in my CV but I’ve found that it’s generally best that I’m upfront about this as it can cause confusion if people are unaware of it.”

  “I’m sorry . . . how do you mean?” Vanessa did now seem genuinely confused.

  Martin continued, “Anhedonia is a condition that has been well documented for a long time now although it is actually quite rare. It’s exactly as you say – an inability to feel emotion or pleasure or anything like that . . .”

  He could see concern creeping across the faces of his interrogators, ". . . but please don’t worry – it doesn’t mean that I’m bad, or do bad things; no, I go about life in exactly the same way as everyone else: I sleep, I wake, I work – you know? It’s just that all those things are somewhat mechanical for me. I do my work diligently, I understand perfectly well everything that is required of me – and do all that is expected of me – but, underneath, there’s no enjoyment and I don’t experience emotions, like sadness or happiness . . .”

  “. . . or love?” interjected Vanessa.

  “No.”

  “Martin . . .” – Gerry now – “. . . could I ask why you tell us this? Actually, Cornel – who I know well – did tell me something of it but I must admit it didn’t really register with me until now. I mean, if you behave just the same as everyone else in your daily life, presumably no-one can really tell and you could get away without mentioning it at all. Because, the thing is, by bringing it up – say, in a job interview” – this with a nervous laugh – “you might get people thinking there’s something wrong with you. Sorry, I mean . . .” Gerry stumbled on his faux pas. “Sorry, I know you have something wrong with you” – now starting to dig a hole; quick, fill it back – “Sorry, not that this is wrong, I mean, but you know it’s something that might appear to be to your detriment, like you’re a depressive, say . . . but that you don’t really need to bring up . . .”

  Vanessa was scrutinizing Martin very intently by now.

  “Well, I should say,” said Martin, “that it doesn’t mean I’m depressive or anything like that at all, almost the opposite in fact. The point is that I don’t feel anything. So I never feel sad, or happy for that matter, or anything. In fact it sort of gives me something of an advantage – so far as work is concerned – because it means I’m ultra-dependable !” Martin said this smiling, trying to lighten the mood that had dipped to worryingly sombre (worrying, from the point of view of a candidate trying to impress potential employers) and, indeed, Gerry at least seemed to brighten at this.

  “Basically, it means that I work without the sorts of distractions that afflict many people and slow them down – you know: break ups, fights, anxiety, that sort of thing.”

  “You’ve never had a partner?” This seemed a little intrusive from Vanessa and Gerry shot her a glance but Martin simply said “No”, flatly.

  “And it means that I don’t take pleasure in eating, drinking, bathing . . . none of those things. But I still do them because I have to. To get by as a normal person.”

  Another potential question from Vanessa hung in the air but, this time, was left unasked.

  “However, there is a downside and this is why I now flag it up” – both Gerry’s and Vanessa’s ears pricked up at this. “Experience has taught me that it's often better to forewarn people because, otherwise, they might draw the wrong conclusions from how I act sometimes, if they don’t understand.”

  “What do you mean, Martin – how you act?” – Vanessa again.

  “Well, because of how I am I don’t understand humour, for example – you know, if something is meant to be funny, I can miss that and often have to just follow others in laughing. I do at least understand that – that you’re supposed to laugh if someone has made a joke. And I do.” Martin smiled. “But if I’m on my own, and don’t get a prompt, I might not react at all and it can be embarrassing. There are a few things like that and the accumulation of those things can, after a while, lead people to feel that I’m creepy, or whatever. And it has caused problems in the past.”

  Martin paused and both Gerry and Vanessa were caught with their eyebrows raised.

  Martin continued, “But I’ve found that, if people are told of my condition, they simply take it into account and gradually get used to me. And soon I’m treated like anyone else. It’s not really a disability – it’s just something to be aware of.”

  Again, another pause while Gerry and Vanessa took all this in. Finally, Gerry: “Well, you’ve been commendably frank with us, Martin, and I have to admit this . . . err, what’s it called again?”

  “Anhedonia.”

  “Yes, anhedonia; this . . . err . . . thing is intriguing and, I imagine, something that can be hard to deal with?”

  “It’s just how I am – I’m used to it. And I find that I can function perfectly well, nevertheless.”

  “Yes, well . . . well done you. It does show a great deal of character that you don’t let it stop you doing what you want to do.”

  Gerry seemed to have made his mind up on this one and to be relieved at that – “Yes, it’s very good.”

  Vanessa appeared less effusive but still regarded Martin closely; she was clearly caught up in her own thoughts but, presently, she – and they all – returned to the more prosaic elements of Martin’s CV and talked for another half an hour about Martin’s experience in the field of commercial property development; about Gerry’s team; how Martin might fit in and when he might be able to start if the job was offered to him.

  They didn’t particularly stray into more personal details, partly because there was little in the CV to give them a prompt but partly because they didn’t now feel any appetite for that, nor that there was any call for it.

  And, finally, the meeting was brought to a close with Vanessa and Gerry thanking Martin for his time and assuring him that they would get back to him soonest.

  3.

  “Anhedonia?” was Vanessa’s opening remark in the debriefing session she and Gerry were now holding in the same meeting room, after Martin’s departure. “Have you ever heard of that before?”

  “Well, Cornel did say something about it when he called me about Martin but, no, I’d not heard of it before. But, anyway, he says that he’s a good
guy; in fact, one of the best workers he’s ever come across . . . recommends him highly.”

  “But what about the no feelings thing? Doesn’t that strike you as odd? What did Cornel say about it?”

  “He said that, if you haven’t been told about it, you might not notice but, once you know, you do spot little things that give it away – but then you get used to it, get to know him and it’s fine, no bother.”

  “Little things like what?”

  “He did mention the humour thing; apparently, you do notice – if you’re looking out for it – that, when he laughs, he only does it when someone else has laughed first; just a second after they’ve started laughing, like he’s copying them.”

  “Also, he doesn’t really have a personal life, at least not that Cornel could see. He does do the client entertaining stuff – very well, apparently. He’ll wine and dine them, take them to the races, to the opera, whatever’s needed but doesn’t drink alcohol himself. I suppose there’s no point really – if he has no emotions to enhance he’d only get the downside, the hangover.”

  “And no girlfriends?” said Vanessa, one eyebrow arched.

  “No, none and apparently that does it for a number of the girls at the office – bit of a standing challenge to get him in the sack, you can imagine. And he is a good looking lad, you may have noticed . . ?” – this with a sly look.

  “Piss off,” Vanessa snapped, only half playfully.

  “Although Cornel did say that some of the girls had said that they found it creepy and, in fact, there are some who, once they know about it, can’t take to him. But he says that’s just some people’s prejudice – you have to remember this is basically a disability and once you think of it like that, see it for what it is, you have to have some sympathy for the guy. I mean, imagine how it must be – he can’t experience happiness, joy, pleasure, love. It’s a hell of a cross to bear when you think about it. And to cast him off because of it makes it even worse, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t that be cruel?”