‘Margaret.’
‘Margaret, then. Where was I?’
‘In Waitrose.’
‘Yes, met her and Kyle. Apparently, Megan had asked her to have him because … well, in a nutshell, Chris, she was unable to pick him up from nursery because she didn’t want to be seen in public after you had knocked her about.’
Dave finally had Chris’s attention. ‘Pardon?’ He sat back, totally wordless beyond that one. ‘Megan had told her this?’
‘I don’t have the details of the conversation, Chris. Just the gist.’
‘The gist. You have the gist of a conversation that Margaret had with some random bloke and his wife in a posh supermarket and you call me in for a bollocking?’
‘Bollocking?’ Stanley was on the defensive now. ‘I don’t think that this would count as a bollocking, Chris.’
‘We’re getting there, though, aren’t we?’ he countered. ‘Has it not occurred to you that you all saw Megan, in this very building, on Thursday? Did you notice a split lip? Black eyes? Sling? Crutch?’
‘That’s very specific, Chris.’ Like everyone caught on the back foot, Stanley sought refuge in attack. ‘Is that what she has, sometimes?’
Chris Rowan had finally had enough. His leaden skin sloughed off, leaving him in his Superman costume, albeit invisible. ‘Dave,’ he said, in a quiet, flat voice that sounded as though it came from a distant planet, ‘Dave, I always knew you were an arsehole. But how much of an arsehole, I realise now I had no idea. How can you think I knock Megan about because her bloody mother rambled to some bloody stupid…’ He stood up and took a step back, knocking over the chair. Stanley flinched and for a moment, Chris felt the power. Then the lead skin was back and he felt the fight go out of him. ‘I do not hit Megan. I don’t even kill the spiders in the bath. I don’t lust after random women I show round homes, as you laughingly call them. I just want to come here, do my job, go home to my lovely family, without all this shit!’ The last word was shouted and every head in the outer office swivelled towards the sound as though they were on wires.
‘There’s no need to raise your voice, Chris.’ Stanley realised, possibly a touch too late, that he had not been following the protocol as set out in his most recent people-managing online training module.
Chris lowered his voice so that even he could hardly hear it. It sounded like someone else, someone he had known once. The black dog pricked up his ears; his master’s voice. ‘I don’t know why you called me in here, Mr Stanley,’ he said. If the stupid idiot couldn’t conduct a disciplinary hearing properly, he would have to do it for him. Let’s keep things formal, shall we, Mr Stanley? ‘I don’t know how my hitting my partner, not that I do, has anything to do with work. I don’t know what this Maddox person knows about it – as I understand it, Megan’s mother told him a story in Waitrose which has grown out of all sense and reason into a … what? A complaint?’
Stanley inclined his head. ‘I suppose we could call it that, yes,’ he said. His voice was also tight.
‘How can someone who isn’t a client complain about me? I think this exceeds all management protocol that I have ever heard of.’
‘It isn’t just this, Chris, though, is it? There’s that thing last week of you looking up that woman’s skirt. And …’
‘And?’
‘Well, Jacintha and I … walked into work together this morning …’ Chris was triumphant. So, the rumours were true, ‘… and she told me that when you worked for your last employers, one of your colleagues from another branch had a nervous breakdown because of your treatment of her.’
‘What?’ Had that bitch Louise Taylor been putting the knife in here as well?
‘You had had a relationship, apparently, and it all …’
‘A relationship?’ Chris was gobsmacked. ‘It was a one nighter. It meant nothing at all.’
‘That saddens me, Chris.’ Stanley was remembering his Empathy Training. ‘I thought you were better than that.’
‘It was years ago. I was young, so was she. We were pissed …’
Just a shake of the head said all Stanley had to say.
‘And what about you and Jacintha? You think we haven’t noticed? You think your wife hasn’t noticed?’
Dave Stanley was on his feet, spluttering. Chris had never seen anyone actually splutter with rage before and it was intriguing. ‘How dare you?’ he said, finally. ‘Jacintha could be my daughter!’
And this was where Chris Rowan made his fatal mistake. As he mulled it over, long and often, in the dark hours of his future, he knew it was a mistake. But at the time, he just couldn’t help it. He shrugged, and said, ‘Well, you said it, Dave, not me.’
The spluttering stopped and a white tenseness appeared around his boss’s mouth, another feature new to Chris. ‘Get out. I have given you enough rope and now you’ve hung yourself.’
‘Hanged.’
‘What?’
‘Hanged myself. People get hanged. Pictures get hung.’
‘You supercilious bastard,’ Stanley spat. ‘Nobody here can stand you because of your bloody jumped up ways, do you know that? None of us are surprised that you’ve turned out to be an abusive sex maniac. Just get out. I’ll pay you three months in lieu, but I never want to see you in here again. Is that clear?’
‘What? You’re sacking me because some old git believed what that mad cow Margaret Harris said to him in a supermarket?’
‘No. I’m sacking you because you’re a fucking liability. You might be able to rent out houses I wouldn’t put a pig in, but you’re a menace. All the girls in the office say they don’t like the way you look at them. You’re creepy, Chris, that’s what you are and that, among other things, is why you’re fired. Now, get out and don’t speak to anyone on the way.’
‘But …’
‘Check your contract, I should,’ Stanley said, but he was already sitting down again and didn’t look up. ‘Be grateful you get your three months in lieu. I’m not bound to pay it.’
Chris stood there, almost beyond moving. He had just been sacked, for the first time in his life, and it was scary. He hardly dare look down in case he was literally rather than metaphorically standing on a cliff edge with nothing below but the distant baying of black dogs, circling the rocks below, baying and howling, eager for his life.
He walked through the outer office, not looking right or left. He had tunnel vision anyway, with the panic, and wasn’t sure how he would react if anyone spoke to him. He was on the pavement, in a daze, when he felt a hand on his arm. With exaggerated care, he turned and saw one of the part-timers standing there, a look of concern on her face.
‘Chris?’ she said, from an immense distance away. ‘Are you all right?’
He nodded, then put his hand to his head. Somehow he wasn’t sure whether he was making the right movements. Everything was disjointed and weird. That was it; this was all a dream and he’d wake up soon. ‘Fine,’ he said, but he couldn’t hear his own voice.
‘No, no you’re not,’ the woman said. He realised to his horror that he couldn’t remember her name. Couldn’t actually even remember if he had ever known it. ‘We don’t really know each other very well,’ she said. ‘My name’s Cassie, I’m only in on Mondays and Wednesdays. But I’ve noticed how you haven’t looked well these past few … well, months, actually. Someone in my family suffers from depression too, so I suppose …’
‘I don’t get depression!’ His voice came out much louder than he had meant it to and people turned to stare.
Cassie smiled. She had a nice smile; she reminded him a lot of his sister. ‘No, of course not. But you’re not well, are you? Everything been getting on top of you, I expect. You’ve got a little one, I understand. How old is he now?’
‘Three. Kyle’s three.’
‘A lot of work, a three year old. And this job can be very stressful.’ Her voice was starting to get through without the cottonwool muffling and he looked at her instead of through her. ‘Would you like to go a
nd get a coffee?’
‘But …’ he gestured in the general direction of the office.
‘Oh, don’t worry about them. I don’t. If they don’t like it, they can lump it. Sometimes people have to come first. So … coffee?’
Making up his mind was very difficult, suddenly. He wasn’t sure whether he was even going to be able to put one foot in front of the other, let alone decide between a million different coffees. He wanted to shake his head, but even that was a choice too far. She took his hesitation for consent.
‘Great. Look, don’t let’s do the Starbucks Costa Nero route; let’s go to a nice greasy spoon; there’s one down the road, look. Come on.’ She took his arm and towed him along behind her. She was just a little thing, but very determined. ‘I know a coffee can't solve everything, but it goes a long way down that road, I think. Is it today that your other half works?’
However did she know that? He nodded.
‘Well, while we’re having a drink, why don’t you text her? Arrange to meet for lunch. You need to talk this through. And then, we can have a good old chat.’ She stopped towing him for a while and turned him around to face her. Just a little, middle-aged woman in a grey suit, nothing special. But he could feel the care coming off her in waves. A tear coursed down his cheek and without hesitation she reached up and wiped it away. ‘That’s a good start,’ she said, kindly and returned to the towing technique. ‘You’ve had a bitch of a day; let’s see if we can put at least some of it right. You don’t want the black dog to get you.’
He stopped as though she had shot him. ‘Black dog? How do you know about the dog?’ Who had been talking? What was happening?
She looked at him fixedly. ‘It’s the best analogy I’ve heard for depression. Winston Churchill used to refer to it in his diaries. Some people feel it is something less … well, less alive, a blanket, fog, something like that. But for others, it’s more malevolent, more living and out to get them. Depression …’
‘… which I don’t have …’
‘… which you do have, Chris, trust me on this, depression takes people all kinds of ways. You just need to recognize it and learn to deal with it. Not snap out of it. Not work your way out of it. Just deal with it and don’t let it win. Mental illness is no slur …’
He pulled away from her. Who was this woman to speak to him like this? Calling him mental? ‘I don’t think coffee is a good idea, not today, Cassie. I don’t want to …’ He was snarling at her, though he couldn’t hear it. ‘Just because your brother or somebody gets a bit down in the mouth now and then you think you can talk to me about mental illness. Well, I don’t get depression. I’ve just had a bad day, like you say. I’ll be fine. New job. New house, maybe. We’ll move, that’s it. Somewhere new. So, you can take your mental illness chat somewhere else and I feel sorry, Cassie, to be honest, I feel sorry for whatever poor bugger in your family suffers from whatever it is, because you’ll talk the hind leg off him, I should think.’ And he stormed off down the road, shoulders set, legs stiff with anger and pain.
She watched him go and this time the tear she wiped away was her own. ‘No, Chris,’ she whispered, ‘no, I won't talk anyone’s hind leg off. Because I don’t talk to myself.’ And with a sigh, she turned back to the office, the black dog wagging its tail behind her.
Chris had gone out so quietly that it was a few minutes before David Stanley felt he could look up. As soon as he saw he was alone, he buzzed through to his secretary and asked her to come in.
She came into the room, blonde hair swinging. It had a pink strand in it which in some lights he found attractive but this morning just thought looked bloody silly. She held a file under one arm but it was empty. She slid onto the desk and put his hand on one of her thighs. She gave a little wriggle but today it had no effect. She leaned forward so her top gaped open; she knew he liked that.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jacintha,’ he said, pushing her off his desk none too gently. ‘Can you just give it a rest? I actually wanted you to send an email for me, not to come and … well, I want you to send an email.’
‘Sorry, I’m sure,’ she said, sniffing. ‘What would you like this email to say and who is it to, sir?’
He had known it was a mistake, the first time he had gone back with this little tart to her flat. She was on the make, he knew that much, and she didn’t find him remotely attractive; why the hell should she? He wasn’t going to see forty again, forty-five if he was being honest, and even his nearest and dearest would never say he was handsome. On some people a smattering of grey hair looked distinguished. On him, it just looked old. So he had started touching it up with a dye and now he was stuck with it. But chest hair doesn’t lie, so he had started having waxes. He had got the wolf of incipient middle age by the ears and he was afraid to let it go. If he knew one thing for certain about Jacintha, it was that she was a malicious little madam and he didn’t want his occasional failure in the sack all round the office by nightfall, so he pinned on a smile and reached for her hand.
‘Sorry,’ he said, pulling her onto his lap and shoving a hand up her skirt, more for the look of the thing than anything else. ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind today.’
She wriggled down onto his hand and immediately threw her head back in paroxysms. Surely, he thought, that had to be fake? No one had a hair trigger as quick as that. His missus could take hours. He left his hand there out of politeness and waited for her to stop gasping. Could he be the only one in this room who could hear commonsense come through the door, bringing clean, fresh air with her? It was quite a relief to know this was all over – although he knew she wouldn’t go quietly. Still, sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, as his old granny used to say …
When he was sure he had her attention, he said, ‘It’s just a quick email to Chris. I was … hasty, this morning and I really didn’t mean half of what I said. Nor did he, I suspect. I just want an email, from the general office address, you know, enquiries@, that one. Say that I … no, don’t use my name, just leave it vague. Something like having considered the situation, the company has decided to give him one more chance, in view of his service thus far … blah, blah, you know the kind of thing.’
With a final squirm, she got up and tugged down her skirt. But not too much. This was one secret she needed the whole office to know about – otherwise the gutless bastard would never leave his wife. She left enough evidence around, the woman must be blind or stupid. Little did Jacintha know that the current Mrs Stanley had caught her husband in just the way Jacintha was trying now and was up to all her little wiles. Also, she knew where the business bodies were buried and she had two kids to add to the mix. Oh, no, Mrs Stanley the Second had no fears from potential Mrs Stanley the Third.
‘When do you want me to send it?’ The last thing Jacintha wanted was Chris Rowan back in the office. The man could let a hole in the ground to even the most discerning tenant – without him around, she might get to show what she could do. Apart from wriggle and gasp, that was.
But Dave Stanley wasn’t concentrating any more. He had dumped his problem – two problems, in fact – and it was not in his nature to dwell. ‘Oh, let him sweat for a while. Send it when you’ve got a minute, later on.’
Jacintha’s smile as she left the office was triumphant. She had given her man a good time – as she saw it – and also had permission to send the email when she had a minute. And who could say when that might be? This year, next year, sometime, never …
Megan had gone to work but hadn’t been there five minutes, or so it seemed, before her mother was on the phone. Kyle was being cranky at being with her again; Megan had clearly spooked him by her abandonment over the weekend – she wasn’t sure at this point whether her mother meant her leaving Kyle with her for a day or so or her possible behaviour alone with Chris overnight – and she really couldn’t cope. Besides which, they needed to talk.
Megan’s heart sank. She hadn’t felt like coming in to work that morning, but once there she embrace
d it as a time out of the mad world she seemed to be inhabiting these days. The spa was an oasis of calm anyway – or at least, that’s what the advertising said – but she was really looking forward to a nice busy day, plenty to occupy her mind, stop it going round in fruitless circles. She stood her ground. So Kyle was cranky; what three year old wasn’t? She would pick him up on her way home, as usual. Meanwhile, had her mother tried bribery? It wasn’t big, it wasn’t clever, but with a three year old in a snit it was often all that worked. She put down the phone and was aware that someone was standing in front of her. She pinned on her best smile.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I was wondering if I could make an appointment for a massage,’ the woman said. ‘I have a lot going on in my life at the moment and I really need to destress – I’d heard that you are the best in town.’
‘That’s very good to hear,’ Megan said with a smile, bringing up the appointments on the screen. Mondays were often booked solid but today the woman was in luck. One of the alternative therapists was just back from maternity leave and she hadn’t built her client list right back up yet. ‘I can fit you in with Mandy in … well, now, actually. She has a cancellation.’ She always thought that sounded better than ‘nothing to do’. ‘I just need to check she is in fact available – if you’d like to take a seat over there, I’ll just check with her for you.’
The woman didn’t move, just stood there, looking at Megan’s name tag. ‘Megan Harris,’ she said. ‘That sounds familiar. I wonder if we were at school together.’
Megan doubted it – this woman could give her six years, easily. But she was a client, so it seemed rude to point it out. ‘It’s a rather ordinary name,’ she said, pleasantly.
‘Perhaps. I’ll remember, I’m sure,’ the woman said. ‘Would you like my name? It’s Louise Taylor.’
Chris walked and walked, without knowing where he was going. It wasn’t so much a case of trying to get somewhere as trying to get away from somewhere else. And even that was receding into a hazy distance. His phone rang and it brought him down to earth with a bump. He was standing on the bank of the river where it went through the park, but he wasn’t in the goose shit bit, happily. He shook his head and answered the call.
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