by Stuart Keane
The Customer Is Always…
A Novella
By
Stuart Keane
Copyright © Stuart Keane 2014
Cover art copyright © Amanda Collins Photography 2014
Published: 4 April 2014
Publisher: Stuart Keane
The right of Stuart Keane to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
The Customer Is Always… is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information about the author, please visit www.stuartkeane.com
For more information about the artist, please visit www.amandacollinsphotography.co.uk
Acknowledgements
First and foremost I want to thank my wonderful fiancée Leisyen. For being there, supporting me, encouraging me and giving me the hope to fulfil my dream. The path to this has been a long and winding one and now I am finally walking it because of you. Thank you!
I wish to thank Geoffrey West for proofing and editing my work. Likewise, I want to thank Julia Gibbs who provided the final proofing to ensure that everything was in tip-top shape. Without you guys, this novella wouldn’t be where it is now. Thank you for bringing my words to life. To think I found you guys by accident. And thank you for making the whole editing process so much easier than I envisioned.
Thank you to Amanda Collins of Amanda Collins Photography. You saw my vision and managed to pull out a phenomenal cover photo for this novella (not to mention my headshots). I know you’re having some fun working on my next cover photo. The fact you saw my vision and ran with it was perfect.
I want to thank my family. There’s a lot of you, but you all know who you are. If you’re reading this now, you all helped me in some way, some huge, some small but it all counts. I wouldn’t change my family for anything.
To Stephen King, James Herbert, Richard Laymon and Shaun Hutson. For so many memories and adventures and for inspiring me to do this in the first place.
And finally…to my readers. If you are reading this, then my job is complete.
To Dad.
For everything.
ONE
MONDAY
8.55AM
The beginning of a headache was nagging at the base of Vincent’s skull.
Monday morning blues.
The lack of sleep last night.
The constant drone of the office.
Maybe all of the above?
Who knows?
Vincent gripped his nose between thumb and index finger and closed his eyes, willing the pain to subside. With a ten-hour shift ahead of him, a headache was all he needed to start the day in a shitty mood. He checked his desk. Call script ready, pen and pad to hand. Phone logged in.
Ready to go!
Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a box of painkillers. Nothing fancy, standard general-store quality. It would do the job for now. He popped two into his mouth and dry swallowed. The tablets never solved the problem for long. Vincent made a note to upgrade his pharmaceutical choice ASAP.
He looked over the top of his monitor. The floor was buzzing with early morning activity. People fetching their coffee. People arriving late. People chatting about the events of their various weekends.
Normal office business for a Monday morning.
“You okay?” Leanne asked him from the desk opposite. She didn’t look up from her iPhone and she was tapping away on a text or something. Today she was wearing her black hijab, and her glasses gave her a conservative look. Even with her attention averted, Leanne must have sensed the grimace on Vincent’s face.
He smiled. “Yep, just a bit of a headache is all…”
Leanne nodded, still not looking up. She finished with her phone and placed it on her desk, then leaned her elbows on her knees and sighed. The chair seemed to engulf her small, slim figure. A smile lit up her face. Monday morning didn’t affect everyone in the same way. Vincent envied her.
Vincent checked on his team. Normally, he had ten teammates. Today there were only five. Holidays and sickness would explain the absences, he assumed. The other three were Trevor, who was sitting on the bank of desks behind Leanne, Graham, seated three seats to Trevor’s right, and Nicola, who was settled opposite him. Graham was reading a book. Nicola and Trevor were sometimes leaning back in their chairs, or else crisscrossing the walkway between their seats, chatting away all the time. Nicola flicked her blonde hair every now and then. Office banter. There was nothing better.
Vincent checked his phone. Almost time to go.
His team leader wasn’t in yet, which was unusual. She was normally at work before everyone else. The primary reason was to give her team any updates. Vincent checked his email account. No emails. Nothing new. He kept an eye on the general surroundings, expecting her to walk in at any time. She was probably stuck in traffic, which would be no surprise for a Monday morning. Maybe she’d not heard her alarm. He made a note to rib her about it later.
Vincent was trying to establish where she was until he noticed the time, and more important things took his attention.
9:00.
Go time!
His headset beeped in his ear.
Vincent took a breath and placed his coffee cup on the desk. After the beep, he welcomed his first customer of the day.
It was 9:03.
“Good morning, you’re through to Vincent, can I take a policy number please?” he said into his mouthpiece.
“Hello … erm, yes. I don’t have it.”
Vincent closed his eyes. This was a great start to the day. “That’s fine, sir, can I take your full name?”
“Yes, my name is Bob.”
“Your name is Bob? Short for Robert?”
“That’s right.”
“Is that how it appears on your policy, sir?”
“No, it’s Bob on the policy.”
Vincent muted his phone and sighed. Un-muting, he asked, “And what’s your surname, sir?”
“Bob.”
“I have your first name, sir, I need a surname.”
“That’s it. Bob.”
“Your name is Bob Bob?”
“That’s right.”
Vincent cracked a smile. “No worries … and your date of birth?”
“Why do you need that?”
“I need to get you through security, sir…”
“I don’t want to give it out. You can see it on my policy, why should I give it to you?”
“I can’t see your policy, sir, that’s why I need your information.”
A pause. “But I don’t want to give it out.”
Vincent sighed. He didn’t mute the phone this time. “Okay, can I take a postcode?”
“No, I don’t want to give my details out over the phone…”
“Listen, sir, I can’t pull up your information or help you until you give me some details.”
“Why not?”
Vincent bit his lip. “Because I’m not telepathic, sir. I need your inf
ormation to provide and secure DPA.”
“What’s DPA?”
Apart from the law? he thought. “Data Protection, sir. You need to pass it before I can look at your policy.”
“Ah okay … hang on, is this Rhodes and Smith?”
Vincent breathed out hard. He heard the echo of it on the customer’s end. Some kind of feedback? “No, sir, this is Horizon Insurance Limited…”
“Sorry, wrong number.”
And just like that, Bob Bob was gone. Forever. Thank God, thought Vincent. Moron. “Problems?” Leanne said. She was staring at her monitor, fixated. Did she ever make eye contact?
“Just customers being … you know…”
“Retarded?”
Vincent laughed. “You could say that…”
“The job we work in, eh?” Leanne smiled, finally making eye contact. Her eyes were full of mischief.
“Indeed.” Vincent swallowed a mouthful of coffee. It was strong, bitter. It tasted good.
Vincent leant back in his chair. He stared at the ceiling. This Monday was going to drag. He knew within thirty minutes that the calls would be constant. He relished this lull in the morning. It allowed him to think.
Not that he did much thinking.
Or enjoyed thinking. It hurt his head.
I need more coffee, thought Vincent.
He punched a standby code into his phone and went to the break room to refuel.
TWO
MONDAY
9:07AM
At 9:07, Vincent returned to his desk.
Leanne and Trevor were busy on calls. Graham was still reading his book. He didn’t have his headset on. “Graham, it’s gone nine,” Vincent said to him. “Why aren’t you on?”
Graham looked up. Vincent always thought Graham’s presence in the team gave it an air of maturity. A classy fellow who kept himself to himself. The oldest member of the group, his face was calm and commanded authority, without being overbearing. Everyone in the team respected Graham.
He shrugged at Vincent.
“The server is down. Again. Same old business. I’m waiting for I.T. to call me.” He returned to his book.
Lucky Graham, thought Vincent. What I wouldn’t do for some system down time. I could play some solitaire or chess … or check the BBC website.
Vincent put his headset back on. He swigged his coffee again and sighed. He removed the standby code on his phone, ready to start work.
A call came straight through. Vincent breathed, awaited the dreaded beep.
BEEP.
“Good morning, you’re through to Vincent, can I take a policy number, please?”
“Yes … it’s 8363832A…”
“Okay.” Vincent typed the number in. “Could you confirm your full name and date of birth?”
“Nadine King … October 30th, 1984.”
“Great … and the first line of your address?”
“101 Grainger Lane.”
Vincent confirmed the information on his screen. “Okay … great, how can I help today?”
“Yes, I need you to send me proof of my No Claims Bonus.”
Vincent smiled. Easy. He tapped a few keys. “That’s fine, ma’am … all done, it’ll be sent out within five working days.”
“I need it now, can you send it any sooner?”
“Five working days is our standard … it can come sooner depending on the post.”
“Can’t you email it?”
“Unfortunately we don’t have the facility to do that —“
“— this is the 21st Century and you can’t send a bloody email?” Nadine cut Vincent off. “Forget it!”
Nadine hung up.
Not so easy after all. Shame, thought Vincent. She had a nice voice.
Vincent looked out of the window. He breathed out. The sun was coming up over the buildings in the high street. The light cast a beautiful orange glow across the rooftops. It seemed like it was going to be a nice day. Maybe he could pop out for lunch in the sunshine. Maybe the others in the team would like to join him.
He opened his email. Addressed it to his entire team. He simply wrote. What’s everyone doing for lunch? He hit send. Now to wait.
Vincent started drinking his coffee. He enjoyed the taste. It would certainly make his morning easier.
BEEP.
Attention wandering, he didn’t notice the next call had come through. Vincent nearly spat his mouthful out. He wiped his lips, and put his cup down.
“Hello?” A man’s voice.
Vincent breathed out. “Good afternoon … sorry, morning, you’re through to … errr … Vincent, can I take your policy number please?”
“Yes, it’s 6321142B.” With one hand, Vincent typed the number in. With the other he wiped his mouth with a handkerchief.
“Great … can you confirm your full name and date of birth?”
“Alan Pierce … 2nd of February, 1975.”
“And your first line of address, sir?”
“12 Raven Close.”
Vincent checked the information. “That’s great, how can I help today?”
“Yes, I was wondering if you could. I received a letter from you saying my policy was cancelled.” The voice was calm.
The consultant pulled up his accounts screen. With his left hand, he finished wiping the coffee from his chin. Checking the policy, it appeared that Alan was right. “That’s correct, sir … the policy was cancelled three weeks ago.”
“Can you tell me why?”
“I can indeed.” Vincent checked the details and policy notes. “You missed several payments, sir … after three missed payments we invoke a cancellation.”
“Why wasn’t I told? Surely you have to contact me if you do that?”
Vincent nodded to himself. “That’s right, sir, we sent a letter out on 2nd March. We always notify you fourteen days in advance. It’s our protocol.”
“I didn’t receive any letter.”
“We sent it on the 2nd, sir. Your policy was cancelled on the 18th, which is sixteen days later.”
“I just told you, I didn’t receive the letter.”
“It was sent, sir.” Vincent hit a stalemate. The company had followed their protocol. “You said you received a letter, though?”
“Yes I did, but it stated the policy was cancelled. This is the only letter I received. Nothing more.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but we did send the letter out to you.”
“This letter says the policy was cancelled on the 11th … that isn’t fourteen days.”
Vincent sat up. “Let me check for you, sir. Yes, sorry, you are right. We did cancel that. It was a bit early, from the looks of it. We were supposed to invoke a cancellation on the 18th and it was done on the 11th. That’s fine, it means we cancelled prematurely. Let me check … yes. I apologise, sir. Not a problem. We have to give you notice of cancellation. Which means I can get this looked into for you. I can pop you on hold and discuss this with my line manager. Are you okay to hold?”
“Yes, I’ll hold.”
Vincent pushed the hold button.
He imagined the dreadful hold music. Better not take too long, the sound was likely to piss the customer off. Vincent didn’t need his manager, he just needed to check the policy without the customer in his ear. He had to obtain authorisation to overturn a cancellation, should it come to that. Nice and easy.
Vincent knew that the customer had to have fourteen days’ notice before a cancellation was invoked. They had sent the letter on the 2nd and cancelled on the 11th which is nine days, not fourteen. Some consultant screwed up.
Typical.
The customer was always right.
Sometimes.
And on this occasion, he was.
Vincent readied himself. He tapped the button on his phone. “Hello, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Hello … sorry to keep you waiting. Right, I’ve checked the policy and it was an error on our part. We have two options. I can restart a new policy. Or I can re-esta
blish your old policy. Whichever suits you best.”
“Suits me best?”
“Yes, which option is better for you?”
“I know what you meant, you smart-arse cunt.”
Vincent was taken aback by that comment. A surge of heat shot through him. A spike of fear. “Excuse me, sir?”
“I said, I know what you meant, you smart-arse cunt.”
Vincent licked his lips. “There’s no need for that type of language, sir.”
“I’ll talk to you however the fuck I like.”
“Please, sir, I won’t tolerate this type of language.”
“What’s wrong? Don’t like it when adults talk to you in their native tongue? That’s the problem with you call centre people, you never understand plain English. Well fuck you!”
“If you continue in this manner, sir, I’ll have to terminate the call.”
“And if you hang up on me, then this bitch kneeling next to me will die.”
THREE
MONDAY
9:14AM
Vincent felt his blood freeze. Had he heard the man right? He looked around. Time seemed to crawl. People were going about their business as normal. Only Vincent, and Vincent alone, was hearing this customer. He didn’t know what to say. He felt a haze fall over him. Background noise become a blur.
“Sorry … what did you say?”
“I said if you hang up, this little bitch will die. And it will be your fault.”
Vincent said nothing for a full minute. His breathing was ragged.
“Still want to hang up on me now, dickhead?”
The terrified man wiped his brow. “No, I’ll stay. Erm…”
“Cat got your fucking tongue? You were all talkative when you told me you fucked me over. Lost your nerve, have you?”
Vincent rubbed the back of his neck. It felt slick with sweat. “What do you want?”