It’s Only
Temporary
Jamie Pearson
First published in the United Kingdom in 2013.
Copyright@ Jamie Pearson 2013.
The right of Jamie Pearson to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted by him in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published including electronic formats.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real places, organisations or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Cover photo supplied by “Split the Difference The Vintage VW Camper Hire Co”
www.split-the-difference.co.uk
Printed by CreateSpace
in Palatino Linotype.
To Max Pearson.
My, Dad.
Who taught how to find things to laugh at when all seemed lost. Your spirit and memory are in these pages.
Miss you mate.
Acknowledgements.
This is my second book and I hope a vast improvement on ‘Deception’ my first, it is certainly different as it is also my first ‘humorous’ book. I had some serious reservations about my ability to write a story that would hopefully make readers laugh or at least smile. However I then looked around at the people in my life and realised I had enough raw material from life experience to write several!
Marcus is a culmination of various people myself included, my Dad, my brother Con, “Mad” Uncle Mitch and my son Ben. Each of us in our own way can lay claim to be part of Marcus.
Also my daughter Sian whose general ‘pottiness’ helped keep me focused on the flavour of the book.
I need to thank my Beta readers Jay Finch and Darren Small.
My proof reading experts Marie Pearson & Niamh Robinson who seemed to be able to turn a chapter from nonsense into English in double quick time.
The wonderful Lesley Eames who has guided me throughout my writing development, without her suggestions and critiques this book would not exist.
To Karen, who puts up with it all and still allows me to flatter myself that I can write!
Finally to you the reader, for taking the time to read my story.
Thank you.
About The Author.
Jamie Pearson is a former Mental Health Nurse who now works in Further Education initially as a Teacher but more recently as a Project Manager. He has always enjoyed writing and wrote his first Novel “Deception” in 2012, this was treated as an exercise to see if he had the commitment and talent to continue to write novels.
He discovered not only a commitment but a desire to write and spent some time developing his ‘voice’ as well as his story structure skills. Finding he naturally gravitated to a more humorous style of writing he elected to forgo bringing Dan Ryan back to life in a Deception sequel and wrote It’s Only Temporary as his second book.
Dan Ryan will undoubtedly make a return as well as further more humorous books, who knows we may even hear from Marcus again?
Jamie currently lives in The South East of England with his wife, two children and ‘Psycho’ cat.
Chapter 1.
I looked at Robert, the Vice principal, across his desk.
‘Your letting me go? That’s wonderful!’
‘It is?’
‘Of course. I’ve been saying for years that what this university needs is to let me go Egypt. Field trips, that’s what will make our Egyptology Department one of the best in the country. In the world even.’
‘We’re not letting you go to Egypt Marcus. We’re letting you go.’
‘Go where?’
‘Anywhere you like.
‘I see,’ but I did not see, not at all.
‘Errr except for anywhere here,’ Robert added.
None of this made sense. I had an IQ of 160 but whatever point Robert was trying make was eluding me. I was a pivotal figure at The London University for Cultural Investigation or “Luci” to those of us in the know. I was also “the” Egyptology department and although I was supported by an ever changing cast of minions, without me there was no Egyptology department.
‘You see there is not going to be an Egyptology department anymore.’
‘Ah. So you’re merging it?’
‘I mean we’re murdering it. Closing it. Ending it. Hence the term “letting you go”. It’s a nice way of saying “go away”.’
“Go away” were two words I had not expected to hear. I had just returned from my annual trip to Egypt where I undertake field based research in my own time and at my own expense, all for the benefit of Luci.
‘So my Professorship is…?’
‘Closed and ended too.’
I had the strange sensation of not being able to process the information I was receiving, almost as if my brain refused to accept the reality of the situation. Then like a computer my cognitive processor caught up.
Oh god, I was being fired!
‘You’re making me redundant?’
‘Hallelujah!’ Robert threw up his hands. ’That’s what “letting go” means Marcus. At least in this day and age, you would know that if you surfaced every now and again and focussed on today instead of two thousand years ago.’
‘Five actually.’
‘Five what?’
‘Thousand years ago.’ I was not sure what was more shocking, what Robert was telling me or the fact that he as Vice Principal didn’t even know what period the ancient Egyptians lived in. This made me realise that Luci desperately needed a man of my calibre. Quite clearly this was potentially a colossal mistake on the board’s part. Poor old Robert was obviously lined up as the scape goat for when the ramifications of this mind boggling decision came to fruition.
If only there was a way to save Robert and the board from themselves? Maybe some gentle prompting to enable them to see the error of their ways.
‘Don’t be such an imbecile,’ I said.
He visibly blanched at this, seeing his reaction bolstered my confidence and I pressed home my advantage.
‘An institution with the reputation that Luci has needs to strive to maintain its position within the elite of academia. Make no mistake if we let our standards drop even a fraction other lesser universities will be ready to pounce and lure our students away.’
‘Well we, actually you, don’t in fact have any students.’
‘That is because they all go to Sunderland, with their artefacts and field trips. If, as I have suggested we run a field based extended module on site in Cairo we will attract the crème de la crème of those students interested in Ancient Egyptian research.’
‘There aren’t any.’
‘Any what?’
‘Students. Sunderland don’t have any either. We have to accept that in today’s economic climate students want real courses that lead to real jobs. Understanding the complexity of the Egyptians relationship with the cat does not help them in that.’
‘The cat is symbolic, it represents…’
‘I don’t care about the bloody cat! It’s over Marcus, OK?’
I was momentarily unable to respond, my mind frantically searched for any argument which I could put forward. However I ended up with a rather pathetic, ‘But I have been here fifteen years, three as a Student, two as an Intern, eight as a Lecturer and the rest as a Professor. I live on campus, I have never worked anywhere else, it’s my home.’
‘Yes, about that, your apartment above the cloisters. How long have you been there?’
/> ‘My whole time on staff, twelve years.’
‘You have until the end of the week to vacate and hand over the keys.’
‘What? Where am I supposed to go?’
‘Well if I may be so bold, a good place to start would be the local job centre and the “To Let” adverts in the free papers. Failing that there is always the local housing association.’
‘Hang on, one week? Surely my redundancy, not to mention my tenancy agreement allows for longer than that?’
‘Yes the tenancy does,’ he said as he unfolded a copy of it in front of him.
‘One month to be exact.’
‘Ha! Well then I have a month,’ I said the sense of triumph clearly evident in my voice. If I could win this small battle then I could buy myself more time to potentially win the war.
‘Afraid not. You were issued with a notice to quit three weeks ago. Registered letter it seems.’
‘I was in Egypt three weeks ago!’
‘Ah, well that was unfortunate.’
‘Who signed for this letter, I certainly didn’t.’
‘Actually, I did,’ he said and for the first time since I had sat down he looked uncomfortable.
‘You did?’ I asked incredulous.
‘Err, yes. It’s on your desk, did you not see it?’
‘No, of course I didn’t! I only got back this morning; I saw your note on my apartment door to meet with you urgently. I have not even unpacked.’
‘I shouldn’t bother if I was you.’
‘Well that still leaves the terms of my redundancy to be sorted out.’
‘Well no actually. You see when I said “letting you go” and you used the term “redundant” I really should have corrected you. Sorry.’
‘Corrected me how?’
‘You are not being made redundant.’
Confusion and relief washed over me.
‘You said I was.’
‘No actually you said it. I just didn’t correct you.’
‘So what is happening to me?’
‘Your contract isn’t being renewed.’
‘What? What’s the difference?’
‘Well you may recall that last year the board elected to transfer a portion of the academic staff onto on-going temporary contracts? One of which was yourself and you received an attractive financial inducement.’
‘Well yes.’
I had used the financial inducement and every penny I had for that matter to pay for a dig at an unexplored site in Egypt. There had been no finds yet but the dig was registered to me and I hoped that once I had saved enough money I could return next summer and continue.
‘So,’ Robert continued. ‘What that means is that there are no redundancy terms.’
‘Well when does my contract end?’
‘Three weeks ago.’
‘Oh, so how much money do I get to tied me over?’
‘None Marcus, your last monthly wage was in fact literally your last monthly wage.’
‘But I have spent that!’
‘That’s unfortunate.’
As I made my way back to my apartment, or as I realised soon to be someone else’s apartment it dawned on me that I had spent the past three weeks blissfully unaware that I was working through not only my accommodation notice but also my professional one as well.
Looking around at my three rooms I started to feel a sense of dread, where would I go? Where could I put everything? My books and my records (I still steadfastly clung to listening to vinyl LP’s as opposed to the philistine creation of the CD), constituted the vast majority of my possession. They needed a room to themselves in order to be catalogued correctly.
Having made myself a cup of Earl Grey I started to feel a little more fortified, this slowly turned to indignation at the gross injustice of this decision. A decision that was not only detrimental to me as an individual but to the institute itself, losing someone of my calibre was the academic equivalent of self-destruction.
The realisation that I only had the remainder of the summer, six short weeks to secure myself another position let alone just one week to locate suitable accommodation be it only on a temporary basis, spurred me into action.
Returning to my office I discovered the letter Robert had so kindly signed for. I logged onto my computer and spent the morning updating my resume which, even if I said so myself, was pretty impressive.
My published papers An exploration of the embalming of cats in the time of Erasmus II and Dental hygiene of eunuchs at the court of Ptolemy III explored, had received wide spread critical academic acclaim befitting the important works that they were.
I sent it via e-mail to over thirty universities, including several in Europe and America which I knew delivered studies concerning ancient Egypt.
There was also the more pressing issue of having a roof over my head. I briefly considered that I could go and stay with my parents in Devon. There is a book called “Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus”, in the case of my parents and I it was more like I was from Earth and they were from some form of parallel reality.
Their decision to “live an alternative lifestyle” was one that was inflicted on me as a child. As a nine year old I found that having my mother turn up to parents evenings in a Kaftan telling the teachers I was “Boring” seriously affected my desire to be associated with them.
I told my friends that my dad was a scientist working in the USA for NASA when in fact he sold wind chimes at car boot sales. My Mother was described as a “Pharmacologist”, she actually made varies types of herbal remedies and sold them alongside the wind chimes.
My adolescent rebellion was to work hard, pass my exams, not smoke drugs and wear sensible clothes. Things my parents never seemed to be able to manage, that along with accepting my normalness, or as my dad put it my “Capitalist Capitulation”.
I did see them once a year at Christmas, when I caught the train over on Christmas Eve and stayed until Boxing Day in which ever cottage they happened to be renting.
Currently they reported having “glorious views of nature” and a “pool”. Despite this, being constantly reminded of my innate failure to be a “Social Revolutionary” meant that two days exposure to them was my maximum. Staying with them would be a last resort.
I made an impromptu visit to see Trudy, the university accommodation officer. Trudy was a fifty something, chain smoking Cliff Richard fan with an approach to life that would have suited a concentration camp guard.
I settled in the chair opposite her desk and as the smoke cleared became aware that I was under scrutiny from several different angles.
Saint Cliff looked down on me from about twenty posters and pictures which were haphazardly located around the room. I considered that perhaps their placement may not have been as random as it initially seemed, no matter where you allowed your gaze to settle his face looked back at you. What was more disconcerting was that the Michael Angelo effect was in full force as each and every photo seemed to make eye contact with me. I even subtly moved my chair but Cliff’s steely gaze followed me.
‘Have you brought your keys Mark?’ she asked, eyeing me suspiciously over her latest cancer stick.
‘No, and its Marcus.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well because I need them obviously.’
‘Not for much longer.’
‘This is why I’m here.’
‘To tell me you’ve been given the bullet? I already know.’
‘What? Bullet? No! I actually have no idea what that expression means. I don’t speak housing officer I am afraid.’
The thought occurred to me that I was also suffering the ignominy of Trudy knowing about my predicament before I did.
‘I was hoping we could reach an agreement that could in effect, make this whole process a little more humane,’ I said.
‘I don’t take bribes.’
This was not going as well as I had hoped to be fair.
‘Of course not and I don’t offer them, I am hopi
ng we can reach an accommodation about my………accommodation. So to speak.’ I said.
‘I have no idea what that means.’
This was the problem when dealing with those of lesser intellect; it required communicating in something other than English.
‘Sorry, what I meant to say was I am here to appeal to your humanity and ask if I can be granted a stay of execution?’
Realising she would probably take this literally I added, ‘By way of allowing me more time to source other lodgings.’
‘I don’t have any,’ she said.
‘Any what?’
‘Either of them.’
I suddenly recalled why I had avoided contact with this person for the past twelve years. She was obviously mentally incapacitated in some way.
‘Either of what?’
‘Humanity or alternate lodgings. I need your place by next Monday, so you need to be out by Friday to allow the cleaner in over the weekend to sort it for the new bloke.’
‘What new bloke?’
‘The guy who is going to be teaching Business Studies, popular course apparently. He’s moving in on Monday.’
‘I had hoped for more time,’ I said.
She took a long drag on her cigarette and as she exhaled the cloud of smoke she said, ‘Look Mark, I know this is difficult for you.’
Somewhat of an understatement I felt, but probably not the time to mention it.
‘So I’ll do what I can to help.’
My heart soared, at last a break through. This heinous woman was going to prove to be my saviour.
‘You can keep your stuff in boxes in the store room until you are sorted. Oh yeah, I’ll call the housing people at the council and tell them you are a special case.’
‘What does that mean?’ I asked.
‘Basically that you are a prat who got himself sacked and is going to be homeless.’
‘I see.’
‘Don’t mention it. Least I could do.’
It was indeed.
I had no intention of contacting the housing office but asked Trudy where it was out of politeness. She told me to ask for Sharon at the “Destitute and Desperate” desk, I was not sure if she was joking.
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