by Adam Croft
Being back at work will probably help take my mind off things — at least until the funeral.
We spent New Year’s Eve at home, watching the telly. I didn’t feel much like celebrating, and I stopped going out for New Year years ago when it started to cost twenty quid to even get into a pub, not to mention being packed in like sardines and having to queue for three quarters of an hour to get a drink.
But hey. New year, new me, as the saying goes. It’s time to get back on the horse and have a damn good go at making this year better than the last.
As I walk into the office, Sue spots me and walks over.
‘Grace, can I have a word please?’ she says.
This worries me. Sue and I have a very friendly relationship, and everyone in the office is casual and playful. This seems a little formal.
I follow Sue into her office and close the door behind me.
‘I’ve had Matilda Dewitt on the phone,’ she says.
‘Ah. Yeah, she sent me an email. I sent a few comments to you about it just before Christmas, but I don’t know if you’ve read them yet. It’ll probably be somewhere amongst all the—’
‘Yes, I’ve read them,’ Sue says, interrupting me. ‘And so has Matilda.’
My heart lurches and I feel the colour draining from my cheeks. ‘Excuse me?’
‘That email you sent to me, calling her out and slagging her off. You sent it to her, too.’
I struggle to catch my breath as I begin to realise the enormity of what Sue’s saying.
‘No I didn’t,’ I say. ‘That’s not possible.’
‘Of course it is, Grace. We’ve all sent emails to the wrong people before. It’s especially easy when you’re talking about that person and end up typing their name into the wrong box. And that’s exactly why it’s such a bloody stupid idea to use your official company email to slag off our most important and high-paying clients.’
Sue’s furious. I can see it in her eyes. Any pretences of our friendly relationship are completely gone, and I can tell this isn’t going to end well. Even the most relaxed of working relationships have their boundaries, and this has well and truly breached ours.
‘I… I don’t know what to say. I can’t even remember what the email said.’
‘Maybe I can jog your memory,’ Sue replies. ‘How about “She turned it down because she didn’t want her snooty Z-list arse-lickers to get butthurt by being demoted to the second or third round of admissions”? Or perhaps the bit where you called her a “snotty bitch”? If that’s not enough, maybe it was you calling her a cow twice, or maybe the bits where you referred to her “shitty gallery” and her husband’s hairpiece?’
My legs turn to jelly and I sit down on the chair next to Sue’s desk.
‘You won’t be surprised to hear she’s made an official complaint,’ Sue says.
‘I really don’t know what to say.’
Sue perches on the edge of her desk next to me. ‘What on earth possessed you to send something like that, Grace?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know. We all do it. We all talk like that to each other.’
‘Yes, and we shouldn’t. It’s not professional. And sending it to the client herself is just completely fucking stupid. We could have pacified her, you know. When she complained about the event. I could have called her up, calmed her down, reduced her bill and kept her happy. We’d still have made a tidy profit, and we’d have been in with a chance of getting to do the launches for her other gallery.’
‘I’ll call her,’ I say. ‘I’ll apologise.’
‘Oh no you won’t. That ship’s long sailed. We’ve got absolutely no chance. She’s made a formal complaint against you, Grace. She’s refusing to pay a single penny of her bill until she’s satisfied that you’ve gone through the proper disciplinary procedure.’
My chest hurts. My eyes sting. I want this all to end.
‘Right,’ I say, my voice a hoarse whisper.
‘We’re not sure what that is yet. I’ve spoken to the other directors and we think we might be able to do some damage limitation on your part by leaving a bit of time for Matilda to calm down. In the meantime, we’ve got to suspend you pending further investigation and discussions.’
‘Suspend me?’
‘It’s for your own good, Grace. Trust me. If we can put a bit of time between this, we might be able to bring her back off the ledge. We’ve lost her business, we know that, but if we can play this right, we might just be able to save you.’
‘Save me?’
‘According to our company disciplinary procedure, it’s gross misconduct, Grace. Your actions have brought the company into disrepute. By rights, we should terminate your employment. I’m not going to lie, that’s still on the cards. But believe me, we don’t want to have to do that. We’re in a lot of shit and I’m locking horns with the other directors just to try and keep hold of you. You know the difficulties we’ve been in this year thanks to Pelham-fucking-Saunders. Three guesses who Matilda Dewitt’s given her next five gallery launches to? Just go home, take a breather and let us deal with this, okay?’
I look at Sue, my eyes filling with tears as I begin to realise I might not be quite as in control of my life as I was hoping.
22
Monday 6 January
I haven’t had much sleep over the past few nights. I’ve been awake for most of them, tossing and turning, worrying about what had happened at work.
I told Tom about it as soon as he got home on Thursday, and he was shocked but supportive. He told me he was sure it would all sort itself out and that Sue would be able to talk Matilda round. I’m not so sure on that front. My main worry is that she won’t be able to convince the company to keep me on. We’re already looking at the strong possibility of redundancies, and I doubt someone who’d recently committed gross misconduct is going to be anywhere other than top of the list when the axe falls.
I realise how damaging my stupid mistake must have been for the company, but it could be catastrophic for me. If I lose my job I’ll have nothing. I’ve got nothing already, so I’ll have even less. I’ll lose the house, without a shadow of a doubt. Tom won’t be able to cover the full mortgage. He’s not even covered his own half yet. And there’s no way I’ll be able to walk straight into another job after having just been sacked for gross misconduct and bringing my previous employer into disrepute.
Tom keeps telling me they haven’t sacked me, and that there’s a good chance they might not, but I think I’m pretty certain to lose my job either way. I didn’t buy Sue’s talk about wanting to give them some space so she could talk the other directors and Matilda around to her way of thinking. The more I mull it over in my mind, the more I’ve come to the conclusion that this is their way of ensuring this is still ongoing when the time comes to announce their first round of redundancies. Then they can let me go by making me redundant, effectively firing me without having to actually have me go through the ignominy of a disciplinary procedure or having it on my record. It won’t make it much easier for me to get another job, though, and in any case I reckon I’d have to find something within about a week in order to avoid defaulting on payments.
I mentioned to Tom that perhaps I should start looking for new jobs now, in an attempt to have something lined up. It seemed like a sensible idea to me, but he said I should focus on having some time to myself and getting my mind straight before rushing into anything. I’d have much more chance of being successful if I’d recharged my batteries first, he said. Best to get Nan’s funeral, Cath’s wedding and everything else out of the way first.
As I’m making breakfast, a text comes through to my phone from Mum.
Are you at work today? x
I sigh as I tap out my response. Ordinarily, I should be at work. But it’s easier to tell a little white lie.
No, working from home today. Why’s that? x
I butter my toast and sit down at the table, then another message from Mum pops up.
Just wondered if
we could pop in. Mid morning maybe? x
I look at the clock on the wall. It’s almost ten o’clock anyway, so they’re hardly giving me much notice.
Should be fine. Give me half an hour or so to finish off what I’m doing if poss? x
Sure x, comes the reply.
I scoff breakfast, jump in the shower and try to make myself look presentable. A moment before they arrive, I flip open my laptop and bring up a couple of random spreadsheets, then spread my notebook and pen next to it, so it looks like they’ve caught me in the middle of something important. Might as well keep up appearances.
When they arrive, I offer them both a cup of coffee. Tom and I don’t drink coffee, and we only bother with it when Mum and Dad come over. Mum tells me they’re only passing through, though, so no coffee today.
‘Tom at work?’ Dad says.
‘Yeah, he is. He’s got meetings and all sorts.’
‘We wanted to ask you something, actually,’ Mum says, changing the subject. ‘It’s a little delicate, so we hope you don’t mind.’
I can tell by the tone of Mum’s voice and the general atmosphere that something about this is going to be pretty awkward.
‘Go on,’ I say.
Mum sits down at the kitchen table, and Dad leans back against the wall, his arms crossed, backside propped on top of the radiator.
‘Well, we’ve been at your Nan’s place over the past day or two. Sorting out all her things, you know. Trying to work out what’s got to go where. And we were wondering… Do you remember that amethyst necklace she used to have?’
‘Yeah, of course,’ I say. ‘She used to wear it all the time.’
‘That’s the one,’ Mum says, nodding. ‘You used to love it, ever since you were a little girl. You were the only one she ever used to take it off for.’
I smile, remembering it fondly. ‘I was only talking to Tom about it just before Christmas, when we realised she didn’t have long left. Strange, the things that come back to you.’
Mum looks at Dad, who returns an awkward glance.
‘Yes, well, there’s a bit of a problem on that front,’ Mum says. ‘We’ve searched everywhere, but we can’t seem to find it.’
I narrow my eyes. ‘That’s weird. She wasn’t wearing it when she… you know…?’
‘No. She only had her wedding ring on. They itemise everything. Sordid, I know, but that’s how it is. She used to take it off every night when she went to bed, but then she’d always lay it out neatly on her bedside table. We presumed that’s where it would be, but it’s not.’
‘Oh. That’s weird. Have you asked the carers?’
Mum nods. ‘Yes, but they don’t know anything about it. They haven’t been back since she passed, of course. No-one has, other than your Dad and I. As far as we know.’
‘As far as you know?’ I ask. There’s an odd inflection in her voice which tells me there’s some sort of hidden meaning there, but I can’t quite catch it.
‘Well, we wondered if perhaps you’d been back there at all. To reminisce, maybe, or help… I don’t know, tidy up or something.’
‘No, of course I haven’t. Why would I do that?’
‘We don’t know,’ Mum replies. ‘But we can’t seem to think of any other explanation for it.’
Now I’m catching on. ‘Hang on a second. You think I took the necklace?’
‘No, no, of course we don’t,’ Mum says. ‘I mean, you might have looked at it, or moved it or borrowed it.’
‘Or Tom did,’ Dad says, his first words since arriving.
I look at him and cock my head. ‘Tom?’
‘Well we know you wouldn’t take it,’ Mum says, her voice almost a conspiratorial whisper.
‘And neither would Tom,’ I reply, refusing to dip my own volume.
Mum looks round, as if he’s going to be able to hear her, even though they know damn well he’s at work.
‘Perhaps it’s an honest mistake, Grace. Maybe the last time you were visiting he saw it and… I don’t know, perhaps he just—’
‘Are you actually serious?’ I say, raising my voice. ‘Is this some sort of joke?’
‘We can’t think of any other explanation, Grace,’ Dad replies.
I stand up and push my chair in, looking at them both.
‘Well you’re wrong,’ I say. ‘Tom didn’t take it. And do you know how I know? Because he’s never even set foot in her house, that’s why. How dare you come round here and accuse him of doing that? After everything that’s been said and done over the past few days!’
Mum stands up and moves towards me. ‘Darling, we just—’
‘No, Mum! I’ve had enough. Get out. Both of you. Just get out!’
They look at each other, Mum giving Dad a look that says I told you this was a stupid idea, before they both leave.
23
Tuesday 7 January
I didn’t dare tell Tom what Mum and Dad said. I know he’d have been supportive and told me they were just under stress, didn’t know him that well and had no other option, but it doesn’t matter. How on earth do you tell your own partner that your parents suspect him of stealing your dead Nan’s jewellery?
I really don’t know what they’ve got against Tom. Maybe they’re just hell-bent on me staying single. They were broken when Matt left and they realised it was over between us. If they ever have realised, that is. I still don’t think they’ve come to terms with it. Part of me wonders whether they want me to be happy because there’s a chance it might go wrong again. Maybe they’re just waiting for Matt to come back into my life, or for me to go chasing him and asking for him back because things were so much better before.
I’m pretty sure Tom can tell something’s up, but he doesn’t say anything. He probably just thinks I’m still upset about Nan and the work thing.
Cath’s wedding is next month, and I’m desperately hoping I’ll be able to put on some sort of a brave face for it. At the moment it feels as though the whole world is crashing down on me.
While we’re busily watching some rubbish on TV, Mum texts to ask if they can come over. My heart sinks. It didn’t exactly go all that well the last time they did that. But she adds a caveat: she wants to apologise.
Having them over would mean telling Tom about what happened, the things they’d accused him of, and I really don’t want to have to do that. But Mum’s follow-up text tells me I might not have much choice.
Please. We’re outside x
I daren’t open the curtains and peer out, because they’ll see me. Not that they don’t already know I’m in here, of course. But the fact they’ve turned up and parked outside the house without even contacting me first really pisses me off.
‘What is it?’ Tom says, noticing something’s wrong.
So I tell him. I have to. I’ve got no choice.
‘I don’t really know what to say,’ he replies, calm and dignified.
‘You don’t need to say anything,’ I tell him. ‘It’s ridiculous. You’ve never even been in Nan’s house. I told them that.’
Tom sighs. ‘So do they think it’s you?’
‘I’ve no idea. Probably. I don’t really care. They’ll find it eventually and look like a pair of idiots, then they’ll have to come running back to apologise to me with their tail between their legs. Then something else will happen and that’ll be my fault too. The cycle continues.’
Grace? x
I tap out a reply.
Give me five minutes.
‘Maybe they’ve found it,’ Tom says. ‘Maybe that’s why they’ve come round. To apologise.’
‘In that case, you’ve got a higher opinion of them than I have,’ I reply.
I go upstairs and get changed, then come back down and wait for the doorbell to ring. When it does, I get up and open the door. I don’t say a word.
‘Can we come in?’ Mum says.
I stand back and let them in, then Tom comes out of the living room, friendly and courteous as ever.
‘Coffee?�
� he says.
‘No,’ I reply, before they can. ‘They won’t be here long enough for that.’
Tom walks back into the living room looking like a scolded child, and I stand in the hallway, waiting to hear what Mum and Dad have to say.
We stand in silence for a few moments, almost as if they’re expecting me to speak first — as if I have anything I want to say to them after the way they’ve treated me and Tom. Eventually, I walk through into the living room and sit down. My parents follow me.
As is so often the case, it’s Dad who breaks the silence.
‘Grace, we’re well aware that things haven’t really been getting off on the right foot lately.’
I make a noise that’s halfway between a snort and a huff and cross my arms.
Dad continues. ‘And we’re also well aware that we might have jumped the gun a couple of times and not got our points across in the right way.’
‘Let me stop you there,’ I say, interrupting him. ‘This isn’t about you being misunderstood or not getting things across in the right way. You came over here while Tom was at work and you out-and-out accused him of being a liar and a thief.’
‘That’s not quite what we said,’ Mum replies, shuffling awkwardly in her seat.
Tom, dignified as ever, says nothing and does his best not to look offended.
‘Look at it from our point of view,’ Dad says. ‘The bloody sun’s position is less predictable than that necklace’s was. Then the second Mum’s dead, it disappears. The only people who’ve been in there or who’ve got keys is us and you.’
‘And the carers.’
‘Come on, Grace. If the carers were going to nick her jewellery, they’d have done it on one of the thousand other times they were in the house. Why wait until she’s dead?’