Who Stole My Life?

by C. P. IRVINE, IAN

  She pauses. Thinking.

  "Okay. Fine... This is a bit weird, but I'll go with it...My name," she smiles, turning a little red, as if she is embarrassed. "…is Helen Engel. I'm a Partner at Peters Hall and Irvine, who, I am sure you know is the second largest advertising firm in London. The firm that taught you a lot of what you know today, and where you worked happily for many years…"

  "Five." I interrupt her."…According to my ‘executive profile’, that was just drawn up by our P.R. company."

  "Yes, five. Then you left and went to Cohen's. A strange move, but hey, we all do these things for money. Unfortunately, it’s a move you've regretted since the day you walked out of our offices, and left your incredible creative team high and dry. They were all shocked by the way…"

  I squirm in my seat. The more I learn about my former self, the less I like myself. What sort of bastard was I?

  "Anyway," she carries on, reading my body language and realizing she should change tack."I was your best friend at PHI. We joined at the same time, both did well. You left, I got promoted two years later. Since then we’ve kept in touch. Through the good times, and a lot of the bad times. Stayed friends. Very good friends. Sometimes better friends than we should have been, but we won't go there just now. Fact is, that we were, and still are, close. Very close. About six months ago you started talking about wanting to come back to PHI. About cutting loose from Richard's mad organisation, and about how you couldn’t take it any longer. About how the politics and the insanity, and Richard always stealing your ideas had driven you to the point of just walking out."

  "Is it really that bad?" I ask, glossing over her previous comment about being more than just friends. Best left alone.

  "Bad? Come on, you must know that Richard is infamous throughout the industry for being the biggest Dick in town? How you ever managed to stick it so long, is one of the talking points of the London advertising world." She suddenly becomes very serious and leans across the table to me. "James, you're good. Damn good. You could work for anyone in the industry, get any client you want. Shit, you could start your own agency if you really wanted to. But you don’t believe in yourself, …and you're a coward. And Richard knows that too. He's screwing you, sucking the life out of you, bleeding you dry of every creative juice in your body, and making a fortune in the process. Do you know how much of Cohen's business comes from your books? About 60%! You told me yourself. 60%. That's more than three of the Partners at PHI combined."

  "So, the last time we met, you said that you had stuck your neck out for me, and that you had approached your other partners and asked them to take me back, and to give me a job. If I'm that damn good, why didn't they just jump at the chance straight away?"

  "Because of what you did when you left PHI. And how you left. The other Partners hate you. Okay, so they respect you, but when you left PHI you took two of our best customers to Richard at Cohen’s, and spread some pretty nasty dirt to some of our other clients, in the hope they would ditch PHI and come after you too. PHI aren't stupid. What's to say that if they give you another job, that you won't just do the same thing again?"

  "But if, as you say, I'm so good and I have so many good customers, about 60% of the Cohen's business, surely they would see that I don’t need to steal customers anymore. I can get my own." I reason.

  "True. And that's what I argued. But they're scared that you might take the business from Cohen's, then join us, take our best business and then set up yourself. And besides that, there's that whole business of the slandering you did last time you left. You caused some damage. Money's one thing. But PHI can't afford to be tarred with your dirty brush again. If they take you back, they will risk a lot. It will be a big step for them."

  "So if I'm so good, and I hate Cohen’s, and Richard, why don't I just set up my own agency now?"

  "Good question. I've been asking you that for years. But the truth is that you are probably not quite ready for it yet. In another two years maybe. You just lack self-belief. And in this business, we both know that's half the equation. You need someone to really mentor you on the confidence building side of things. And that’s where PHI could come in. So I went to bat for you with the Partners, argued like crazy on your behalf that things would be different this time around, that you wouldn't screw us again and that if we gave you the opportunity and the safe harbour from where you could really develop and grow yourself even more, you would be loyal to us."

  The waitress interrupts us both, urging us to order something. We both scan the menu quickly and pick something to eat. I go for an omelet and chips.

  "And, so what did they say?"

  "It took a lot of arguing, and I mean a lot. But eventually they came around. PHI offered you a five year contract. So long as you promise in writing that there'll be no fucking-around. With legally binding penalties if you screw us and try to take any clients from us again. But with one caveat."

  "Which is what?"

  "That you first show us good faith, and make reparations for some of the damage you did previously, by bringing us a couple of big clients from Cohen’s when you make the move."

  "Like who?"

  "Like Scotia Telecom, and the Dome Deal for a start. You suggested them. They were your idea. Your sacrificial lambs. You put them on the table, PHI saw that the offer was good, and we agreed to do the deal. You give us both those accounts, we forgive you, and you come back to PHI."

  "Aha…." I begin to understand.

  "Exactly. Everyone's happy. Fact is, the deal was almost done. When, after all that, out of the blue, you get back up to your old tricks, and you sign both of them with Cohen. "Double-crossing bastard" was the term Andrew used…our Chairman, when he found out. You made me look a fool too."

  "But, I didn't know anything about any of this. I had amnesia. This is the first time I've heard about it. I didn't even know I was so unhappy at Cohen’s."

  "I know, I know. And I believe you now. But at least you can understand why I was so pissed off with you yesterday. I thought you screwed our friendship as well as my career."

  "No. Bloody hell. This is a right mess. I'm so sorry."

  Our food arrives, and for a few minutes we fight with cutlery, salt and pepper and a few mouthfuls of lunch. We both sit, chewing food, digesting what has been said so far. I catch her eyes, in between a mouthful of peas and potatoes. She is looking back at me, and I can see she is waiting for me to say something.

  "One more time, how much do I hate it at Cohen’s?" I ask.

  " 'Hate' was one of the words you used. Another one was 'detest'. Richard Cohen, in your own words, is out to suck you dry, …to use your creativity but not reward you for it? Did you not see the press release on the Scotia deal. He practically took all the credit for it, didn't mention you anywhere."

  "Yes, " I nod. " I noticed that."

  "But I don't understand why, if Richard is such a bad guy and is out to suck me dry and not give me any credit, why has he just made me partner?"

  "Think about it. He's been pushing you for years. But he knows that you are not stupid, and that if you won Scotia and then also the Dome deal, then he probably couldn't get away with it anymore. You'd be so high profile in the industry that you'd bound to be a target for others to headhunt you out of Cohen…so he does a pre-emptive strike, and really muddies the water by offering you a Partnership. But I would bet that the deal you've got on Partnership is nothing like what I've got, or what you could get at PHI, say, sometime in the future?"

  "What about now? Would PHI make me a Partner now?"

  She puts down her knives and fork.

  "Steady on. One step at a time. If PHI offer you a life-line out of there, then you first have to prove yourself loyal and show yourself to be grateful. Then maybe we can perhaps talk about Partnership in say, six months or a year. Of course, when it happens…that's a different matter. PHI are a good company to work for, and the Partners there…well, we all do well. You made a mistake, a BIG mistake, when you left PH
I in the first place. If you'd stayed, you'd be a Partner now too. Definitely."

  I sip some water, and wash down the rest of my hurriedly eaten lunch.

  "So what happens now?" I ask.

  "You think about this over the weekend, and then you call me on Monday, telling me if you want me to talk to the Board again. I'll explain the extenuating circumstances, and I think they'll understand. Then you hand in your resignation to Richard next week, which you were planning to do a few weeks ago anyway, and then you start with PHI the week after."

  "Wow. Big changes."

  "James, it's what you wanted. You’re just lucky I was around to remind you…"

  Chapter Thirty One

  Friday Afternoon and Tosca

  .

  As I walk back to the office, I realize that this weekend I am going to have to make some pretty big decisions. Or do I just accept the decision that I had already made before my 'C' day, and just go with the flow. Leave Cohen’s, and move back to PHI, which, by the sound of it, is a much better place to work anyway.

  A group of tourists pass me by, jabbering away in Spanish, and gesticulating wildly at each other.

  "Ah!" I suddenly remember. "I have to call Sarah's mother in Spain." In all the excitement of this morning I had completely forgotten about it. When I get back to the office, I dial International Directory Enquiries and give them her name and the address of the house in Sierra Sien, a little town high in the mountains about two hours drive south-east of Madrid. I remember the address off by heart, having visited it with Sarah quite often, before her mother died five years ago. If she isn't dead now, hopefully she will still be there.

  "I am sorry, 'owever, there eez no one there living there by that name." The operator tells me in broken English, when she responds to my call.

  "Can you try Martha Coltrane?" I ask again, trying her mother's maiden name, which luckily I remember.

  "I am sorry. The name we have for ze person who is living at theeze 'ouse, is not that name. I cannot help you."

  "Can you please just give me the telephone number of the house, and I can call them directly myself. The people who live there now might know where my friend moved to?" I plead with the operator.

  "I am sorry. That eez against ze rules. I cannot help you, sir."

  I thank her, and ring off. Rules. There are so many bloody rules designed to stop people finding friends, it's ridiculous. Was it this bad in my world?, I ask myself, knowing full well that the answer is that it was exactly the same.

  Looking at my watch I realize that I have thirty minutes free before my next meeting. I pull out my diary and look up my page of notes where I have outlined the plan to search for Sarah.

  1: Find father and visit him. Get contact address from him for where Sarah is now.

  2: Visit graveyard where mother is buried. Try to see if I can get contact address from curator of graveyard.

  3: Contact Rosedean Secondary Modern. Maybe they have some alumni scheme?

  4: Likewise for Kings College.

  5: Ditto for Teacher training college.

  6: Check to see if Centric Telecom still exists. If it does, maybe they have a record of Sarah working there.

  7:Try finding her best friend in Telford. Maybe she's still working at the same old school?

  My options are running out. Only the last two continue to offer any hope. Of these, I decide to try and deal with the second last one now, and turn to my computer, entering Centric Telecom into the Google search page.

  A few entries come up, but nothing to do with my old company.

  I type in the address of where Centric Telecom used to be, and a few companies come up as being listed at that location. None of them a telecoms company, or anything vaguely sounding familiar.

  I'm getting used to disappointment now. Should I bother jumping in a taxi and going round to the old building to see if I can get any other clues? Would anyone there now, possibly remember if there used to be a company called Centric Telecom operating from there in the past?

  Why not just call the other companies listed in that building now? I look at my watch. Fifteen minutes. I've got time and nothing to lose.

  Going through the list of companies that are listed, I call the advertized numbers, and talk to the receptionists. "Have you ever heard of a company called Centric Telecom? Was there ever a company that sounded like that in your building? How long have you worked there for? Can you ask one of your colleagues? Who owns the building now?" Etc. etc. etc.

  Nothing.

  Zero steps forward. No steps back.

  The only thing left on my list is to drive up to Ironbridge and see if Sarah's old friend still works at the school there. This was the last idea on the list and a measure of last resort, hoping that I would only end up here if I had no other options.

  The idea of going there again immediately fills me with dread, even after all these years. The last time I went up to visit her was under circumstances that no man should have to face or deal with. Bad memories, painful images, a nightmare that doesn't really go away.

  Not even in this new world…

  --------------------

  I sit through Richard's 'all-hands' meeting later that afternoon, wondering what on earth I'm going to do. I take a back seat, watching his face and mannerisms, squirming at the deceitfulness of the way he goes about things. I watch his eyes, his false smiles, and think about everything that Helen has told me.

  If it wasn't for her, telling me about just how unhappy I was, I wonder just how long would it have been before I came to that conclusion again. Before I would have been desperate to get out. I owe Helen a lot. A gut reaction begins to form in my belly, and I think that I already know what I am going to do. Thinking about how he has been sneaking around me, paranoid that I am going to leave, and how once he had given me the Partnership, he backdated the pay rise. He knew he should have given me a better deal earlier on, but he didn't. He was trying to screw me. Just like Helen said.

  I become angry. So much so, that when Richard…the Big Dick…a name I now know to be wisely chosen…asks me if I want to say anything in front of the gathered company employees, I have to turn him down just in case people can hear the anger when I speak.

  After a single drink down the Crown, where everyone retires to immediately after the all-hands meeting, I sneak away so that I can meet Jane for our second attempt to see "Tosca".

  Having completely ruined the evening the last time, I pick up a bouquet of flowers for her from the flower stand on the corner. I am even polite to the 'penguin' at the entrance to The Ivy, where we boldly put in an appearance, so soon after the 'incident' the week before.

  I hate opera, have never liked it, in this life, my past life, or any life to come. But for Jane's sake, I pretend to love it. So I sit through almost two-and-a-half hours of someone singing something in a foreign language, and prancing around the stage in tights and flamboyant garish costumes, not understanding for one moment, anything that is going on. But holding Jane's hand and smiling at all the right moments.

  Still, being forced to sit still for a couple of hours, it gives me a chance to think about moving to PHI, about Sarah, and everything that has happened to me. My mind moves quickly from one thought to the next, images rapidly forming in my mind, and taking on a life of their own. Slowly my eyelids get heavier, and the warmth of the theatre lulls me into dreamland: the place I go to talk with my children and be with my wife.

  It's only when Jane prods me in the ribs at the end of the show, saying "wake up" that I realize, that once again, I may be in her bad books.

  But as we catch a cab home to Surbiton, she cuddles in close beside me on the back seat, and thanks me for a wonderful evening. "Don't worry…I'll forgive you for falling asleep. At least you didn't snore."

  --------------------

  On the pretext of going fishing with my father, the next day I find myself in the Audi, zapping up the M6 and M54 towards Telford, resolved to find Sarah's best friend Mar
y in spite of the painful memories of the last time I made this drive alone, trying to save my marriage and protect our family.

  Stupidly, it's not until I get to Ironbridge that I realize that it’s a Saturday, and that the school where I am hoping she will still be working, will be closed.

  Feeling rather stupid, but still resolved, especially since I have summoned the courage to get this far, I drive to the school and park outside. Walking up to the gates, I find them open, and hear the sound of children's voices screaming and shouting from behind the school buildings.

  Aha… Saturday morning Rugby and Hockey.