Who Stole My Life?

by C. P. IRVINE, IAN

  There is a moment's silence, a few people look at each other, but surprisingly there is no obvious embarrassment. Then, almost en masse, everyone shouts back their approval. They all genuinely seem to be a happy crowd.

  "Okay, okay, I know you all call me 'Big Dick' behind my back, but I deserve it. If we can't take the piss out of ourselves, then we don't deserve to take the piss out of others. And anyway, after last year's Christmas party, I think it's common knowledge that the name Big Dick is richly deserved. It serves me right for being so drunk that I fell asleep in the toilet and got locked in the restaurant overnight!"

  Everyone laughs. Some people clap.

  "But seriously, though, the important thing is that here at Cohen's we enjoy our work. And because we enjoy it, we produce some of the most outstanding campaigns in the industry. If not the best."

  Everyone cheers again.

  "Claire, I'm sorry to see you leave. We all are. I know I'm speaking for all of us when I say that. So I just wanted to say 'thank you' for everything you've done for us, and for James over the years… and, as a sign of our appreciation for your hard work, I would like to offer you this." He hands over a large white envelope to Claire, who takes it from him quickly with one hand, and steps forward and gives Richard a massive hug, tears streaming down her face. While she is burying her wet face into his chest, Richard announces to everyone that the envelope contains tickets for an all-expenses paid weekend in Rome for Claire and a friend.

  I look on, almost as if I'm an unwelcome observer to this whole scene. A feeling of disquiet and unrest beginning to grow in my chest.

  The incredible open signs of affection from Claire to Richard, the warm response and the laughter Richard's little speech so obviously elicited. And the generosity of the gift from Richard. A personal gift, one which he paid for himself. As partner I know that it wasn't paid for by the company. It's as much a surprise to me as it is to her.

  There is something very wrong here. What I have just witnessed and what my experience, at least what I believe my experience of working for Cohen's is, don't match up.

  My mind is racing, but as I struggle to come to grips with my thoughts, I become uncomfortably aware that Richard is inviting me to say a few words too. After all, Claire is my PA. (And I haven't even got her a present…!)

  Suddenly the feeling of being Judas again.

  I step up on the chair, beckon for everyone to be quiet, then try to follow Richard’s example. Except, I find that I have nothing or little to say. I can't quip any funny remarks about Claire, because I don’t remember much about her. I feel extra stupid, because I have the feeling that everyone in the office knows that I had an affair with her, and suspect that the reason she is leaving is something to do with me. So for a few minutes I waffle on about how wonderful the opportunity is that she is going after, and how I am sure that one day soon, she may be running her own very large and successful company, and how I hope that when that happens, if I come to her and ask her for a job, she will remember me. That gets a small laugh. Best quit whilst I'm ahead.

  "I'm not one for big speeches," I start to wrap it up, and get another laugh. "But I just want to say that I don't know how I'll survive without her. I'll miss her. A lot."

  Everyone senses there is more behind the last words than there actually is, and I get a round of applause. And a big hug and an affectionate kiss from Claire, which draws a cheer and some raucous whooping from the rabble.

  Behind us Alice is busy cracking the bottles of champagne and passing out the drinks. Richard takes over from me and invites everyone to join us in a toast to Claire's future, and the traditional three cheers for any Cohen’s leaver. Everyone raises their glasses, cheers, and the evening's celebrations begin.

  "And…" Richard concludes, shouting above the din of the crowd…" I forgot to mention, I've got a tab behind the bar in The Crown for Claire until 8 pm. After that, you're on your own."

  Another cheer. And then the serious drinking begins.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Help!

  .

  Shortly after seven, I finally manage to grab Claire and drag her to a corner of the pub. The rest of the company see me with her, and leave us to it. I know that they are thinking I'm having a last minute moment of intimacy with her, maybe even trying it on with her again. But I don’t care. I've got other things on my mind.

  "So, are you sad to be leaving then. I mean, genuinely sad? Or was all that back there just a show?" I ask her, as we sit down at a table.

  "What do you mean? Of course I'm sad to be going. I almost feel guilty. Not for leaving you, …you'll survive, you bastard…you always do. But because I love working for Cohen’s. They’ve given me a lot, and I feel bad about just walking out."

  "…but I thought people didn't like working here?"

  "Who told you that?"

  No one did. I just assumed it.

  "Claire. I need to ask you a few things. Important things…"

  "What?" she says, a little tipsy.

  "I feel stupid, but did you really come here to Cohen’s with me from PHI?"

  Her eyes crumple up at the corners and form a big question mark.

  "Of course I did. You begged me to. But I would have anyway. I wanted to leave PHI too."

  "Shit. I didn't realize that you had worked at PHI too. Can I tell you a secret, Claire?"

  But even as I ask her I realize that it may be a big mistake to tell her anything just now.

  "No…forget that. But tell me, why did I leave PHI and why were you so happy to come with me?"

  "Because it's a shit hole. We hated working there, and you couldn't wait to escape."

  A twinge runs from the top of my spine to my testicles. Then a sudden sinking feeling. A feeling of impending dread.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Like I said. You spent most of your time there trying to escape. Most people did. It’s a totally crap company to work for. You hated the place!"

  Oh no.

  "Have you ever heard of a woman there, I think she's probably a partner now, …called Helen?"

  "Yes. Of course I have. She hated you and you hated her. She's one of the big reasons you left. You both joined PHI at the same time, and rubbed each other up the wrong way from the first day you got there."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Listen, you're the one with the memory loss, not me. What's this all about?" she asks, putting down her glass of wine, and raising a finger to touch me on my arm. "Actually, come to think of it, it's funny you should mention her...", Claire continues, "...because only a couple of weeks ago she called me up out of the blue. She was sniffing around for information on the Scotia Telecom deal. She'd seen the photo in one of the marketing mags, and was asking questions about it. Then last week she called me again and tried to get some information on the Dome deal. She was also sniffing around on the Olympics deal, but I didn't say anything. Someone in her company had seen you talking to Stu Roberts in a bar a couple of months ago, and she must have put two and two together."

  "So you know about the Olympics deal?" I ask, in disbelief.

  "Of course I do, it was me that set up the first meeting with Stu several months ago. I don't know if you've forgotten, but I am…sorry, I was…your PA. I do all your meetings for you. But don’t worry, I didn't tell anyone else, just like you asked. Listen, have I done something wrong?"

  "No." I stutter. "No…no, you haven't. It's just that…, listen, did you tell Helen anything about me when she called up?"

  "Like what?"

  "About, you know…"

  "About your concussion? Of course I did. She wanted to speak to you, but you weren't in. You were off sick. Remember? We were all really worried for you. Everyone was. She was pretty insistent, and she was beginning to annoy me, so I had a go at her and I think I told her something about how if you were lucky you might have forgotten all about her too. Old bag."

  "So she knew all about my concussion?"

  "Yes…"


  Oh fuck.

  --------------------

  I walk for miles through the busy London streets, but like I always do when I really need to think, I end up back down at the Jubilee Bridge crossing the Thames. I stare out across the huge, dark, flowing river, watching the reflected evening lights dancing on the waves. Yellows, reds, white, blue. A bright vivid blue, bouncing off the river from the lights of the towering London Eye.

  The night air is cold, and a little chilly. Just what I need to freshen me up and sharpen my senses.

  It's all become clear now.

  Startlingly clear.

  The new world that I had begun to build around me, such a clever boy, so successful, so fucking smart that I am, has all just come crashing down around my ankles.

  I've just been taken for one of the biggest corporate rides in history.

  Twenty-nine million euros worth in fact. Twenty-nine million euros worth of business that is now PHI's!

  What an idiot.

  PHI don't want me. They want my clients. The Scotia deal, the Dome deal, and probably more than either of them together, they want the 2016 Olympics campaign.

  And what a clever and devious woman Helen is. Bitch. She put this whole scam together.

  I look up at Big Ben and admire it. Its famous chimes resound across the water, and I listen as it strikes ten. It's then that I realize that I have not yet signed the contract with PHI.

  Richard.

  Fuck, I've just resigned…

  I rush back through the busy streets, dodging round people on the pavements, missing moving cars and ignoring their blaring horns. By the time I arrive back at The Crown, I am exhausted and soaked through with sweat, but I find him still there, sitting in the corner by himself. Alone. Almost all the others have moved on now, to a club or a party somewhere else.

  He sees me as I walk in, and looks away. I can see the spirit has gone out of him now. I take a seat beside him, expecting to find him completely drunk. Instead, he looks up at me with clear eyes, and I can see that he is drinking orange juice. The man is stone sober.

  "You're not drinking?" I ask.

  "No… not tonight. I was just enjoying the evening. I want to remember it all…it was a good night. We had fun…Perhaps one of the last we'll have like that. Thanks to you."

  Judas.

  "Richard, can I buy you a drink? A real drink. I want to talk…and I think I have a lot of explaining to do…"

  PART FOUR

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Monday Afternoon Physics

  .

  Sitting outside Professor Kasparek's office in Edinburgh University brings back some very interesting memories. I can remember vividly the time I came to my first tutorial, a spotty, thin, twenty-year old, full of bright ideas and a hunger to learn Physics. "The man who understands Physics, is the man who has the key to changing the world!" is what the old professor told us at the start of his first lecture in Quantum Mechanics, the most popular course in our second year.

  He seemed old then, which must make him ancient now, twenty years later. A wonder he is still going, or can remember anything. Of course, when we were twenty, any person forty-plus was old. Sixty was ancient.

  The last incident on the Jubilee Line had plagued me all weekend. I realized on Sunday afternoon that I needed to understand better what was happening to me, and I needed to be able to talk to someone who might have some insight into it all. I was playing with Elspeth in the back-garden, pushing her on the swing, when I suddenly thought about my first job referee and old tutor at Edinburgh University, and realized that he was the obvious person to discuss this with. I looked him up in Directory Enquiries - there are not too many Professor Kaspareks listed - and gave him a call just after 4pm.

  "Professor Kasparek? Hi. I don't know if you will remember me, my name is James Quinn. You were my Tutor and Quantum Mechanics professor for three years whilst…"

  "Quinn? James Quinn…? Yes…yes, of course I do. How are you? How are you my boy?"

  "Fine…"

  "So, what are you doing nowadays? Did you ever go into advertising?"

  "Wow…you remembered. Yes, actually, I did. I'm a Partner now in one of the London firms…"

  "Excellent, my boy. Excellent. Shame about the physics though. You were rather good. One of the better ones. I really liked your fourth year project. Very, very original."

  "Actually, I rather want to discuss some Physics with you. Something has come up, that I think you might be able to help me with…"

  "Something to do with advertising?"

  "No. No. It's, well, actually it's too difficult to talk about on the phone. I was wondering if I were to jump on a plane and come up to Edinburgh tomorrow morning, if you might be able to give me an hour to discuss something…I think you might find it very interesting."

  "Tomorrow? Okay, that is possible. About two o'clock. I have a tutorial at four, so I don’t have too much time. By the way, I'm on the fourth floor of the King's Buildings now….Room 416."

  "Excellent. I'll find you."

  I was at Heathrow by 10 am and in Edinburgh by noon. Whenever I fly up to Scotland I'm always amazed by just how quick it is. I once spoke to a stewardess who told me that the flight time as the crow flies…although no crow can fly at 500 mph… is about forty minutes. The rest is waiting for take-off and joining the holding pattern for landing.

  I hired a car at the airport and drove through the city centre, past the incredible castle perched high on the plug of volcanic rock, looking out over and dominating the city below. The most impressive castle I have seen anywhere in the world. Scots people are so lucky…They have an incredible standard of living. Sun, sea, mountains and lochs (that's lakes to those south of the border.) But I lied about the sun.

  As I left Princes Street, and wound my way up the Mound, across the Royal Mile, where the first skyscrapers in the world were built, and then down past the statue of Greyfriar’s Bobby…the little Scottish dog who made his way into several Hollywood films…I wondered just how much Prof Kasparek will remember about me. I got to know him quite well after I had left university, through the alumni association and our common interest in hill-walking, and the reunions in 2002 and 2007. But that was in another world. The question is, did we have 'reunions' in this world too?

  I drive past the University in the center of the city, and head out along the Mayfield Road to the science campus on the outskirts of the city. Twenty minutes later I am back in the King's Buildings for the first time in years. Memories come flooding back. Real memories. Not anything imagined or concocted by a madman.

  "James. Come in, come in!" the Professor says enthusiastically, as he sticks his head around his office door and invites me in, hand outstretched.

  "Thanks." I say, taking his hand and shaking it warmly. Physically he doesn’t actually seem to have changed much, except his hair has gone white. Rather charming, but so typical of the classic image of any mad professor.

  "I can't believe it's been …what, fourteen years?" he says, "I looked up my notes…you were President of the Physics club in 1998, weren't you, the year you graduated?"

  "Twenty three years? Wow. It's hard to believe it's been that long. Did you ever make it to any of the reunions?" I ask, testing the water.

  "What reunions? I didn't hear about any?"

  Ah. So that answers my first question then.

  We chat for a while about nothing in particular, while he makes us both a cup of tea from the kettle at the back of his office. He asks me about my career, and I listen while he talks enthusiastically about his latest field of work. "Quantum holes, my boy, that's where it's at today. Quantum holes!"

  I listen, excitedly, wondering if there is any connection between Quantum Holes and making 'the jump', although when I find out a little more about what a Quantum Hole is, I suspect there isn't.

  "So what brings you all the way up from the Big Smoke? Something to do with an exciting advertising project? Is Saatchi and Saatchi going to
start promoting Nuclear Physics?"