EPISODE TWENTY-NINE

As soon as she got back from lunch, Nicky thought she had better clear her backlog of correspondence. The desk phone rang, seeming more shrill than usual, and telepathically something seemed to indicate that this was a bell of warning. She was right. As soon as she picked it up, just four words spat down the line:
‘Nicky! My office! Now!’
The boss from hell. The sticky Malcolm. Late-thirties, but already a head of grey hair, jowls and a scowl to match.  Reluctantly, she left the open-plan, walked along the corridor, the blazing sun streaming uncomfortably through the glass, and pushed open his door.
Without looking up, Malcolm said, ‘A word, Nicky. Sit down.’
Demurely, she eased herself into the chair of doom, trying to guess what she could have done to upset him. Okay, she was a bit behind on her correspondence, but there had been meetings to attend, and the IIP report to type up...
‘What about your e-mails?’ Malcolm demanded.  ‘You stopped reading them?’
Nicky’s throat felt dry. She coughed lightly before answering. ‘I checked all my e-mails mid-morning.’
He stared at her, his eyes full of hate.  Why did he hate her so much? she wondered. So much negativity. Okay, last Christmas he had come on a bit strong during the firm’s Christmas party, and she had made it clear that she wasn’t going to come across with the goodies, and certainly not with a married man almost twenty years her senior; but she thought he had got over that rejection. He had been drunk at the time, and she didn’t think he would remember much about the incident the day after. And for a long time he behaved as if nothing had happened, for which she was glad. But just recently, he had become unbearable.
‘I sent you an e-mail at eleven-forty-five,’ he said crisply. ‘I wanted you in here before your lunch break, and now it’s two-fifteen.’
‘Sorry,’ she muttered weakly. ‘What...um...what was it you wanted?’
He jerked a thumb at the wall behind him.  ‘See my clock. What time does it say?’
‘Um...one-fifteen.’
‘More than a month ago, someone should have moved it forward an hour. And as you’re a lowly Admin Assistant, that someone should have been you. Now take it off the wall, go back to your office, re-set the clock to the correct time, then bring it back here. At the exact time. Not a minute fast or slow. Understood?’
She nodded dumbly, her mouth slightly open.  She couldn’t believe she was hearing this. She went behind the desk, lifted the clock from its hook and was halfway across Malcolm’s office, when he added:
‘You know our M.D. saw you in the precinct with those Animal Rights protesters. Perhaps what you don’t know is our M.D will be out on the glorious bank holiday Monday hunt. It would be a fine thing if one of his Admin Assistants turns out to be a hunt saboteur.’
‘Actually, I’m in London on the bank holiday,’ she said weakly.
‘But you don’t deny parading yourself in the precinct with those nutters. Our illustrious M.D. mentioned seeing you handing out leaflets, in your sensible shoes...your Doc Martens...and he wondered if you’re a lesbian.  Are you, Nicky?’
She felt tears welling up and fought against them. ‘No,’ she managed. ‘I’ve never...’ She struggled to say something.  Anything.
Impatiently, Malcolm snapped, ‘There is so much legislation to protect staff these days. But I think you will want to leave this company soon, Nicky. And it goes without saying, I shall deny ever having had this conversation with you. Now go and correct that clock.’

*


Mike dashed in through the front door, having forgotten to pack his hairdressing mirror. He saw Claire putting the phone down and could tell by her serious expression there was something wrong.
‘Who was that?’
‘Chloe.’
‘What’s the latest news?’
‘Why don’t we discuss it later, Mike. I know you’ve got a load of appointments for tonight.’
‘If it’s something serious, I’d like to know about it now.’
Claire sighed deeply before she spoke. ‘Chloe’s decided to have an abortion. She’s booked herself into a clinic at the end of the week.’
Even though he was half expecting it, it was still a shock. He stared expressionlessly at Claire.
‘Well, you might say something.’
‘I’m trying to think. Is this her decision?’
She stared back at her husband, her eyes piercingly defensive. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and the answer’s no.It’s her decision. And hers alone.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Mike muttered. ‘It’s just that...’
She saw him glance at his watch. ‘I know: you’ve got to go. We’ll talk about it when you get home.’
‘It’s a bit tricky tonight. I’m taking Andrew to the pub.’
‘Charming!’ Chloe’s voice rose a notch. ‘Chloe’s having an abortion. So off you go to the pub. Can’t you take Andrew another night?’ ‘It wouldn’t be the same. Like me, you’ve obviously forgotten what tomorrow’s date is.’
Claire looked as if she’d been hit in the stomach. ‘Oh, Mike! What with all this trouble with Chloe, I’ve forgotten his birthday.’


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