EPISODE SIXTY-TWO
Craig slammed his beer glass onto the grubby, pub table. ‘He said what?’
Maggie gave her brother an ironic smile.
‘He made it obvious the bank’d pull the rug from under me unless I went
to bed with him.’
‘The filthy little git. He needs sorting
out.’
‘What are you gonna do? Go round there
with the boys?’
‘As it happens, I do know someone who could...’
‘Leave it out, Craig. That’s not the
answer.’
‘No, well...’ Craig shrugged like a hard man and picked up his pint glass. ‘So what did you say to this little merchant
banker?’
‘I told him I’d think about it.’
Beer dribbled from the corner of Craig’s mouth as he stopped in mid-sip. ‘You what!’
Then he noticed the teasing look on his sister’s face. ‘I thought you were serious for a minute.’
‘Oh, thanks.’
‘So now what?’ said Craig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Maggie pursed her lips. ‘I don’t
know. Change my bank for a start. Trouble is...’
Craig interrupted her. ‘The trouble is you’re strapped for cash, and you need
to sell my chippie.’
‘It’s not mine to sell, sweetheart. It
belongs to you now.’
Craig shook his head. ‘It was never
really mine. It belonged to Gary. Own up.
And I know what he’d have thought of me having it. So I guess I’ll have to learn about running a
wine bar now.’
Maggie smiled and toasted him with her wine glass.
*
As Malcolm passed through the open-plan office, he sensed an atmosphere. Nicky and Philip had their heads buried in
paperwork, trying not to catch his eye.
But Savita was staring at him with a vicious smile, watching him like a
predator waiting to pounce. He hurried
into his office and closed the door. His
breathing was shallow and he felt a nauseous quake in his stomach. He could tell something was seriously
wrong. The threatening atmosphere was
solid and palpable, like a hand gripping his throat.
He sat at his desk and shifted his computer mouse. His maze screen saver vanished and he was
about to open up his emails when his mobile rang. The display told him it was Jeremy Clarison,
the managing director, ringing.
Apprehensively, he clicked the OK button, and answered with a bogusly
cheerful voice.
‘Jeremy! What can I do for you?’
The MD got straight to the point. ‘I don’t want to come into the office today,
Malcolm. But we need to talk business
for a few minutes, then I’ve got a train to catch to Charing Cross. I’ll wait for you in the street outside, just
round the corner from reception, outside that pizza place. We’ll go for a coffee. It won’t take long.’
‘Oh, right,’ Malcolm began. ‘Can you
give me some sort of clue what it’s about?
Forewarned and forearmed and all that.’
Silence from the Jeremy’s end of the phone.
The MD had already hung up and Malcolm realised he was talking to
himself. Frowning, he grabbed his jacket
from the back of his chair and left the office, wondering if there was any
reason to be alarmed. Jeremy had sounded
perfectly normal, so maybe there was nothing to worry about. He convinced
himself that it was his own imagination that was running amok.
But as he crossed the open-plan office again, his legs weakened, and he felt
his energy being sapped by the hatred of his staff. Braving it out, he stared straight ahead,
avoiding a glance in Savita’s direction, although he could feel her eyes
piercing the transparent thinness of his demeanour.
As soon as he was outside the building, Malcolm dashed around the corner,
expecting to find Jeremy waiting for him.
But the MD was nowhere to be seen.
Malcolm waited as instructed outside the pizza takeaway, wondering where
the MD had got to. Perhaps he’d gone
into the newsagent’s opposite to get a paper to read on the train.
He watched customers entering the newsagent’s, and saw them leaving again. There was no sign of Jeremy. Frowning deeply, and becoming more worried by
the minute, Malcolm placed a call on his mobile to the MD’s mobile, but all he
got was his voice mail. He left a brief message, saying he was outside the
pizza takeaway as instructed. Then he
waited, glancing nervously at his watch every few minutes. After waiting for fifteen minutes, he decided
that perhaps the MD had to rush to catch his train, so he returned to the
office. At reception, Frank, the
security man, stood in his way.
‘Sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid you
can’t go in there.’
‘What! Why not?’
‘Instructions from Mr.Clarison. I’m very sorry, sir, but Mr. Clarison says that
you are no longer an employee of the company, as of today.’
Malcolm felt like crying. It was the
worst case scenario, and it was actually happening to him. The thing he had always feared. The anxiety dream that had haunted him at
nights. The dreaded desk clearance. Being booted out unceremoniously.
In a small thin voice, almost pleading with the security man, he said, ‘Frank,
I’ve left some things in my office. If I
could just...’
He moved forward slightly, and the security man raised the flat of his hand,
but resisted touching him.
‘That’s far enough, sir. Any personal
effects, we’ll put in a bin bag and you can collect them later. But for now, I’d vacate the building if I
were you.’
He stared uncomprehendingly at the security man, searching for a glimmer of
sympathy in his face. But the security
man wore a deliberate mask of inscrutability.
Feeling as if he was a zombie, walking without purpose, Malcolm turned and left
the building.
He drove home in a daze. What on earth
could he tell Sheila, his wife? That he
had lost his job, and it couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Their daughter was soon to be married, a
wedding with all the bells and whistles, and now he wouldn’t be able to
contribute anything towards the cost.
He felt tears of shame pricking his eyes.
Perhaps Sheila would be sympathetic and understanding. Somehow he doubted it. In recent years they had been having
problems, always sniping at one another.
Always angry and pent up.
‘Sheila!’ he called out as he walked through the front door. ‘Where are you?’
She was waiting in the kitchen. He could
see she had been crying. And there on
the kitchen table, the photograph stared at him accusingly. She came towards him. He had never seen an expression of such
hatred before. The slap caught him by
surprise, stinging and biting, bringing tears of pain into his eyes.
‘You disgusting animal,’ she hissed. ‘I
want you out of this house, and out of my life.
You disgust me...you filthy stinking animal.’
And like a wounded animal, he lowered his head and whimpered. ‘Please, Sheila,’ he pleaded.
‘I want you out of here,’ she snapped.
‘And I never want to see you again.’
IN EPISODE SIXTY-THREE
Claire is annoyed with her daughter’s beliefs, and Savita regrets her
actions.