by Daniel Hurst
But before she opens the door, Imogen turns back to look at me one last time, and this time, she does say something that gives me pause for thought.
‘The worst thing that could happen to me is that I lose my job, my freedom, and my relationships with my husband and father if everything comes out,’ she says, holding the door handle but not moving a muscle. ‘But keep pushing me, and you could lose something much more than that.’
‘And what is that supposed to mean?’ I say, trying not to let the shock of Imogen’s threat knock me off my game too much.
‘You’re the boss, you’ll figure it out,’ she says before leaving my office and pulling the door shut behind her.
The door closes a little too loudly for it not to attract the attention of everybody else around the office, and they all look over in my direction, probably wondering if there was an argument just then between two of their colleagues. But they can wonder whatever they like. Disagreements and tense conversations take place every day in a busy office, so it’s no big deal if they suspect Imogen and me of having a bit of a stand-off over something. If they do, they’ll just presume it’s something work related, like an unexpected issue that has cropped up and given us both a headache to sort out. They’ll never know what we are really talking about in here.
They’ll never know what game Imogen and I are really playing.
I pick up my pen and try to get back to work, but Imogen’s last words keep playing over and over again in my head. She definitely threatened me there, but I’m not particularly worried. Unlike the way I treat her, there is a limit to what she can do to me. She can huff and puff all she wants at me, but she always falls in line, and I have no reason to think this time will be any different.
I have set her an almost impossible task to get her work done in time for Monday.
I hope she has a fun weekend.
I know I will.
7
I’m exhausted after being up until 4am trying to do all the extra work that Michael lumbered me with yesterday, but I can’t spend my Saturday in bed because I have important tasks to accomplish in my personal life too. There’s nothing more important than family, and that is why I am where I am right now.
As first impressions go, this place isn’t bad. The building is an old stone property set in impressive and well-maintained grounds, and it seems to be very well staffed from what I can tell as I walk around and explore. But it’s not just me who has to like it here. My father has to like it too, or I might not be able to convince him to make this place his new home. But he’s not here right now, and this is simply a fact-finding mission as Evan and I view this nursing home in the countryside about a fifteen-minute drive from the centre of town.
‘This is where our residents can gather in the evenings to play games or watch television,’ our host tells us as we leave the corridor and enter a room in which half a dozen elderly men and women are sitting in various armchairs. ‘We place a great emphasis on the social side of things here and encourage all our residents to spend some part of every day in here while they are in our care.’
We are being shown around by a pleasant nurse called Leanne, and she has already told us that she has worked here for four years and enjoys her job and the environment in which she does it in. As prospective clients, Leanne’s job is to essentially convince us that this is the right place for me to put my father now that his health requires more professional care. Naturally, that is a huge decision for me to make, so I am trying not to rush things until I have all the assurances I need that this is the right home for Dad. But that’s not easy when I feel the clock is ticking on how long I can safely delay it because my father is getting worse by the day, and I already fear I should have worked faster on this.
We have just come from visiting him this morning, starting our Saturday as we always do with a call at his house to go through his post with him and spend some time assessing his mental faculties. For the longest time since his diagnosis, my father didn’t seem that different. While he had lost the mental edge required of him to be a bank manager, he was still sharp enough to keep himself busy in his retirement, and we would have plenty of conversations about work and how I was getting on now that he was gone. But the years went by, as they have a habit of doing, and William started to fade in his personal life as much as he did in his professional one. I hadn’t visited my father for a few days because of how busy I had been with work, much to my eternal shame, but Evan had, and he was right when he said that William was getting worse much more rapidly now. Today had originally been planned as a simple visit to get an idea of the kind of place my father could move into, but I’m starting to think I need to make a decision faster than that.
Much faster.
‘How many residents did you say you have here?’ I ask as I watch a couple of them playing a game of backgammon at a table by the window.
‘Sixty-four.’
‘And they are all receiving care for Alzheimer’s?’
‘That’s correct.’
We walk through the sitting room, and I smile at a friendly-faced old man sitting in the armchair, watching us go by. I also try to visualise my father being here and sitting in this chair, as well as what it will feel like the first time I have to leave him here. Will he be confused about where he is? Angry at me for leaving him? Upset as if it’s some kind of betrayal? Or happy at the chance to make some new friends in pleasant surroundings? I won’t know until it comes time to walk away from him, and it’s a moment I am dreading almost as much as Monday morning when I have to see Michael in the office again.
Leanne opens a set of double doors, and we step out onto a terrace that offers spectacular views of the freshly cut lawns that surround this home.
‘We encourage our residents to come out here and enjoy the fresh air as much as possible when the weather permits,’ Leanne tells us as we walk along the terrace, taking in the sight of the neatly trimmed hedgerows that signal the boundary of the grounds. ‘But this being England, we don’t get out here quite as often as we would like.’
I smile at the joke about the English weather at the same time that I feel the chill from the wind blowing across us, which only reinforces how difficult it is to enjoy the great outdoors in a place where the sun barely shows itself.
‘So that completes the tour,’ Leanne says as we round the side of the building and make it back to the car park. ‘Is there anything you would like to see again? Or do you have any questions about anything that the tour hasn’t addressed?’
I glance at Evan, and I can see that he is already looking at me. I know exactly what he is thinking, and it’s the only thing that can put a dampener on what we have seen today because as far as the place itself goes, this is perfect. But because it’s perfect, it’s presumably not cheap.
‘One of your colleagues sent me some prices through last week as a rough guide,’ I begin, broaching the sensitive subject as gingerly as I can. ‘But I believe they weren’t inclusive of everything that my father might require. Would you be able to give us an idea of exactly how much it will cost for my father to be a resident here on a full-time basis?’
Leanne smiles and confirms that she can indeed tell us, and I brace myself for what is to come. I’m sure my husband is doing the same beside me.
‘For your father to be a resident here, it will be thirty-eight thousand pounds per annum.’
To be fair to Leanne, she didn’t mince her words. 38K. A year.
Ouch.
I do my best not to let the pain of that figure show too much on my face, but Evan doesn’t do such a good job of it, and I can see him wincing as that number runs through his brain.
‘Okay, thank you,’ I say to Leanne, and we say our goodbyes before my husband and I head back to our car. It’s only when we have closed the doors that we speak again.
‘So, which bank do you want to go and rob first?’ Evan asks me, helping to break the ice before we start the serious part of the discussion.
&nbs
p; ‘I know it’s expensive, but this is the nicest one we have seen, and I really want him to be somewhere like this.’
‘Expensive? That’s one word for it.’
‘But this is the nearest one for us to visit, and the only other homes in the area are not half as nice as this.’
‘But they are half the price.’
‘I can’t just base this decision on money. I have to think about Dad’s well-being.’
‘I understand that, but you also have to think about our well-being too. If we commit to this place with our current finances, then your dad will have a nice place to live, but we’ll be on the streets.’
‘Don’t say that,’ I tell my husband with a shake of the head. He might be joking about us ending up homeless if we make a financial commitment as large as this one, but there is no doubt that things would be very, very tight money-wise for us both in the future. The only reason I can even entertain the idea of putting my father in a place as nice as this is because I earn a good wage at the bank. But I could be earning more if only my path to becoming the boss was clear. Unfortunately, it is as far from clear as could be.
‘Don’t forget we’ll have the money from the sale of Dad’s house,’ I say.
‘Yeah, but how long will that take to go through? It’s not even on the market yet. Plus, that was supposed to be your inheritance.’
‘I know, but this is life, isn’t it? It doesn’t always go to plan. I don’t care about the inheritance. Dad earned that house from working all his life. It’s his money really, so it should be spent on him.’
‘Okay, I get that, but like I said, the house isn’t even on the market yet, and I don’t think we can afford to wait too much longer to get William in somewhere. So what are we going to do about the money in the short term?’
I let out a deep sigh as I stare through the windscreen at the lovely property where I hope my father can spend the rest of his days in peace and comfort with all the care he needs.
‘I know my wage isn’t much,’ Evan begins, and I already know where he is going with this.
‘Fine. I’ll ask again,’ I say, referring to my request for a pay rise, which has been refused the last two times I have tried it. But maybe it will be third time lucky. I certainly need it a lot more now than I did when I asked for it the previous times.
Of course, the issue isn’t that I don’t deserve a pay rise or am not entitled to one. It’s that Michael has to be the one to approve it, and that is why I am not holding out any hope that I will be able to get what I want. Yet again, he is standing in my way. But I have to ask. What choice do I have?
And then I have an idea. I will ask the HR manager to sit in on the meeting too. That will make it impossible for him to be spiteful towards me then, and if he can’t be that way, he might struggle to turn my request down.
As Evan starts the engine and we head out of the car park and back onto the main road to town, I think that I might have come up with a way of gaining a minor victory in my never-ending war with Michael. But I won’t know for sure until we’re sitting in the office and looking each other in the eye.
8
MICHAEL
I have to hand it to Imogen. It was very smart of her to arrange a pay-review meeting with me while also sending the same meeting invite to Katherine, our fifty-one-year-old HR manager. Instead of this being a very quick and easy meeting in which I consider Imogen’s request for five seconds before saying no and walking away from the table, this is now going to be a battle of wits between the pair of us. Thanks to Katherine’s presence, I cannot behave as I would normally do in this scenario, and that is annoying because as far as my list of hobbies go, frustrating Imogen is right up there alongside gambling and throwing money at pole dancers.
‘Anyone for water?’ Katherine asks as she opens the mini-fridge built into the cabinet at the back of this boardroom and takes out a small bottle of water.
‘I’m okay, thank you,’ Imogen says, her eyes on me as she sits in her chair on the other side of this large table.
‘I’m okay too,’ I reply, but my words are meant more for the woman opposite me than for her colleague by the fridge.
I make sure to keep my body language open and my facial expression serene as Katherine takes her seat in between the pair of us and opens up a file that I suspect contains Imogen’s employee details.
‘Now I can see here that the last pay review for you, Imogen, was in December of last year. Is that correct?’
‘That’s right,’ she says, and I give a small smirk when Katherine isn’t looking because I remember that review well. It lasted all of forty seconds and consisted of me chuckling at Imogen after she had asked for a ten-grand pay rise before telling her that she had just given me a great early Christmas present: namely, the gift of laughter. But I obviously can’t give a similar reaction to her request today and not just because it isn’t Christmastime. It’s because HR is in the room.
Damn that department and their tendency to do things by the book.
‘Okay. And I see that on that occasion, the request was turned down by yourself, Michael, because of the uncertainty surrounding the potential merger with the Chinese bank.’
‘That is correct,’ I say. ‘I didn’t want to make any financial decisions regarding the pay structure of any employees while it was still unclear what the future of the business was.’
That’s the official version anyway. I obviously couldn’t tell the truth no matter how much I would have enjoyed writing the letters ‘LOL’ on Imogen’s request form.
‘Okay, so I’m satisfied that a suitable period of time has passed since the last pay review. So, Imogen, would you like to begin?’
I watch as Imogen sits up a little straighter in her seat and prepares to begin the spiel that she has no doubt carefully constructed before entering this room today.
‘As you know, I have been a committed and important part of this bank for twenty years now,’ she begins.
Committed? Yes, I would have to agree with that.
Committed to getting away with theft two years ago.
‘Based on my job performance and a comparative analysis of the pay structure for my peers in the industry working elsewhere, I believe that I am deserving of an increase that would bring my remuneration more in line with what my job title is listed as.’
Here we go, I think to myself as I prepare for the number. This should be good.
‘I would like an increase of £20,000.’
It’s a good job I’m not standing up because if I were, then I would almost certainly be on the floor now. A 20K rise. I wonder what she was smoking when she came up with that number.
Of course, I have to be professional in the presence of HR, so I can’t scoff and tell Imogen to keep dreaming, no matter how much I want to.
‘Can you tell me how you have arrived at that figure?’ I reply, which is a perfectly reasonable thing to ask an employee when they ask for a sharp increase in their salary.
‘Certainly. This figure has been reached by taking an average of the annual incomes of professionals just like me in the banking industry while also factoring in the cost of what it would require to train somebody else to do my role. Then there is the knowledge I have accumulated in my twenty years here, two decades in which I have progressed from being an assistant relationship manager to being the head of corporate and the second in command to you, the general manager.’
That’s an interesting answer from Imogen, but it’s time for me to ask an even more interesting question.
‘Based on what you just said, am I right in deducing that if your request for a pay rise was to be rejected, that you might be seeking employment elsewhere?’
That’s put the ball firmly back in her court, and I wonder what she is going to say in response to that, knowing full well that she can’t just confirm that is the case because blackmail is never an effective way of trying to get something in front of HR.
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Imoge
n begins, shifting a little in her seat, which I take as me putting her on the back foot a little in the exchange. ‘All I am asking for is to be compensated fairly for the work I do, and based on my market research, I am not asking for more than I deserve for the role I fulfil here.’
Damn her. That’s a good answer, and now the pressure is back on me.
I run my fingers over my chin and feel the hair growth that has come from two days of not shaving. I haven’t had time to do it recently because I’ve been out late enjoying the entertainment in some of my favourite gentlemen’s clubs, and I’ve been getting out of bed in the mornings with just enough time to make it to my desk without causing a problem. But fondling my facial hair is not helping me come up with a valid reason as to why I can refuse Imogen this pay rise, and that is annoying because if I can’t come up with something, then I am going to have to give her what she wants.
There might have to be a first time for everything, I suppose.
‘You’re right. You do deserve an increase in salary,’ I say, and I notice the smile curling at the edges of her lips. She thinks she has me. She thinks she has won the battle. But we’ll see about that.
‘But that’s a rather large increase. I think ten thousand would be more appropriate in the present climate.’
The faint smile instantly fades from Imogen’s face as she is forced to recalibrate and come back with a counteroffer.
‘How about eighteen?’
‘Twelve is as high as I can go.’
‘Fifteen.’
Here we are, meeting in the middle. Perhaps this is the true number Imogen planned on ending up on all along. Or maybe she is pissed off that she didn’t get exactly what she asked for. Either way, I have a decision to make, and I can feel the eyes of the HR manager on me as well as Imogen’s.
I look down at the piece of paper in front of me, which I put there to make it look like I had prepared something for this meeting today, when in reality, it holds nothing of any importance at all. Doing so allows me to buy a little more time and keep Imogen in suspense, which is something I’m not going to turn down the chance to do. But I can’t stall forever.
