The First Year

by Genevieve Gannon

  So did you go through with it?

  Her face flushed red.

  Andy was too focused on his own screen to notice. There was a profanity-littered email from Hugh Delahunty. Subject: They fired Rhino! Fuck with fuck gravy on a bed of lightly roasted fucks. The body of the email contained only one word: Fuck. Andy closed the browser and looked over at Saskia.

  When she noticed him watching her, she shoved her phone into her handbag.

  ‘Problem?’ he asked.

  ‘No. You?’

  ‘No.’

  *

  By the time they arrived at the subdivided mansion where Andy owned an apartment Saskia had fallen asleep against his shoulder.

  ‘We’re home,’ he gently roused her.

  Sprinklers programmed to run through the night clicked and shot jets of water across the lawn. They pattered against the leaves of the dark green foliage surrounding the square of grass that was the prelude to Andy’s home.

  His flat was a two-bedroom, one study, two-bathroom affair in Toorak, a suburb where CEOs, CFOs and surgeons congregated. The neighbourhood shopping strip — Toorak Village — was characterised by mock Tudor, real Rolexes and the belief that fourteen dollars was a fair price for a loaf of bread. Blond women who’d lived their whole lives sixteen thousand kilometres from Europe ended every conversation with a ‘Ciao’ and a jaunty wave as they skipped from shop to shop in eight-hundred-dollar mules.

  The developer who’d done the conversion had spared no expense on the fit-out. The stamped-down carpet was torn up and the concrete beneath it polished until it gleamed. The sheets of dusty flock wallpaper were ripped down and the plaster refinished then painted a shade of white called ‘Imperial Ice’. The Laminex bench tops were ripped out and replaced by slabs of marble.

  Despite his efforts, the developer couldn’t do much about the bones of the building, which was 1900s era brick Edwardian behemoth, and the result was odd-shaped rooms and spaces. The living and dining areas were a cavernous L-shape; the bedrooms pokey and compact. These eccentricities had meant it had lingered on the market, and Andy had been able to snap it up at a decent price. Not that Saskia knew this. His bachelor pad was about the same size, and in far better condition, than the home where she had spent her teens. As far as she was concerned it was a palace.

  ‘Come here.’ He placed their bags down on his front stoop. ‘Put your arm around my neck. We have to do this right.’

  Saskia let out a hoot as he scooped her off the ground.

  ‘Over the threshold,’ he said, stepping into the apartment. ‘Like a proper man and wife.’

  ‘Now it’s official.’ She kicked her feet in the air. ‘Although perhaps we should consummate it one more time. Do you really have to go into work today?’

  Andy put Saskia down. His boss had given him until Monday off, but he wanted to find out as much as he could about the meeting. Also he wanted to be seen to have come into work the day he arrived back from his honeymoon.

  His industry was like that. People worked until 2 a.m. then went home and got four hours of rest, changed their shirt, socks and underpants then were back in the office by 7 a.m. They boasted about how little sleep they needed to function. Harris, Morse and Lowe had installed sleeping pods in the break-out area for those who didn’t want to waste time on the commute.

  Over the past few months the pace had been easing. Andy had been pleased to be able to spend more time with Saskia. Receiving the email and hearing from Hugh that Rhino had been fired had scared him.

  He avoided Saskia’s question by changing the topic. ‘I see my mother has paid a visit.’ A large pyramid of presents had been assembled on the coffee table.

  ‘Your mother has a key?’

  ‘I left her one while we were away so she could collect the mail.’ He walked to the refrigerator and opened it. ‘Yep. She left us breakfast. Or a midnight snack.’

  He pulled a casserole pot out of the fridge. On the lid was a note. To my wonderful son and his bride. Welcome home. X.

  ‘Your bride isn’t wonderful?’ Saskia read over his shoulder.

  Andy lifted the lid and found a whole chicken with carrots, peas and small potatoes tucked around it.

  ‘Maybe we could eat it while we open some presents,’ Saskia said, walking to the table and picking up a gift.

  ‘I thought you wanted to go to bed.’

  ‘Well, someone went to the trouble of arranging them . . .’ Saskia’s sleepiness had disappeared at the sight of the ribbon ringlets and printed paper.

  Andy looked at his watch. It had taken hours to get through customs and then reach the front of the queue for cabs. It was now 3 a.m. The rims of his eyes were itchy and red. If he lay down, he would be in danger of falling into a sleep so deep that the shriek of his alarm wouldn’t be able to reach him.

  ‘Let’s open them now,’ Saskia said with excitement.

  ‘How about this one.’ Andy held up a rectangular red box tied with gold string and offered it to Saskia. She untaped it carefully. Inside was a box holding two silver orbs etched with colourful shapes.

  ‘What on earth?’ Andy took the box from her.

  ‘Baoding balls. You’re supposed to rotate them in your hand to build up dexterity.’

  ‘Hmm. Maybe you could take them to your studio.’

  ‘Subtle.’ She smiled.

  ‘We should have registered,’ he said, putting the box to one side.

  ‘Couples shouldn’t expect to get a gift. It should be received gratefully, not in answer to a dictated list.’ Saskia removed the striped wrapping from a vase, then she chose another parcel and handed it to Andy.

  ‘Not everybody has time to spend their Saturdays looking for the perfect set of artisanal fingernail steamers. If you register you save them the trouble of worrying what to get you.’ Andy freed a pair of his and hers aprons and a Bundt cake tin from their wrapping.

  ‘What are we going to do with these?’ He held up a series of Australian state mugs. They were garish things painted decorously with each state’s fauna and flower.

  Saskia laughed. ‘Put them over there.’

  Saskia picked up a silver ashtray with a blue felt base. ‘It’s so heavy,’ she said. ‘It must have cost a load.’

  ‘Maybe you could melt it down and make it into a bracelet?’

  She turned it over in her hand, assessing whether she could salvage it. It had to weigh at least half a kilo. That was a lot of pendants.

  After forty minutes of untying ribbons and tearing paper they had two piles of gifts. One — mostly from Andy’s friends and family — was a collection of Waterford, Wedgewood and Vera Wang. The other pile was made up of items Andy had described as ‘something you could perhaps use at the studio’ and had mostly come from Saskia’s side of the church. She put them into a box.

  ‘I’ll take these to Mum’s. If she can’t find a use for them she’ll know someone who can.’

  ‘Come here.’ He pulled her to him. ‘We have one more task to complete tonight.’

  Saskia giggled and they shimmied out of their clothes. He rolled on top of her, wrapping paper crinkling beneath them.

  ‘Watch out.’ She laughed, grabbing a gift tag that had stuck to his bottom.

  *

  It was a garbage truck that woke them. They had fallen asleep on the floor amid a nest of crinkled paper. Andy opened an eye, disoriented. There was a thump as the truck’s mechanical arm dropped their neighbour’s bin.

  ‘Oh no.’ He leapt up as if five hundred volts had shot through the carpet.

  ‘What is it?’ Saskia stirred.

  ‘I’m going to be late.’ He ran naked to the en suite. Saskia sat up and yawned.

  When Andy got out of the bathroom, she was ironing one of his shirts.

  ‘You’re an angel,’ he said, kissing her cheek.

  ‘Don’t get used to it. I hate ironing.’

  ‘I can see that.’ He took the hissing appliance from her and flattened a few creases. ‘Thanks a
gain.’ He kissed her cheek as he slid his arms into the shirt. ‘I’ll be home by seven.’

  *

  The HM&L partners were in Sydney. That was the first thing Andy learned when he arrived at the office. They’d flown out the night before.

  ‘It’s unusual for them all to go,’ he said to Michael Chaugh, who just shrugged and returned to his work.

  Andy set about attacking his to-do list. His stress levels fell with the number of emails he opened. He found that once he was settled he was quite content to be back at work. He had the personality type that found working less stressful than relaxing, because when he was relaxing he wasn’t achieving anything. And that was stressful. Particularly when the partners had called a mandatory, all-staff meeting.

  Day 16, Monday, October 27

  Andy ran full pelt towards the station. He could hear the train pulling in as he rounded the top of the hill. He barrelled down the ramp to the platform, his jacket flapping and his heart thumping. The doors were closing as he passed the gate, he turned side-on so he could squeeze on board. He was panting, his shirt clammy. He patted his forehead with a handkerchief and tried to catch his breath.

  The night before he had set his alarm back half an hour earlier than usual, swearing that he would get to the office on time. He and Saskia had slept late both weekend mornings, then stayed up late on Sunday playing Jenga, wide-eyed, as Andy drank warm milk mixed with two crushed Temazapam pills. (‘If my body knows I’m taking sleeping tablets it resists them.’) When the alarm had jolted him awake he’d been determined to tear himself out of the warmth of the bed. But then Saskia had rolled over and burrowed against him, her body soft and silky in a peach-coloured negligee he’d bought her at a boutique on Via dei Baullari.

  ‘Better perform our marital duty, I suppose,’ he’d said, smiling as he pulled her on top of himself and she giggled in a husky, pre-dawn way.

  He cursed his lack of willpower.

  He had spent Friday afternoon at the office interrogating anyone he could find, desperate to learn more about the all-staff meeting. Rumours were rife.

  ‘I heard we’re merging with Freshman and Kleins.’

  ‘I heard we wanted to merge but Freshman’s backed out and now we’re going belly-up.’

  ‘I heard the partners have been indicted for fraud and we’re all being subpoenaed.’

  Everyone was tense. In meetings and at desks, jaws were clenched and pens clicked nervously. Conversations were sharp. Henry Tsu abused an intern who was helping him feed a brief into the photocopier when the machine ran out of ink halfway through.

  ‘Why didn’t you check the ink levels,’ he demanded of the trembling girl.

  Andy, passing by, laid a hand on his back. ‘Henry, mate, it’s okay. There’s more toner in the cupboard.’

  Henry clenched and unclenched his fists. ‘I’m so stressed about this meeting.’

  *

  The train sped towards the city. Andy’s heart was still hopping when it pulled into his station. He could feel damp patches under his arms and hoped there wasn’t a ring of sweat on his collar. He wove in and out of commuters riding the escalators up to the street then skip-ran to his office block.

  His body clock was off-kilter thanks to his jetlag. The need for sleep was like quicksand dragging him down. Each night since learning about the meeting, as he had tried to sleep, anxiety and a yearning to know what was going to happen prevented him from finding peace. Now his exhaustion combined with the stress was making him jittery to the point of almost being feverish.

  He stepped into the marble lobby of the building where Harris, Morse and Lowe leased three floors. The ceiling was high and his shoes echoed as he crossed the floor. The sound bounced off the walls of the cavernous chamber, announcing his late arrival. Most of his co-workers were already installed at their desks. Andy stepped inside the lift and pressed number 15. He felt a sense of reassurance as the steel chamber surged skyward. Then it stopped two floors short.

  Alice Price stepped on board at level 13 with a large cardboard box in her arms and her eyes fixed forward. Her expression was partially hidden by two silver photo frames.

  ‘Alice!’ said Andy. ‘What happened? Why is all of your stuff in a box? You’re not . . .?’ His heart kicked into gear again.

  ‘Oh, Andy, how are you?’ Alice scrunched her nose to adjust her glasses. ‘The partners decided to give up the lease on level 13. A company that sells online advertising space is moving in.’

  ‘Oh.’ Andy couldn’t help but sigh with relief. ‘Thank goodness. When I saw the box I feared the worst.’

  ‘No, at least, not yet. I’ve been reassigned to level 15.’

  ‘Is that the reason for the meeting?’

  ‘Yes. It hasn’t been formally announced yet. I probably should have waited to pack my things until after Mr Harris told everyone but I have to be on a noon flight to Sydney. I thought I’d better shift upstairs, otherwise, with the way things have been, they’re likely to forget to move me and I’ll become collateral damage.’

  Andy tried to read Alice’s face. ‘You’re not serious? It’s not that bad?’

  Alice Price was the most senior woman at HM&L, but it was the fact her husband Perry Price owned a share of a racehorse with the firm’s founder, Franklin Harris, that gave her the inside track on the goings-on at the firm. She was considered a sort of oracle at the company.

  ‘Well, maybe it’s not quite that bad, but—’ She lowered her voice. Andy shuffled closer to hear her. ‘I get the sense they’re looking for any excuse to off-load staff.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  She shrugged. ‘Business is bad.’

  ‘You don’t know what happened with Rhino, do you?’

  Andy had called Rhino four times over the weekend but had had no reply. Hugh had been on the coast with his in-laws and also hadn’t returned any calls.

  ‘There are rumours . . .’ Her voice trailed off as the lift doors parted at level 15. Alexander Bose and Henry Tsu were chatting by the lifts. They froze when they saw the oracle with her possessions in a box.

  ‘Relax, relax.’ Alice tossed her hair. ‘I’m just moving desks.’

  The men gave little laughs and adjusted their ties.

  ‘What’s that about?’ Bose asked Andy after Alice had departed.

  ‘Bad times ahead, that’s what,’ said Tsu.

  They stood in silence for a moment, rocking on their heels and starring at the carpet.

  ‘Ando!’ Hugh hollered from across the expanse of desks.

  Andy waved, glad to see his old friend. Hugh barrelled over, knocking past interns and juniors as he went. Everything about Hugh Delahunty was big. Not just his shoulders and his hands, but his features too. His blocky nose with its high bridge, his long, cornered jaw, and his sharp cheek bones all made him look like he was built from bits of rock roughly hewn from the side of a mountain.

  Since Hugh got married, however, Andy had noticed a softening of his heft. Weekends were now spent comparing tap fittings instead of playing rugby and his old friend was starting to look like he was wearing an extra layer of clothing under his suit.

  ‘And-OH, good to see you.’ Hugh gave Andy a slap on the back. ‘I wish they’d hurry up and let us know what’s going on.’

  The men all looked at their watches. It seemed everyone on HM&L’s payroll was milling around holding coffee cups but not drinking from them. Waiting.

  At precisely 8.44 the ping of the elevator announced the arrival of Franklin Harris, an ex-criminal barrister who looked and acted like an aging Rhett Butler. He stepped out of the lift in an imposing chalk-stripe suit and raised his hand like a leader greeting his kingdom. His subjects murmured, registering the visible changes in their boss. Instead of his trademark I-don’t-give-a-damn expression, his face was drawn and puckered beneath the eyes. His silvery hair, usually worn in a rolling coif, seemed flatter. His smile was unconvincing.

  ‘We may as well get this over with.’ He clapped his
hands together. ‘As most of you would have gleaned, it’s been a tough year. In order to cut expenditure, we’ve decided to give up the lease on the thirteenth floor.’

  They assembly gave off a noise that was aghast, but also relieved.

  ‘Evelynn and the other floor managers will be distributing boxes and tape this morning. Have your stuff packed up by the end of the week.’

  As Harris was running through instructions for the move, Hugh leaned forward and whispered to Andy. ‘There’s not enough room.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This ship is sinking and levels 14 and 15 are not big enough lifeboats.’

  Andy nodded. He had already done the calculation. Hugh was right. There wasn’t enough space to absorb all of level 13 into the top two floors. Harris was still speaking:

  ‘This is part of a new era for HM&L. One of flexibility and efficiency.’ As he spoke he jabbed the air with a fist. Andy’s skin prickled at the word ‘efficiency’, which sounded like the rush of a falling guillotine blade.

  ‘There are going to be some changes,’ Harris was saying.

  ‘Here it comes,’ Andy whispered.

  ‘Unfortunately, this does mean there will also be some consolidation of our staff.’

  Hugh tutted and shook his head. ‘Consoli-fucking-dation.’

  A rope of fear wrapped around Andy’s neck as Harris took them through the process. Over the next week or so, half of HM&L’s lawyers would receive an email inviting them to attend a meeting.

  ‘Half!’ someone hollered from the back. Someone else jeered. The bold act set off others.

  ‘Now, now.’ Harris tried to stop the crowd turning into a mob. ‘A meeting doesn’t necessarily mean your position has been made redundant. Some of you will be offered a new role, or your role may change.’

  Already people were checking their phones for the fatal message.

  ‘It’s like fucking conscription,’ Hugh said.

  ‘The invitations haven’t gone out yet,’ Harris said.