Don’t tell the Boss

by Unknown

  ‘Look, Baz, he obviously didn’t mean to say what he did. Did you?’

  ‘Yes, I bloody did.’

  Baz goes to launch at him again, which means, with me standing in the middle, he’s coming straight towards me, but you know what? I’ve had one black eye this year, and that’s plenty for any lifetime.

  ‘Baz, I’ll sort this, OK? You, over there,’ I shout, as I march my irritating colleague over to the corner of the courtyard.

  I’m fuming. Not only is this guy embarrassing the whole company, but he’s also ruined any chance I had of getting this bridesmaid dress, as even if I left now for Brighton, the shop would be closed before I got there.

  ‘You can’t go around saying things like that. What is your problem?’ I shout. ‘I know you might be anti-war, and I can’t say I always agree with what’s going on, but you can’t shout things like that at people.’

  ‘We’ve only been here ten minutes and he’s already shouting at us and making us feel like we’re this big,’ he says, holding out his hands in a pinching motion to illustrate his point.

  ‘Surely he can’t have done anything too bad, we’ve not been here long enough.’

  ‘I just hate men like him.’

  ‘Men like what? OK, so he’s a bit scary, but it’s all an act. It’s meant to give us that illusion of being in the Army. It’s a bit of theatre.’

  ‘I just hate it, that’s all.’

  I look at the rage that’s burning in him, his eyes are practically on fire with the loss of control. There’s something about this that doesn’t ring true, he can’t have taken such a dislike to someone so soon.

  ‘Look, um. I don’t know what your name is.’

  ‘Richard.’

  ‘Look, Richard, have you always had such a grudge against the Army?’

  He’s fidgeting on the spot.

  ‘My girlfriend left me last month. The geezer was in the Army.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘He came round the house when she was leaving me, standing there as bold as brass in his uniform, packing up her stuff and throwing his weight around and I did nothing. I stood by as he took her away and I didn’t do anything. You know who he reminded me of? My dad. He was in the Army and he was a wanker too. They’re bullies and they’re mercenaries. So that’s why I don’t believe in the Army.’

  Blimey, I feel like I’m in an episode of The Jeremy Kyle Show.

  ‘Sounds like you’ve had it tough over the last few weeks. You could have perhaps come and talked to me about it. I’m not a monster, we could have put someone else in your place.’

  ‘Nah, my boss was stoked I was coming. I think he thought it would do me some good. He said in my last appraisal that I was a bit of a loose cannon and not a team-player.’

  Note to self, read the appraisals before allocating places on such excursions.

  ‘Well, you can’t go around behaving like that here. For starters, Baz has done nothing wrong. And, secondly, he isn’t even in the Army any more, it’s just an act. And, thirdly, most importantly, Gunther is the CEO of this company: he is not someone you want to make a bad impression in front of.’

  ‘You’re right. Everything’s just such a fucking mess at the moment.’

  Oh my God. He’s actually going to cry. It’s difficult enough knowing what to do when a woman cries, let alone when a six-foot-one, fully grown man starts to well up.

  ‘Maybe tomorrow will be good for you. Take your mind off things. Who knows, you might meet another woman here. People always say most relationships start in the workplace.’

  What am I saying? I don’t want any more repeats of what happened last year in Wales.

  ‘Thanks for trying to cheer me up.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Look, I’ll go and talk to Baz, explain the situation.’

  ‘OK,’ says Richard, wiping his eyes.

  I walk over to Baz. He’s been having a cigarette and watching the two of us very closely. Occasionally giving us a death-stare.

  After explaining the story to him, he utters the word ‘women’ and goes off to talk to Richard. A minute of tense conversation later and Baz is slapping Richard on the back and the two of them are walking towards the makeshift bar.

  ‘Penny,’ says Giles striding over.

  ‘I just wanted to say what an excellent job you’ve done so far with the organisation. This place is just perfect. And not only that, I’ve seen you sorting out the little problems. You’re showing all the signs of someone with good management potential, keep it up.’

  I watch him walk away and I’m stunned. It takes a minute for it to sink in that I haven’t messed it up yet. The promotion is still within my grasp.

  I can feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, and when I see it’s Henri I send it through to voicemail. I can’t face talking to her yet. I’ll have to think of a new plan which will see me picking up the bridesmaid dress tomorrow. Right now, I have no idea how I’m going to be able to escape and evade a team I’m supposed to be stuck to like glue.

  chapter twenty

  princess-on-a-shoestring cost cutters:

  Invite fewer guests

  OK, so this is a bit of a no-brainer, but when you’re throwing a party where things are priced per head, then reducing your guest list is a great way to reduce your costs. Do you really want Great-Aunt Margaret who you haven’t seen for years there? Or what about your old work colleague that you occasionally meet for lunch? Ask yourself, if they were getting married, would you be upset if you weren’t invited? If the answer is no, then that’s an easy name to cross off your list.

  Tags: cheapskate, guests, de-friend.

  I couldn’t face calling Henri back yesterday. I did what any cowardly custard would do, I texted her and told her I had dodgy signal and that I’d call her this morning when we were on the move.

  I thought that there was no point worrying her unnecessarily about the lack of dress as it wasn’t like she could do anything about it. It was more important for her to keep calm and get her beauty sleep. Unlike me, who got no sleep at all.

  I think I would have had an easier job sleeping through the London Philharmonic Orchestra’s brass section rehearsing. The noise levels from the snoring last night were on an unimaginable scale. And I can’t even blame the men. Annie, who I was sleeping next to can, it seems, both talk and snore for Britain. Then there were those that needed to traipse to the loo in the middle of the night, the barn door squeaked as it was opened and shut. Oh, and that was even before the rain started, which sounded like someone was playing drums on the barn roof. Did I mention I didn’t sleep?

  So when we were roused out of our bed at dawn and I had to wet wipe myself awake, I was not feeling well rested, I was not in the mood for escape and evasion, and I certainly was not in the mood for Annie; within five minutes of being let loose on the Downs, she asked me what my thoughts were on the Cumberland sausage.

  Today has proved, without a shadow of a doubt, that I am not a morning person. And that I am never, ever, taking my bed for granted, ever again.

  ‘Let’s rest up here,’ says Tim, as he takes us into a team huddle behind a tree. We’ve been walking for hours and hours and I think that I’ve broken my back. My pack is ridiculously heavy, despite having stripped it down to absolute bare essentials; not even my flip-flops or fleece came with me.

  ‘How are we all getting on?’ asks Tim.

  ‘It’s pretty tough,’ says Annie as she struggles to reach her water bottle from the side pocket of her pack. She looks like a dog trying to chase its own tail.

  ‘Here,’ I say freeing it from the elasticated pocket and passing it to her.

  ‘Well, it’s only going to get tougher now. The chasers will be leaving around now.’

  ‘What?’ I scream before I get a chance to compose my thoughts.

  I look down at my watch and I see that it is only seven a.m. I thought we’d been walking for at least three hours already.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say embarrassed. ‘I though
t we’d been going for longer.’

  ‘Me too,’ says Tess.

  ‘How are we doing on the map? Are we near any flags?’ asks Annie.

  ‘There’s one here,’ says Matt pointing to a small X on the map.

  ‘And we are?’ I ask.

  ‘Just here,’ says Tim pointing.

  ‘So we’re almost there, we could go and grab it,’ I say.

  ‘Is it too risky though, won’t they catch us?’ says Tess.

  I’m having trouble taking anyone seriously. Now that it’s getting light, I can see everyone’s efforts with the camo face paint. In the dark, when we were applying the paint by torchlight, it didn’t look like we were actually putting much on but, now in the daylight you can see how hideous it actually is. We’ve got a full spectrum from American footballing look-a-likes with stripes under the eyes, to full-on face covering.

  ‘Why don’t we go and get it, and then try and double back.’

  We all look up at Jack from Design, he’s barely said boo to a goose so far this morning.

  ‘How do you mean?’ I ask.

  I’m not one for strategy at the best of times. Much to Mark’s delight when we play Monopoly. But that, along with the serious lack of sleep last night, means that none of this is making much sense to me.

  ‘Look, here’s the central rendez-vous point. The chasers are going to be homing around it, waiting for us, hoping we’re going to go for the early win. Why don’t we go and get a flag, go back to where we started and then try and go to the rendez-vous point from there. There’s another flag, look there, beyond where we started.’

  ‘That’s actually not a bad idea. We did something similar when I was on exercise with the TA,’ says Tim.

  ‘Does that mean they might think we’d do it?’ asks Matt.

  ‘Probably not, as far as they know we’re all civilians,’ says Tim.

  ‘OK, then, I think that’s our best bet.’

  ‘Is that where we started? And is that the scout hut?’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, why, do you think we should double back past there?’ asks Tess.

  ‘That’s an excellent idea, Penny, excellent,’ says Matt. ‘If we can get behind it, then we could hide there and wait. Maybe do some of our tasks.’

  I pat myself on the back, as this means that it would be a perfect time for me to pop into Brighton. I’ve just got to work out how I can sneak away for an hour without anyone noticing, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now I’m happy we’re going to be near to the minibus, which saves me having to hitch a ride to Brighton.

  You can tell that we are getting into this whole escape and evasion thing properly now. It’s light and instead of us going for big, bold walking across the Downs, we’re starting to pick out routes along tree lines and we’re looking over our shoulders constantly, hoping we don’t bump into any of our chasers.

  The ex-special forces man laughed at us all last night as he said he thought we’d all be easy to find. He told us that even the trees have eyes, so we’ve been making sure we’ve been looking up too. I keep imagining that I’m going to look up and there he’ll be sitting, up a tree, swinging his legs from it like Robin Hood.

  ‘How are we going to get across that field?’ asks Annie as we reach the end of the clearing.

  There’s a wood about a hundred metres away that will give us cover. But between us and the wood is a field on top of a valley. If we walk across it, then anyone below us is going to see.

  ‘There’s nothing else for it. We’re going to have to leopard crawl,’ says Tim, dropping down to the floor.

  I’m imagining that he’s going to start crawling across the floor pouncing like a seductive woman impersonating a cat. But instead he’s lying on his belly and half-pulling half-shuffling across the ground. It bears no resemblance to any leopard that I’ve ever seen.

  One by one, we all drop to the floor and follow Tim. It’s bloody hard work. The grass is dewy. I usually like the smell of wet grass in the summer, but now that my nostrils are hovering a centimetre from it, it smells pretty gross and my elbows and knees feel like they’re being battered and bruised with every inch I gain.

  By the time I make it out to the clearing of the wood, I stand up and stretch like an old woman.

  ‘That’s it,’ I say, ‘I am definitely taking up yoga again.’

  Everyone laughs at me; I seem to have become the joker of the pack. It’s always nice when you have a skill in a team. I’d prefer it if people were laughing with me, rather than at me but, hey, I’ll take any laugh I can get.

  We’re just getting into the tree line when I feel my mobile phone go.

  ‘Um, guys, I’ve got to go for a call of nature,’ I say. I spot a big hedge to the side of us, and I deposit myself behind it.

  ‘Hello,’ I say wincing at the caller-ID that says it’s Henri.

  ‘Penny. Thank God. I’ve been trying to call you practically all night.’

  ‘Yes, sorry bad signal,’ I say lying. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I just want to confirm you got the dress.’

  Now, as I see it, I have three options. I could: 1) make swishy noises and pretend I can’t hear Henri and hang up and switch off my phone. 2) I could lie and tell her I’ve got it, as I will have in about two hours. Or I could, 3) Tell her the truth.

  ‘It’s all under control, Henri.’

  Maybe I’m learning something about being a manager. I mean, I’m not technically lying, the situation is in hand. There’s no point in worrying her.

  ‘Oh, Penny. That’s such a huge relief. Now we can work out a solution to the other problems. I was speaking to Brett last night about the tablecloths and I was asking him about the canapés.’

  ‘What about the canapés?’ I don’t think I want to hear this.

  ‘Well, I thought maybe I’d been playing it a bit safe with my choices, you know mini roast beef and Yorkshire puddings, and mini fish and chips. I just can’t help thinking it’s a little Mum’s-gone-to-Iceland.’

  ‘But they were your idea.’ I start to pull at my ponytail in order to take out my frustration.

  ‘I know, but I was speaking to my dad and—’

  ‘Henri, you can’t change the menu the day before your wedding.’

  ‘Well yesterday it was two days before. But that’s pretty much what Brett said.’

  ‘And he’s right. Look, one of the top ten rules of weddings is that you don’t piss off the chef. So, Henri, don’t piss off the chef.’

  ‘Well, it might be a little late for that—’

  ‘What happened?’ I growl down the phone.

  ‘I just told him that I’m the bride, and really what I want should be his top priority,’ she says, defensively.

  I instinctively throw the palm of my hand up to my forehead. Why is this happening when I’m sixty miles away?

  ‘Henri, promise me you will not speak to Brett between now and tomorrow. If you want to know anything about the catering, you ask me. OK?’

  ‘But, Penny—’

  I can hear the snuffles of tears.

  ‘Henri, I’m serious. No talking to Brett. Call me.’

  I know I shouldn’t really be fielding Henri’s calls whilst I’m on the team-building day, as I can’t afford for anything to go wrong or anyone to find out that I’m running my own wedding business. But I don’t think I’ve got any choice. I get the impression that Mark might be catering the wedding in a minute if Henri has her way as I don’t think that Brett copes well with brides. He said that was one of the reasons that he didn’t do many external catering events.

  ‘OK,’ says Henri. The blubbering appears to have stopped. I know crocodile tears when I hear them.

  ‘Right then, so no other emergencies. The napkins are sorted?’

  ‘Yes, although I do think the windows of the clubhouse are a bit dirty and I would prefer them if they could be cleaner.’

  I contemplate whether I could still do that going through a tunnel noise and hang up fe
igning bad signal. But I end up listening to Henri as she talks to me about her woes of unbreakable glass and the fact it looks dirty. Short of Henri replacing the windows there’s nothing that anyone can do about it, and yet she still goes on for five minutes about it.

  After we say goodbye, I ring Brett to calm him down, and it was just in time as he was apparently on the verge of pulling out. As I finally appease him, I’m increasingly aware that my team-mates are probably beginning to wonder where I am.

  ‘Penny, are you all right?’ calls Annie.

  ‘Don’t come round here,’ I say. I walk back round the front of the bushes where the rest of the group are sat resting and tucking into their ration pack Yorkies.

  ‘Is everything OK? You were there for over ten minutes,’ says Tim looking at me.

  ‘All I can say is that I wouldn’t go round there if I was you.’

  Everyone pulls a face at me. That’s just perfect. I’ve just given myself a fake case of diarrhoea. How mortifying for no reason. Henri Scott, you better appreciate the lengths that I have gone to to plan your wedding for you.

  ‘Well, I hope you buried it. That SAS guy will sniff us out from that.’

  If I didn’t feel sick from my fake stomach problem, I certainly do now after that lovely mental image. ‘Don’t worry, Tim, no one will ever find it,’ I say with utter confidence.

  *

  ‘There’s the flag,’ says Annie with far too much gusto.

  She’s about to make a run on open ground to get it, when Jack pulls her back by her rucksack like she’s a child in reigns.

  ‘We need to talk about strategy. Perhaps one of us should go and get it,’ says Jack.

  ‘But don’t we get penalised if one of our members gets caught and they’re not with the rest of the team?’ asks Tess.

  ‘Yes, but don’t forget if we all go, we’ll increase the likelihood of us getting caught,’ says Tim.

  Who knew there would be so much to this escape and evasion? When I’d booked it, I’d naively thought the main struggle would be walking and carrying the backpack, but now we’re trying to pretend like we’re some kind of stealth force. If I didn’t have this goddamn bridesmaid dress to get, I’d be loving it.