by Michael Ross
“Over there? Where there’s a sign hanging up that reads ‘waiting area’?”
Rob is overtired. Sarcasm is not normally one of his weapons, even when he is fed up to the back teeth. I need to break his mood before blood is spilt. When we sit down, I tell him the good news about my job.
“I tell you what Rob, how about this? The company has offered me a promotion, managing a unit two or three times bigger than my current place. I wouldn’t mind giving it the once over. It should only take us twenty minutes to get there. If Gemma’s not here when we get back, I’ll come back on my own tomorrow.”
“Are you sure? Anyway, mate, congratulations on the promotion. A pay rise as well, I expect?”
“Probably; I haven’t got the full details yet. Come on, let’s go.”
I put the car into gear and a short time later, we are sitting in front of the building.
***
“Wow, Danny, it’s a monster.”
I am rather lost for words. I mean, I can multiply by two, and three even, but the new site is enormous. Looking at the old sign boards that are piled up, waiting to be burnt, the building must have been an indoor go-cart circuit at one time. There must at least a dozen or so contractors working in different parts of the building. Part of me feels excited, the other part totally overwhelmed. I could be in charge of all this before too long.
“Let’s have a look around while were here. Hey, buddy, who’s in charge?” I ask someone.
The guy nods in the direction of a large man wearing a dark-blue donkey jacket.
“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you. My name’s Danny Pearson. I work for the company.”
He greets me like royalty—it must be a big contract.
“Hi, Danny. I’m Pete McCarthy. Call me Mac.”
“Hi, Mac. Have you get any plans you can show me?”
“Of course. I’ll give you a guided tour.”
***
“Hi, Rose. Gemma here. Any messages for me?”
“Ah, there you are. I’ve been trying to contact you.”
“Do you mean to say John didn’t tell you I’m taking a few hours off?”
“No, he certainly did not. Mind you, he’s got a new boyfriend and I think his head is somewhere else if you know what I mean.”
“Honestly! Oh well, anything urgent for me?”
“Just three phone messages that can wait until tomorrow, and a Mr. Pearson and a Mr. Palmer popped in to see you.”
“Pearson, Palmer…means nothing to me. Where are they from?”
“They didn’t leave a company name. Mr. Pearson thought you might remember his name?”
“No, not at all. Well, that’s me finished for the day. Tomorrow is a big day, so if anyone wants me they will have to try their arm tomorrow. I am nowhere to be found until eight-thirty tomorrow morning.”
“Good for you, Gemma. Can I give those people your number?”
“I’d rather you didn’t. If it’s that important, I will find some way of fitting them in tomorrow. But JB is back tomorrow first thing, so you know what sort of day we can expect.”
“Rather you than me. If they call back, I’ll let them know. Enjoy your night.”
“Thanks, Rose. See you tomorrow.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Danny, you’ve got to take the job,” says Rob. “The potential is fantastic.”
After spending an hour or so going around the site and having a cup of tea with Mac, I am almost out of words. It will be by far the biggest operation for the company in the UK and probably the whole of Europe. But it’s not just the running of the depot which is daunting; we’ll need a minimum of twenty staff to run the place, plus all the PR work to promote the company locally. Rob knows I am not going to wimp out, but I could really do with some words of encouragement at the moment. I fish for a compliment from him.
“I’m not sure if I’m capable of running an operation as big as that, even if it was well established in the area.”
“Just what I was thinking, D. It is way beyond your capabilities. Goodness knows what the company were thinking. They must be desperate for someone to fill the gap until they get someone proper in to do the job.”
Blimey, of course. That makes sense.
“Danny, you clown! Look at your face. I’m joking, man. You would, you will be brilliant. The whole thing is made for you. And there is a nice little bonus, isn’t there?
“Bonus?”
“You are only twenty minutes’ drive from Gertrude/Ella/Gemma. Whatever her name is.”
I might be somewhat overawed, but that is one point I had definitely not overlooked. I look at my watch.
“Just gone five. We’re going to be back in plenty of time. Put your foot down, Rob. I feel today is the day when my life turns around.”
***
“What, she won’t be in at all?”
“I’m sorry, no, Mr. Pearson. Something’s cropped up and she won’t be returning to work until tomorrow morning, and the marketing director has called for an early morning briefing so she will be tied up until after lunch.”
That internal voice is screaming out profanities that you just do not want to hear. “Did you at least pass on my message?”
“I had several messages to pass on to her; yours was one of them.”
“How about her mobile number? Could you pass that on to me so I can speak to her directly?”
“I’m sorry. We’ve got a strict policy of not giving out members of staff’s private numbers.”
“Oh, I see. Okay, I will pop around tomorrow afternoon.”
“Fair enough, Mr. Pearson. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
The strange thing is I get the feeling she really means it.
***
Rose Proctor watches the two men leave the building, feeling rather sad for them. She guesses that Mr. Pearson must be that chap David who proposed to Gemma a few weeks ago. He looked devastated, poor fellow; rejection is hard to take, which is something that Rose knows that only too well. David Pearson seems like a really decent chap. Rose decides and is certain Gemma has made a big mistake in turning down his proposal, but there again…it’s nice to get a proposal in the first place, isn’t it?
Chapter Sixteen
I love my sleep, and because I love my sleep I need it. If I don’t get at least seven hours zonked out to the world, I struggle. A Monday night should not be a problem, but it’s four-twenty on a gloomy autumn morning and I have not slept a wink. I’m excited about the promotion, of course I am. The first thing on my list of things to do is to ring Buck and accept the job. However, that list was drawn up at one o’clock—many thoughts have gone swirling around my head since then. What if I am nothing more than a stopgap? I’m certainly not the best-paid employee in the company, I haven’t even got a company car, and I will have to move home. The flat is on a renewable six-month licence, so I need to give notice of termination within the next fortnight or commit myself to another six months. And holidays. I have not taken my full holiday entitlement since I joined the company five years ago. I reckon I will need a good break to recharge my batteries before the new depot is officially open. My deputy, Patrick, is more than capable of running the old place for a couple of weeks. The old place! In my head I have already left.
So the new first item on my list is to speak to HR and get full details of the package the company are offering. But then my brain throws up all the possibilities of that conversation: a) “Sorry, Mr. Pearson, there has been some mistake. We already have someone in place for that wonderful opportunity you wanted ‘time to think about.’” b) “On reflection, we don’t really think you are up for the position, Mr. Pearson, but we’re willing to give you a six-month trial on the terms of your current contract.” c) “Ah, Mr. Pearson, we are so glad you called. We have been going carefully through your branch’s figures and we feel you ought to call up to Head Office immediately. Bring the keys to the unit with you, please. d) “Mr Pearson, were you really expecting a salary increase? Surely one sh
ould be grateful for the opportunity we are offering you. Oh, by the way, this will be the first depot in the UK to open seven days a week. Congratulations.”
I am a mess, but of course the time spent thinking about the job is nothing compared to the time devoted to thinking about Gemma. More options: a) Get there at seven a.m. before she gets too involved with work matters. b) Leave it until six p.m. and wait for her in the staff car park. c) Ring her up in the afternoon and have a light-hearted chat about old times and arrange to meet for dinner. d) Don’t bother. Just forget about her and get on with my life.
For several hours I am quite happy with option d, and then whilst playing back the events of the day in my head, I remember that I snatched a copy of the staff magazine off the waiting room table. It would not hurt to find out a bit more about the company, just in case I change my mind and do go back there some time in the future. I raid the fridge and drain the last bit of orange juice out of the carton, turn on the bedside lamp, and start to leaf through the magazine.
It is not that much different to our company magazine. I wonder if management actually believe their employees ever read the drivel printed inside them. However, some of the articles are quite interesting and one of the staff incentive schemes seems like an idea which would work well at the new site. My concentration is drifting until I get to the inside of the back cover and I get a little punch to my chest. “Once again the Westbury team come out on top” with a group photograph of six girls and a man smiling at the camera. “JB Roberts and the team pose for the camera after winning the annual ‘Press Gang’ award for the third year in a row.” And there she is—my Gemma. My heart does that ridiculous thing of skipping a beat, because I look at her face and lose control. Arguably she is not even the most attractive girl in the group (they are all rather gorgeous; JB Roberts is certainly a man with good taste). But there is something about her that just takes my breath away. That instantaneous feeling that hit me six months ago is still alive and kicking.
That decides it. I am definitely going back tomorrow afternoon. But what should I wear? Casual? Smart casual? My best suit? Which tie? Hang on—which shirt first, then the tie. It’s no good; I get up and turn the television on. May as well watch Chelsea against Arsenal again.
Chapter Seventeen
“Good morning. It’s Daniel Pearson here from Chepstow branch. Buck Osborne gave me your name. I gather you are the person to speak to so that I might get details of the new contract the company are offering me.”
“Of course, Mr. Pearson. I only finished drawing up the offer yesterday afternoon. If you stand by your computer, I will email the details over to you immediately. Obviously with the caveat that it is for your eyes only.”
“Obviously. I am here waiting.”
In Head Office terminology, “immediately” must mean twenty-three minutes, because that is exactly how long it takes for the email to arrive. Here we go, eyes down. Let’s get it over with, Danny boy.
Bloody hell! The salary increase is over thirty percent.
And a lease on a brand-new car up to £25,000 in value.
And subsistence allowance for the first six months at £400 per month.
And a company credit card with a £2,000 credit limit.
Plus two weeks extra paid leave, if taken in the next month.
Bloody hell!
I must ring Rob.
He takes in the details, and his response is classic Rob.
“Are you sure it’s your name at the top of the letter?” He knows without seeing me that I’ve immediately gone back to the top of the page, and he bursts into laughter. “Brilliant, Danny. Absolutely brilliant. You deserve a bit of luck for a change. Mind you, I always thought you were underpaid in the first place. We must get together and make sure you choose the right car.” Rob is a petrol head.
“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of getting something without your advice.”
“So, young Daniel, what of Operation Gertrude? She’ll always be Gertrude to me, by the way.”
“I’m going down there at four this afternoon. Not too early to appear anxious, not too late as to look as if I could not care.”
“And you are wearing?”
“My blue suit. White shirt with that yellow stripy tie.”
“And shoes—what shoes? They are very important to women.”
“The dark brown ones—they look a bit like brogues.” And then I catch that little intake of breath at the other end of the line. Rob is taking the piss out of me.
“So all your little boxes have ticks in them now, have they?”
I like making lists—is that such a bad thing? Is it a reason for your best friend to take the piss out of you? I feel like slamming the phone down.
“Hey, Danny, you know I don’t mean it. I will be thinking about you all afternoon. Go for it, Tiger!”
“Cheers, Rob. Thanks for that.”
“No problem. Give me a call tonight. By the way, Tessa sends her love—she’s hooked on the whole thing. The Gertrude—Gemma complex she calls it. Speak to you later. Onward and upward!”
He is a good friend and has got the wife he deserves.
***
For the first time ever, I feel somewhat embarrassed to be driving the little company van. If it were not covered in signs, it wouldn’t be so bad. I have given it a thorough vacuuming and run it through the car wash, but it is hardly the vehicle to make a girl go weak at the knees. Oh well, I will have to cross that bridge when I get to it. When I pass the pub we had a drink at yesterday, there are three police cars in the front car park. I won’t be going there again in a hurry.
I arrive so early that I decide to park the van in a side street and walk over to her offices, the theory being that the walk will help me relax. As I approach the building, I notice there are many more cars in the car park compared to yesterday. Three forty-five; I cannot hang around for another fifteen minutes. Just as I am about to walk the last fifty metres, people start streaming out of the building. Within a few minutes, twenty-odd cars have left the car park.
There is no point whatsoever in travelling all the way here and wimping out. If the whole thing is a disaster, at least I’ve got a great new job, a new home, and a new car to look forward to. Come on Danny, carpe diem, you have very little to lose. Only the love of my life, that’s all. Danny, for heaven’s sake, get a grip, man! Here goes…only fifty steps to the front door. Forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven…
***
It has been a stressful day. When Gemma hears that a decision has been made to close down the Glasgow operation, she knows with certainty that it is a day in the future that would be best forgotten. Not only are thirty-two people being made redundant, but it is also a wake-up call for all the underachieving branches around the country. The board has instructed JB to contact all the branch managers around the UK to be here for a ten o’clock meeting. Worst of all it means that JB is going to be forced into dealing with Paul Clement; just the thought of his name is enough to send shivers shooting down Gemma’s spine. Gemma’s afternoon off has done her no favours whatsoever. She compensates by throwing herself into her workload. By three-thirty, she is mentally drained.
Chapter Eighteen
Four o’clock; at least two hours before this worst of all working days is over. The atmosphere in the building has been toxic all day. The overriding feeling is that the company has acted with undue haste, that shutting down branches will achieve nothing other than to erode confidence within and without the company. However, it is an irretrievable situation; the word is out in the public domain. To retract the decision would seem like weakness on the part of the board. For some reason, JB seems to be taking the brunt of the criticism when Gemma knows full well that that should not be the case. JB had most certainly argued vehemently against the decision, but had to, on the face of it, back the board’s decision. The two of them were grateful when the meeting was called to a halt.
Gemma pokes her head around JB’s door.
; “I reckon we could both do with a break, JB. Shall we nip into town for an ice cream sundae? Twenty minutes away from all this, before we get back to work.”
“Good idea. Get your car out and I’ll meet you at the front of the building in five minutes.”
“Okay. See you in five.”
The digital clock on the office wall moved to exactly 4.00.
***
“Hi, Rose. I don’t know if you remember me from yesterday. Daniel Pearson. I wanted to see if I could see Gemma Barrow.”
“Of course I remember you. For some reason, I thought your name was David.”
“No. No it’s never been that, as far as I can remember.”
“I must admit, Mr. Pearson, you probably could have not picked a worse day to call. Things are rather chaotic here today. I’ll ring her extension and see if she’s free. Hang on a second…Hello, is Gemma there? No. Oh, I see.”
Rose, who for some strange reason now feels like an old friend, turns back to me.
“Well, you’re in luck. Gemma’s on her way down here as we speak. She should be the next person out of the lift.”
Instantly, there is a cocktail of emotions swilling around inside me: excitement, fear, embarrassment, anticipation. I turn to stare at the lift doors. The illuminated floor numbers show that she is one floor away. I hold my breath as the lift doors open and Gemma Barrow walks out. She is an extremely attractive black woman, slim, petite, vivacious. But she is not Gemma Barrow. She…she is…who the hell is she?
“Oh, Gemma,” Rose says. “This gentleman, Mr. Pearson, has been waiting to see you.”
My feet won’t move.
“Go on, then.” Rose’s whispered instruction means she has mistaken my inactive legs for some other problem.
