Bless Sarah. What an angel. She did want to see me alone. I knew she would. Jed must have insisted he be here during the Great Handover. That was it, he didn’t trust me, he was scared I’d woo Sarah back with my smooth love talk, that she’d be so impressed with my manly handling of the situation that she’d realize she’d made a mistake.
Sarah handed Jed her keys. “Will you give him a hand, Alex?”
What? Had I heard her correctly? Did she know what she was doing? She was ruining everything. She was destroying our chance for a short time alone together. Jed smiled at me, as if to say, “Ha, so there, I knew I didn’t have to worry.” But I wanted to speak to her. Oh, sure, I wanted to kiss her, I wanted to jump her bones and give in to carnal frustration, but I would have been happy with words. I deserved a few words with her. We’d been together for nearly two years. Surely she owed me that much?
“Glad to help,” I said. Glad to help? Of course I wasn’t bloody well glad to help. I wanted to shout, scream, demand some time alone with her, but did I speak out? Did I look imploringly at her? No and no. I meekly followed Jed to the car—her car, the car I knew so well—and allowed him to unlock the doors (he made a big show of it, as if saying to me, “It’s my right now, worm”) and fill my arms with the empty boxes Sarah had brought home to remove my things from her life.
I wanted to hit Jed on the back of the head, to knock him out and stuff his body into the boot. I wanted to push him in front of a car, throw him into a busy street, shove him on to a train track. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.
What did he have that I didn’t?
Jed and I carried the empty boxes upstairs and helped Sarah pack my things. He put his slimy hands all over my possessions, my stuff, examining each and every item and making disparaging comments about my favorite socks, my lucky Pearl Jam T-shirt, the rare comics I’d saved from my teens (laugh all you want, Jed, those babies are worth a couple of grand each).
It was only after everything was packed (thanks for the tea and biscuits, Sarah) that I realized I had no way of getting all these boxes (how on earth had I acquired so much stuff?) to my new flat. My car was still in the garage, was going to be in the garage for weeks. (But that’s another story.)
Sarah, bless her, she was so thoughtful, really she was, realized this at about the same time as I did. She was so kind. She offered her services as chauffeur for my boxes.
She kept the television, video, and stereo after ascertaining that I was in a shared dwelling, deciding I already had access to such electronic equipment. “But when you move into your own place,” she said, “we’ll sort something out.” Sort something out. The stereo and television are both mine and we bought the video together after my old one wore out. I would really have liked a stereo and television in my new room, but I didn’t put up a fight (I didn’t even protest—at least I’d be able to see her again). And I knew there wouldn’t be space for anything in my room with all these boxes (they were going to be stacked from floor to ceiling as it was).
We loaded up the car and then Sarah and Jed drove my things, all my belongings, to my new flat. There wasn’t room for me in the back seat—I had a lot of boxes—so I took a cab. (I was so mature and adult and understanding as they pulled away with Jed in the passenger seat rather than me.) Unfortunately, it took me longer than I would have liked to hail a cab; so by the time I pulled up outside my new building, Jed, Sarah, Amber, and Noreen were already unloading the car.
I’d planned on dumping the boxes in the hallway and only taking them to my room after Sarah and Jed had left, but when Jed had knocked on the door and explained they were friends of mine helping me move, Amber had let them in and led them straight to my room. (The only, only good thing about that was that Amber is young, nubile, and cute, and I could see that Sarah noticed. I could see that Sarah noticed Jed noticing. But I didn’t want her to be jealous over Jed, I just wanted her to be jealous over me. I certainly didn’t want Jed noticing Amber: she’s too innocent for the likes of Jed. Why is it that Jed has to fancy the same women I do? Does he do it on purpose? Is his sole aim in life to destroy mine?)
As we piled the last bag of clothes on to my bed, I could see Sarah take a look around the room and there was pity in her eyes when they caught mine. Once I’d organized the boxes I’d have room to walk from the door to the bed and from the bed to the door. Jed smiled broadly, winking at me as he caught Sarah’s hand. He was ecstatic, I could see him all energized and excited and, no doubt, so sexually aroused he was going to take my Sarah home to my flat and shag her brains out. On our mattress. It was so easy to be victorious over me.
They didn’t stay long, not even for tea or coffee (told you Jed was hot for it). After they’d gone Amber and Noreen commented on how nice it had been to meet some of my friends and what a lovely couple Sarah and Jed had seemed.
And Amber said they appeared so in love and asked how long they’d been together.
“Since Monday,” I said, “when Sarah dumped me after I walked in on them having sex in my bed.”
That shut them up. And then Noreen looked at me with the light of admiration in her eyes. She now thinks I’m amazing, so laid back and cool that I can still be friends with them not hampered by jealousy. She thinks I’ve outgrown my animalistic urges and that I’ve moved on to the next higher plane of evolution. I think she’s even forgiven me for eating eight eggs for breakfast.
They invited me to go out drinking with them and our other two flatmates the following night. Whoopee. Perhaps Noreen wanted to discuss the inconsistencies of my behavior: meat-eating Neanderthal on the one hand, compassionate, understanding New Man on the other. Then she’d want to tell me all about how celery screams when we cut it. Doesn’t it sound fun?
i like dogs
(it’s their owners who should be shot)
Dogs shit. Dogs pee. And then they shit some more. Dogs urinate. Dogs defecate. They like to leave little droppings to declare their presence. I peed here. Smell me, I was here. (It’s a dual-purpose function, biological and behavioral.)
Dogs leave their pee and poo on purpose.
People should know better. (Especially city dwellers.)
(For all of you dog owners who do clean up after your pets, this does not apply to you. You should be hailed as paragons of virtue and rewarded with medals and trophies for civic duty.)
Dog owners who do not pick up their dog’s dung (there are many novel implements in pet stores designed for this very purpose if the owner is too squeamish for mere carrier bags) should be taken to Tower Hill and shot. Oh, all right, then, if shooting’s too extreme, prison sentences and ten-thousand-pound fines should be imposed. And maybe branding on the forehead so we all know and can throw stones and spit at them whenever they appear in public.
I am sick, sick of people being so inconsiderate.
Doesn’t anyone think of anyone else but himself? Or herself? (Let’s be fair, men and women are both at fault.)
No, of course they don’t. Well, Alex used to, but I, the new Alexander, have to learn to become just like the rest of them. The rest of you. Sod society and sod the world. If I want a dog and I don’t feel like cleaning up after his first, second, and third bouts of morning diarrhea in the park, then too bad for all those schmucks out there who do mind. Who cares if it’s in the middle of the path, right? No one else would pick it up. Why should I?
jed strikes again
You’d think I’d have learnt my lesson. You’d think I’d have found some way to disassociate myself from Jed. There were other managers in the company who admired my work, and I’m sure I could have persuaded someone to let me transfer to their group. But, no, I held my tongue and slaved away on my horse-poster slogan. I knew that Jed couldn’t keep me on such campaigns forever, that it would start to look suspicious if someone of my experience and salary kept being assigned grunt work. But what I didn’t suspect, what I couldn’t have known, was that Jed was willing to sacrifice just a little bit of company prestige to
take care of me once and for all.
Oh, he was so clever, he’d obviously thought it through, and when the first opportunity had arisen he’d struck. He couldn’t have known I was going to walk in on him bonking Sarah that very same day and that Sarah would immediately thereafter dump me. But I don’t think he’d have cared, I don’t think it would have mattered: he wanted me out of the way with no chance of a comeback. And what a godsend it must have been when Richard Morris broke his leg. A minor, inconsequential project was perfect for Jed’s plans for me. (No lasting harm to the great firm that way.)
Friday morning Elizabeth—Mrs. Wilmington-Wilkes—duly arrived with her friends from the Shire Horse Centre in tow. She’d decided to sit in on the meeting, no doubt so she could feel generous, kind, and philanthropic all at once, as well as gloating to her friends that her husband owned such a fine company.
I had on my best suit, a crisply ironed shirt, a tie that declared my competence, and my friendliest smile. I was calm and in control. I wasn’t nervous, even in Elizabeth’s presence. This was easy. I’d given dozens of presentations and I knew these clients would be satisfied. I’d come up with a brilliant poster that was far better than any of the graduates could have done.
As soon as I’d finished and asked if there were any questions I could see that the clients looked uneasy, that Elizabeth was concerned. And Jed appeared embarrassed.
“That’s a very fine poster, Alex. I’m sure the Shire Horse Centre will be able to use it,” Jed said, “but that’s not really why they’re here. Why don’t you present the radio ad now?”
Radio ad? What radio ad? Jed had mentioned nothing about a radio ad. I’d have known if he’d told me to do one. Small charities like this one don’t normally do radio ads. It’s practically unheard-of.
I smiled uncomfortably and glanced around the table. “Radio ad?”
Jed, stern now: “You do have a radio ad?”
Mutely, I shook my head. I’m glad I wasn’t a girl or I would have been tempted to cry. And while tears might cause pity if they’re coming from a woman, believe me when I tell you a crying man at work is not a figure for sympathy unless a very close family member has died. Then the women will think the man is sensitive and the other men will just be embarrassed by all that emotion, even if the momentary lapse in carrying on the tradition of the stiff upper lip is forgivable. I’d never really been in trouble before (not at school, not at university, and certainly not at work; I’d been a good boy all my life) and I knew, knew that this was sabotage. Deliberate, malicious sabotage.
Elizabeth’s face paled. At that precise moment I could clearly see the future. Mrs. Wilmington-Wilkes had been humiliated by a mere employee and therefore that employee would pay. Kenneth would be all too happy to oblige. There was nothing he liked better than sacking an incompetent, turning another human being into a quivering wreck with his temper and threats of litigation.
Jed apologized to the clients for their wasted trip and assured them that we’d be working on the campaign throughout the weekend and that we’d have something by Monday morning. Elizabeth insisted the clients—her friends—remain in London at company expense rather than make another journey. I tried to apologize and explain, but Jed cut me off and then they were gone. Jed told me to wait in the meeting room.
I knew then, although I had no proof, that it had been a deliberate ploy by Jed. We’d been alone in his office when he’d asked me to take on the work and at the graduate groupie meeting he’d only said that my work was incomplete. He’d never told me about the radio ad. Never. But I had no proof.
A few minutes later Kenneth—Mr. Wilmington-Wilkes, yes, sir—burst into the room. In his wake came Jed (one of Kenneth’s sycophantic favorites), his expression respectful, mournful, and regretful all at once, but I knew that the shine in Jed’s eyes was one of victory.
Jed said, “No, really, Kenneth, I take full responsibility. I know I should have checked his work. But Alex has never disappointed me before.”
“He’s a grade five, isn’t he?” Kenneth’s crisp upper-class accent was sharp enough to cut glass.
“Yes, he is.”
“Then you shouldn’t need to check his work. Young man,” Kenneth said to me, “do you have an explanation?”
I felt like standing to attention and saluting, but I didn’t dare. “I didn’t know about—”
“Didn’t know? Didn’t know?” Kenneth’s voice thundered and I half expected his roar to start an avalanche. All I can say is that it was a good thing we weren’t in the Alps in winter or a few more ski chalets would have been buried in the snow. “Didn’t listen is what you mean.”
“I’m so sorry, Kenneth,” said Jed, smoothly cutting me off. “He said last night that everything was finished. I asked him if he wanted me to double-check anything, to look things over for him and he said no. It was an error of judgement on my part. I never should have trusted him. He obviously wasn’t ready for the responsibility.”
This was excruciating. Kenneth was buying his bullshit. Even if I had been to blame it would have been Jed’s fault as much as mine. He was the manager. It was his job to make certain everything was in order for the client.
Kenneth paused and stared at me for a full minute.
The silence was terrible. I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout, I wanted to point an accusing finger at Jed, I wanted to confess, anything, anything to end this torture.
“You, young man,” said Kenneth, pointing at me. He turned to Jed. “What’s his name?”
“It’s Alex,” said Jed. “Alex Fairfax.”
“Well, Alex Fairfax, as of this moment consider yourself dismissed for incompetence.”
“But—” I said.
“No buts,” said Kenneth. “And don’t expect just to sail out of here. All the client expenses for the weekend will be deducted from your last pay packet. Hotel, food, entertainment, everything. You’re a fool if you expect the company to pay for your negligence.” He turned back to Jed, mentally dismissing me. “Have him escorted from the building. Immediately.”
Back ramrod straight, no doubt proud of himself for his masculinity, Kenneth strode from the room. He was probably going to see his wife, and if he was anything like Jed, he’d want to give it to her while he was feeling all big and full of testosterone. I hoped the clients were still in his office. I hoped Elizabeth would feel obliged to spend the day with them. I hoped they all went out to dinner and to the opera and came back to the Wilmington-Wilkes house for late-night coffee. I hoped he wasn’t alone with his wife for days (even if I was going to be paying for all that entertainment, even if it took all of my last month’s salary).
Jed summoned two security guards (two, as if I would have put up a struggle) to escort me to my desk. Jed led the way, stopping at his own office to retrieve an empty Ariel box. He handed it to me and I stared at it for a moment. I wondered if it had been one of the spare boxes Sarah had collected yesterday from Tesco. I’d bet my entire savings account that it was. Jed had probably set it aside last night, knowing what was coming, knowing that his third strike would soon bear fruition.
My feet were still a little sore, but I wasn’t really hobbling now, even if I felt like a goblin the way everyone in the office was staring at me. No one would meet my eyes. They were all embarrassed for me. There was pity, too. But most of all there was relief that it wasn’t them.
Jed stood behind the guards, smirking as I packed up my belongings: my favorite pen, a Dilbert desk diary, a South Park coffee mug given to me by Sarah, yesterday’s Times, a Twix for my midmorning snack.
Then Jed and the two guards walked me to the front door. Jed took my key card and my company ID, and then I was out on the street.
I’d been sacked.
Jed stood on the other side of the windows—on the inside—and watched me clutch my little box and walk away. I looked back before I turned the corner and he was still there. He was standing there with a grin on his face, watching until I was out of sight.
>
I was unemployed. I was soon to be on the dole. Can you even claim dole after you’ve been sacked? After they say it’s your fault? (But I’m innocent, honest. How many times have they heard that one down at the dole office?) And what if you have savings? Can you still claim dole?
So there I was. No car. No girlfriend. No flat. No job. And probably no dole. Only a room.
And a cardboard box. I mustn’t forget my cardboard box. It’s not large enough to sleep in, though.
they set a man on fire
They poured oil over him, struck a match, and deliberately set him alight.
(It’s happened a number of times in different parts of the country.)
They call it a racist attack and it probably was. But how can anyone hate a stranger enough to actually set him or her on fire? Think about the true horror of the attack. It’s not like a gun. It’s not like pulling a trigger. It’s immediate and personal. The kicks and struggle and screams are right there. In your face. You’d be able to feel the heat, smell the burning flesh.
Now if it was something personal, then maybe I can understand, if it’s some individual who has done you great wrong, if it’s a vendetta. (Don’t worry, Jed, you’re safe, you’re going to be humiliated, your reputation annihilated, pain and suffering aren’t enough for you, even death isn’t punishment enough, it’d be too easy and it would be over too soon, no, Jed, I wish you a long life, a very, very long life.)
Oh, it’s just a bunch of young men who’ve had too much to drink. Yeah, right. I’ve been pretty drunk and while I’ve succumbed to the urge to piss in the street, the thought of deliberately burning someone to death and watching them die has never occurred to me.
It must be mob mentality, then, and fear and anguish and feelings of inferiority and desperate longing to belong to something. The situation escalates from chasing to punching and beating, but then on to setting someone alight? That’s a pretty extreme reaction if you ask me.
Being Alexander Page 4
