by Adam Leigh
The presentation had become an ego-fuelled battle between me and Julian. I wanted to convey ruthless parity. He wanted to clearly demonstrate that there was only one real CEO worth listening to at PrimaParent. For a week we sat disagreeing, but in the end I managed to persuade him that we should present together and try to recreate some of the amiable banter of previous events. With Alice’s prompting, he reluctantly agreed, and I produced a script that magnanimously gave him some of the best lines.
It was a gloriously sunny day in July 2015 as we all gathered at the cinema, mingling over a breakfast of smoothies, organic yogurt bowls, croissants and coffee. I was meeting people from our new offices whose names I had seen on spreadsheets, but not met in person. They were full of earnest enthusiasm, which I actually found quite humbling, remembering that this all began only three years previously on a park bench by a sandpit, while chatting to a stranger. As the founder, I was treated with a mix of reverence and polite respect. They all wanted to make a good impression and I quickly got used to a lot of vigorous nodding in agreement with everything I said.
We adjourned to the plush reclining seats in the giant cinema space. Julian and I took our places, ready to make our appearance. The proceedings were compèred by two members of the marketing team, Ami and Harvey. She was a budding stand-up in her spare time, and he was an established DJ. We had agreed that they could have as much fun in their introductions as they wanted. This included, of course, our walk-on music.
The lights dimmed and a video montage of twenty-four hours in the life of PrimaParent burst on to the screen. Lots of high-definition shots of people waving in all of our different offices across the globe, larking around in meeting rooms, shoving people in bins, pouring glasses of water on unsuspecting colleagues’ heads. The climax was an unforgettably inappropriate shot of seven of Dimitri’s team in London, who conveyed their diverse international backgrounds by standing in a line and dropping their trousers, to reveal the flags of their country of origin painted on their naked buttocks. The soundtrack was the Henry Hall Orchestra’s 1932 ‘Teddy Bear’s Picnic’, adding an ironic counterbalance to this most youthful depiction of a company that created happy memories for children. It was then our turn. Ami first introduced Julian.
“PrimaParent global family, please put your hands together for our founder. The man who makes Prince Harry look common. A man so good-looking that you won’t want to stand next to him. A man of impeccable taste. A man of style. A man of the people. Well, a man of the rich people anyway. Let’s all bow down to the always classy… Julian Lloyd-Mason.”
As Julian stood up, the classic TV theme from Brideshead Revisited accompanied him on his journey to the stage. It was not energetic, but it had an appropriateness to Julian’s innate elegance. He walked in a measured fashion, waving regally and even bowing a couple of times with faux humility. He was always happy to be praised for his looks and breeding. I grew a little nervous and wondered if I should have retained full editorial control for my introduction. Harvey smiled mischievously.
“And now, colleagues, it is time to meet our other founder. This man has a style all of his own and perhaps it would be better sometimes if it did not leave the house. This man’s jokes will make you cry. Not with laughter, though. This man has so many ideas a day he doesn’t know what to do with them, and it is just our bad luck that they come our way. He really cares about what he does. He just cares even more about what people think. Please put your hands together for our loveable leader… Alex Lazarus.”
Slightly reeling from the derogatory remarks and wondering if Julian had somehow intervened, I stood up before the music began. I knew I was in trouble, I just didn’t expect the 1961 Henry Mancini theme ‘Baby Elephant Walk’. If you’re unfamiliar with it, it’s very catchy, but it’s not the theme of a titan of the digital revolution. I didn’t know what to do but, not wanting to appear irritated, I tried to be a good sport. My walk, unfortunately, though not that of a baby elephant, became a quasi-involuntary dance, which, given my lack of co-ordination or basic rhythm, just made me look like someone having a seizure.
The laughter had risen to a manic crescendo by the time I reached my spot. Julian, smelling blood, applauded me enthusiastically and said, “Hello Alex. What lovely moves. Are you self-taught?”
Despite this patchy beginning, our presentation went well, and we got a diverse group of enthusiastic young people to whoop and holler with genuine fervour. We finished with a suitably grandiose performance from Clyde Pilestone himself on film. Dressed like a Byronic vampire, my old school friend Nigel stared at the camera and exhorted our people to ‘go into that febrile wilderness of the stunted imagination and spread my mad mordant musings to the expectant youth of today’s tendentious technological terrain’. I can honestly say that no one in that room knew what he was talking about.
The day finished with a huge party at a Shoreditch club, with Harvey as DJ, limitless drink and minimalist food to soak it up. I was starving. Every time a tray of miniature designer food appeared from the kitchen, I would pounce as if I’d been told there was an imminent famine. The atmosphere was buoyant, and of course my strange ascent to the stage had now been choreographed into a flash mob routine called ‘the Alex’. On an hourly basis, Harvey put on ‘Baby Elephant Walk’ and every member of the company I had lovingly built would mock me through the medium of dance.
Still, I had never felt so popular. Julian and I were surrounded by a constant flow of people who wanted to introduce themselves or share an idea or suggestion. As exhaustion engulfed me after a long day, compounded by the techno-throb of Harvey’s music, conversation became increasingly difficult. I could show no sign of not caring or indifference, so I tried to keep a cheerful fixed grin. I must have looked a bit deranged.
Towards the end of the evening, I was locked in serious debate with Inés from Madrid and Chen from Singapore. The former had a rather impenetrable Latin accent, lubricated by apparently significant quantities of cerveza. The latter spoke only in an earnest whisper. I was nodding manically in violent agreement with sentences I did not hear. I think Inés may have said at one point that ‘we need strawberry data to wash yesterday’s liposuction’, although I may have been mistaken. I just wanted to go home and was on the verge of tears when Samantha, our finance director, sidled up and asked if she could have a quiet word. We retreated to the foyer of the club to escape the pounding music.
“I know I’m not allowed to say this, but, Samantha, I will always love you for extricating me from that conversation.”
She smiled and took a sip from the wine glass she was holding. “It’s been a great day. You should be very happy. We have a great group of people and they all love working here.”
“So why the long face? Please don’t tell me you’ve lost the company chequebook?”
“No, it’s safe in my handbag, along with the petty cash.”
“What is it then?”
“Julian.” I knew this was what she was going to say.
“What’s he done this time?” I asked, like a fed-up parent enquiring after a naughty child.
“It’s his expenses. They are just enormous. I think he’s running his life through the business. He’s totally cavalier about what he puts on his card.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for one thing, last week he bought a bike.”
“And?”
“Let’s just say, he eats out a lot more than you do. Plus, his wine choices suggest he may well be training to become a sommelier. He’s also racked up some hefty travel costs. Did you know he spent a few days at the Cannes Film Festival? I assume he was accompanying his girlfriend, not looking to ask movie stars if they needed anything for their children?”
I felt nauseous, the excessive alcohol not mixing well with the crushing disappointment. I knew this meant imminent confrontation just when it was not needed.
“Why are you telling me this now, at the end of such a long day? Couldn’t it have waited until tomorro
w?”
“For one thing,” she replied with irritation, “it shouldn’t matter when I tell you. All that matters is what you do about it. If you must know, he just took me aside and told me to raise the limit on his company credit card, without stopping to explain himself.”
I stared at the wall behind her in a state of weary despair. There was a poster with the arresting headline: ‘If you feel uncomfortable with someone you meet tonight, ask the barman if Tony is in, and we will have you extricated from a difficult situation.’ What a terrible world, where a night out could require such an extreme remedy. I wondered if I should ask for Tony to help me out of this spot.
“I’ll think about how to deal with this. We’ve got the launch in a month. I have to focus on that.” Samantha looked disappointed and shook her head.
“I worried you would back out of a fight. Alex, you need to think hard about Julian. The business is about to become incredibly valuable. I’m pretty certain he won’t be happy until he’s stolen it from you.”
She didn’t wait for a reply, but headed back to the party. I waited in vain for Tony to arrive and then called an Uber.
17. Consequences
I arrived home at 2 a.m. and Sarah was pacing our bedroom consoling a whimpering Emily, covered in chickenpox and unable to sleep. She had caught it from Theo and Sarah had endured a torrid week, unable to do her surgeries and missing some key training sessions she needed to attend. I tried to do my bit at night, but, as ever, I was a distracted bystander to my own family’s small dramas.
“How did you get on?” she asked, sounding exhausted.
“Well, apart from accidently dancing on to the stage and then being mocked by the whole company, I think rather well.”
She smiled wanly and for a second was silent as Emily had finally fallen asleep. Deftly, she placed her on our bed and covered her. Emily instinctively stretched her tiny arms and settled into the shape of a star, arms and legs pointing in all directions. There was going to be little room for me, so a few uncomfortable hours in the spare room beckoned.
Feeling quite awake, I said to Sarah, “Do you fancy a quick cup of tea? I’m not ready to sleep. And do you know what, I’m going to go in late tomorrow. To hell with it – I don’t have a meeting until 9.15 a.m.”
“Oh, that’s the crazy rebel I married. Come on, let’s go downstairs,” she said in a whisper, afraid that my nocturnal burst of energy would undo her hard work getting Emily to sleep. We adjourned to the kitchen and made ourselves a cup of herbal tea. For a second we both stared into space, then I said, “So, how’s work?” She looked momentarily confused at a question that I rarely asked.
“How would I know? I’ve been trapped here with spottymonster-child from hell.”
“I mean when you are actually there, and the patients aren’t your offspring.”
“Well, since you ask, I do have some news. I got called in a few days ago and offered a partnership in the practice.” I sat up with surprise. How could she not mention something so exciting?
“Sarah, that’s great. Were you going to tell me at some point?”
“I was if I could ever sit you down long enough to have a conversation. I’m going to say no, and I’m not sure I want to talk about it with you now.”
“Why would you do that? It’s what you wanted. You are more talented and committed than the rest of them put together. And you can name all the bones in a leg.”
She drummed her fingers with irritation and snapped back brusquely, “How can I take on more responsibility? Do you know what a partnership means? Much more admin for a bit more money. There’s no way we can function as a family with you constantly absent.”
“There is surely a way? There’s always a way. We just need to have a plan.” I certainly didn’t want to block her career progression and suddenly I needed to be constructive and flexible. But it was too late.
“Not with things as they are. I’ve told them to ask me again in a year. They’re going to let me know if they can wait that long for me.”
She turned away from me and I knew the conversation was now closed, even though I felt impelled to carry on speaking. Sarah loved the simplicity of being a community doctor, helping people without fuss. She hated not being in charge at a large, badly run practice that she thought she could improve. I had, however, got in the way. After a moment, she smiled once more and changed the subject.
‘Is this what a status meeting with you feels like? I’ve found it very hard to fix one up.”
“That’s because, I’m afraid, you are not senior enough to warrant much of my precious time.”
“Alex, your jokes are not just ill-judged, they are also, unfortunately, quite accurate. I know where I fit in your hierarchy. I’m just hoping someday for a promotion. Now, in the most straightforward way you know how, please just tell me how today went.”
I outlined the day, chastened by the realisation that what little time we spent together was often masked by my need to make light of a situation with an uninterrupted barrage of witticisms. I explained the strange sensation of power and influence I’d felt as I realised all these disparate people had been brought together by an ephemeral idea that had come to me because I’d decided to take Theo to the park one sunny day. All day, I had met bright and ambitious individuals looking for their own personal glory. I was expected to be the catalyst.
“And how was Julian today?” she asked. “Did he let you have a go with the microphone? Did all the pretty girls flock to him, not you?” I was silent. My poker face was about as convincing as when Theo would surreptitiously thwack Emily, protesting he hadn’t touched her.
“What aren’t you telling me, Alex?”
“I uncovered a problem.” I couldn’t look at her directly. This conversation was going to make me confront what I was trying to avoid.
“Tell me, please,” she prompted gently. I inhaled sharply and began.
“Julian is treating the company like his personal bank account at the moment. We have so much money coming in and out that I know he is burying lots of his costs, expecting me not to find out. Actually, thinking about it, he probably doesn’t really care. He probably just thinks I’m not strong enough to confront him on it.”
“And are you?” she said, stroking my hand.
I didn’t know whether to answer the question or thank her for being so supportive. With my customary evasion, I replied, “I’m not sure. When I confront Julian, it will be akin to Germany invading Poland. Global conflict will be the only result.”
“You’ve been practising that line in the taxi home, haven’t you?”
“A little, maybe. Look, I know I have to do something about him. It’s just we have to launch the book, and make it a success. If I confront him now, everything will unravel. I am going to hatch a plan. I promise.”
Sarah was unconvinced as we listened to the stillness of the night, punctuated only by the ticking of our kitchen clock. Suddenly, I felt drained. The exciting coming months were going to be tempered by the sickness embedded in my partnership with Julian. After a few moments, Sarah said quietly, “Do you remember our honeymoon, Alex?”
“Which bit? The lovely hotels, the food or the snogging?”
“No, I mean the accident and what you said afterwards.”
She was referring to a horrible incident that had occurred halfway through a beautiful two-week tour of Tuscany. We had been driving our little hire car along some windy country roads after a nasty rain shower. Despite the spray and poor visibility, an aggressive Ferrari driver had tailgated me for a long stretch, and the more I slowed to let him pass, the more frantic and irritated he became. Eventually, as he jerked his car alongside me and began to overtake, we heard the pneumatic brakes and angry horn of a lorry coming towards us. Like a Formula One racer at the first bend, the Ferrari driver completed a tight overtake manoeuvre, but left me braking sharply to allow him to pass. As I did so, our car started to spin helplessly. We pirouetted across the miraculously clear road and
hit a tree after several complete spins. The impact broke a light and dented a bumper, and fortunately we emerged unscathed but very shaken.
That night we sedated ourselves with red wine and ate as many desserts as we could, celebrating the continuation of our lives. I became philosophical and poetic, a lethal combination for someone like me with a predilection for speeches. Sarah was referring to something I said that she teased me for thereafter. Fuelled by a post-wedding surge of love, I proclaimed: ‘I will never put us in harm’s way again.’
Look, I was young and in love and had just had a great wedding; it made me very sentimental and over-emotional. ‘Harm’s Way’ became a secret code between us whenever we questioned a big decision confronting us. We were simply asking was it right for us, and Sarah was asking me now to protect us all from the harm that could be done by Julian. Especially poignant as she was foregoing promotion to accommodate my ambitions ahead of hers.
“Yes, you’re right,” I admitted, downing the dregs of my peppermint tea. “I know the road is wet and I am braking hard. Time to learn how to steer in a spin.”
“A torturous analogy for 3 a.m. but yes, I think the tree is approaching fast. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to get at least a couple of hours’ sleep before morning. Some of us have a proper job, and if I’m too tired, my prescriptions will be even harder to read than normal.”
She rose to go up to bed and I called after her, “All that talk of our honeymoon, I’m feeling quite frisky now.”
“How exciting for you,” she said without turning around, and within a minute she was asleep.
