It Always Rains in November
Page 14
Arriving home, Janice noted that Nathan had – of course – not tidied round the living room or cleaned up in the kitchen. Janice heard a grunt from his bedroom. “At least he’s home,” but she started cleaning rather than disturb him. He’d only be in the way and she had under half an hour to make her home respectable.
She had just finished hoovering the living room when there was a knock at the door. Janice opened the door to a tall dark man. He looked like Carl, but was, she reluctantly admitted to herself, a bit better looking. Though he did have less hair and a large spot at the end of his nose.
“Hello, you must be Frank Richards, Carl’s brother.”
“That’s me, the good looking brother, and this is my photographer, Jason.” He nodded towards a young man hardly older than Nathan.
“And you must be Mrs Janice Richardson, a workmate of Carl’s. Nice to meet you.”
For a moment, Janice felt annoyed and upset that Carl had described her only as a workmate. But of course it made sense. No hint of collusion and why should Carl be implicated in this story anyway? Janice recovered her composure.
“Please, come in.”
She ushered the two men into her living room and offered them tea or coffee.
Frank refused. She saw Jason was about to say “yes please” but Frank never gave him a chance.
“He can’t have one either. Spills hot coffee on that camera and I’ll kill him.”
Jason took out a video recorder from his carrying case. Frank noticed Janice’s worried stare.
“Don’t worry about him. It saves misunderstandings later if we record our interviews. And we’ll give you a copy of the recording. It’s for your protection as much as for us.”
The young cameraman took up a position at one end of the living room and began recording. Janice continued to stare at him. Frank’s reassurance was not convincing. All the lies. Made into a permanent record. Frank sat down on the settee, leaning back nonchalantly, as he acted as narrator, undeterred by Janice’s terrorised expression.
“As I understand from Carl, you are a very hard working single mum, whose 15 year old son is scared to go to school, because of bullying. He has had his mobile phone stolen twice and been chased by thugs and hooligans all over this area. So he is too scared to leave the house.”
“Yes that’s correct.” Janice looked straight at Jason, resolving to go along with Frank’s story. No point in being scared, or backing out now. “Nathan is terrified.” There it was. Lie on film. Frank rambled on.
“The authorities are refusing to accept these mitigating circumstances and are threatening to take you, as Nathan’s parent and guardian, to Court. Is that about the size of it?”
Frank was much more confident than Carl. He had the authority of a headmaster or a politician, as he set out the proposition. Couldn’t see her Carl being that powerful. Ooh, she said “her Carl”. Sounded weird, but good.
“Janice, have I got this right?”
“Oh, sorry, yes, that’s right. He is terrified. Carl said that if I make this public the Authorities would be most unlikely to proceed.”
“Of course, we had a case like this a couple of years back. Should attract a good deal of sympathy, particularly as I understand you are doing your best to ensure that Nathan has home schooling and receives at least a measure of suitable education. And Carl says he will sit his GCSEs next Summer.”
“Yes, exactly. That’s right.” There was a pause. Janice began counting lies told so far. Two and rising.
Frank gave her an encouraging, if smarmy, smile.
“Well, Mrs Richardson, are you going to call the young man downstairs? It’s Nathan isn’t it? We need a quick word, and a photo for the paper.”
“A photo, oh no, he won’t want that.” Janice was thinking about Alec Ridgeon who had accused his former friends of harassment. What would his Mum think if and when she saw Nathan’s photo in the local paper as a supposed victim?
Frank assumed a different cause for her reticence and hastened to reassure her.
“No problem, Mrs Richardson. It will only be a silhouette. We need the photo to add authenticity to the piece, but not even you would recognise him, and no names will be mentioned. I understand that he must be quite a frightened young boy. I have three children myself and although they have never been bullied – too streetwise, I suppose – I can imagine what you are going through. I think Carl used to be bullied – by me!” And then he laughed at his own joke. Nobody else did.
For the first time, young Jason spoke up.
“Mrs Richardson, I was bullied at school. So I know how you must feel. My mum cried for weeks, not knowing how to help me.”
“What happened?” Janice felt guilty now. She had not expected a sweet sensitive teenage boy pouring his heart out in an empathetic gesture.
Jason bit his lower lip. Janice was evoking painful memories. He paused the recording and put the camcorder on the table.
“Something happened to make it stop.”
“You fought back, I hope.” That was Frank.
“No, I started paying him £5 per week from my pocket money to leave me alone, and he did.”
“£5 a week, how long did that go on for?” Frank was incredulous.
“Oh, only for a couple of months.”
Each time Jason spoke, he pushed his glasses further onto his nose. Little lamb, the glasses weren’t loose, he was just such a nervous boy. His black, vertical hair was parted in the middle and Janice suspected that without the glasses and better hairstyling, he might not be such a victim.
“After that he put it up to £10 a week and that was difficult to pay.”
“£10 a week. And how long did that last for?” Frank was even more shocked. Janice thought his tone contemptuous, rather than sympathetic. He probably wasn’t joking when he said he’d bullied Carl.
“About a year. Then he left, I think, or got expelled. I can’t remember. I was stealing from Mum’s purse towards the end when my savings ran out, but he never hit me again.”
Janice noticed that Frank’s mouth was catching flies. This was an awful story. Jason had really been bullied, not like Nathan. The whole charade was so wrong.
Frank shook his head and retook charge.
“Perhaps we should call Nathan now.”
This was Janice’s last opportunity to stop the snowball. Nathan was not a victim. On the other hand, this was Carl’s idea. He had generated the scheme for Janice. She didn’t want to let him down. And Nathan was keen on the idea. On the other hand, if Nathan thought it was a winner, it probably should be avoided. What did she want though? She wanted to keep her men happy and she wanted to avoid court action. It was only a little white lie, what the hell. So she went to the foot of the stairs and yelled, “Nathan, can you come down here please?”
Chapter 22
Tuesday November 9th – Carl’s pay review
Carl went home after his school visit. He wanted a break before facing Crouts. Made a cup of coffee and sat in his armchair. Didn’t put on the TV because it would be so difficult to turn it off and go back to work and instead sat pondering his turquoise carpet. Noticed threads coming off it and what he hypothesised were fried egg stains. Then he identified gravy spillage near the TV and other unidentified blobs sporadically placed. When was this carpet last cleaned? He hadn’t noticed the splurges until now. Hadn’t been replaced and almost certainly not properly cleaned since Marie left. That was almost seven years ago. What would Janice think?
He finished his coffee. Time for work. Janice wasn’t going to be there after twelve because she would be going home for the afternoon to sort out Nathan. Carl hoped his plan worked. She’d be so grateful. He went through to the kitchen and soaked a J cloth in hot water. He made a start on the first stain but after a hefty rub, nothing had changed. Carl threw the cloth in the kitchen sink, picked up his Peugeot keys and left for work. No traffic, he was back at his desk just before one o’clock.
Martin’s office door was open and he barked sarcastically.
“Carl, good evening, nice of you to show up.”
Carl walked over to Martin’s office and stood in the doorway. He didn’t want them shouting at each other across twenty feet of office space.
“I’m sorry Martin. I had to go to my daughter’s school. I had told you.”
His boss sneered at him.
“You had also told me that you would be back by 12.00 noon and it is after one.”
“It went on longer than expected. I’m sorry.”
“You know we have a pay review meeting in Jeffrey’s office in an hour?”
“Yes, I know. Not likely to forget am I?”
“Well, I will do what I can for you. You know that. But Jeffrey isn’t stupid. He sees things that go on.”
Carl’s antennae twitched and he narrowed his eye at his boss.
“What do you mean he sees things? You mean you’ve been telling tales.”
“This isn’t the playground, Carl,” Martin snapped. “It’s a plc with corporate responsibilities, highly professional management and shareholders to appease. You turn up late when you are supposed to set an example and it gets noticed. OK?”
“Bullshit.” Carl retorted. “It’s a family owned company which is being run to the ground by directors who treat this place like their own private bank and employ their friends and family in senior positions when they clearly aren’t fit for their jobs. My guess is this company will be bankrupt in three years. I prepared the forecasts, remember?”
“I’m sure Jeffrey will be pleased to hear you say that.”
A smug smile enveloped Martin’s face and Carl regretted sharing his opinion. Why couldn’t he keep his gob shut? Spouting off was effectively voluntary redundancy.
“He isn’t part of the family. I’m sure he’s good at his job.”
“And he’ll so be pleased to know he has your approval.” Nothing wound Carl up more about Martin – aside from the nose picking/eating – than the latter’s snidey sarcasm.
“OK, is there anything else, or can I go now?”
“Of course, Carl. How’s your new girlfriend by the way? Looks like you’ve already started job sharing.”
“She’s fine, thanks, Martin. How’s your wife …? Oh I forgot, you live on your own now.”
Martin glared at him.
“Shut the door on your way out, Carl. I’ll call you in an hour when Jeffrey calls us over.”
Carl berated his own stupidity for trading insults with the one person who might have, if he had been less hostile and more sycophantic, helped salvage his forthcoming pay review. Probably no more than 3%.
* * *
Jeffrey Parker was holding court in his office. In his big chair, he towered over his subordinates and both Carl and Martin were sat forward, avoiding the trap of sinking back in their armchairs and risking legs waving in mid air.
“Carl, your department will have to tolerate a 1% increase across the board. We are in a credit crunch – or had you not heard?”
“Even supervisors like Marion and Janice? They work hard for....”
“Carl,” Jeffrey growled, “didn’t you hear me? It’s 1% across the department. These people need to appreciate the current climate. They’re doing well to keep their jobs. The whole company is restricting pay rises to 1%.”
Carl’s motives in supporting Marion and Janice weren’t wholly altruistic. If Marion and Janice only received 1%, that would probably be his increase as well. Even so, what Martin said next was both incorrect and unnecessary.
“It’s not as if you can be completely objective about Janice anyway.”
“Am I missing something here?” Jeffrey inquired.
Carl changed the subject.
“You said it’s 1% across the department, but that’s not true, is it? The budget includes a 3% bonus for senior management. A bonus, for our £40M profit last year becoming a £25M loss this year.”
He had done it again. First, he had wound up Martin and now Jeffrey. Parker leaned forward and pointed his finger at Carl. As he moved all of the hair on his head seemed to move with him. Must be a wig, or at least a hairpiece. Carl hadn’t noticed that before, but then he hadn’t enraged his boss’s boss like this before.
“You...you little shit. Don’t you dare challenge me! I’ll have you out of here in an instant,” Jeffrey snarled, literally spitting his words out. Carl watched a globule of phlegm land on his trousers. He wanted to keep his job.
“I’m sorry... I...”
“Sorry, doesn’t cut it, boy. This week, I’ve been told you spent several hours at the pub over lunchtime and you were much later than you said you’d be this morning. There was also an embarrassing incident at the start of the week regarding access codes for the auditors that delayed their commencement by a day.”
“Wait a sec,” Carl protested. “I’m not having that. That was his fault.” He pointed at Martin.
Jeffrey turned to the other minion.
“Well, is that true, Martin? I’ve just given you a 3% rise. Was I right to do that for you?”
“And many thanks for that Jeffrey. It was much appreciated.”
Carl wanted to shout that Martin was the real culprit, but Jeffrey had seemingly lost interest in that theme.
“Are you going to be out celebrating your new found wealth?” he asked Martin.
Martin managed a wry smile.
“Three grand over a whole year is great, don’t get me wrong, but not quite good enough to celebrate.”
Carl wondered whether they were deliberately grinding his feelings, but he concluded that they were oblivious to his presence. It was the ultimate disrespect; they could continue a conversation between themselves as if he did not exist. He was a nobody, his presence immaterial.
“Not with your wife,” Jeffrey went on, “but I thought you’d at least be taking the lovely Sue from cashiers out.”
Martin shifted from buttock to buttock. “No, Jeffrey. That’s … that’s all over. I have aleady told you this. Sue phoned my wife and told her about us. My wife kicked me out and me and Sue finished. So, I’m on my own...for the moment.”
Martin’s hand was moving inexorably to his nasal passages. Carl watched, intrigued. How would Jeffrey react?
“So the cashiers tart phoned your wife, wrecked your marriage, and then what happened? You dumped her?”
“No, it was a mutual...”
“Do you have to pick your nose, man? Here, use this.”
Jeffrey threw a tissue at Martin, who scrambled to pick it up with his left hand. His right hand placed the offending bogie in the tissue. Carl watched, fascinated. Respect for Jeffrey Parker confronting the nose picking head on. That’s why he was a director.
“She dumped you, didn’t she. Straight after you gave her that thousand pound bonus payment, no doubt. So she’s a smart tart with no heart.”
Carl shook his head. Martin gave his mistress a grand, whilst the rest of the department were getting bugger all.
Although Martin was being humiliated in front of Carl, he continued to respond to his master’s taunting. He mumbled the next bit, but it remained audible.
“I told her I was leaving my wife. She thought she’d move things along a bit quicker.”
Jeffrey laughed. “You told your bit on the side that you were leaving your wife – you’re a fool. Always fatal, playing with fire at work. Should be more discreet. How are your kids?”
“OK, I guess. They don’t understand.” Martin took a deep sigh and the truth tumbled out. “Actually, they both hate me. I haven’t spoken to them in over two months.”
Martin had cheated Carl out of a pay rise but he still felt some sympathy for his boss. Not much, but some. Unlike Jeffrey
.
“You’re an idiot, man. You should have been more discreet. Me and my wife have been happily married for over 30 years and my daughters worship me. I would never contemplate leaving my wife and girls.”
Carl couldn’t help smiling. Jeffrey Parker was well known for his affairs and for trying it on with every pretty girl at Crouts. Then again, Parker would never have promised any of his mistresses that he would leave his wife. Jeffrey was right – Martin had been a fool. Maybe Parker caught sight of Carl grinning because he re-targeted his bullying.
“Enough of this. We have done everybody else’s pay review. We need to finalise Carl’s. Be so good as to wait outside whilst me and Mr Miller decide your salary. We’ll call you in a minute.”
The only seat outside Parker’s office was occupied by his secretary and so Carl stood, looking through the window at the paintings. Must be the poshest office in the building, although he hadn’t seen the other directors’ offices. After a couple of minutes, he wanted to go to the toilet, but couldn’t walk away without saying anything. After a couple more minutes, he was certain he could hear them talking about whether Chelsea or Man United would win the title. He decided to knock and tell them he was off to the toilet. It had been five minutes, they were making him sweat.
He knocked on Jeffrey’s door. No answer. Carl imagined Jeffrey whispering to Martin, “Let’s keep the poor sap on his toes – don’t answer him”. Carl knocked twice more and then opened the door. He should have anticipated the response.
“Don’t walk into my office without being asked to. Get out and wait to be asked.”
“I did knock twice but….”
“Well, I didn’t hear you, so get out and wait to be allowed in,” Jeffrey bellowed.
Carl waited a further five minutes before Martin was sent to open the door for the unfortunate subordinate. Martin looked like he wasn’t enjoying the ritual sadism as much as usual.
Jeffrey began a pointless preamble.
“Carl, I know you are here for your pay review and you also know that it has been another tough year at Crouts. We have discussed a number of issues earlier and this in turn leads us to awarding you pay for the forthcoming year at an equal level to this year’s figure.”