Thank you so very much for saving my life. Oh, it was a pleasure. We must do it again sometime. Oh yes, we simply must. Let me take your address and send you a Thank You card. Certainly, it’s ten Rhymer Street, Barnsley, but really there’s no need. Oh please. Oh, I couldn’t possibly. Oh, you must. Oh, go on then, she chuntered to herself whilst heading off to the toilet. There was no paper when she got in there either. What a day this was turning out to be! She just couldn’t wait to see what else was waiting for her in the wings. She found out the answer to that one three seconds later when she dived into her bag for a couple of tissues and felt something wet and runny. She had forgotten about the prawn sandwich which, turned out of its paper bag, had fallen to bits and coated everything with lettuce and fish and butter and pink mayonnaise. Scooping the bulk of it out, she flushed it away, washed her hands and walked back to her desk. Grrrrrreat!
She was starting to feel pretty shaky now and thinking back, it was no wonder, because she hadn’t had any breakfast either. Luckily, there was still time for a read, a coffee and something dreadful and inedible from the canteen that would give her a well-needed top-up of energy, at least.
‘There you are!’ said Julia, setting her teeth on edge just by breathing the same air. ‘Laurence needs a tray of tea for two. NOW.’
‘I’m on lunch, I’m just going to get one myself,’ Elizabeth snapped, because if she did not get something a) caffeiney and b) chocolatey in her system, like now, she would: a) keel over or b) kill someone, like: a) Julia or b) Julia.
Julia tossed back her long dark straight hair with an arrogant flick of her head. ‘He has an important visitor.’
‘Julia, I’m on my lunch. You get it for him, you’re his assistant.’ Lordy, where had that come from? Elizabeth wondered.
Julia did a few rapid blinks but any loss of composure was quickly recovered. ‘Yes, I am. But you make the tea.’
Something wordy and eloquent formed in response in Elizabeth’s head. Unfortunately, the filter at her voicebox was a little brutal and what came out was, ‘Go and bollocks.’
Where had THAT come from?
‘I beg your pardon?’ Julia’s voice was so quiet with rage that Elizabeth wasn’t sure if it was audible at all and she had merely read her lips. Either way, some tired, weary part of Elizabeth’s consciousness, pushed to the very edge of reason by a whole cocktail of events and emotions, registered that this was the point of no return. Her mouth disengaged from the rest of her body and ran ahead like Red Rum with a little fat stable-boy 300 furlongs behind shouting, ‘Stop, stop! For goodness’ sake, stop!’
‘What I mean is, why don’t you take your bandy little legs into the kitchen, switch on the kettle and when it’s boiled, stick it up where the sun refuses to shine?’
From the way the open-plan office fell into a stunned hush, Elizabeth sort of gathered that this had not been delivered in a whisper. Even the air conditioning seemed to drop in volume.
‘W…What?’
Whoosh. A tidal wave of adrenaline rushed through her system with such velocity that she started visibly to tremble with it as her mouth came up to Beecher’s Brook.
‘Then, when you’ve done that, why don’t you take my job and stick it up there as well to keep it company.’
Behind Julia, Laurence’s door pulled violently open, but not even he and his one long foreboding eyebrow could stem Elizabeth’s flow.
‘Do you know, you’re a nasty, vicious little bitch, a bullying, sycophantic talentless little turd and I can’t stand to work here with you for one more nano-second, so, if it’s not yet sunk into that minuscule little brain, I’ll say it in monosyllables for you. I. Quit.’ Silence.
They stood facing each other like two gunfighters, hands itching for their Colt 45s. The only movement was Julia’s left eye twitching spastically. Then, as soon as she detected Laurence’s presence at her shoulder, her lip started to wobble and Elizabeth watched in amazement as she squeezed on every facial muscle she had to bring water sucking up her tear ducts. God, she was Oscar nominationally good.
Elizabeth gave her a slow clap and said, ‘Bravo. Now please give the crocodile those tears back before he misses them.’
Laurence hoisted her up with his eyes, chewed her up and spat her out again.
‘Get out, you’re sacked,’ he said in a whispered scream.
‘Sorry, I’ve already resigned,’ she said, then stabbed a finger at Laurence. ‘As for you, you’ve gone through more staff in this department in the last six months than the average family goes through bog rolls in a year. You should be ashamed. All those decent kids turned away for no reason at all.’
‘If you had a problem you should have come to me to discuss it privately,’ Laurence said, his voice a covered growl, aware of the unwanted attention. With his eyebrow in a deep V in the middle, where on humans there would have been a gap, he looked very much like a big bad wolf. But Elizabeth was Red Riding Hood with attitude.
‘Oh yeah?’ She laughed with a mix of bitterness and amusement. ‘Would you truly and honestly have listened? I think not! You’re as bad as she is. You can stick your precious job, Mr Stewart-Smith. I saw what was on that note you wrote about those women being old scrubbers, so don’t you tell me you’d listen to what I would have had to say! Twenty-two years I’ve worked here, without anything but positive feedback. Suddenly not only do I need a “supervisor” but I’m back filing and making coffee for a living and having to ask permission to go to the toilet!’
‘Well, doesn’t that tell you something?’ said Laurence, his mouth twisted in a half-smug, half-furious curve.
‘Yes, it does. It tells me that I should have exchanged my brain for a big pair of knockers!’
‘Get out!’ said Laurence.
‘It will be an absolute pleasure!’ She grabbed her coat and bag and stormed forward with her head lifted in dignified defiance. Julia and Laurence parted for her like the Red Sea did for Moses, and eyes everywhere glittered with hungry excitement although no one in the office spoke or moved. Every single second seemed as sharp as if the scene was being played in slow motion, and the only sound was Elizabeth’s stomps across the super-bouncy executive carpet. She felt like Neil Armstrong walking across the surface of the moon as she strode on.
She looked straight ahead, ran down the swirl of back stairs (down which she had often fantasized about kicking Julia), swept past Rasputin, out of the rotating door and into the busy Leeds street. There in the cold, unforgiving air Elizabeth did something she hadn’t done for many years–she sobbed her guts out.
Chapter 5
The train journey home was a blur. Elizabeth was only conscious of one point between getting on the train at Leeds and picking up her car at Barnsley station, and that was when the conductor asked her for her ticket. She wanted to ring Janey but she would still be at work. Helen would have finished now, but she didn’t think it was fair to worry her in her condition, and on the actual day of her birthday as well, so she sat with a cup of tea at her kitchen table and let the events of the day whirl around in her brain. Bits were starting to warp already and even though she was sure she had not sworn at Laurence, her distorted recall implied she had let loose at him with a peal of choice language. Then she tortured herself by imagining she had turned to go and tripped up and everyone had started laughing at her. Her head flung unwanted questions at her. What would people say about her when they got home? What would Laurence demand they write on her personnel record? Would she ever be able to find work again after this? If she didn’t speak to someone soon, would she go totally bonkers?
She tried Janey’s number as soon as the clock had crawled around to the time when she usually landed home. Thankfully, she was in.
‘You’ve done what?’ was Janey’s response, but she didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I’ll be there in about five minutes,’ she said and put the phone straight down.
True to her word, within a short space of time, a car had pulled up outside Elizabeth’s nea
t little end terrace with the shiny, postbox-red door and the iron cat for a door knocker, but to Elizabeth’s surprise it was Helen’s black sleek number and not Janey’s ancient Volvo. Both women got out.
Janey had intended to storm in there and ask, ‘What the bloody hell is up with you!’ until she saw how red Elizabeth’s eyes were. She never cried, so this was serious. Consequently she kept her trap shut and let Helen soothe the way first with fussy comfort and much putting on of kettles, and exuding her usual golden air of calm. Although in the end it got too much for her, and she burst out: ‘You silly cow, whatever possessed you?’
Elizabeth’s head swung slowly from side to side. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It was like someone else was at the driving wheel to my mouth.’
‘Aye–Stevie Wonder. You can’t talk to people like Laurence Wotsit-Wotsit like that and get away with it.’
‘Well, I didn’t, did I? I lost my job.’
‘Yes, you did, you daft bat!’ said Janey, although her tone was more concerned than exasperated.
‘Tea or coffee?’ said Helen.
‘I’m easy,’ sighed Elizabeth.
‘Yes, we know,’ Janey said, loosening the button on her work skirt. Either it had shrunk in the tumble drier, or she needed to cut even further back on her carbs.
‘You’ve moved your coffee, you naughty woman,’ said Helen, foraging in vain around in the cupboard where it was usually stored.
‘Oh sorry, I ran out,’ said Elizabeth, who had lost the taste for it recently and not replenished her stocks. ‘There’s plenty of tea-bags though. Look, Hels, this isn’t right, you being here on your birthday, and in your condition. I thought you were going out for a meal anyway?’
‘I’m pregnant, not ill, so don’t you worry about me,’ said Helen. She was not going to admit to feeling less than sparkling. She had just called in at Janey’s en route home from work on the pretence of saying, ‘Hello and thanks for the flowers.’ In truth, she had felt quite nauseous and wanted to use her loo. Nevertheless she had insisted on driving them both down the road without a second thought.
‘Anyway, the table isn’t booked until nine and I doubt Simon will be home before half past eight,’ Helen continued with a soft smile. Even on her birthday, she didn’t expect to take precedence over Simon’s workload.
‘Okay, so what’s done is done,’ Janey conceded. ‘So what are you going to do next?’
‘Christ knows. Get another job, I suppose, and hope they don’t need references.’
‘Mmmm, that could be a problem.’
Helen was swirling the teapot behind them to hasten the brewing process. ‘Surely they won’t just let you go like that after all these years?’
‘Oh yes they will,’ said Elizabeth with an accompanying pantomime laugh. ‘I mean nothing to the likes of Laurence Stewart-Smith. I upset his “baby” and that’s tantamount to treason. He’d have had me beheaded if this was the sixteenth century. Slowly, with a blunt sword.’
‘Yes–well, it’s not, thank goodness. Can you go on the dole for now?’ Helen suggested, adding a wry: ‘I presume you don’t have thousands of pounds-worth of savings to rely on.’
Elizabeth shook her head quickly. ‘I wouldn’t get dole. And to be honest I don’t fancy going up there and announcing to all and sundry at the DHSS, or whatever they call themselves these days, what I’ve done to make myself jobless.’ Elizabeth made a strange animal noise of frustration. ‘I don’t believe it! I mean, how could I let a little bitch like Julia Powell burrow into my marrow, eh?’
‘You tell us!’ said Janey, who was just as puzzled.
It was unheard of for Elizabeth to get screwed up over anything, especially over making a flaming pot of tea. Elizabeth was the coolest person she knew; in fact, she made the Ice Queen look like Ma ‘Darling Buds’ Larkin sometimes. That wild streak was obviously still lingering in there somewhere, and there they were, thinking that Elizabeth had settled down nicely these past few years, despite the fact she still could not pick a decent bloke to save her life. Then when one picked her, she sent him off packing. However much she and Helen both thought of Elizabeth, they could have taken turns in wringing her neck sometimes. She didn’t need enemies, not when the worst of them all was herself.
‘Can’t you just say you resigned?’ suggested Helen, as she poured.
‘She definitely wouldn’t get dole then,’ said Janey. ‘There’s always temping, of course.’
Elizabeth sighed. ‘I don’t want bloody dole. But I’ll be honest, I’m scared. I’ve been at Handi-Save since I left school. I’ve never worked anywhere else.’
‘There you go then,’ brightened Helen. ‘That shows your loyalty and tenacity.’
‘Not very loyal telling the boss to shove your job up his arse, is it?’ Janey added with a grunt. There was a short silence and then, despite the seriousness of the situation, they all burst into a loud bout of some well-needed laughter. Then Janey clicked her fingers as an idea came to her.
‘Do you know what I would do if I were you? I’d take a couple of weeks off and give yourself a break. I don’t know–do some of your arty stuff or decorate your bedroom or something. God knows it could be doing with it!’ she added in her straight-talking Janey way. ‘That’ll give your mind a chance to wander and relax. I’ve never seen you so wound up. In fact, I’ve never seen you wound up full stop, come to think of it. You’re run down, Collier. Maybe you should go and see a doctor?’
‘Naw, he’ll only say it’s my hormones. Don’t they go a bit loopy at this age? Don’t we start growing moustaches and buying Tena-Ladys?’
‘Can you afford a couple of weeks off?’ said Janey, serious again.
Elizabeth nodded. ‘I should have some holiday money to come. Bloody witch wouldn’t let me take my full allowance last year. They can’t deny me that, surely?’
Janey sipped at the tea, even though she had gone off drinking it recently. It had started to taste ‘tinny’.
‘Look, don’t fret, I’ll be fine. Really!’ Elizabeth gave a positive little laugh. ‘Now I’ve had the chance to talk things over with you two I feel a lot better. At least there’s no mortgage to pay so I won’t get chucked out of my house, and there’s just me and Cleef to worry about.’
Big black Cleef, sleepily occupying the fourth chair around the table, acknowledged his name by lazily opening one eye. Helen gave him a fond stroke; she would always think of him as hers.
‘Look forward to the moment of karma,’ Helen said.
‘There won’t be any,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Types like them always drop into horsecrap and come up smelling of roses.’
‘Not always,’ mused Helen. ‘Sometimes they get their just deserts.’ She looked to Janey for affirmation, but Janey didn’t say a word.
‘Okay, then, here’s to karma!’ said Elizabeth, raising her mug in the general direction of where she imagined karma might be hanging out, but not believing in its existence for a second.
Helen got home minutes after Simon, it appeared, as he still had his overcoat on. He’d had an extremely profitable day and was looking pleased with himself. Last night was all forgotten, and they were friends again.
‘You’re early,’ she said, with a big pleased smile.
‘Where have you been then?’ he said, kissing her on the forehead.
‘Elizabeth’s. She’s a bit depressed.’ She didn’t tell him why. She always felt very disloyal telling Simon anything about her friends. He seemed to enjoy any misfortune that befell them. Especially Elizabeth.
‘Like I care,’ he said, wafting the subject away with a wave of his hand. ‘Anyway, never mind about her. I’ve bought you an extra present. Sorry it’s not wrapped, didn’t have time.’
He held a large box out. Helen took it from him, put it on the table, opened it and lifted out the long, beautiful vase inside.
‘Isn’t it gorgeous? Should be too–cost a fortune and I got these to go in it.’ He presented her with an enormous bouquet of flowers.
He took the new vase from her hands, marched into the dining room and set it on the vacancy where Elizabeth’s sunflower vase had stood.
‘Happy Birthday, darling.’ He smiled proudly and gave her an affectionate hug and she daren’t spoil the rare moment by asking where the lovely vase and flowers were that her best friends had bought her.
In bed alone, Elizabeth found there was nothing remotely delicious in the mental recall of telling Laurence and Julia where to go. The whole day had soured like milk in her head and made her feel physically nauseous. She made sure she would not be plagued by unwelcome visitors by texting Dean and telling him not to come over as she was feeling sick, and then she snuggled down under the quilt with a book and some Horlicks, suspecting she was probably set for another sooper-dooper night of insomnia.
Helen found her lost presents the next morning, when she was taking a black bag of rubbish out to the wheelie-bin. Elizabeth’s vase was buried under Janey’s flowers; miraculously it wasn’t broken. She lifted it out and wrapped it in some newspaper from the nearby recycling bag and put it in the secret place in the garage along with all her other favourite things that Simon didn’t like displayed in the house, but that her heart would not have her throw away.
The Yorkshire Pudding Club Page 5
