by Jon Teckman
Wainwright reworked his face into what might loosely be described as a smile, but one so lacking in warmth that you could have served sorbet out of it. His eyes were alive with the prospects of doing battle with a worthy adversary, not one of those lily-livered cowards who begged and cried and invoked their wives and children as he told them they had precisely one hour to clear their desks. Joseph Bennett was made of sterner stuff – and Wainwright was already enjoying this. He’d hardly even noticed I was in the room.
‘This will take as long as it will take, Mr Bennett,’ Wainwright said, glowering across the table.
Bennett stared back, refusing to blink or avert his gaze, but choosing to say nothing. The Welshman stood up for maximum impact but, even with the two of us sitting down, he only towered over Bennett by a few inches.
‘When Bill first asked me what we should do about this situation, do you know what I said? I said, “Bill, you should fire the pair of them. The reputation of this company is far too important to risk because of a couple of liabilities like Bennett and West.”’ He paused to check our reaction.
I tried to remain impassive, although I could feel my face reddening. Bennett shuffled uncomfortably in his chair and fought the urge to speak in his own defence or smash something heavy over the diminutive Welshman’s head.
‘Fortunately for the two of you,’ Wainwright continued, ‘Bill Davis is a far nicer person than yours truly.’ He laughed an empty chuckle, like a repairman discovering your boiler needs an expensive new part. ‘Not only does he want to give you another chance, but he’s asked me to spend some of my precious training and development budget to send you on a course to improve your interpersonal skills. If you ask me, the only course we should be sending you on, Mr Bennett, is one on how to keep your pecker in your pants when confronted by a beautiful woman.’ He allowed himself another smile.
Bennett looked fit to burst. I leaned forward and poured myself a glass of water.
‘Still,’ Wainwright went on, ‘ours not to reason why, is it, lads? If Bill Davis says do it, then I like to think he can consider it done. I know a man who specialises in this kind of thing. Chap called Rodney James down in Balham. Wonderful man. Marvellous wing forward he was back in the day. I rang Rodney after Bill spoke to me and, bless him, he said he’d be happy to see you gentlemen first thing on Monday.’
Bennett could hold his tongue no longer. ‘Now you listen here, Wainwright. I am a very busy man with a job of work to do, bringing money into this firm. I have a packed schedule on Monday and I have no intention of wasting any part of the day in fucking Balham. So you can tell your Mr James that he can do what he likes with this wanker,’ he pointed exaggeratedly in my direction as if we’d otherwise be unable to work out who he was referring to, ‘but I shall be at my desk as per normal. Do I make myself clear?’
‘You make yourself crystal clear, Mr Bennett,’ Wainwright replied. ‘In fact, I thought you might say that. I said to Bill, I said, “If we offer Bennett some training, you know what he’ll say, don’t you?” and Bill said, “No,” and I said, “He’ll say words to the effect of ‘Stuff that for a game of soldiers.’” I wish I’d had a little side bet with him now.’ He chuckled again. Then, after a pause of several tantalising seconds, he added, ‘And do you know what Bill said to me?’
Bennett shook his head, fists clenched, the impulse to reach over and strangle this annoying little man almost irresistible.
‘Bill said, “Well, if he refuses to do what you ask, Dai, you have my authority to fire him!”’ Wainwright sat down again, satisfaction tattooed all over his face.
Bennett looked dumbstruck. ‘You can’t do that,’ he roared, rising from his seat, ‘and you know it. You don’t have the authority to fire me.’
‘I can, I don’t, I do and I will,’ Wainwright sang back, relishing the moment.
Bennett stared at Wainwright, suddenly looking utterly defeated. The thick veneer of undiluted success that he had worn like foundation all these years had been washed away, leaving a pale shadow of his former self. When he finally regained the power of speech, he said in little more than a whisper, ‘Don’t get me wrong, Dai. I didn’t say I wouldn’t go to Balham. I just said that I have a ton of work on right now, so if we could make it later in the week then that would be great. I’m very grateful for what you and Bill are doing to sort this mess out and I’d be a fool not to take every opportunity on offer. Perhaps we could check diaries and see when might be convenient for everyone?’
Wainwright scrunched up his face and nodded in admiration of Bennett’s nimble footwork, like a hunter who had almost landed his prey, then seen it break free before he could deliver the coup de grâce. ‘I’m so glad you see things our way, Mr Bennett. Unfortunately, Monday is the only day next week that Rodney is available, so may I humbly suggest that you try to free up your time? Let me know if this proves difficult and I’ll have a word with Bill about the alternative options. Am I making myself clear now, Mr Bennett?’
Bennett nodded, defeated. Then, as an afterthought, as if he’d suddenly remembered I was in the room, Dai the Death turned to me and said, ‘All clear, Mr West?’
‘Yes,’ I replied. It was the first word I’d uttered since I’d turned down the offer of a drink fifteen minutes earlier.
BALHAM, SOUTH LONDON
Rodney James’s residence was in a neat Georgian block in a quiet side street in that unfamiliar territory known as South of the River. Traditionally, it had been the East and West End of the city that had defined London, but more recently there had developed a north/south divide. People who spent their entire lives among the boulevards and terraces north of the River Thames could easily become lost if ever they ventured south. The city looked and sounded different down there.
I was the first to arrive and was greeted enthusiastically by Rodney, who showed me into his waiting area which doubled as a kitchenette.
‘Would you like a coffee?’ he asked.
‘A straight black coffee would be lovely, thanks,’ I replied.
‘Fantastic,’ said Rodney, as if making me a drink would somehow affirm the entire point of his existence. He seemed a pleasant man, which made me wonder how he could be so close to Dai Wainwright. He was tall, but walked hunched over as if he had spent too much time deferring to shorter people. His face was partially hidden behind large black-framed spectacles with lenses so thick and dirty that when you looked at him head-on his eyes all but disappeared. A conspiracy of opticians had obviously failed to tell him that he could have improved his vision appreciably just by cleaning his glasses every so often. I imagined him learning Braille for the day when the grime would block out the last vestiges of sunlight, rendering him completely blind.
He handed me the coffee and I thanked him and he thanked me for taking it from him and we sat quietly and waited for Bennett. As the minutes ticked by, I began to fantasise that Bennett wasn’t going to turn up at all – that he’d found himself another job over the weekend and decided to stick two fingers up to Bill Davis and the loathsome Wainwright. But just as this marvellous scenario was taking hold in my consciousness, there was a loud chorus of ‘Land of My Fathers’ and Rodney leapt to his feet to open the door, thrilled by the chance to serve again.
Bennett walked into the room with all the enthusiasm of a cow being led to the abattoir. His face was set in a grizzly frown, eyes downcast so as not to have to acknowledge anyone. His shoulders were hunched – unusually for a man who normally stood so tall – and his hands balled into fists as if he was preparing to fight his way out. He grunted when our host offered him a cup of coffee, but Rodney poured him one anyway, determined not to let Bennett’s indifference blunt his own enthusiasm for the day ahead.
‘Welcome gentlemen and thank you so much for coming all the way down here to see me at such short notice. What I thought we’d do today is that I’ll have a quick chat with each of you individually to get a better picture of where we’re at, kind of like a starting point if you like, a
nd while I’m in there with one, the other – if you don’t mind – will be out here completing a little questionnaire, what I call a “psychometric instrument”.’ His high-pitched voice placed inverted commas around the words as if this was a concept he had invented specially for us that morning. ‘It will help me learn more about each of you and, more importantly, help you learn more about yourselves. It’s basically just a few questions I’ve developed which look at how you’re motivated, how you relate to other people and so on. How does that sound? OK?’
Bennett’s body language was screaming out ‘No, it is not bloody OK!’ while I sat forward trying to look interested but not too keen. Rodney ignored us both and ploughed on.
‘Then, once I’ve had a chance to assess the results, we’ll all get together for a debrief and see if we can identify which issues might be affecting your working relationship.’ He spoke as if we were there voluntarily, but he knew as well as we did that we’d been press-ganged by Wainwright, with the threat of instant dismissal if we failed to comply. Bennett sat brooding like King Kong on Broadway, desperate to rip off his manacles and escape.
‘I’ve known your pal Dai for donkey’s years now, ever since we had our schoolboy trials together for the Welsh rugby. Cracking little scrum-half he was back then! Aggressive little sod, mind you! He’d often start fights, then expect me to sort them out for him. Still does in a way – sending me what he calls his “difficult buggers” to sort out. But he hasn’t beaten me yet! I’ve always managed to sort them out for him – or given him the bullets he needed to fire them.’ He was still trilling away like a contented budgerigar but his words had taken on a more sinister edge. Perhaps he wasn’t the pushover he appeared at first sight.
Rodney invited us to introduce ourselves and then looked at each of us several times in rapid succession as if repeating a rhyme in his head. Then, when he’d decided which little fishy to keep and which to let go, he turned to me. ‘Joe W., why don’t you come with me for a little chat? Joe B., would you mind filling in the questionnaire for me? It’s quite straightforward. Just follow the instructions at the top of page two and answer all the questions as truthfully as you can. I’ll pop out in a second to make sure you’re OK.’
He showed me into his office and asked me to wait while he ran through the questionnaire with Bennett, who was still rumbling like a dark cloud carrying too much rain. I sensed there would be a storm before the day was out. I settled into a low-slung leatherette armchair and scanned the impressive array of framed certificates displayed in neat rows along two walls of Rodney’s office. Rodney entered the room and closed the door behind him, then sat down and moved his chair closer to mine.
‘So what I want to find out first, Joe,’ he began, ‘is what you would like to get out of today, hmm? What would a successful day look like for Joe West? I still get paid whether I help you sort yourselves out or go back to Dai and recommend he fires the pair of you, but I get so much more out of it personally if I feel I’ve actually made a difference. I hate to see fine young men like you and Joe B. slung out in your prime because of some silly misunderstanding. So, what would be a good outcome for you, Joe, hmm?’
‘Well, erm, er, I’m not sure really,’ I said eventually. ‘A good outcome for me would be, er, erm … I suppose a good outcome for me would be that Joseph and I manage to develop some kind of proper working relationship. You see, we’ve never got on, not since we both joined Askett Brown fifteen years ago. And now he blames me for this whole thing with Olivia Finch, as if I’ve been deliberately trying to set him up, which I haven’t of course, but he doesn’t have anyone else to blame. And, as he already thinks I’m completely useless, it’s not too much of a stretch for him to pin this on me too.’
I was aware that I was saying far too much, but seemed powerless to stop myself. Without saying a word, Rodney was managing to carry out a meticulous interrogation. When I hadn’t spoken for a while, he looked at me, trying to work out whether I was pausing for breath or had run out of things to say. He let the uncomfortable silence extend for almost a minute.
‘So how would you describe your current relationship with Joe B.?’ he asked when he was sure I wasn’t going to say anything else.
‘You know how it is, don’t you?’ I replied. ‘Isn’t that why we’re here? We’re not exactly best buddies. He’s everything I’m not and I’m everything he can’t stand. We took an instant dislike to each other the day we joined the firm and, now I have to work for him, everything is ten times worse. He’s a terrible manager and bosses me about even though he hasn’t a clue what he’s talking about and expects me to do all the work while he takes all the credit.’
‘And have you said any of this to him?’ asked Rodney, sitting forward in his chair.
‘Are you kidding?’ I laughed, but it was clear he had no intention of answering my questions. He was the quizmaster on today’s show. ‘I’m sorry but that’s just not a conversation I – or anyone – could have with Bennett. He’d throw me out of the building – probably from an upper-storey window.’
‘You’re making it sound like an unhappy marriage,’ said Rodney, sitting back again.
‘Oh God, no!’ I said, laughing again, ‘Not unless it was some kind of forced arrangement.’
‘Let’s imagine this is a marriage,’ Rodney shot back. ‘What options would you have now?’
‘Well, I could leave him, I suppose. Or we could go to a counsellor for guidance. I suppose that’s what we’re doing today, isn’t it?’
Rodney peered at me through his self-imposed gloom, waiting for me to say more, daring me to say more.
‘What are you driving at?’ I said. ‘Are you telling me I should jack in my job because I can’t stand my boss?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything,’ Rodney replied. ‘I’m just trying to find out what’s going on. So tell me, how long have you had this chip on your shoulder?’
‘Pardon?’
‘How long have you nursed this inferiority complex, Joe? Were you inferior at school? At university? With the ladies? Or is this a religious thing? Is it because you is Jewish? Hmm?
‘No,’ I said, irritated both by Rodney’s line of questioning and the stupid, childish intonation he had suddenly adopted, as if this was all a game to him. ‘This has nothing to do with my religion – I’m not even really that Jewish – or with my upbringing. We just don’t get on. Is that so unusual?’
‘But Mr Bennett certainly went to a better school than you, didn’t he? And a better university. And, I’ll wager, he’s had better luck with the women than you. Is that why you’re trying to destroy him?’
He stared at me, trying to assess my reaction to his accusations, more like a detective playing both good cop and bad cop now than an over-qualified trainer. I wanted to shout back that it wasn’t Joseph bloody Bennett who had bedded the beautiful Olivia Finch and driven her so wild that now she couldn’t leave me alone, but me – little Joey West. I took a few deep, calming breaths, trying to gather my thoughts.
I hoped Rodney hadn’t been able to read anything into my troubled expression, but feared that, as an expert in such things, he probably had. When I spoke, it was with an entirely artificial approximation of poise. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr James. I have always worked hard to support Joseph Bennett and help him settle into his new role. I have never acted with anything other than total professionalism where he is concerned and I expect the same from him. There may be a few strange things going on in Joseph’s life at the moment but they are nothing to do with me. Now, is that all?
Rodney stared hard at me for a few moments, then looked at his watch, smiled and said, ‘OK. That will do for now, Joe. All most interesting! Now I’d like you to fill in my questionnaire while I have a chat with Joe B. Is that OK?’
I nodded, relieved. I’d survived the interrogation with my secrets safe, my honour intact. He explained to me how the questionnaire worked, then showed me out into the waiting area, inviting Bennett
into his room at the same time. The door closed and I settled down to answer the thirty questions that would reveal the innermost secrets of my personality.
As I finished answering the questions, I became aware of raised voices coming from inside Rodney’s office. The walls and door were thick enough to stop intimate conversations leaking out into the waiting area, but it was clear that Bennett was upset about something. After a brief pause, I heard loud grunts of exertion and what sounded like the smack of leather on leather, like boxing gloves hitting a heavy bag. Had Rodney annoyed Bennett so much that he was systematically beating him to death in there? No – not unless Rodney had changed into a pair of leather dungarees and gimp mask. I tried the door but it was locked from the inside. The sound of the handle being agitated must have disturbed them, though, because a few seconds later, before I had even regained my seat, the door opened and Rodney, looking hotter and redder than when I’d left him, appeared to assure me that everything was all right.
Breathlessly, he ushered me back into his office. Bennett was standing in the middle of the room, also looking a bit flushed. He was wearing an outsized pair of boxing gloves. On the floor in front of him were two of those large red leather pads that boxing trainers use for sparring with their charges.
‘Sorry, Joe,’ said Rodney between pants, ‘that must have sounded rather odd from outside. I’m a great believer in the holistic approach to training, you know, bringing the mind and body together? I have various alternative techniques I use if someone seems a bit blocked and finds it difficult to tell me about their feelings, and that. So I thought I’d give Joseph here a chance to express himself in a different way – with his fists. Feel better for that, Joseph?’
