“Look,”, Harper rose to escort Philian out of the room, “I know this is a lot to take in and I know that you’ve got other problems to tackle. Take the rest of today off. Get yourself washed and tidied up and try and get some rest. I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.”
The office door swung slowly back as he stood in the reception area, clicking home just as Harper’s laughter could be heard responding to the caller who’d been put through. Philian’s moment was over. All that remained was the offer. Six months’ salary, tax free, or the challenge to fight back? Some choice. Could the day get any worse?
The answer to that was, sadly, that yes it could. Nothing catastrophic happened as he returned to his own cubicle and picked up a few items to take home with him, but the muted acknowledgements from his colleagues and whispered murmurs that he couldn’t fail to ignore, pressed down on his already fragile being and helped strip away any hope or dignity that he had left. He knew it was dog eat dog on this floor and that was fine, but to have been let down by clients he believed he was on good terms with. That was a tough one to live with. His fifteen years here had been pressured at times and he was savvy enough to know that his job would always be performance related. Only now though did he understand just how much of himself he’d invested in that job. One company since leaving university, thinking that would count for something. Late nights going beyond the call of duty to nurture clients and build a relationship with them, thinking they had at least an inkling of loyalty to him. And now, a few days and he would be leaving behind a desk that would be rearranged by a stranger who would eradicate any footprint he’d left. That just capped it all for Philian.
As he walked slowly out of the building, the snow was beginning to fall again. A bitter wind carried it hard into his face and he remembered that his overcoat was hanging on a peg that he didn’t have the inclination to go back to.
“Anything else?”, he whispered dryly to himself, looking up to the whitening sky, “Maybe a heart attack next?”
Without the need to try and avoid the soaking that he almost wanted to receive, he stood there for a while, ignoring the stares of those who were sheltering in the smoking hut. He’d never seen it so full. Funny how the vehement tobacco haters were happy to share that space just now. And funny how little, over the years, he’d taken in the surroundings of the plaza that had been designed as a bold welcoming area for visitors to LMBA’s headquarters. There was a statue that he’d never noticed before and one which looked more impressive as he approached it. It was a modern piece, probably stacked with meaning and complex interpretations. None of that mattered to Philian, he just liked the look of it. On the other side of the plaza, there was a mobile kiosk that offered food and drinks and whose chimney poured out a thick column of steam. The numerous stone benches that he’d never sat on were all empty now, and the flowerbeds hid any expensive displays they might contain. Next to the farthest of these, a huddled form emerged as Philian focused on the spot.
Surprised to see a beggar allowed in the square, or whatever today’s term for them was, a vague memory returned to him about a number of conversations that he’d overheard about this bloke who wasn’t particularly welcome but who was tolerated. As Philian looked closer, he saw that the man had been better prepared than he was and had a heavy coat wrapped around himself and a seriously large umbrella to keep the snow off him. Mind you, Philian would be home and dry soon. Maybe it wasn’t all bad news.
Hurrying across to the kiosk, he ordered the most calorific hot sandwich offered and the largest cup of takeaway coffee available. He paid, scooped the change up in his freezing hand and walked across to the edge of the plaza.
“Thought you might like this.”, he placed the food at the beggar’s feet, leaving the coins he had left next to it.
Without waiting for a reply, he made his way home, unsure as to what he had just done but with the distinct impression that however bad this worst day of his life was, somehow it felt just that little bit better.
Chapter Two
Had LMBA gone bust, his own personal situation might have been a little more palatable to Philian Gregory. The same final result, yes. Maybe even, a smaller settlement. Bit it would have been without the feelings of individual failure and rejection that this singular selection brought with it. The term ‘Settlement Agreement’ implied that both sides were happy to accept it. The money was generous, that much was true, but what compensation could ever be paid for the other aspects of employment that were less easily quantifiable? Aside from his salary, Philian Gregory drew down many other benefits from the position he had maintained for the past fifteen years. It gave him a sense of purpose, a meaningfulness to his life, a belief that he was contributing in some way to the vastness of the nation’s economy. And it gave him human contact, albeit in fragile and often transitory relationships, but contact nonetheless.
On returning home earlier in the week, tired, wet, cold and thoroughly disheartened, he hadn’t simply wallowed in self-pity or raged at the injustice of the whole affair. He’d taken his time to think about his various options and had put together a CV that he felt confident would be welcomed by the numerous contacts that he had within the various employment agencies that he had worked with over the years. He’d studied the financial implications of the situation and concluded that he would have plenty of time in which to find another job whilst keeping up the surprising number of monthly payments that he was committed to. The settlement sum was greater than many would ever hope to enjoy and yet, he’d been profligate in the past and hadn’t really laid down strong financial foundations. Ironic really, given that he was deemed to be one of the most cautious and prudent in his department.
By the time he was ready for bed, he’d considered all options and reached some conclusions. Amanda was yesterday. For all it hurt him to realise that their relationship was over, he had to accept it was so and let her go. There was something of a practical aspect to this, in that they both shared the burden of the mortgage on the apartment, but that was something they would be able to settle easily enough. He’d have to move to a smaller place and she had the bigger claim on any equity in the property as it had been her father who had provided the deposit they’d needed. All minor inconveniences but with as many positives as negatives. A smaller place would be easier to maintain, a life on his own would be free of the burdens that came with numerous other commitments and a new job would break him out of a malaise that had threatened to see him giving his whole working life to LMBA.
All of these things, he could cope with. The rejection was the most painful part. In both his relationship and his career, it was true, he had been complacent and was responsible to some degree or other for losing them. Perhaps this was something that everybody went through at times? And perhaps this was why so many people changed relationships and moved employers every few years or so? He didn’t really know, as he had only really had Amanda as a serious lover and LMBA had taken him straight after he left the education system. Only last week, his stride had been confident and his self-esteem buoyant as he contemplated the position that he had as employee, partner and valuable member of society. Next week, he might well be unemployed, alone and in no position to give to anyone.
Slowly, the week began to disappear. The days were all too slow though as he sat in his office cubicle being treated like a dead man walking. He chased the employment agencies, but it was the same story with them all; the market was saturated and employers were looking more for the rising stars of the future than those who appeared to be jumping ship at a time of economic uncertainty. He reran the numbers and began to understand how quickly he would burn through the payoff, an understanding which saw him putting the apartment on the market for a quick sale. Amanda was happy to let him. She hadn’t simply run back to her parents but had now moved in with a mutual friend who Philian remembered had started off as his own. How long had they been seeing each other behind his back? And where w
ere all the other friends he thought he had? Only a couple of them had called over the week and neither seemed to be aware of what was happening in his life. They rang to talk about lighter issues. The conversations were quickly ended when he tried to tell them that he was going through a difficult period. At least they’d rung. The rest had remained silent. That was worse than if they’d rung to berate him. How many times had he done the same though?
Thursday was the hardest day. Made harder because it was the day that he had decided to fight back and prove that he could still hack it. They could keep the settlement figure. He could hold his own against the others in the office and he would show them that his poor performance had been down to external circumstances. The truth was, he didn’t think he had much of an option. It seemed unlikely that he would walk into another job and he believed it less likely still that he would be able to cope with the long and empty hours of unemployment. He’d pulled together a detailed strategy, arrived at the office early and spent the hours up until midday preparing to execute that strategy. He hadn’t been locked out of any of the client funds that he was responsible for, although he did note that the files on each had all begun to be allocated to other staff. A new set of initials had been added discretely to a number of those documents and it wasn’t a work of genius to marry those initials with those who sat around him.
Altogether, and to the best of his understanding, he believed that the investments that he would make that afternoon would yield an almost instant 10% return which he would bank to the client’s accounts and present to Harper as proof of his continued ability to deliver. That was the plan anyway. With over a million pounds involved, the yield was substantial in monetary terms. It was small fry when you looked at the numbers that LMBA dealt with on a daily basis, but it was big enough to be noticed. And the best of it all, was that they were safe stocks. The million wouldn’t be lost if all went wrong, it would simply not grow much.
The money was invested in several rapid keystrokes at 12.30 pm. Once the deals were done, Philian allowed himself a short break and walked out into the plaza that was now free of snow but which was crisp with a thin surface of ice even though the sun had been shining all morning. He walked over to the kiosk and ordered himself a medium black coffee.
“Anything else?”, the proprietor asked, surprised that Philian wasn’t ordering for two as he had been all week.
“No, no thanks.”, he replied absentmindedly, “Just that for now. I’ll be down later for the usual.”
Funny how quickly he’d become familiar with the guy who operated that stall. He hadn’t even acknowledged its existence until earlier in the week and now, well now, he was spending a fair amount of money there.
“On second thoughts,”, he turned back to the stall, “can you sort him out some lunch. Something hot. Soup maybe?”
“Certainly, squire.”, the reply was accompanied by a knowing smile, but nothing else was said as Philian passed the banknote across.
It had started earlier in the week. On the worst day of his life, Philian Gregory had done something he’d never done before. Two things in fact. Firstly, he’d opened his eyes to the world around him and in doing so, had seen somebody who was having a tougher time than he was. Secondly, he’d done something about it. The food and drink had cost him nothing more than what he considered to be small change. Giving it to the beggar who received it with a grateful thumbs-up had more than repaid that small outlay. Since then he’d taken him breakfast each morning and made sure that he was given an evening meal before departing into the night. It wasn’t a selfless act. It was something that allowed a little bit of light to shine into the dark days that he was enduring. It just felt right to do it.
The anticipated payoff on his investments was set for three pm. Anxiously, Philian watched the monitors and waited for his artfully crafted scheme to resolve itself. As the hour changed, he clicked through the necessary screens and waited as the results compiled themselves. They weren’t what he’d expected. He’d made a profit, yes, but when commissions and other costs were deducted that profit was less than the 10% yield he’d believed would be forthcoming. It was so much less in fact that he gave up trying to work out the percentage and simply sighed as he transferred the £175 gain back to his client’s accounts. Maybe they were right. Maybe he had lost the touch and his dreams of a comeback were vain and misplaced. Either way, he seemed left with no choice but to book a meeting with Harper for the following morning, where they would part company and he would be, very temporarily, in possession of a substantial sum of money and no longer bound to the nine-to-five.
As the cubicles around him emptied, he switched out of his trading accounts and began to sort the various folders, files and accumulated years of debris from around his desk. It wouldn’t be like it was in the movies when they followed the main character as he carried his worldly goods away in a couple of archive boxes. No, he might have a carrier bag full at most. It was all stuff that had seemed so important until just recently. Now, none of it represented anything that he wanted to keep hold of. He’d even leave the picture of Amanda. Whoever took over this space might want to use the frame. And with that picture, he’d also leave behind the increasingly dusty mementoes of past holidays that had been pinned to the walls a long time ago. And he’d leave the trophies that he’d once been so proud of. They were achievement awards. The last one was more than five years old. None of them meant anything anymore. They could keep the lot.
Having tidied his life away, he left the building with a handful of others, all of whom were sharing war stories and small victories as though their day’s work had consisted of more than simply gambling on various bourses and currency fluctuations. They talked about businesses in abstract terms, never really understanding that what they were talking about were more than just names on share certificates. Those businesses were the places where people earned their meagre fair and where the diversity of modern life took on shape. They were the companies that sent individuals down deep mine shafts and they were the manufacturers who turned raw materials into the stuff that we all used every day. Perhaps it was the right time for him to be leaving this make-believe world. His wasn’t a job for the cynical.
Outside in the plaza, he made straight for the kiosk and doubled his usual order. The wind had dropped and it was a cold but surprisingly calm evening and Philian hadn’t eaten all day. He paid for the goods and walked carefully across the icy path to where the beggar sat leaning against a raised bed of greenery.
“Mind if I join you?”, Philian asked as he handed the food and drink to the beggar.
The reply was incoherent. The waved hand that accompanied it seemed to be one of invitation rather than dismissal, so Philian settled down on a step in the floral display and sat quietly eating the sort of food that he had long ago weaned himself off.
“Look,”, he said as he paused to let his body digest the half he’d eaten, “I hope you don’t mind me giving you stuff. I don’t want to come across as being patronising or anything. In fact, I’m not sure what I want to say just now.”
Another mumble, a little louder, but still as indistinguishable. This time it was accompanied by a lifting of a whisky bottle to the owner’s lips, the bottle then being offered to his guest.
“No thanks.”, Philian replied, “Too early for me. I’m guessing that’s your problem. The drink?”
“Aye.”, it seemed to take all of the beggar’s effort to raise this one word, but once he’d started, he managed a few more, “The drink and what makes me drink. Don’t worry about me though. As long as I’ve got a drop, I’ll get by.”
The accent was hard to pinpoint. It was definitely from the north, but tinged with hints of middle-class finesse. The words weren’t as clear as Philian translated in his mind, but he understood what was being said.
“I won’t be here after tomorrow.”, he told the beggar, “Being let go. So, this might be the last time I can
help you. Oh, I’m sure there are others to step in and I know you must have been looked after so far, but I just don’t want you to think it’s anything to do with you.”
They sat in silence finishing the hot drinks and eyeing each other up. Philian was truly lost for words, a little uncomfortable just sitting there, but more than happy for anyone to see him taking some time out with one of the nation’s invisible ones. There but for the Grace of God, was the term that had first struck Philian earlier in the week. Go back a few decades and this broken creature was a happy go lucky schoolboy looking forward to what life held in store. Something happened and he fell off the ride. Something could so easily happen to any of us. We were all just a very short distance away from this man’s position.
“Go on.”, the bottle was offered again.
“No, really.”
“Go on.”, this time more insistent, “There’s no germs you know. Go on, share a tot with me.”
It was very true. The story about it being too early was a load of rot, as Philian often drank at the first opportunity. He looked around. These people milling about the plaza would quite happily go out tonight and share body fluids with a total stranger, or they’d hurry home and kiss their germ-infested dogs. They travelled home on tube trains that were rife with hidden bacteria and they freely ate delicate pastries with their exotic coffees, handed to them by fingers that carried multiple deposits. What harm would a quick swig do?
“Cheers.”, Philian said as he hoisted the bottle to his lips.
“It’s good?”
“Very,”, he replied, taking another shot.
“You’re alright, son.”, the hand that reached back for the bottle brushed gently against Philian’s as it did so, “See, a lot of folks help us, but not many will touch us. And thanks for the food. It helps. It helps a lot.”
Philian Gregory Page 2
