Work Wife Balance

by Jo Edwards

The seemingly longest week ever limped on. The auditors spent the vast majority of their time either at their desks or huddled in the meeting room. One of them would occasionally appear to ask some questions or obtain some data. With the exception of The Climber and her sales team, they hardly spoke to any of the other staff or spent any time in the teams. On Thursday morning, they’d all arrived late, and looked suspiciously like they were suffering from hangovers. The Climber was also late and she too looked the worse for wear. Had she been out on the town with them? I’d spoken to her earlier in the week about not getting too close to them, but she’d laughed and said she was just “making sure we get a fantastic report”. Hmmm.

  The Snake slid over to my desk. “Kate,” she said, glancing around, “I shouldn’t really tell you this, but I thought you ought to know.” What now? “It’s not me gossiping you understand, but there has been talk in the teams about Amanda and what she’s been saying to the auditors.”

  She fixed me with her snaky stare. I wasn’t sure if she actually had any eyelids; she never blinked. “The team have heard her slagging you off to them,” she said, “they’ve heard her doing it a lot. Well, it’s not very loyal of her, is it? It’s not very nice. You are her manager, and she’s saying horrid things about you. I’m only telling you because I thought you ought to know.”

  “What sort of things have they heard?” I asked, suddenly feeling very sick.

  “Well, apparently things like she doesn’t think you’re up to the job, and that you never show her any support for her own development. She said she doesn’t think she can learn anything from you. She said it to that small guy, the older one.”

  I looked at The Snake with dislike.

  “Have you actually heard her say anything yourself?”

  “No, but...”

  “Then why are you telling me this, Cynthia? Why haven’t you addressed it directly with Amanda? It might not be true.”

  She recoiled.

  “I just thought you should know what’s being said in the department. It’s not my place to say anything to her, you’re her manager.”

  “Well, I don’t agree. You’re a team manager, you should know better. The next time you hear gossip that causes you concern, you should speak to that person. They should have the opportunity to say if it’s true or not. You know that most office gossip turns out to be just that – gossip.”

  I waved her away and she slithered off in a huff. I thought about what she’d said, unsure what I should do about it. It wouldn’t have surprised me if The Climber had been attempting to undermine me when she had such an attentive audience. It was too good an opportunity for her to miss, desperate as she was to seize my job. Was I worried? I tried to tell myself I wasn’t, but I was. Very. Would they take note of what she said and write something derogatory about me in their report? Everyone would see it, including the Boss and the Big Cheese - I’d be finished. I didn’t know what to do; I’d look ridiculous if I raised it with them and it turned out not be true. Oh hell, I’d just have to wait for the report.

  Friday eventually arrived - the last day of the audit. The number of supportive texts, messages, emails, and phone calls I’d received from The Boss totalled zero. I thought he might at least have wanted to know how things were going. Only two of the audit team showed up on the last day. The other two were stuck in their hotel suffering from what sounded like food poisoning.

  “Did they eat in the canteen yesterday?” I asked, innocently. Turns out they had. Oh dear. You should never eat in the canteen on a Thursday, not on chicken curry day. Monday was roast chicken day, so by Thursday it was best to avoid any dish with chicken in it, as it would have probably appeared in many different guises throughout the week. Perhaps I should have warned them.

  The Drain returned from sick leave, a day before he required a doctor’s certificate. He looked worried to see that the auditors were still around, I think he thought they would have gone by now. I took him into the meeting room for his “Welcome Back” interview. I hated doing these. Perypils HR insisted all its colleagues had a Welcome Back meeting following a period of absence. I was obliged to enquire about the illness, the symptoms, what medication had been taken or what treatment had been received, as if I were medically trained, which I most definitely am not. Plus, I’m terribly squeamish. I can’t bear hearing about other people’s ailments and it was often all I could do not to physically gag in front of them.

  I started with the first section on the Welcome Back form. “Reason for absence?”

  “I’ve been suffering from the most dreadful stomach cramps, persistent diarrhoea and feeling very anxious in general.”

  Explore causes of absence. “What do you think is making you feel anxious?” I braced myself.

  “Well, lots of things really.” Here we go. “The thought of the audit in particular - I’m worried I’ll get picked on for doing something wrong. And at home, my wife’s mood is very unpredictable; she’s really becoming quite erratic. Just this morning I found her sobbing into a bowl of Sugar Puffs, and all I asked her was if she’d used the last of the semi-skimmed and she flung her spoon at my head. Scared the dog half to death, and he’s only just beginning to recover from Great-Auntie Jean’s visit. He’s still got dreadful wind. All this stress has made my irritable bowel flare up again.”

  Discuss and record treatment and/or medication. “What support are you getting from your doctor to help you manage your condition?”

  He sniffed. “My doctor isn’t being overly helpful. I went to see him and as I walked in he said ‘Oh Christ no, not you again’ and swallowed a handful of pills.”

  “Do you think it might be a good idea to change doctors?”

  “I’ve already changed doctors several times. There aren’t any left at that surgery.”

  Agree any changes to working practices. “Do you need any support from me Martin?”

  “I’ll need some time off to go to the dentist now.”

  “The dentist? Why?”

  “My diarrhoea was so bad that I broke a tooth biting down on the towel rail.”

  I was glad to get out of the meeting room and away from The Drain’s horrid bottom problems. I went to the canteen to recover with a cup of coffee. The Climber was in there with Gizmo, sat with their heads together at one of the tables. It looked as if their hands might have been touching, but they quickly sat up straight and looked round at me rather guiltily as I went over to them. Jesus - surely she wasn’t bonking him!

  “Oh, hi Kate,” the Climber said airily, “We were just talking through the audit and how it’s all gone this week. I think it’s all been good, wouldn’t you say so Gary?” She laughed her annoying laugh and the Gizmo smiled, showing his small, pointed teeth. He looked half-gonk half-wolf. A wolf-gonk. A wonk.

  “Well, if you don’t mind, Gary, I’d rather you discussed the results of the audit with me first,” I said, forcing a smile to try and take the sting out of my words. “I think that’s the usual protocol isn’t it, to talk to the department manager? Perhaps you could come and see me before you leave today.”

  “Yes, oh yes of course,” he said, looking a little uncomfortable, “I’ll come and see you shortly.” I took my enormous and over-priced cappuccino back to my desk and stirred it thoughtfully. What had they been talking about? What had The Climber been saying? I couldn’t be certain that they had been holding hands, but she was obviously on very familiar terms with him - had she forgotten he was a senior auditor? They weren’t the sort of people you should be familiar with. She really was becoming a bit of a loose cannon.

  Gary the Gizmo came over to see me later in the afternoon.

  “I haven’t seen much of you this week,” he said with his wolfish sneer-smile.

  “No, you haven’t,” I replied. “But my team seem to have kept you fully occupied.” He looked at me sharply, trying to glean whether I was insinuating anything, but I smiled innocently back at him.

  “Well,” he continued, “it’s bee
n a good week, apart from the food poisoning of course, and I’d like to thank you for everyone’s co-operation - your teams have been refreshingly open and honest.”

  Oh shit.

  “That’s good to hear,” I lied, trying to keep smiling. “So, er, what do you think your report is going to look like?”

  He showed me his teeth again.

  “We did spot a few minor transgressions in the sales reporting, but nothing too significant. I’ll send you a draft copy of my report so you can have a look at the detail before it goes out to a wider audience.”

  That was it! I breathed a huge sigh of relief. A few ‘minor transgressions’ I could cope with. Hooray, we’d survived the ordeal unscathed! We shook hands and he left the building with his depleted team. I watched them out of the window to make sure they really had gone, then went to buy cakes for the department to say a big thank you. I remembered, too late, that I wouldn’t be able to claim these back on expenses now because of the new cost-cutting measures. Oh well, it didn’t matter, I was celebrating. I emailed The Boss and told him the audit had finished and I was expecting a good report. I thought he would reply “Audit? What audit?” but instead he emailed back “Very well done to you and your teams!”. I felt quite weepy - I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said well done to me.

  The Climber came over to my desk. She flicked her hair at me and examined her nails, trying to look nonchalant. “Did Gary say anything about me at all?” she asked.

  “Like what?”

  “Well, all the help I gave him and his team, I just thought he would have mentioned it, that’s all.”

  “No, I’m afraid he didn’t.”

  She pouted. “Perhaps he’ll put it in his report then. I should have some recognition after everything I did to help, which was much more than, well...,” Than me? “...than others did. Some of the audit team actually thought I was the manager of the department! Imagine that!” She laughed her fake laugh and I could see right down her throat. I wondered if my fist would fit all the way down it. “Are you going to tell Brett how much support I gave to this audit?”

  I considered her for a moment. She was clearly trying to take the credit for a successful audit report, and no doubt attempt to undermine me at the same time. Well, do your worst.

  “Why don’t you email him yourself Amanda?” I suggested. “It would look so much better coming from you directly. Tell him what you did, your involvement, and copy in Giz, er sorry, I mean Gary, so he can add his own comments if he wants to recognise you.”

  She seemed happy with this and went off to compose her email. Would Brett The Boss take any notice of her? He rarely took any notice of me, why should he take any notice of her? It was nagging at me though, like an annoying fly that wouldn’t go away. Then you realise too late that it’s one of those horrible horse flies and it’s bitten you on the arse.

  Sunday

  It was my brother Stuart’s 39th birthday. Funny how when we were kids I would always crow over him as I was three years older. That changed when, well, when was it? Probably during my mid twenties when I’d realised I was free-falling towards thirty, and he’d introduce me to his friends as his ‘OAP Sis’. I’d found turning forty quite traumatic. I kept reading in magazines that forty was the new twenty, but that was only ever written by women who were well into their fifties. I knew I could no longer consider myself youthful, I was showing some tell-tale signs after all:

  Looking at clothes that are sold in garden centres and thinking “Ooh, that looks really comfy.”

  Frequenting garden centres.

  Rushing home so as not to miss the start of Columbo.

  Making old-people groaning noises when standing up and sitting down.

  Saying things such as “That would never have happened in my day....”

  Or “That’s just what the doctor ordered” when sipping a cup of tea.

  Never heard of any of the Brit Award winners.

  Obsessed with regular bowel movements.

  We were due to meet my brother for a Sunday pub lunch. He’d phoned the night before to check we were still ok for it. I’d asked him, with some nervousness, if his girlfriend (Bunny Boiler) would be there too? You never knew, they were always on and off and I couldn’t remember what the current situation was. He replied rather indignantly that of course she would be there and so would Georgia (her teenage daughter). I’d only met Georgia once before, as she lived with her father. It had been a brief meeting. She was supposed to come out to a restaurant with us, but had appeared wearing a yellow tracksuit with three quarter length bottoms and heelies. Her mother had yelled at her, she’d yelled at her mother and that was that. She’d stormed back into the house and we went without her. I can’t say I was all that keen to see her again.

  We met at a very nice country pub which was close to my brother’s house and did great Sunday roasts. We were the last to get there as The Husband had been fussing over his big toe which he thought he might have broken. He’d gone into the bedroom last night, turned on the light but forgotten that it now had an energy saving light bulb, and had walked into the bed frame when the light hadn’t come on in time. Oh, the language. I’ve never heard anything like it. We then went through the ministry of silly walks, followed by girly screeching when I tried to put a bag of frozen peas on it, and finally a dying-swan-on-the-sofa performance. I eventually ran out of patience when it continued this morning, snapping “Can you move it? Yes? Well it’s not broken then, is it?” He was of course now sulking, and we hadn’t spoken on the drive down.

  The others were seated at a long table in the cosy dining area of the pub. My parents were facing each other at one end of the table, and my brother and the Bunny Boiler were next to each other in the middle, their glasses already almost empty. Georgia was sat at the far end, her face in her iPhone. We all did the flurry of “Sorry we’re late’s, great to see you’s, happy birthday’s, mwah, mwah”. I quickly sat down opposite my brother and the Bunny Boiler, leaving The Husband having to sit opposite Georgia. Serve him right - they could be sulky together.

  We all ordered roasts. I really wanted the lamb but went for the chicken, trying to be good. Everyone knows that lamb is 100% pure fat. The Husband ordered the lamb and, I noticed, a huge glass of red wine; obviously making the most of his non-driving toe. My parents seemed to be on good form, although my father was not at all happy that his next door neighbours had erected a twelve foot high dovecote “They’ll be flapping and shitting all over the place.” I assumed he meant the doves and not the neighbours. I think my mother may have misunderstood the conversation, as she said

  “They’ll be after our rhubarb too won’t they Frank?” I wondered if her hearing was going.

  My brother made us laugh about some of the antics on his latest building job, an extension for a predatory middle-aged woman. She had taken a fancy to one of the younger builders, and had been terrifying the poor lad, following him around, backing him into corners and had even left a pair of lacy knickers in his wheel-barrow. Stu had managed to keep himself employed on general building jobs since he had left school. We all had a laugh at his expense about his next birthday being his 40th, jokes about comb-overs and M&S cardies. I kept very quiet about the fact that I was actually wearing an M&S cardy.

  I recalled my 40th birthday, when, with much flourish, The Husband had presented me with an exercise bike. I’d looked at it in much the same way I’d looked at the painting-by-numbers set my parents had once given me when I’d wanted a pony. It was my own fault, in a way, as I had not given The Husband enough clues on what to get me, just saying I wanted “a surprise”. I thought every man knew that this meant something gold and sparkly. When tactfully questioning him on his choice of gift, it appeared I had apparently stated during a booze-filled evening at the pub that I really wanted to take up some form of exercise. I always talk crap when I’m drunk. They should use this as an example when giving out warnings on drinking too much. On the morning of my 4
0th, The Husband had got up and gone out very early. I’d thought perhaps he’d gone to collect a bouquet of flowers from the florist in the village, or to fetch fresh croissants and cappuccinos for my birthday breakfast. But no. It was to get me a card. As he only went as far as the local Londis, the choice was very limited. The card was a picture of a startled basset hound with its ears being blown around in the wind. In it he’d written:

  “Hope your flaps don’t do this now that you’re 40!”

  The Bunny Boiler, well into her second (or possibly third?) large glass of red wine had started on her favourite subject - her ex-husband. The “arse-hole” had “landed them” with Georgia for the weekend as he was taking his “tarty piece” away somewhere. Apparently, he’d never done anything nice for her when they’d been together, never taken her away anywhere, he’d treated her like a piece of crap. One of her eyes seemed to stare in a different direction to the other eye when she got worked up.

  My brother patted her hand consolingly, and whispered something in her ear. She nodded, and he got up to go to the bar. Yep, that’s just what she needs, more booze. The Husband appeared to be getting on amazingly well with Georgia. They both had their iPhones out and were comparing apps. She appeared quite animated as did he. Obviously a meeting of minds.

  My brother returned carrying a bottle of sparkling wine. There was a young waitress behind him who had a tray with six champagne glasses. Stu cleared his throat. “Kirsty and I have an announcement to make,” he said grandly. The Bunny Boiler giggled. What was all this? “Yesterday I asked Kirsty to marry me, and-” dramatic pause as he looked round the table, “I’m really pleased to tell you that she said yes!”

  There was a brief stunned silence. I imagine the same thoughts flew through everyone’s minds during that silence: “But you’re always splitting up, you never stay together for more than five minutes; will a wedding actually happen? Is it worth me buying a new outfit? I think I’ll leave getting the present to the last minute...” until we all recovered ourselves and expressed our congratulations and made noises of surprised delight. My father, ever practical, wanted to know “How the bloody hell are you going to pay for it?” but Stu was busy pouring out the sparkling wine and pretended not to hear. He said something cheeky to the young waitress who blushed and giggled - luckily for him this went unnoticed by the Bunny Boiler.

  We managed to sneak a little of the sparkling wine into an empty glass for Georgia, who according to her mother, was really excited about being a bridesmaid. I caught Georgia’s eye. She didn’t look excited. She’d probably been told she wouldn’t be able wear her yellow track suit. We raised our glasses to all chink in the middle of the table, and shouted “Congratulations!” apart from my mother who said “Happy birthday”. I asked the happy couple if they had a date in mind, and Stu said probably the summer. This summer? Surely everywhere would be booked already? I couldn’t get any more sense out of the pair of them as they had gone all soppy and were kissing and giggling. The Bunny Boiler called him crazy, and he replied “Just crazy about you”, making me fear my roast chicken would reappear. When he started rubbing her thigh under the table I quickly got up to order some coffees.

  The Husband was in a far better mood for the drive home, his toe troubles seemingly forgotten. Probably numbed by the vat of red wine he had got through. He talked me through the new iPhone apps Georgia had shown him in tedious detail, being particularly taken with one called Talking Carl. This was a character who looked a bit like SpongeBob and repeated back whatever you said. The Husband said “Tit bum tit bum” into his phone and Talking Carl repeated it in a Joe Pasquale voice. I felt quite irritated and snapped “For God’s sake, what are you, eight years old and giggling over rude words and silly voices?” He tried to get me to speak into Carl while I was driving, and I eventually caved in and said: “My husband’s name is needle-dick the second.” I did have to admit it was quite funny hearing it back. We ended up singing “You’ll Never Walk Alone” into it and howling with laughter. I realised with a twinge of guilt that I couldn’t recall the last time we’d had a really good laugh together; we used to laugh all the time. I really must try to be more spontaneous and fun. I must make an effort.

  Chapter Six