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Where
there’s a Will, there’s a way
“Mr
Edwards will see you now, Mr Westerham,” said
the pretty secretary. Will had seen no end of
pretty girls walking to and fro in the past ten
minutes. He had been watching this particular
one closely, and now admired the way her shiny
black hair brushed against the back of her
fitted striped blouse as she led him through the
agency floor. She was called Gina, and he loved
following her.
He looked around as he walked: designers sat
hunched behind massive computer screens, small
groups of people sat around in clusters of
sofas, chatting excitedly and sketching wildly
into pads of tracing paper. Gina knocked
daintily on a smoked glass door and poked her
head inside.
“William Westerham to see you Charlie,” she
said, and stepped back to allow Will to enter
the office. Will quickly took in the room –
spacious, minimalist, lots of glass – then
focused on the fat, balding man seated behind a
large antique desk. Charlie Edwards was just as
he remembered from the interview, Will thought.
Edwards thanked Gina and beckoned for Will to
take a seat opposite him. “William,” he
began, “Good to see you again. Glad you could
join us.” He adjusted his thick-rimmed black
glasses.
“Thanks for asking me,” said Will.
“Before we start,” continued Edwards, “Is
it William? Will, Bill?”
“I prefer Will.”
“Will,” repeated Edwards. “Will it is!”
He leaned back in is chair, and Will copied him.
“Well, Will, we might as well kick off
straight away. I’ve brought you in to be an
account manager, and there are a number of
accounts I have in mind for you. I must tell you
some good news first though, we’re almost
through with negotiations to merge with another
company, very complementary to ours. Long
process you know, due diligence and all that.”
“Do you mind me asking which company, Mr
Edwards?”
“Please – Charlie. I shouldn’t really tell
you, but I suppose as we’re almost done it
can’t do any harm. It’s an agency upstairs
actually, called Palmer Thompson, don’t know
if you’ve heard of them.”
Will rested his chin on his right hand, his
forefinger stroking his top lip. “Hmmm,” he
said, “Interesting.”
“You’ve heard about them then?” said
Edwards, leaning forward, “What have you
heard?”
Will straightened up. “Not good things I’m
afraid, Mr Edwards – sorry, Charlie.
Apparently their accounts are a bit dodgy”.
Edwards leaned even further forward. “Not from
the stuff I’ve seen,” he said in a low
voice, “But carry on,”
“That’s all I know, really,” said Will,
“Creative accounting, you know,”
“And who told you this?”
“Can’t really say, Charlie.”
Edwards paused, and then leaned back in his
chair. “OK, I can understand that you have to
be discreet. I was sure they were above board
but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have another
look at the figures.”
Will said nothing. Edwards stood up, pulled up
the waistband of his trousers and made an
attempt to smooth out the creases in his shirt
around his stomach. “Right then Will, I
suppose I’d better tell you a little about the
accounts you’ll be handling for us. First off
will be Atta-Gum Toothpaste. Familiar with
it?”
Will nodded.
“Good, good,” Edwards reached over to a
large white-board and took a black marker pen
and wrote ‘Atta-Gum’ on it. “Sanderson,
the company that owns Atta-Gum, is a real
pussycat with us. They love the campaigns
we’ve been running, and are mad keen on our
current ideas. You’ll be working with Anton
and Jules on that one.”
“Great,” said Will. “I actually use Atta-Gum.”
“Do you?” Edwards looked surprised. He
clapped his hands together. “OK! Your other
key account should be Apparello, the clothes
shop chain. Now I say ‘should’, because
we’re pitching to keep the account tomorrow.
Things have been fine, and the advertising has
worked, but the client’s putting pressure on
us to reduce the fee for the work we’re
doing.”
“Reduce the fee?” said Will, “And with
Apparello doing so well! Do you mind me asking
what they’re currently paying?”
“Not at all – fifteen grand a month, plus
extras which probably take it close to twenty.
What makes you say they’re doing well?”
Will shifted in his seat. “Oh, well, you know,
I shop in there sometimes and it’s always
busy. I think they’re raking it in. If I was
pitching there’s no way I’d reduce the
fee.”
Edwards chuckled. “If only it were that
simple, son.” He wrote ‘Apparello –
fee?’ on the board and drew a circle around
it.
Will picked up a pen that was lying on
Edwards’ desk. “That reminds me, Charlie. I
think you should target Green Circle Gin –
their advertising’s well overdue for a
revamp.”
Edwards, who still had a slight grin on his
face, now laughed out loud. “Would you still
think that if I told you they’d been with the
same agency for fourteen years? There’s no
chance – absolutely no chance.”
“I think it may be time for them to change.”
“Look, no disrespect Will, but I think I
should know. I’ve been in the business twenty
five years. There are some things that never
change.”
“OK Charlie, you know best.” Will passed the
pen between the fingers of his right hand,
watching it out of the corner of his eye.
“Like the idea though, Will,” said Edwards,
“keep making suggestions like that and
something’s bound to go your way sooner or
later. Now, I want you to meet Jules, one of the
team you’ll be working with.” He pressed a
button on his telephone and waited, before
saying: “Jules, it’s Charlie. Can you come
and meet Will Westerham, the new AM? Thanks.”
Will leaned forward. “Charlie,” he said
quietly, “I must tell you something quickly
– is Jules the girl with the dyed red hair?
Surname Clarke?”
“Yes, that’s her,” Edwards sat back down
at his desk.
“I saw her while I was waiting outside. I
could be wrong, but it sounded like she was
arranging a job interview on her mobile phone.
She said that she was going to ‘magic’ a
meeting and be in the West End this Friday
afternoon.”
Edwards’ eyes widened and his mouth opened. At
that moment there was a knock at the door. Jules
came in and sat down on a chair next to Will.
She held out her hand.
“Hi William, nice to meet you,” she said.
“Thanks,” said Will. “Please call me
Will.”
Edwards noisily pushed back his chair and stood
up again. “Now, Jules, you and Will are going
to be working on Atta-Gum and Apparello
together, and I want you to show him the ropes.
Will has a lot of ideas, he’s shown me that
already, and as one of our most loyal” - he
emphasised the ‘loyal’ - “people, I’m
sure you will help him settle in and begin to
add value to the agency’s work.”
Jules smiled at Edwards, and then at Will.
“You’re in good hands Will, me and Anton
will look after you.”
“I’d appreciate that, Jules,” said Will.
“I’d also appreciate the chance to present
some of the ideas I’ve been working on over
the past few weeks while I’ve been waiting to
start. Why don’t we sit down, say, on Friday
afternoon?”
Jules’ smile tightened slightly. “Oh, no
need to wait until Friday, Will, we can talk
tomorrow.”
“Won’t be able to do that, Jules,” said
Edwards, “You’ll be in the Apparello pitch
tomorrow. Why don’t we make it Friday
afternoon – I think I’ll join you both.
I’m always keen to hear new ideas.”
Will clicked the pen in his hand. “That would
be great, Charlie,” he said.
“I’ll have to check my diary,” Jules said.
“I may have a meeting.”
Edwards wrote ‘Friday PM’ on the white-board
and clapped his hands again. “OK Jules,
that’ll be all for now. Can you ask Anton to
be ready to spend some time with Will in five
minutes or so? Thanks.”
Jules stood up quickly and made for the door.
She looked down at Will. “See you in five,”
she said. Just as she was closing the door, she
checked back. “Oh Charlie, just to let you
know I’ve been calling Bob Steinway all week
and no luck.”
Edwards rolled his head back and looked at the
ceiling. “I’ve been dying to get in touch
with Robert Steinway from SWX Materials for
ever,” he said, after Jules had left. “That
guy is so busy it’s untrue, and he controls
pretty much the most sought after advertising
budget there is.”
Will still played with the pen he had picked up
from Edwards’ desk. “Mr Steinway’s in on
the fifteenth floor right now.”
“He’s what?” Edwards frowned as if he
hadn’t quite heard.
“He’s on the fifteenth floor. In with
Foster’s Solicitors.”
Edwards took off his glasses. “How the hell
d’you know that?” he said.
“He rode up in the lift with me. Foster’s
Solicitors occupy the fifteenth and sixteenth
floors. Mr Steinway seemed in a good mood.”
“Ha!” Edwards was wide-eyed. “In the
building and in a good mood! It must be my
birthday!” He replaced his glasses. “OK,”
he said, “Chat’s over. I want you to spend
the rest of the day with Anton in creative.
I’m going down to fifteen to find out what’s
making Bobby Steinway so damn happy for a
change. Have a good day.”
Will spent the afternoon with Anton, who Will
thought extremely arrogant and superficial. They
looked at the past series of campaigns for Atta-Gum,
and then Anton went off to run though the
Apparello presentation with Jules, leaving Will
to carry out some internet research. Will was
waiting by the printer when Edwards approached
him with a grin.
“Will, you were certainly right about our Mr
Steinway. I enquired of a secretary I know at
Foster’s, and it turned out that Bobby was in
with one of their top boys putting his signature
on his divorce papers. I waited in the lobby for
him and he came out looking like he’d just
spent a week on a health farm. We pitch next
week, Will, and I want you involved.”
Will put out his hand. “Great news Charlie,”
he said.
Edwards shook his hand warmly. “I reckon
you’ve earned an early finish. See you in the
morning.”
Will arrived early the next day, and was making
himself a coffee in the staff kitchen, when
Edwards walked in clutching a copy of The Times.
“Ah, just the man,” he said. “Have you
read this?” He waved the newspaper in front of
him.
“Not yet Charlie,” replied Will.
Edwards opened the newspaper and rifled through
the pages. “It says in the business section
that Mark Palmer, the MD of Palmer Thompson, is
being investigated for fraud! Apparently the
company’s books are so full of holes that half
the clients are threatening to sack them. I
don’t know how you knew, but it seems you told
us just in time. I was just able to stop our
chairman from signing the final papers yesterday
afternoon.”
Will smiled. “Glad I could help, Charlie.”
“So am I,” said Edwards. “I’ll see you
later.”
Will poured himself a coffee and went over to
his desk. The post was distributed first thing
by the receptionist, who arrived before anyone
else, and Will had a small pile of mostly
industry magazines. He casually flicked through
a few of the magazines, then switched on his
computer and typed out a few emails.
He liked the office being quiet. Every job he
had ever had, he tried his best to come in early
– it was the best time to work. He looked
around at all the empty chairs and blank
computers. As far as he could see, the only
other people that were Edwards, the
receptionist, and himself. He heard a door slam
and looked around to see Edwards approaching
him, waving a large brown envelope.
“You’re on something of a roll, young
man,” said Edwards, “check this out.” He
handed Will the envelope.
Will fished inside and took out a letter. He
scanned the contents. “It’s an invitation to
pitch from Green Circle Gin!”
“Isn’t it amazing! They’ve probably sent
this out to every agency there is, but I never
thought I’d see this happen. That account was
the safest there is. It’s not a great account,
but we’ll go for it just for fun – want to
lead the pitch?”
“I’d love to,” Will beamed. “As you say,
it’ll be fun.”
“Definitely. There’s one other thing. I
checked Jules’ mobile when she popped out of
the office. There was no call on the register
for yesterday morning. Good job you’re not
right all the time.”
And with that Edwards returned to his office.
Will decided to waste no time and began
researching Green Circle’s competitors. Half
an hour later Jules and Anton arrived together,
said their hellos and went straight to
Edwards’ office to prepare for the Apparello
pitch.
They came out briefly to meet the Apparello
executives at reception, and Will wished them
good luck before they all went into the
boardroom. The pitch was scheduled to last for
three hours, so Will kept himself busy with more
research and background reading on Atta-Gum and
Apparello. Will was surprised when he read a
certain document outlining Atta-Gum’s active
ingredients, and resolved to buy an alternative
toothpaste that lunchtime.
When it got to 12:30, Will decided to go out for
lunch. The pitch had overrun, and he was too
hungry to wait. He ran into Gina at the
delicatessen on the bottom floor, and spent an
enjoyable half-hour chatting with her as they
ate their sandwiches.
When he got back, Edwards was standing by his
desk, talking to Jules and Anton. Edwards waved
when he saw Will approaching.
“Will! We were looking for you. We kept the
account, as expected, but your hunch paid off
– we actually managed to increase the fee! I
decided we had nothing to lose so I stuck my
neck out. Come with me, I want to show you the
figures.” He started off towards his office.
Will shook Anton’s hand and kissed Jules on
the cheek.
“Congratulations,” he said.
In his office, Edwards was pacing to and fro in
front of the window. He beckoned for Will to sit
down.
“You’ve only been here two days, Will, and
yet it seems like everything’s happened
because of you. Bobby Steinway, Palmer Thompson,
Green Circle, the Apparello fee. It really is
uncanny.”
Will could not help but let out a chuckle.
Edwards also began to laugh. “What?” he
said, “What’s so funny?”
Will took a deep breath. “OK Charlie, I’ll
tell you.”
Edwards sat down. “Go on,”
“Before I started here yesterday, I had a week
free. I originally intended to go abroad, see
some friends in France, but I got a call from my
brother-in-law. One of his workers had called in
sick for a week, so he asked if I could fill in.
I could see that my brother-in-law was in a
tight spot, so I agreed. It was good money, as
it turned out.”
“What does your brother-in-law do?”
“He runs a window-cleaning firm,” said Will.
“And I spent last week cleaning the windows of
this office building.”
Edwards’ eyes narrowed.
Will continued: “The first thing I saw was The
Times headline through their window on the 14th
floor. The layout team were putting the
finishing touches to the story you read today in
the weekly business insert. I couldn’t see the
full text, but after reading the headline I
certainly knew enough to warn you to check their
accounts.”
Edwards sat back in his chair. “Of course,”
he said, “And a good job you did. What else
did you see?”
“Nothing else at The Times, but I did see
something on the floor below – at York
American, the accountancy firm. They’re
currently preparing the final accounts and
forecasts for Apparello, and I was able to make
out that their marketing budget for next year
was bigger than this year.”
“Brilliant!” exclaimed Edwards. “If only
they knew! Tell me, how could you possibly have
known about Green Circle?”
“Greatbatch Management Consultants on the
twelfth floor. It seems they’ve been
commissioned to advise Green Circle. I saw part
of a presentation that recommended a change in
advertising to alter its perception in the
marketplace.”
“Jesus. What about Steinway?”
“Foster’s Solicitors’ offices on the
fifteenth. Bobby Steinway’s solicitor sits in
a huge office with his back to the window. He
must be one of the partners to have an office
like that. Anyway, I read an email he was
sending to Steinway asking him to a meeting.
That way I knew he would be due in yesterday.”
“So you didn’t see him in the lift?”
“Sorry Charlie, I didn’t know how to explain
it at the time. I should say that I also lied
about Jules. I didn’t overhear her
conversation, which is why it didn’t show up
on her mobile when you checked her call history.
There’s a big recruitment agency on the
seventh floor. I saw Jules’ CV lying on a desk
with Friday’s date written on it.”
Edwards removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
“I don’t believe this,” he said. “This
is too much to take in. You stay here, I want to
talk to you some more. Just as soon as I’ve
spoken to Jules.” He got to his feet and
walked out of the office.
Will leaned back in his chair and looked at the
ceiling. Edwards had reacted just as he
expected. He smiled to himself as he thought
about the previous week. If only it were less
cold out on the platform, window cleaning could
be a very profitable profession, he thought. He
wondered whether to tell Edwards about the fact
that he had seen Steve Somerville, the
agency’s chairman, in the corporate law office
of Foster’s Solicitors. What would Edwards’
reaction be if he knew that Somerville had been
drawing up his redundancy package, and planned
on offering it to him that afternoon?
Forbidden
fruit
George
Mitchell reached out and tapped down the switch
on the top of his alarm clock. It was 6:30am.
George had risen at 6:30 every day for as long
as he could remember. In fact, he didn’t need
the alarm any more - he automatically awoke
approximately five minutes before the alarm was
due to sound – but he still set it every
morning, just in case.
George grabbed his dressing gown from the peg
behind the bedroom door and flung it around his
shoulders as he padded down the stairs. He went
straight into the kitchen and flicked on the
kettle and turned one of the hob rings up to
level five. He took a saucepan from the cupboard
and placed it on the worktop, and took an egg,
some butter and a pint of milk from the fridge.
He placed the egg in the pan, and took two mugs
from the mug-tree and added one spoonful of
coffee and one spoonful of sugar to each. The
kettle boiled, and George filled the mugs and
the saucepan, and placed the saucepan onto the
hob. He carefully dropped the egg into the pan
and added milk to the coffees, stirring each mug
five times.
George now took two slices of bread and slotted
them into the toaster, and got an eggcup and a
plate from the cupboard. He turned off the hob
and moved the pan off the hot ring, and then
took the teaspoon from his coffee mug and fished
the egg out of the steaming water. He placed the
egg in the eggcup and buttered the toast,
slicing it up into thin fingers. He then put the
eggcup in the middle of the plate arranged the
toast slices around it, and took the plate and
his coffee and sat down at the kitchen table.
When George had eaten his egg and toast, dipping
each thin slice carefully into the yolk of the
egg, he washed up and left everything to dry on
the drainer by the sink. He then went back
upstairs, carrying the other cup of coffee with
him, and shaved and showered. After drying
himself and powdering his feet with talcum
powder, he went into the bedroom and took his
suit and shirt from the wardrobe. He dressed
quietly and went back into the bathroom. He tied
his tie in the mirror and combed his hair before
vigorously brushing his teeth.
He checked his appearance in the mirror and
patted on a frugal amount of aftershave, before
going back into the bedroom. He went over to the
bed and placed the mug of coffee on the floor
and bent down to kiss his wife on the forehead.
His lips made the lightest of touches on her
skin and he did not disturb her rumbling
snoring. He snatched his head away just in time
to avoid her morning breath and sneaked out of
the room and down the stairs.
This had been George’s morning routine every
weekday for the past twenty years. It was a
short walk to the station, and George dropped
into the newsagents and picked up his usual copy
of the Daily Express on the way. Next door to
the newsagents was the bakers, where George
bought his daily lunch – a cheddar cheese
sandwich and a small pork pie. Once at the
station George bought his return ticket and
walked over the bridge to platform three. The
8:10 pulled up shortly and George took his usual
seat in carriage C, and after a journey of
thirty-five minutes and four stops the train
drew up at London Victoria, platform 14. One
stop on the tube took him to St James’s Park,
and George walked out of the station, crossed
the road and entered the huge grey building of
the Home Office.
After taking the lift to the third floor and
hanging his coat on his usual peg in the
cupboard by the reception desk, George
acknowledged the three colleagues in his
department - Martin, Gavin and Gladys - and sat
down behind his computer. Once at his desk,
George began to systematically work through the
sheets that were piled up in his in-tray,
inputting the data from each sheet into the
relevant pages of an enormous database.
Everyone’s in-tray was replenished every hour,
by Reginald from the fourth floor. Reginald
always placed the sheets in the trays with a
flourish, and it frustrated George, Martin,
Gavin and Gladys that they had never managed to
clear their in-trays before Reginald had
refilled them. No matter how hard they worked,
how fast they typed, there was always a constant
supply of work awaiting them.
George took two tea breaks, at 10:30 and 3:30,
and a lunch break from 12:30 to 1pm. During each
tea break he brought to his desk a cup of
instant coffee from the machine by the reception
desk, and read half of his newspaper. While he
was eating his lunch, at his desk, George
attempted the crossword. He could complete it in
the 30-minute lunch break four times out of
five, and it was the highlight of his day.
At 5:30, George switched off his computer and
said goodbye to Martin, Gavin and Gladys. He
trotted off to the station and boarded the 5:43
from platform 14, in his usual carriage C.
George arrived home at 6:30pm exactly. He took
off his jacket and went straight into the
kitchen, rolling up his shirtsleeves. Today was
Monday, so he took the sausages and eggs from
the fridge and four potatoes from the cupboard.
Barbara was incredibly strict about meals, and
liked everything to follow a routine. Sausages
on Monday, chicken on Tuesday, beefburgers on
Wednesday, spaghetti bolognaise on Thursday and
fish & chips on Friday. George was allowed
to vary the dessert, so long as it was apple
pie, sherry trifle or chocolate ice cream.
He took the cooked sausages, with mashed potato
and fried eggs, on two plates on a tray through
to the living room, where Barbara was sitting in
front of the television, her slippered feet
crossed and resting on the coffee table. She
moved her feet with a grunt as George bent down
to put the tray on the table before sitting next
to her.
“Good evening darling,” he said, and went to
kiss her on the cheek, but Barbara was already
shovelling an enormous forkful of sausage and
mashed potato into her gaping mouth.
They both ate silently, Barbara transfixed by
the television. George made several attempts at
conversation, with “How was your day?” and
“Nasty weather we’re having,” but her
received only cursory replies: “Spent all day
cleaning up your mess,” and “Rain always
mucks up the TV reception”.
Barbara cleared her meal before George was
halfway through his, and showed obvious
annoyance at the deliberate way in which he ate
the rest of his dinner. When the slippered feet
thumped down on the table inches from his plate,
George decided that he had eaten enough,
gathered the plates on the tray and went through
to the kitchen.
He took three scoops of chocolate ice cream
through to the living room and did his best to
smile as he handed Barbara the plate, but she
snatched it out of his hand without taking her
eyes off the television. George trudged back
into the kitchen and began to wash up. He could
see from the dirty plates piled in the sink what
Barbara had eaten for breakfast, lunch and
countless snacks in between. As he washed,
George stared out of the kitchen window and
wondered what he had ever seen in Barbara. When
they had married, Barbara had been slim, pretty
and outgoing; now she was approaching 20 stones
in weight, had long lost her looks and never
left the house. She used to work at a small firm
of solicitors in the village, but the month
after they married she handed in her notice.
She hadn’t done a day’s work since. At first
she had surveyed the appointments pages and
George had helped her to compile a CV and send
application letters, but to no avail. George
understood why they had been so unsuccessful
when he found the twenty or so unposted
application letters stuffed into a drawer.
Unwilling to make a scene, George accepted that
Barbara did not want to go back to work. After
all, his salary from the Home Office was enough
to pay all the bills.
Several months later, already putting on weight,
Barbara announced that she did not want to have
children. George tried to get her to talk about
it, but Barbara insisted her decision was final
and there was no point getting into a
conversation about it. George was crushed. He
had always wanted children – a little boy and
a little girl, running around the house, a real
happy family.
George finished the washing up and went
upstairs, to run Barbara’s bath. Barbara
couldn’t fit into a standard size bath, so
George had bought her a king-size model several
years ago at great expense. The sides were a
full three feet apart, and George felt like he
was in a swimming pool when he was taking a
bath.
When the bath was ready, George went down to
help Barbara up off the sofa and up the stairs.
While she was in the bath he tidied the living
room, and vacuumed all the crumbs from between
the cushions on the sofa where Barbara had been
sitting. After that, he went back upstairs and
took Barbara’s clothes from outside the
bathroom door and took them down to the utility
room where he put them on a hot wash.
He then went upstairs and handed Barbara her
dressing gown around the bathroom door. He
hadn’t seen her naked in over five years, and
he had no wish to now. She went through into the
bedroom to get into bed while George took
another trip downstairs to make her nightly mug
of hot chocolate. George put three heaped
spoonfuls of chocolate powder into Barbara’s
gigantic mug that held almost a pint of hot,
full fat milk. He carefully carried the mug
upstairs and handed it to Barbara, who was now
engrossed in the television at the end of the
bed. If she registered George’s presence, she
didn’t acknowledge it, so he said goodnight
and went back downstairs.
Aside from his daily crossword, George had one
other highlight to his day. Every night at 9:00
he watched The Lost Men, his favourite serial on
television. He watched it intently, and puzzled
as to how the hero, Roskow, would solve the
puzzle that had been set for him that evening.
After the serial had finished, at 10:00pm,
George switched off the television and went
upstairs. He brushed his teeth and changed into
his pyjamas in the bathroom, and tiptoed into
the bedroom. He felt the edge of the bed in the
darkness and inched his way along until he
reached his pillow. He climbed carefully into
the bed, and angled himself so that he would not
roll towards Barbara, who put so much pressure
on the mattress that he lay on a gradient. He
closed his eyes and tried to blank out the
monotonous drone of her snoring, and eventually
fell asleep.
George awoke the next day at 6:25am and patted
down the alarm button on his bedside clock
before it had time to sound. He made his
breakfast as usual, shaved and showered, made
Barbara’s coffee and was out of the house by
7:45. It was raining hard when he walked out of
the tube station, and he dashed across the road
and through the familiar doors of the Home
Office.
He had arrived in the office before Martin, he
noted. This surprised him, as Martin usually
arrived at 8:30. He said nothing to Gavin and
Gladys, however, and sat down at his computer to
begin the endless task of trying to clear his
in-tray.
He had been typing for only ten minutes when
Reginald appeared, carrying a huge stack of
papers. George’s heart sank. This new supply
would double the pile in his in-tray. Reginald
beckoned to someone around the corner, and a
woman appeared. She was about forty, George
thought. Shiny black hair and a clean face with
strong cheekbones and hazel eyes. She wore
glasses with black frames, which gave her a look
of intelligence. George thought she was
wonderful.
“This is April, who will be replacing
Martin.” Said Reginald, and April smiled
shyly, her head bowed and her eyes looking up at
them over her glasses. Reginald showed her to
Martin’s desk, and she sat down and started to
work through her in-tray. George watched her
look down at the papers and then frown at the
screen as she tried to get to grips with the
database system. It didn’t occur to him as to
why Martin had left.
After Reginald had extravagantly replenished
their in-trays and gone back upstairs, Gladys
looked up and put out her hand. “Hello
April,” she said, “I’m Gladys.”
April’s eyes widened and she smiled. “Nice
to meet you Gladys,” she said. It was the
first time she had spoken, and George found her
soft voice compelling, even though she had said
the mundanest of things.
Gavin then spoke: “Good morning April, I’m
Gavin.” April shook his hand. “Hello
Gavin.”
George felt his heartbeat increase in speed as
he realised he would now be expected to speak to
April. His mouth felt dry. “Erm, hello,” he
said, standing up, “George Mitchell”. April
stayed seated and smiled, looking up at him.
“Hello George Mitchell,” she said, and took
his hand. Her skin felt soft and warm and George
savoured the touch of her palm on his fingers as
she drew her hand away. She turned her head back
to face her computer screen.
A bead of sweat trickled down George’s back as
he sat back down. “George Mitchell?” he
thought, why had he been so formal? He was sure
that April had meant to ridicule him when she
repeated his name. He watched her concentrating
on her work, and could see her computer screen
reflected in her glasses. A lock of hair fell
across her face and she reached up to tuck it
behind her ear, her eyes never leaving the
screen. George was transfixed. April was wearing
a navy blue suit, with an aquamarine blouse.
George noticed the fine cut of the suit, the way
the jacket fitted perfectly around the
shoulders, and the perfect width of the lapels.
The top two buttons of her blouse were undone,
and she wore a gold necklace that intrigued
George: from a thin chain hung a delicately
shaped symbol, which George thought looked like
an Arabic word or letter. April’s head turned
and George saw that she had noticed him watching
her, and George immediately turned to face his
computer screen.
George tried his best to concentrate on his
work, but could not help watching April. When
Reginald brought more sheets just after 10:00,
George’s pile became bigger than it had been
all year. He worked a bit harder after that, but
still could not stop himself stealing regular
glances in April’s direction. April noticed
George watching her several times, but he had
again averted his eyes as soon as she looked at
him.
At lunchtime George solved only six of the clues
to his crossword, such was his infatuation with
his new colleague. April ate sandwiches from a
small Tupperware container that she took from
her handbag, and drank tea from the machine next
to the reception desk. When she had finished her
sandwiches, she produced a kiwi fruit from the
Tupperware container, along with a knife and a
teaspoon. She cut the kiwi in half and began to
eat the green fruit inside, spooning it from the
furry skin carefully and deliberately.
George had never seen a kiwi fruit before. He
watched with fascination as April ate the
strange, hairy, egg-shaped fruit with its bright
green filling, with black pips, which April
seemed to be eating too. He wondered if she
would eat the furry-looking skin. His curiosity
was satisfied when April discarded the kiwi’s
skin in the wastebasket underneath her desk. She
again noticed him looking at her and he snatched
his head away, inwardly cursing himself for
making his attraction to her so obvious. He made
a concerted effort that afternoon to refrain
from looking her way, but he still found it
difficult to concentrate on his work. With every
visit from Reginald his in-tray pile grew and
grew, until it must have been over two inches
thick.
When the clock in the corner of George’s
screen read 5:00, George felt a mixture of
relief and regret. Relief that he would only
have to work for another half-hour, regret that
he would soon be parted from April. The
remaining 30 minutes passed far too quickly.
When Gavin stood up, and was soon followed by
Gladys, George reluctantly leaned forward and
switched off his computer. He looked with
anguish at the papers in his in-tray that would
lie untouched all night, waiting for his
attention at 9:00 the next morning.
He managed to utter “Goodbye then,” to no
one in particular, and walked out of the office.
He couldn’t bring himself to say anything to
April directly for fear that he would stumble
over his words and make a fool of himself, as he
had done that morning. He hurried down the
stairs and out of the building onto the busy
street. He crossed the street with difficulty,
and got quite wet from the rain that had been
falling since the start of the day.
George stared out of the window on the train and
thought about April. He still couldn’t believe
he had introduced himself so formally when the
others had been so relaxed and friendly. He had
always been nervous around women, and hated
himself for it. He went over and over the day in
his head, and the train journey passed in an
instant.
Back home, George went straight into the kitchen
as usual, and took two chicken breasts out of
the fridge, and took the bag of oven chips from
the freezer. He began to prepare dinner, but was
still thinking about April. In twenty minutes he
was carrying the tray through to the living room
to Barbara, who was wearing a loose fitting,
baggy outfit that made it look as if she filled
the entire sofa. He set the tray down on the
table and gingerly sat down next to her. He took
his plate from the tray and began eating.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Barbara
shouted from beside him.
George looked round at her face, which, with its
incredulous expression, made her look
particularly frightening. “What?” he asked.
“You’re eating from my plate,” she
exclaimed, and snatched it from him. George
looked at the plates and noticed that he had
been eating from the one with four chicken
breasts and a huge pile of chips, instead of the
one with a solitary piece of chicken and only a
scattering of chips.
“Sorry, love,” George mumbled, and took the
other plate. He ate more slowly than usual, his
mind replaying over and over the day’s events,
and Barbara’s empty plate clanked down onto
the tray before he had even touched his chicken.
He stood up and gathered the plates before the
slippers had a chance to hit the table.
“Apple pie tonight,” instructed Barbara, as
George was walking out of the living room. He
was still thinking about April. He was thinking
of how delicately she had eaten the hairy brown
fruit that lunchtime, spooning out the soft
green flesh scattered with little black pips.
Her lips had closed gently around the spoon,
which had emerged from her mouth shiny and
clean. And when she caught him watching her, as
she had done maybe four or five times that day,
her eyes had looked kind and friendly, but he
had always looked away the moment she noticed
him. George took Barbara’s plate through to
the living room and handed it to her, then
turned to return to the kitchen and begin the
washing up.
“What is this?” he heard Barbara say as he
approached the door. “I said Apple Pie tonight
– what’s wrong with you?”
“Sorry, love,” George mumbled again, and
took the plate from Barbara. He had given her
ice cream by mistake. He walked out of the
lounge, Barbara shaking her head and glowering
at him.
He couldn’t focus his mind on what he was
doing. He washed up, staring out of the window
and imagining introducing himself to April at a
dinner party. “Good evening,” he would say
in a deep voice, “I’m George. Delighted to
meet you.” And April would smile sweetly and
say: “Hello George – what a manly name. My
name’s April, would you care to dance?” And
she would turn around, beckoning him to follow,
her dress brushing against his hand and her
perfume drifting across the room.
He was shaken from his reverie by Barbara, who
was shouting at him from the living room.
“George! George!” He hurried through.
The look on Barbara’s face made George gulp.
He managed to utter a few words: “What is it,
love?”
“You still haven’t brought my Apple Pie!”
Barbara shouted, “For God’s sake wake up!”
“Sorry, love,” George said, and almost ran
back into the kitchen. He took a large slice of
Apple Pie from the fridge and put it in the
microwave for two minutes. He waited for the pie
to warm up, watching the time on the display as
it counted down, tapping his feet, and pressed
the ‘Door Open’ button before the bell had
time to sound. He took the Apple Pie through to
Barbara, who snatched it from him, saying “Thankyou.”
It was the first time Barbara had thanked George
for anything in years, though the sarcasm in her
voice and the scorn on her face cancelled it out
completely.
George’s concentration wavered again as he
finished the washing up, imagining how he would
ask April to dinner, and how she would accept,
thrilled, and would rush up to him and embrace
him, whispering how she had felt a powerful
attraction to George ever since that first day
at the Home Office. He stumbled upstairs and
began to run Barbara’s bath.
After Barbara had finished her bath and he had
taken up her hot chocolate, George settled
himself on the sofa for The Lost Men. He watched
absently, his mind still wandering, and when the
closing credits ran an hour later he realised
that he had hardly taken in any of the
storyline. He went upstairs and got into bed,
balancing on the edge of the mattress, and was
asleep within minutes, dreaming of April.
The alarm woke him the next morning. George
reached out in panic for the clock, afraid the
noise would wake Barbara. He slapped his hand
down on the button and listened for Barbara’s
snoring, which thankfully didn’t falter. He
furrowed his brow, puzzled – he had woken up
before the alarm every day for as long as he
could remember.
He gently climbed out of bed and padded
downstairs. As he prepared his breakfast he
thought of April; he had been dreaming about her
all night. Some were happy dreams, with
sparkling conversation, others were more fitful,
with April ignoring him or making cutting
remarks, or – and this had been the worst one
– turning into Barbara.
After breakfast, George showered and shaved, and
took a little more time on his hair than usual.
He dressed quickly and hurried out of the door.
He was so preoccupied with thoughts of April
that he walked straight past the newsagents and
bakers and arrived at the station ten minutes
early. He stood on the platform waiting with the
tens of other commuters and realised that he had
forgotten his lunch and his newspaper. He
wondered whether he had time to dash back and
pick them up, but decided he had better play
safe and stay on the platform.
He spent the entire train journey gazing out of
the window, trying to picture April’s face. He
sat for a full minute before he realised the
carriage was empty and waiting at Victoria
station, and hurried off onto platform 14. The
tube journey to St James’ Park passed equally
quickly, and George was soon climbing the stairs
up to the fourth floor. As he reached the last
flight of stairs, George slowed as he wondered
what he would do or say if April was already in
the office. He would play it cool, he thought,
just give her a knowing smile and say good
morning. Nothing fancy, he would just keep it
safe.
She wasn’t there when he nervously stepped
through the doorway. Gladys looked up and gave
him the briefest of smiles, then looked back
down at her computer screen. George switched on
his computer and sat down, eyeing his in-tray.
He had better work fast today, he thought,
otherwise his workload would begin to get out of
control, and Reginald might take him aside, or
worse, make an example of him in front of April.
He began working, but had only managed to get
through three sheets when April walked in,
looking even more radiant than the day before.
She smiled and said “Hello”, to which Gladys
replied with “Good morning”.
George had been working up to this moment since
he had left the office the previous evening, and
had rather worked himself into a frenzy, so
instead of his cool, charming, rehearsed
greeting, he immediately burst forth with an
enthusiastic “Hey ho!”
April raised her eyebrows slightly and her smile
spread. She then sat down and fixed her eyes on
her computer.
“Hey ho?” What was he saying? Did he want
April to think he was a complete fool? Dejected,
George threw himself into his work. He had
halved his pile by the time Reginald appeared at
10:15, and almost cleared the tray completely by
lunchtime.
Lunchtime. George realised that he hadn’t
bought any lunch that morning. He hadn’t
realised up until now, as he had worked through
his break, therefore not noticing that he had no
newspaper either. But now he was suddenly
ravenous, and did not know what to do. He
couldn’t buy anything, as he only brought
enough cash every day to buy his train ticket.
He didn’t even have cash from not buying his
lunch from the bakers, as he had accounts with
both the bakers and the newsagents, and paid
them at the end of every week.
He decided that he would just have another cup
of tea and work through his lunch break. Several
minutes later, however, he came to the last
sheet in his tray. He looked around. Gladys only
seemed to have a few sheets left, he noticed,
and Gavin the same. He then looked at April, and
then her tray, and noticed that she had quite a
pile. Poor girl must be struggling a bit to get
used to all the new systems, he thought. He
would ask her if she needed a hand – that
would impress her.
He cleared his throat, and April looked up at
him. Gladys and Gavin also looked up, to
George’s annoyance. “Erm, April,” he
started, “I seem to be a bit short of sheets,
and you seem to be pretty well stocked, so to
speak, so how about I take some off your
hands?” George thought he had worded it rather
well, except for the ‘well stocked’ bit.
April’s face brightened. “Why thankyou,”
she said, “that would be very kind. But
aren’t you having any lunch? You worked
through your break as well – won’t you take
a rest?”
George was tremendously flattered and surprised
that April had even noticed that he had worked
through his morning break. “Oh,” he replied,
“I haven’t got any lunch today, it slipped
my mind to pick it up on the way to the station
this morning.”
“But you must eat something,” April said,
and began to dig around in her handbag. “Here,
it’s not much, but you can have a kiwi fruit
– I’ve got a few with me today.” She
produced one of the brown furry eggs and passed
it across the desk to George. He again felt her
warm, smooth hand as he took it from her.
A kiwi fruit – that was what it was, thought
George, as he thanked April. She passed him her
knife and teaspoon and he began to cut it in
half as he had watched April do the previous
day. He pressed the spoon’s edge into the
green flesh, which felt harder than he had
imagined, and scooped out a large chunk. It
tasted remarkably fresh and tangy – George
loved it. He had known he would like it, in fact
George was sure that anything April liked he
would like too. He devoured both halves, and
then dropped the brown furry skins into the
wastebasket.
April looked up at him. “You liked it?” she
asked.
“Yes, very much,” replied George. “I’ve
never had one of those before, and I hope it’s
not long before I have another.”
“Well, I’ve got a few more in my bag if you
want them,” said April, and produced a small
plastic bag which she handed across to George,
who tried to protest but gave in when April
insisted.
“Thankyou,” he said, “now you must let me
take some of those sheets in return.”
April took half the sheets from her tray and
handed them to George, and as she did this gave
him a glowing smile. George was glad that he was
sitting down, for if he had been standing he was
sure he would have gone weak-kneed. He worked
through the sheets even faster than he had done
that morning, and was on the final one when
Reginald came with a smaller than usual pile of
replenishment sheets. As a result his flourish
was a little subdued, and he did not stay long.
George again worked through his break, and by
5:30 was again down to his last sheet. As he
entered the final numbers into the final boxes
on screen, George let out an inward whoop of
delight as he savoured the thought of coming
into work the next morning to an empty in-tray.
He took the last sheet and placed it on top of
the large pile in the tray marked “OUT”,
switched his computer off and stood up.
“Goodbye Gladys, goodbye Gavin,” he said,
“and goodbye April – thanks again for
helping me out with lunch.”
April had said “My pleasure,” and gave him
another smile, so George floated down the stairs
and across the street, clutching his little bag
with the two kiwi fruits inside. He daydreamed
to himself all the way home, again imagining
being out in an exclusive restaurant with April,
exchanging longing glances over a candlelit
dinner with fine wine and soft music in the
background.
He almost skipped home from the station, such
was his mood, and strode into the kitchen,
rolling up his sleeves briskly and whistling to
himself. He took the beefburgers from the
freezer and turned on the grill, and then danced
across the kitchen to the cupboard, where he
took out the packet of bread rolls and the
tomato ketchup. He heard what he thought was
Barbara calling for him, so he sashayed across
the hall and into the living room, whistling as
he went.
“George!!” shouted Barbara, and her face was
red with rage.
“Yes, my love?” asked George, his mood
slightly dampened.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with you this
week,” Barbara spat, “you’ve been
forgetful as hell – do you know I woke up this
morning without my coffee?” George remembered
rushing out that morning after spending longer
than usual on his hair.
“And you can stop whistling and crashing round
the house all the time,” she continued,
“you’ve got nothing to be pleased about. Now
get back into that kitchen and get me my
dinner!”
George walked into the kitchen slightly
crestfallen, but still had the cheeriness to hum
under his breath. He hummed the theme tune to
The Lost Men, which he was looking forward to
watching tonight after missing so much of the
previous episode. He prepared the burgers –
three for Barbara, one for himself, and took
them through to the living room. Barbara
snatched the plate from him without a word.
“Where’s the ketchup?” she asked, opening
up a bun and peering inside. George darted back
into the kitchen and brought the ketchup.
Barbara snatched the ketchup from George,
finishing the bottle before he had chance to use
some on his burger, and cleared her plate
noisily in record time, letting out a huge burp
as she finished.
“Right,” she said, “Now get back in that
kitchen and bring back a big bowl of sherry
trifle. And if you get it wrong this time you
can forget about watching your bloody serial
tonight.”
George picked up her plate and took it through
into the kitchen. She was in a fine mood, he
thought. It was certainly difficult to stay
cheerful with Barbara around to drag you down.
He wondered if there was anything he could do to
cheer her up as he took the trifle out of the
fridge and started to fill a large bowl with a
serving spoon. He was about to take the bowl
through to the living room when he had the idea
to offer Barbara one of the kiwi fruits that he
had been given by April. He took another,
smaller bowl and put two halves of a kiwi fruit
in it, along with a teaspoon. He took both bowls
through to Barbara.
“I thought you might like to try this for a
change,” he said as he handed the smaller bowl
to Barbara. “It’s a kiwi fruit – April, a
new woman from the office gave me one today and
it’s rather nice.”
Barbara took the plate and examined the kiwi
fruit with disgust. She picked up one of the
halves and quickly dropped it back in the bowl.
“Ugh! It’s hairy!” She threw the bowl on
the table, where it landed with a clang.
“Listen George, you know the rules around here
– no menu changes. I don’t care who gave you
these horrible things, in fact I’m not
surprised you got them from such a soft, wet
person with a stupid name like April. I don’t
want to see these hairy, brown, oversized sheep
droppings in this house again. Now go and put
them in the bin this instant! Go!”
George took the plate and returned to the
kitchen, his head bowed as if he were a scorned
child. He took the two kiwi fruit halves from
Barbara’s plate and dropped them in the bin,
then hesitated before adding his own, which he
hadn’t yet sliced in half. There was no point
trying to change things now, he thought. Barbara
was too set in her ways and George didn’t want
to risk upsetting her. Life could be very
unpleasant when Barbara was upset.
In fact, Barbara didn’t say another word to
him all night, such was her annoyance with him.
She only grunted when he helped her up off the
sofa and handed her dressing gown around the
bathroom door and took up her hot chocolate when
she was in bed. He thought that he could finally
relax when she shouted after him just as he was
about to leave the bedroom and go downstairs to
catch The Lost Men.
“George! Now I don’t want any nonsense
tomorrow. I want to wake up tomorrow with my
coffee by the bed, and when you come home I want
my dinner to be made with no whistling or
humming, and no changes. I mean what I say you
know. No new introductions. Are we clear?”
“Yes, love, sorry love,” replied George.
“All understood. Goodnight.” He turned and
went downstairs, glad to be away from her.
Once in the living room he switched on the
television and slumped on the sofa, happy that
he was going to be with The Lost Men again soon.
While he was waiting for his programme to begin,
George found his mind wandering again back to
April and their brief exchange at lunch. He
wondered what tomorrow would be like. Perhaps he
should buy her something to repay her for the
three kiwi fruits she had given him. That got
him thinking. Should he buy her straight
replacements, or something else? Flowers – too
obvious. Chocolates – too obvious again. He
would just have to go to the bakers and choose
something he thought she would like.
The weather report at the end of the news was
just finishing. April would probably ask him if
he had eaten the kiwi fruits that evening, he
thought. Obviously he would have to lie and say
that he had – there was no way he could have
told her what had really happened. He then
thought about the kiwi fruit in the wastebin in
the kitchen. Perhaps he could pick it out and
eat it after all.
George crept into the kitchen and reached into
the wastebin. He felt the furry skin of the kiwi
fruit and took it out. It was half covered with
cream from the trifle leftovers so George ran it
under the tap. He supposed it didn’t matter if
he didn’t get all the cream off, surely the
skin would protect the green fruit underneath.
He dried it with a teatowel and sliced it in
half, and took it into the living room where The
Lost Men was just starting.
George relaxed onto the sofa and ate the kiwi
fruit, savouring every spoonful. It tasted more
succulent and juicy than the one he had eaten
for lunch, and he was glad that April had
introduced him to such an exotic luxury. He
imagined what Barbara would say to him if she
saw him now, eating the fruit that she had
effectively banned from the house. And he
wondered what he would say to her if he was
caught, whether he would stand up to her or
whether he would shrink away and obey her as he
had done so many times before.
Barbara didn’t have to control everything, he
supposed. There were things she didn’t need to
know, things that he could do without her beady
eye on him all the time, judging and criticising
him. She didn’t need to know about this; she
didn’t need to know about George and April.
George and April – that had a certain ring to
it, he thought. Maybe he would buy her a bunch
of flowers after all. And maybe that candlelit
dinner would happen someday soon. George ate
another spoonful and smiled to himself as he
felt his mind begin to wander once more: George
and April walking down the aisle, both beaming
as they were showered with bright confetti by
the hundreds of guests on either side.
Yes, there were some things that George could
enjoy without Barbara’s consent, and it would
begin with small things like the kiwi fruit. He
didn’t know where it would lead, or where it
would end, but he did know that it had
definitely begun.
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