Who do you think you are - Chapter 1

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

Chapter 1

         

For the last few minutes Mark had noticed the sound of traffic outside increasing to a steady growl.  He heard the office door open behind him.

         ‘Morning Mark,’ said Janice.

         ‘Hi Janice,’ said Mark.

        ‘Been here long?’

        ‘Yeah, couple of hours.’

        ‘What? How come? It’s Friday; time to start winding down surely?’

        ‘Unfortunately it’s also the Board meeting.’

        ‘Oh God, is that today? How do you feel?’

        ‘Terrified and inadequate, mainly.’

        An hour and a half later he began the walk from the lift to the boardroom, on the top floor. As he opened the door his stomach gurgled loudly. Sitting around the long table were twenty or so people, mostly men, all in suits. They turned towards him as he entered.  At the far end of the table was the Chief Executive, George Brewington.

         ‘Glad you could join us Mark, we were just getting to your department.’

         ‘Oh, right, good.’

        Mark walked to the front of the room where the projector and laptop were set up.

         ‘If you’ll just give me a moment,’ he said bending down to the computer and inserting his memory stick. The room waited silently as he searched for his presentation. He began awkwardly, coughing several times when his voice faltered. It was financial information, graphs, charts and bullet points. When he got to the sales figures he was interrupted.

         ‘Mark, hold it there will you, what is that?’ said Brewington.

         ‘Sorry, that’s the monthly sales by region.’

         ‘No it isn’t.’

         ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

         ‘Well I’ve got my figures here, straight from the Finance Director and they’re not the same, how do you explain that?’

         ‘Er, I don’t know, really, maybe there’s been a mistake.’

         ‘Obviously, obviously, well carry on anyway.’

         Mark stumbled through the rest of the presentation.

         ‘So are there any questions?’

         ‘Yes,’ said Brewington, ‘when will you get back to us about the discrepancies?’

         ‘Well…’

         ‘Look, why don’t you go now and get on with it and bring us back an answer before we finish at midday?’

         ‘Right OK.’

         Mark removed his memory stick, closed his case and left the room, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. Back down in his office he told them what happened.

         ‘That Brewington’s an arsehole Mark; don’t let him get to you,’ said Janice.

         Mark was standing next to his desk talking to her. In his right hand he turned the memory stick over and over as they spoke.

         ‘Thanks, I know, but I felt like a right idiot.’

         He sat down at his desk to check the figures when the door opened.

‘Gerald, how’s it going?’

         ‘I’m good Mark, you?’

         ‘Don’t ask, I’ve just been in the board meeting.’

         ‘Enough said.’

      Gerald wandered down to his desk in the far right corner of the office. It was surrounded by plants; several cacti, a spider plant and various ferns. He checked each in turn, pulling off dead leaves, adjusting positions and watering where necessary before finally sitting down and taking off his cycle clips

         Mark looked at Janice and they both smiled before he turned back to the screen. It didn’t take long to see where he’d made the mistake. Once he’d changed the page of the report he printed it out and took it back to the boardroom. He had to wait silently while Brewington finished his own presentation.

         ‘Ah, Mark, I presume …’

         ‘Yes, sorry, there was an error. These are the correct figures.’

        Mark walked round the table distributing the revised pages then quickly left the room taking the lift straight down to the ground floor. He went straight out for lunch, circling behind the high street to the local park where he sat silently on a bench for half an hour before heading for the Deli. He bought a triple-decker, all day breakfast, sandwich and two chocolate croissants then ambled back towards the office. As he approached the building he saw someone pressing the buzzer repeatedly.

         ‘Hi there, I don’t think that’s working. Can I…’

         ‘Mark?’

         ‘I’m sorry…’

         ‘It’s Mark Williams isn’t it?’

         ‘Er, yes…’

         ‘Gavin, Gavin Fisher, from school.’

         ‘Oh, yes, Gavin. Sorry, didn’t recognise you.’

         ‘Not a problem. So do you work here then?’

         ‘Yeah, I do. What are you doing here?’

        ‘I’m working here, well starting today anyway.’

        ‘You’re kidding?’

        ‘No, I’m installing a new security system.’

        ‘Oh, right. Sounds good,’ said Mark opening the door and letting Gavin in.

        ‘Listen Gavin, I’m not being rude but I have to rush off. I’ll just show you where the reception is.’

        ‘OK, thanks.’

        Mark walked him to the reception desk before making his apologies and leaving. He left Gavin with one of his business cards and told him to give him a ring so they could have a beer. He left the office that evening bang on 5.  When he arrived home he went straight to the cellar room and set up the pool table. After a few poor shots in a row he went upstairs to shower and change.   



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         The bus into town was always difficult, especially on a Friday night. He sat upstairs, behind an elderly couple. The man was wearing a blue plastic Mac and matching rain hat. He had long sideburns that almost met under his chin and eyes like Marty Feldman. The woman was quite conservatively dressed, a light brown overcoat with a fur collar, black trousers and sensible shoes.          

         ‘Will it rain later do you think’, she asked Marty.

         ‘Do I look like the weather man?’ he asked.

         ‘There’s no need for that tone now is there Arthur, I was only asking’, she said.

         ‘I don’t understand what you mean by only.’

         ‘I’m not talking to you if you’re going to be like this.’

         ‘I’m just saying, what do you mean, can you explain what you mean by only asking. You were asking, that’s what you were doing isn’t it, you were asking, there’s no only about it.’

         ‘Shut up Arthur, just shut up.’

         They had been whispering but the ‘shut up’ had been quite loud. A few people from the front looked round.

         Arthur-Marty stood up gesticulating at them.

         ‘What are you looking at? Keep your bloody noses out.’

         A teenage girl responded.

         ‘Shut ya mouth you weirdo.’

         ‘Don’t you talk to me like that.’

         ‘What you gonna do about it you fucking freak.’

         ‘How dare you.’

         ‘Arthur, sit down, you’re making a fool of yourself.’

         ‘Yeah, sit down Arthur and take that stupid hat off.’

         It became clear that the girl was not alone as three or four others all laughed and joined in.

         ‘Yeah Arthur’

         Arthur sat down.

         ‘Just ignore them Arthur,’ said his companion, putting her hand on his shoulder.

         Arthur shrugged it off.

         ‘Don’t touch me’.

         ‘Ha ha, don’t touch me’ echoed the teenage girl to guffaws from her friends.

         Mark wanted to intervene but knew things would get out of hand. He’d be rolling about on the floor with the teenage girl; she’d be pulling his hair and her friends would be kicking him. Or, he’d walk down to the kids when they refused to be quiet and cuff each of them round the head. At that point two large men from the back of the bus would stand up. One of them would say,          

         ‘Oi, did you just hit my sister?’ and they’d run towards him. Mark would just have enough time to run downstairs and off the bus to the sound of their jeering.          

         ‘Afraid of a few kids!’

        ‘Run sissy, run.’

         Maybe he would get tough, march to front of the bus and grab one of the teenagers by the arm,

         ‘Get off the bus, now and don’t ever let me see you harassing anyone again you little shit.’

         She would start crying, her mates would run down to the driver and people would start looking at him and tutting. Suddenly, he’d be the bad guy. The police would be called and he’d spend several hours at the police station before being released with a caution.

         Fortunately the kids got off at the next stop and all that happened was that a few more insults were hurled at the old couple, and one of them spat ineffectually towards them.

         

        ‘Little shits,’ said Dave in the pub. ‘What did you do? Did you say anything?’

         ‘I didn’t,’ said Mark.

         ‘I know, I know,’ said Rob, ‘what can you do?’

         ‘Exactly’ said Mark.

         They were in a loud pub in the high street. It was full up but they had managed to get a seat in the corner.

         ‘So Dave, how hard was it this time, the seat saving?’ said Mark.

         ‘Mainly easy but I did have to contend with a pregnant woman and a large shouty group of rugby players. No one said anything to me but there were a lot of glances at the chairs; that’s when I employed the book, it works perfectly. Anyway, I’ve handed my notice in, today,’ Dave said.

         ‘You’ve done it? Fantastic, what’s next on the agenda then mate?’ said Mark.

         ‘I’m having three months of doing sod all, or doing whatever I feel like, then I start work.’

         ‘On the film?’ said Rob.

         ‘Yes siree,’ said Dave.

         ‘That’s so cool’ said Mark.

         ‘I can’t really believe it myself to be honest. When it gets nearer the time I’ll probably start crapping myself. In the meantime though, I am on holiday!’

         ‘You gonna go anywhere?’ asked Rob.

         ‘Don’t know yet, I’m just going to see what happens. Listen though, what are the chances of you guys getting any time off, even a week or two, it would be brilliant. We could maybe take the camper van somewhere or even just stay at home and get pissed every day?’

         ‘I’d love to but it’s a really busy time at work at the moment,’ said Mark.

         ‘Jesus Mark! You hate that job don’t you?’

         ‘Yeah I do, but I need the money mate, you know what its like?’

         ‘Well, yeah, kind of, but I also know that if you really want to you can wangle a week off. What about you Rob?’

         ‘I’m saving for the wedding mate. It’s doing my head in to be honest but every spare penny has to go towards it. Plus, I’m taking off three weeks for the honeymoon,’ said Rob.

         ‘I suppose you’ve got a good excuse, but for God’s sake, I want to spend some time with my mates, it’s a pain in the arse. You sure you can’t get any time off Mark?’

         ‘Let me have a think. I pissed off a few people this week so I need to play it careful. Let me work on it though, give me a week or so and I’ll try and do something, OK?’ said Mark.

         ‘Yeah OK, OK, see what you can do,’ said Dave.

         ‘Changing the subject slightly,’ said Mark, ‘who remembers Gavin Fisher?’

         ‘Who?’ said Dave.

         ‘Rob? Any idea?’ said Mark.

         Rob shook his head.

         ‘OK, think of school.’

         ‘School, Jesus, I can’t remember anyone from school. I’ve not kept in touch with anyone, apart from you two obviously,’ said Dave.

         ‘Nor me,’ said Rob.

        ‘I don’t think we ever hung around with him to be honest. I felt a bit bad though, he recognised me. I sort of remembered him as he was talking, but he looks so different.’

        ‘Really?’ said Dave. ‘Not wearing the shorts and blazer anymore then?’

        ‘No, well, just the blazer, no, what I mean is, he used to be this skinny weedy little bloke with glasses. He’s huge now and broad,’ said Mark squaring his shoulders and clenching his fists.

        ‘You didn’t give him the old “haven’t you grown?” did you?’ said Dave.

        ‘No, I’m not an auntie.’

        ‘I don’t remember him, sorry,’ said Dave. Rob shook his head.

         ‘Anyway, he was coming into the building all suited up when I saw him,’ said Mark.

         ‘What for, what’s he doing there?’ said Dave.

         ‘I’m not entirely sure but it’s some sort of consultancy or something. So anyway, I gave him my number, so you might be meeting him.’

         ‘What if he’s a twat though, you’ve given him your number now?’ said Dave.

         ‘It’ll be fine,’ said Mark. ‘But, you’re coming along too, just in case it’s a bit weird or awkward?’

         ‘Do I make you feel safe?’ said Dave.

         ‘You know it big man. OK, who wants a drink?’

         Mark joined the throng at the bar. It was a long bar but for some reason there was only one person serving and he seemed new and nervous.



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        The first thing Gerald did arriving home from work, was check and water his many plants. He spent at least twenty minutes wandering round the house, touching and greeting each one. Usually, this would help him to unwind. Today it didn’t work so he went out into the back garden, once he’d finished watering, and sat under the large beech tree in the middle of the lawn, muttering.

         ‘I don’t know why they have to treat people like this, I really don’t.’

         That afternoon he’d been introduced to Fergus. Fergus, apparently, was his new boss. When Alfred had retired last month, Gerald had wondered about applying for his job. He’d worked there for eighteen years and thought he could manage it now.

         ‘It’s not his fault, he’s probably a nice bloke,’ Gerald muttered, ‘it’s Brewington, he’s a complete shit and that’s all there is to it.’

         Later in the kitchen Gerald burnt the béchamel sauce he was making for the Lasagne. He scraped it into the bin and made a decision.

        ‘I don’t care if it’s bad for me, I’m having fish and chips tonight,’ he announced. With that he went out to the shed, to get his bike, and cycled off. The chip shop was a couple of miles away and mostly up hill. Gerald was frowning and muttering as he pumped and peddled his way up. By the time he got to the chip shop he felt a little better, and on the way home even managed a few ‘Whees!’ as he freewheeled down the hill.

         Sitting in front of the telly with his giant slippers on and a full stomach he came to a decision. He turned to the Mexican cheese plant,

        ‘I can’t let this get to me can I? I have to let it go. Maybe it’ll be all right. Maybe this Fergus will be a decent sort. He is a bit young, but maybe he’ll be a nice bloke.’