Sunday
I went round to Karen and James’ at lunchtime for James’ legendary roast lamb. We sat and discussed The Husband and what I should do. Karen was very much in favour of me “having it out with him once and for all” but I reasoned that I didn’t have that much to go on - I once saw them leave the gym together and a car that may or may not have been Debbie’s drive into Bruce’s garage. Karen asked me what other signs I had observed that could be a clue. I couldn’t think of any, so we Googled “tell-tale signs that your husband is cheating.” The top five were:
1.Your husband has unexplained absences. No shit Sherlock! Well, he’s always at the gym, playing golf or working late. So nothing unexplained there.
2.He receives and makes anonymous telephone calls. Who makes telephone calls these days - how old was this site?
3.He dresses up when going out. As what? He’s not a tranny... or is he?
4.Your husband has a history of deception. Yes of course he has, he’s a Financial Advisor.
5.If you believe your husband is cheating, he usually is. That’s reassuring.
Not very helpful, but I thought it would be really useful if I could get hold of his iPhone and check his text messages. I’d have to wait until we met up again and then try and have a peek. Karen suggested going through the pockets on the clothes he had left behind in case there were any clues, like receipts for meals, hotels or a pair of frilly knickers. God, how degrading this all was; was I really going to be snooping around my husband’s possessions like some sad sap? I was furious with him for reducing me to this. Or was it my own fault? Had I driven him away, and he’d left because I was so awful to live with? Work-obsessed he’d called me. Did I neglect him? Possibly. Was it because I sometimes sang along to the Go Compare adverts? But as shameful and annoying as that might be, it was no excuse for shagging someone else. If he was shagging someone else. I was going to have to find out the truth, somehow.
The start of another crappy week. I dragged myself into work on Monday morning, my body like concrete. As I’d taken Friday off, I knew my inbox would be overflowing. Brett the Boss had clearly been working over the weekend again as the most recent emails were from him. One was entitled: DIARY CRASH. Oh great. I opened it up, and he’d booked a teleconference for 10.00 today. He didn’t explain what it was about. I already had a meeting scheduled for 10.00, and then was back-to-back for the rest of the day - I’d have to reschedule everything. The Snake slithered over.
“Kate,” she said in a hushed voice, “I don’t really like to say anything,” But you’re going to, “but I thought you should know. When you were off on Friday there were lots of rumours flying around about a big announcement today. You weren’t here to tell us anything and everyone’s really worried about it.”
I looked at Hissing Cyn. Just for once, could she not bring herself to say “Good morning” or “How was your brother’s wedding?” or “How’s your bum for spots?” - anything really, just to show that there was a human heart beating away inside the reptilian skin?
“Good morning to you too, Cynthia,” I said. “I wasn’t here on Friday, which I’m not going to apologise for, as even I’m entitled to a day off. There are other managers on site that you could go to should you ever need help with anything. Now, you’re experienced enough to know that rumours turn out to be exactly that - just rumours.” Except of course, when they turn out to be spot on.
“Well, of course I wasn’t getting involved myself,” that would be a first, “but it was all over Facebook at the weekend. Apparently, one of the sites is definitely closing, and as we’re the smallest, everyone thinks it will be us.”
“Honestly Cyn, I don’t know where these things come from,” I said, crossly. “This sort of gossip just isn’t helpful. I have a meeting with Brett at 10.00 so if there’s anything to be cascaded following that I’ll let you know.”
The Drain came over to join us, looking pale and sweaty. “I haven’t been able to sleep all weekend,” he said. “I’ve been worrying myself sick - what would I do without a job? I’ve got two kids to support. The wife said she can’t do any more hours, not with all her social commitments. She’s just joined a salsa group too, she needs new outfits for it. You wouldn’t believe the cost of them, and then there’s the shoes and-”
“Yes, it would be especially awful for you, wouldn’t it?” said The Snake, rubbing it in. “And it’s so difficult to get another job over a certain age, you just get thrown on the scrap heap in this country, it’s absolutely-”
“Now look,” I stopped her, “this is exactly the sort of scare-mongering we should be avoiding, because it’s so unsettling for everyone. We don’t know anything yet, so until we do, we’ve got to put on a united front for the troops and get on with business as usual. We’ve got customers to look after.”
I sent them away but I was beginning to feel anxious myself. What was going on, were we closing? I went to see Big Andy, and he said it must be the restructure announcement we’d all been waiting for. He’d seen on Facebook that Bridgend thought they would be the site that closed.
I joined Big Andy, Cruella and The Shark in the meeting room at 10.00. They all looked worried, and nobody spoke as we dialled into the teleconference using the bat-phone on the table. The managers from Bridgend were on the line as well. We waited for about five minutes, and then Brett joined the call. He read out a briefing from the Big Cheese in a voice that sounded a bit gruffly, almost like he was purring. Most strange. The briefing informed us that this was a very exciting time for Perypils, with many opportunities to seize competitive advantages over other companies. As he was talking, there was a loud “Meow” in the background followed by a scuffling sound. We all looked at each other. Brett read on, telling us it was necessary to “streamline” our activities, get closer to our customers and make further reductions to our cost base. Was the paper clip amnesty not sufficient, then? So which site was closing? We all held our breath. There was a really loud, prolonged “Meeooooow”. Brett continued to read. The Big Cheese was delighted to announce that there was no current need to reduce the Perypils property portfolio. We all looked at each in delight. No closures! Not yet, at least. Brett took a deep breath, then told us that in order to achieve the key streamlining activities, there would be changes made to the management structure. Uh-oh. He called it “the first stage in creating synergies in the management layers”. There was a brief silence, then a Welsh accent asked: “What the bloody hell does that mean, man?”
“Well,” said Brett, sounding uncomfortable, “what it means is-”. An automated voice told us that “Brett has left the conference”. We waited. He dialled back in. “Sorry, the bloody cat trod on the phone.” Working from home are you? Coward. “Where were we? Oh yes, the synergies. Well, there’s no easy way to say it. There will be a reduction in the number of managers. There’s going to be a new structure across both the Cheltenham and the Bridgend sites, and a selection exercise.”
“So we’ll have to re-apply for our positions?” I asked.
“Yes, well, sort of. The positions will be different, in that they’ll have additional responsibilities.” How could they possibly add any more! “For example, there will be one manager for operations, who’ll look after both sites.”
We all saw the horrified look on The Shark’s face. Brett continued: “There will be just one Finance manager for both sites...” We all looked at Big Andy, who shrugged, “and one manager who’ll look after property policies,” - that’s me - “as well as customer complaints.” That’s Cruella. So the rumours had been true. Cruella and I were going head to head and would compete for the same position. I looked across at her, but she stared resolutely ahead, her witchy eyes black and narrow.
Brett hadn’t finished. “The same exercise is being undertaken between Birmingham and Manchester. All these moves have been agreed by HR and the unions.” Those useless bastards. “You’ll each receive an application form, which HR will email to you later today. These need to be complet
ed by Friday.” This Friday?
There were howls of protest at the short deadline. Brett told us the forms were very simple and straight forward to complete, but he eventually backed down and agreed to give us the weekend as well.
“When will we know if we’ve been successful?” asked Big Andy.
Brett wasn’t sure, he thought it would take several weeks. Someone asked if there would be any options for the unsuccessful applicants. Yes, they can opt to fuck off! Brett hummed and ha’d and waffled, but when pressed, said that he couldn’t rule out forced redundancies. Cruella asked him what he meant by this being the first stage. He said this was “just for these four walls” some hope but that the second stage would be a reduction in the number of team managers. They’d have to go through a similar exercise once the departmental managers had been agreed.
I thought about The Drain. This would crucify him. There was a long silence on the line. Brett said he had to reapply for his role too, so he knew how we were all feeling.
A Welsh voice said “With respect Brett, you don’t know how we are feeling because you’re never around to notice.”
Brett insisted that we were all in this together and told us he was always there for support. Someone at Bridgend snorted.
“There is one last announcement,” said Brett. “And that’s that Amanda Fisher from Cheltenham will be taking up a new position as Kevin’s executive support.” The Climber! She was going to work for The Big Cheese? I couldn’t believe it. Executive support? What did that mean exactly? Was she intending to move to Manchester? The others were all looking at me, but I had no idea, she’d not mentioned a thing to me. Why would she? I’m only her boss after all. How long had she been plotting this, who’d arranged it for her, Brett? Why on earth hadn’t he told me?
Cruella snapped: “Is that a promotion Brett?” He stuttered and stumbled about it being a new “development opportunity” and didn’t directly answer the question.
Someone in Bridgend asked angrily: “How the hell can you be creating a new position when you’ve just told us that half of us will be losing our jobs?”
Brett dodged this question too, saying we needed to focus on how great it was that no sites were to close and it was a real good news story to cascade. He said he appreciated we were “on the change curve” but that he could rely on us to get on with business as usual. No one responded. I think everyone just wanted to throttle him.
Cruella left the room immediately the call finished without speaking. I sat with Big Andy and The Shark as we tried to absorb what we’d just been told. The Shark said his opposite number at Bridgend, who was now his rival, was a good friend of the Chief Executive. He didn’t rate his own chances of getting the job. He was probably right, but I didn’t like to say so. Big Andy thought that they’d already decided who they wanted to give the positions to, so the whole exercise was pointless anyway and he wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it. We all agreed that just having a week to complete the application form was ludicrous and totally unfair.
Cruella came back into the room. “I thought you should know that it’s already on Facebook that we’ve got to apply for our roles and that the Team Managers will be next.” Oh shit. Why had someone done that? People deserved a proper communication from their manager, not Facebook gossip. I went back to my department and called a smug-looking Climber over to my desk.
“Amanda,” I said, “Brett’s just announced that you’re leaving us.”
“Oh, he’s so naughty isn’t he?” she laughed, flicking her hair back. “I wanted to tell you all myself but he’s jumped the gun. Oh well. Yes it’s true, I’ll be leaving in about three weeks I think, unless Kevin needs me sooner.” She laughed again. “And we can’t say no to Kevin can we?” Clearly you didn’t. I had so many questions - what, when, why, how - but I couldn’t be bothered to ask her, and I doubted she’d tell me the truth anyway. I called the other team managers over. They had an abundance of questions about their own positions, but I couldn’t answer any of them. The poor Drain was in a dreadful state, and they were all aghast when the Climber told them that she would be leaving and wasn’t being replaced. TLS George asked who was going to manage her team. I suggested we split it up and share the staff out between the rest of them.
“But that’s another five people each,” said The Snake in dismay. “How are we supposed to cope?”
Only The Rock asked me how I was feeling. I decided to be honest and said I didn’t know. I was in a bit of a lose-lose situation - either I’d have double the workload or I was out of a job altogether. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
The Climber trilled, “Oh never mind you lot, if it gets too bad here I’ll try and find you all a job in Manchester!” The Snake fixed her with her cold eyes. I sensed a strike was imminent.
“I don’t remember seeing that job advertised,” she said icily, “What exactly did you have to do to get that position - under Kevin?”
The Climber ignored the insinuation.
“Well Cynthia, Kevin has wanted me to work for him for some time now, well, since he met me and was so impressed that he’s been looking for the right development opportunity for me. Obviously he wasn’t going to advertise it as he only wanted me for that position.” Which, missionary?
I could feel a scene brewing, so I quickly said we faced a difficult time ahead and we needed to stick together and support one another through it. I did manage to make them laugh by telling them about Brett’s cat joining in the managers’ teleconference and cutting him off. The Climber didn’t laugh.
“But Brett hasn’t got a cat.”
I suggested he may have been looking after it for someone. She still looked concerned, and The Snake, never one to miss a trick added:
“I think Lisa Hewitt has a cat. Do you think he could have been staying at her house?” The Climber went the colour of a thundercloud, so I called time on the meeting, promising to keep them updated with any new announcements.
Back at my desk, my email inbox was overflowing. HR had emailed the application form to the managers, but no one could open it, triggering a whole chain of emails between HR and numerous managers. My head was buzzing. I had a whole string of meetings planned in for the rest of the day, so there wasn’t time to think. I’d think on the drive home.
Monday evening
HR still hadn’t been able to send an “openable” version of the application form so I didn’t know what information was required. I was in a quandary - apply for a role I didn’t want, or take a bullet and ask for redundancy. I hadn’t worked out what redundancy sum I would get, but I’d been with Perypils for twelve years, so it would probably be enough to keep us ticking over until I found another job. If I could find another job. I really needed to discuss this with the Husband, but it was so difficult, given our situation. What a time for this to happen! What if he didn’t want to come back? I couldn’t afford the mortgage on my own and I wouldn’t even be able to rent somewhere if I didn’t have a job. Oh God, what a nightmare.
When I got home, I received a text from “The Best Man”:
“Great to see you again on Sat. Don’t forget to get me that quote. Give us a call if you need details. Kieron.”
I was impressed - he hadn’t used any text-talk, and he’d used punctuation and capital letters! A man after my own heart. I made a note to get a quote for him tomorrow. I didn’t feel like eating anything, so poured myself a generous vodka and tonic. I picked up my phone to call the Husband and tell him about my job situation. Just as I did so, my phone pinged and a text came in from him:
“Hi there, hope u have recovered from the w/e! Just to let u know that Bruce will not be back until 15th next month so I will stay on here till then. Hope thats ok with u. I picked up some stuff I needed this morning. C u soon.”
Oh no, the iPad! I’d forgotten to take it to work with me this morning. I rushed into the study, but it had gone. He’d taken it. You bastard. I burst into tears and sat sobbing on the floor of the s
tudy. I wanted to crawl under the desk, curl up and stay there. I had been expecting him to return this weekend, now he wouldn’t be back for another two weeks. How could he just send a text? Why didn’t he have the decency to phone me? What a cowardly bastard. Was she there with him? I began to wonder if I really knew him at all.
Sobs subsided and were replaced by anger. What the hell was I doing sat blubbing on the floor? Get up and fight! I was going to have it out with him. I grabbed my bag and car keys, almost changed my mind when I remembered there was a double edition of Corrie on, but decided I could watch it on ITV 1 + 2 + 2.
It took me a good forty five minutes to get across town and reach Bruce’s house, which was situated at the end of a rather grand avenue. The Husband’s car was parked in front of the house - good, he was there. I just drove straight in. The double-fronted garage was closed, and I jumped up at the windows to see if I could spot another car in there, but it was too dark to see.
I pressed the doorbell and could hear its pretentious chimes tinkling inside the house. The Husband came to the door. He did not look too pleased to see me.
“Oh, hello,” he said “What are you doing here?”
“Well now, let me see,” I started, trying to keep calm. “One, I’m still your wife, believe it or not, two, you’ve texted your wife to say you’re not coming back for another two weeks and you couldn’t even be bothered to phone, three, you think you can just come back to the house and take things without any consideration for me-”
“Right, come in, come inside.” He ushered me in, glancing around outside anxiously in case any of his snooty neighbours heard raised voices and called their friends in MI5.
Bruce’s house was something to behold - beautiful oak-panelled flooring, fancy modern art sculptures, Paul Smith rugs. I caught sight of myself in one of the mirrors in the hallway - oh dear. My mascara had run during my crying fit and I quickly scrubbed at my face as The Husband led the way into a shiny stainless-steel kitchen. I could see that he had left his mark, with stains on the work surfaces and dirty mugs queued up at the sink waiting for the mug fairy to wash them. There was the bloody iPad propped up on the breakfast bar!
I perched on one of the bar stools and faced him. He looked uncomfortable, and leant on the breakfast bar, saying rather vaguely “Er, would you like a coffee or something?” his tone implying ‘you’re not intending to stay long are you?’
I declined. I was looking round for traces that a woman was there or had been there - a handbag perhaps, or a pair knickers hanging on the radiator. I couldn’t see anything obvious.
“Right,” I said, taking a deep breath, “I want to know what’s going on and I want the truth. I was expecting you to come home at the weekend and I’m pissed off that you texted a casual message to say you wouldn’t be back for another fortnight - you couldn’t even be bothered to call me. How do you think I’m feeling about all of this? You just don’t seem to care at all about my feelings. You come back to the house when you knew I wouldn’t be there, and pinch the bloody iPad which, alright, I know technically is yours, but I told you I really needed-”
“Whoa,” he broke in, “I haven’t pinched the bloody iPad, what are you talking about? Don’t tell me you’ve lost it!”
“What’s that then?” I demanded, pointing at the iPad sat innocently between us on the breakfast bar.
“I bought myself another one,” he said. “I thought that was the most sensible thing to do as we both needed one.”
“You bought another one?” So where the hell is mine? Oh God, it’s probably in the bedroom or something. “But they’re about five hundred quid! You should have discussed it with me first. Why didn’t you?”
He got defensive. “It’s my money,” he said snootily. “I got a sales bonus last month, so I used that. I work bloody hard for it you know, it’s not easy in this economic climate. We are in a recession - perhaps you hadn’t noticed.”
You patronising twat.
“Well, when I got my last bonus, can you recall what I spent it on?” I asked him. He clearly couldn’t remember. “Bloody fence panels!” I spat. “So you’re quite happy that I spend my bonus on us, on our house, but you’re not going to do the same with your bonus, you’re just going to spend it on yourself? Do you think that I didn’t work hard for my bonus, too?”
“Oh yes, well, we all know how hard you work, don’t we?” he said, throwing his hands up in the air. Who’s “we”? Who was he talking to? “You’re always ramming it down our throats. You’ve always got your head in your lap top, you don’t get home till God knows what time, we can’t go out at weekends because you’re ‘catching up’, (He actually made the speech signs with his hands, the wanker) “and you’re always complaining that you’re tired. I don’t know why you still do the job, you obviously hate it and it makes you, well, you know...” He tailed off.
“No, go on, it makes me what?”
“Irrational,” he said, triumphantly. “It makes you behave like this - turning up here, in a state, accusing me of stealing from you. You’re so ungrateful! I spent my weekend taking you to that bloody awful family wedding of yours, and I couldn’t even have a drink when, God knows, I bloody well needed one. Having to read that ridiculous poem.... It just proves the point that we could use a bit more time apart, give us both a bit of space, just like I said in the first place. And you agreed.” No I bloody didn’t. I realised I’d played right into his hands, I was on the back foot.
“I didn’t accuse you of stealing, don’t exaggerate. And my job might not be a problem for much longer. I’ve got to reapply for my shitty job and if I don’t get it, I’ll probably be made redundant.” He looked shocked. I told him that it was me versus Cruella and I didn’t much rate my chances.
“Bloody hell,” he said rubbing his chin, and I could see his mind racing. What was he thinking - how would we afford the mortgage, or how would I cope if he left me, or if he would be entitled to some of my redundancy payout? Was he already thinking of ways he could spend it?
“You’re better than this other person though, surely?” he asked. “She sounds like she hasn’t got any people skills at all.”
“She hasn’t,” I agreed, “but I don’t think that Perypils particularly want managers with people skills anymore. They want bullying, hard-nosed, humourless bastards, and she wins hands down on that front.”
There was a silence between us. I decided I may as well get it all off my chest.
“Has Debbie been here?”
The Husband looked surprised. “Why do you ask that?” Did he look a bit shifty?
“Just answer the question.”
He stood up straight and folded his arms. “Yes, she’s been round a couple of times,” he said, looking at me directly. “She’s a friend, why shouldn’t she call round?”
“Does Paul come with her, and Chloë?” I asked, watching him closely.
“Now look,” he said impatiently. “This is ridiculous. Debs is a work colleague and friend, nothing else. I’ve told you that before, you’re being ridiculous.” He got on his high horse. “And quite frankly, offensive.”
I stuck to my guns. “So, from that answer, I guess she comes round on her own.” I nodded to myself. “I see. Does she stay the night here?”
He exploded. “This is insane! You need to have a serious word with yourself Kate - you turn up here looking like Alice Cooper, and first off you accuse me of stealing from you, then you tell me you might be losing your job and now you’re accusing me of sleeping with someone else! You’re off your head. No, for your information, she doesn’t stay the night. She’s a respectable married woman. With a child.” He turned and started to rummage in the massive American fridge-freezer, possibly searching for some beer or was he hiding his face? “Honestly,” he said, slamming the door when he couldn’t find what he was looking for, “we really need this time apart, I’m glad Bruce has delayed his return - in fact I’m relieved. You need to sort your head out, you really do.”
<
br /> “Ah, I knew it would all be my fault,” I said, getting up from the stool. “For your information, Debbie was seen turning up here very late one night, so you’ll have to excuse me being a bit, what did you call it? ‘Off my head’, as I thought that was quite unusual behaviour for someone who was just a colleague - and a friend.” That wasn’t exactly true, but I wanted to see his reaction. I thought I saw him flounder momentarily, but he quickly recovered his self-righteous indignation.
“Well, whoever it was who thought they saw something was clearly mistaken. Debs doesn’t turn up here late at night, who said she did?”
“Facebook,” I said wearily. This wasn’t true either, but I wanted him to spend the rest of his night fruitlessly searching through the hundreds of banal, pointless comments of his Facebook friends, in the attempt to find something incriminating.
I started to leave. “Perhaps you’ll do me the courtesy of phoning when you’re next coming to the house; or coming back home or staying here for good,” I said sarcastically. “It would be quite nice to know. And in turn I’ll let you know if I’ve still got a job or not - you know, just small little issues that we need to talk about, thankfully nothing too significant.”
I’d reached the front door and wrenched it open. He’d followed me, but didn’t say anything. I drove home feeling wretched. The anger had gone, and I was beginning to feel I’d made a right fool of myself.
I phoned Karen when I got in and relayed the conversation to her. I told her I hadn’t seen any evidence of Debbie at the house. She snorted:
“Well of course you wouldn’t, Paul’s back from Japan. She’ll be at home playing happy families. Shall we go and have it out with her? I bet you anything Paul doesn’t know she’s been round there while he’s been away.”
It was tempting, but I couldn’t face it. I could still be completely wrong, and at this rate I was going to end up looking like a psycho. They’d have me sectioned, handing an easy victory to Cruella. Perhaps The Husband was right – maybe I was irrational, insane, off my head. That made me think about my mother - she had her doctor’s appointment tomorrow. I thought about phoning to wish them luck, but stopped myself, it was getting a bit late now. I hunted around the house and eventually found the iPad under the Next Directory. Oh well. Might as well order myself something I don’t really need while I can still afford to.
Chapter Twenty-Six