‘I was only off for two days,’ I said as soon as I sat down in his office. There was a picture of a golden retriever on his desk. His best friend.
He shook his head slowly. ‘This isn’t about your sick leave, Alex. Everybody’s entitled to go off sick from time to time. Even I had a day off last year, when I had that infection.’
I waited. I was starting to get a bad feeling.
He folded his arms, a classic defensive gesture. Bad news was coming. The kind of news that made him fear that I might attack him. Even just seeing him then, this ‘oh isn’t it awful being a manager when we could be great mates on the outside?’ look on his stupid face, I did feel like slapping him. Punching his fucking nose through the back of his head.
‘We’ve had a report from the IT department that you broke one of our most important rules, Alex. We know that…’ he closed his eyes, as if the very concept of what he was about to say, this thing that I’d done, was too awful for him to bear. ‘We know that you looked up a customer’s personal records.’
I didn’t speak.
And I don’t even want to recount the rest of it. I don’t want to have to write about how a random spot-check had revealed that I had taken an unauthorised look at a customer’s details. How the call-monitoring computers confirmed that this customer hadn’t called that day. How the IT department recorded every message that we sent from our email accounts and that they knew I had pasted this customer’s details into a message and sent it home.
How he had no option but to let me go. With immediate effect.
And I certainly don’t want to recount the details of how I asked him, as he sat there with his arms still folded, unable to meet my eye, what the hell I was supposed to do to pay the bills now. How a cold sickness crept through me at the thought of being jobless and having no money. I couldn’t believe that I’d been caught on the spot-check . . . It wouldn’t surprise me if Martin had told IT to monitor everything I did because of my recent poor stats, so the bastards would have an excuse to get rid of me.
But I have to face it. How will I pay my rent? How will I eat? The only bright spot is that – thank God – I paid for Siobhan’s writing classes up front.
I left Martin’s office and pushed open the double doors to the main office, feeling, once again, all those eyes burning into me. Jackie avoided my eye too. What is it with these people? Why are they so gutless? Suddenly, I was an embarrassment, something that made them feel awkward. I was a failure and they wanted me gone.
I pulled open the drawer of the pedestal beneath my desk and began clearing out the contents. There wasn’t much in there. A couple of books, a computer magazine, scrappy paperwork, stationery. I found a carrier bag and scooped this pitiful selection into it. Then I turned round to find Sally, the girl who sat next to me, staring at me.
She asked me what had happened. I told her.
‘They just wanted to get rid of me, and this was their excuse, this cock and bull story.’
‘If you didn’t do it, you should fight them. Surely it’s unfair dismissal?’
I sighed. I didn’t want to tell her that it was all true. I was too ashamed.
I picked up my carrier bag and left, suddenly desperate to get out of there, not able to bear any of it, hearing my mum’s voice in the back of my head, saying, F-A-I-L-U-R-E – that’s what you are and what you’ll always be.
Fuck her. Fuck the job. Fuck them all. I don’t need them. I’ll show them. Because I’ve found somebody to love now. That will give me strength. And think how much more time I’ll have now! This is a blessing. Sure, it’s pretty heavily disguised, but that’s what it is. It’s another sign, isn’t it? A sign that I should devote more of my time to my own happiness. And to Siobhan.
My head was whirling when I left the building, handing in my pass to the security guard on the way out. All these terrors and emotions spiralled through my mind: money, revenge, bitterness, relief, confusion, anger… Spin, spin, lifting me up and slamming me down, making me dizzy and nauseous. And emerging from all this mental noise was a single thought:
I wanted to see Siobhan. I wanted to be close to her.
I was like a moth that had been battered by the weather, and was bewildered and lost. But one thing was clear – the urge to follow my instinct. To head towards Siobhan’s light.
I put my hand in my pocket and felt the key: solid, warm, like a talisman. It gave me strength. It made me feel safe.
I didn’t go straight towards Hampstead, though. First, I came back here. I needed coffee and cigarettes. And there was stuff I wanted to take care of first.
I called Simon’s name as soon as I came through the door, knowing that I was going to have to break the news to him. On the way home I’d stopped at the bank and checked my balance. I had enough to see me through a month and that was it. I’m so crap at saving. There’d been the new computer (and I can’t sell that; I need it to write this journal and my pieces for college, for Siobhan) and my half of all the bills… and the rent here is so bloody high and my wages so pathetic that it didn’t leave me anything to save anyway.
Simon wasn’t in, which was a big relief. I came straight to my room and sat down at the PC, logging straight onto the Web. First, I subscribed Martin to a load of hardcore porn sites. I found these really disgusting coprophagia sites and added his email address to their mailing lists as well. I added Jackie’s too, for good measure. Well, they enjoy crapping on people, don’t they? I felt it was apt. Even if I did make myself feel really sick.
I tried to think of something bigger I could do – something that would really fuck them up… and then realised I couldn’t be bothered. The sick subscriptions were enough – for now, anyway. What’s the point in trying to get further revenge? It will make me feel good for a few minutes, and then it will fade and I’ll still be in the same place. I felt really mature and virtuous coming to that decision. Siobhan would be proud of me.
I wish I could have been there to see her face when she saw the flowers I left her. She must be so intrigued. I can imagine her talking about it with her girlfriends, excitedly wondering aloud who her mysterious admirer is. But she’s so clever, I’m sure it won’t be long before she works it out. And by then she’ll be hooked. She’ll be mine. But before that, I can’t risk telling her how I feel; can’t risk her rejection. Not that it matters too much. Because in the meantime I can still be close to her.
I’ve just had a horrible thought. What if my employer – or should I say former employer – contacts Siobhan to tell them I looked up her records? I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t want a customer to know that their details were not 100% secure. But there’s a chance they might. They might have a legal requirement to do it, to warn her.
Maybe I should talk to her first. Explain why I did it. Because if they tell her it will make me look bad and she might kick me off the course.
I left the flat and headed towards her light. London felt so grey and cruel today, a dry wind blowing between the buildings where all the drones laboured away, chained to their workstations, and for what? I’m not a drone any more – and, thinking that, I felt liberated, momentarily free of my worries. The sky might be dim, the buildings may be bleak, but there’s beauty in this city. And I was going to be near it.