Lessons in Love

‘You know I’ve wondered for weeks what those stains were on your sofa.’

There was a very interesting pause and then Steve gathered himself together and said, ‘Well, the thing is—’

But Jane was ahead of him. ‘The thing is I could probably understand it happening once, Steve. It’s the regular Wednesday evenings ever since that are proving a little more problematic.’

‘Ah…’

And then Jane had trashed the flowers, popped the balloon and offered if he said pwease to insert the bear into the orifice of Steve’s choice. He said she was being unreasonable.

Being in a state of shock, Jane hadn’t thought to ask him about Carol and Anna. Maybe she should. Maybe she could send an email memo to her whole ‘at work’ mailing list asking for more details. Lucy said that she had pictures if Jane needed any further proof. The cow.

Meanwhile it was still Monday morning and despite thoughts of Steve, on the far side of the desk Mrs Findlay, big in internal human resources, was still talking.

‘…So I do hope you understand our position in this, Jane. I have to say we’ll all be awfully sad to see you go.’

Jane looked up at her in amazement. ‘What?’

‘I realise that it may come as a bit of shock but we’re all aware that you’re an extremely talented individual, Jane. I’m certain that it won’t take you long to find another position. Let’s look at this current situation positively—and rest reassured that we will be doing our very best to help you in your search to find another position while you’re working out your notice. There may very well be something coming up within your present department. Who knows? I’ve had Maureen in the front office run off a list of current County Council situations vacant for you and we have prepared a very useful pack for members of staff who find themselves in this situation.’ Mrs Findlay pulled a cheery yellow and navy-blue folder out from a box on the floor.

‘What?’ Jane said again, staring at her. ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean, I’ve got the sack? You were just telling me that I was the best thing since sliced bread. And then you follow that up by telling me I’m sacked? It’s ridiculous—I’m really good at my job so you’re going to get rid of me? How the hell do you expect me to look at that positively?’

Mrs Findlay’s contorted expression took professional concern to new and dizzying heights. ‘I have to say, Jane, that “sacked” is really not a term I’m very happy with. But, yes, I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go.’ She held up her hands, in a ‘what can I do?’ gesture.

‘I’m not a seal being released back into the wild.’

Mrs Findlay looked pained. ‘There’s really no need to take that attitude, Jane. You must understand that I find this part of my job terribly stressful and very difficult.’

If she was going for the sympathy vote Mrs Findlay had picked the wrong moment. Jane stared at her; some sort of weird benign touchy-feely PC sacking on top of Steve Burney’s very public infidelity was just about the final straw.

‘My heart bleeds for you,’ snapped Jane. ‘So what happened to how impressed you were with what I’ve done for the department?’

Determinedly Mrs Findlay held her ground. ‘Sometimes, Jane, we need to prune a tree to ensure its continued healthy growth and when we prune a tree, some of the wood, sometimes even some of the new vigorous wood, has to be cut away. But I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that we’ve decided to adopt some of your wonderfully innovative ideas, structure them into our working practice in a more permanent way.’ She paused while Jane took a moment to catch up. ‘We’ve asked Lucy to head the project up. You know Lucy.’

Jane stared at her. ‘Lucy? Lucy Stroud?’

‘Yes, I thought you’d be pleased. She holds you in very high esteem. Recently she’s expressed a real interest in developing community links. We all thought she was a natural choice. And she comes highly recommended.’

Somewhere in Jane’s head a pile of pennies dropped noisily. ‘By Steve Burney?’ she whispered, through clenched teeth.

‘I couldn’t possibly comment on that,’ said Mrs Findlay, gathering Jane’s file together. No, of course she couldn’t; she didn’t need to, it was written all over her face. ‘Now with regards to passing the baton, we’ll need to discuss her shadowing you—’

‘Really?’ said Jane, standing up.

‘I didn’t think you’d mind,’ said Mrs Findlay, obviously pleased with how well it had all gone.

‘Well, you thought wrong,’ said Jane.

The self-help pack was entitled ‘So You’ve Lost Your Job? What Next?’. Inside the front cover in a flowery font that was probably meant to look like it was handwritten from a favourite aunt, it read, ‘You know, it really helps to look at this as a positive step. We have to see this as a fresh start, a chance to explore our potential, rather than taking a negative attitude.’

‘Bollocks we do,’ said Jane darkly, stuffing the shiny plastic folder into the fish tank as she marched out.

By the lift Jane stopped to pick up three empty cardboard cartons from the janitor’s cupboard and then headed back up to the fourth floor. She didn’t cry, she couldn’t find the way into any more tears, adrenalin and shock holding everything tight inside her. In fact, Jane felt so numb that she wondered if she might be dreaming.

It took around fifteen minutes to clear her desk and sort the last year of her life into neat piles and a couple of rubbish bags. Jane looked at her pot plant and the boxes. There was no way she was going to get home on the bus with all this lot, so when she’d done, Jane stacked everything onto a book trolley, picked up the phone, pressed 9 for an outside line and called a cab on the library account, booking it down to Lucy Stroud.

Bad news travels fast. No one looked her in the eye as she walked back out through the office, no one spoke in the lift on the way down to the foyer, or offered to help her on the long walk through to the main front doors. It was almost as if she had the plague and they might catch it if they stood too close.

She was barely at the kerb when the cab rolled up. ‘Creswell Close?’ said the driver, leaning over towards the open passenger-side window.

‘Road,’ she said firmly.

‘Right you are.’ He nodded and got out to help load her possessions into the boot.

‘Jane?’

She swung round. Heading across the pedestrianised area in front of the library was Lizzie, who had worked with her, and Cal from the office next door, and two or three others, all looking slightly uncomfortable and—it had to be said—shifty, every few seconds gazing back over their shoulders in case there was some chance they were being watched.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Lizzie, putting her arms around Jane. ‘I was in a meeting. We didn’t know, we had no idea. Are you OK?’

Jane nodded. ‘Bit shell-shocked but I’ll survive. And don’t look so worried. There’s nothing you could do, was there?’

Lizzie stared glumly at the boxes. ‘I thought it was going really well. I like working with you. I didn’t realise that we had to leave straight away.’

Jane looked at her; the ‘we’ sounded too prophetic for her liking. ‘We? Do you think you’ll be going too?’

Lizzie shrugged. ‘Who knows? It’s a bit like Russian roulette, isn’t it? I mean, how are they choosing who goes and who stays? One minute you’re busy planning what sandwich you’re going to have for lunch and then Bang. Out. Karen Marshall’s ended up on the mobile out at Fleetley on the sink estates. She’d been working in the library twenty-eight years. It’s too expensive to make her redundant so they’re hoping if they give her something horrible to do she’ll fall on her own sword. I feel like one of those baby penguins on an ice floe with the killer whales circling. I mean, if they can get rid of you just like that and move Karen…Christ, Karen was an institution.’ She let the implication hang between them. ‘And I didn’t think there was any chance they’d get rid of you—you were doing really well. I thought Findlay was considering promoting you, or giving you a big project, or at least congratulating you.’

Jane handed the taxi driver the pot plant. ‘Oh, she did congratulate me, about thirty seconds before she gave me the push.’

Lizzie shook her head. ‘It’s crazy. People were talking about you.’

Jane sighed. ‘That may have been the problem. Keep your head down, don’t call attention to yourself-isn’t that the first rule of working in a big organisation? Don’t draw their fire. But then again, probably none of that counts as long as you’re not screwing Steve Burney Presumably you’re not on Lucy’s hit list of women who coveted her neighbour’s oxen?’

Lizzie stared at her. ‘Lucy? Not Lucy Stroud? Steve Burney? You are joking.’ But even as she said it Jane could see her colour rising. Surely not Lizzie as well? Had the man got no shame?

Jane sighed. ‘Not you?’

Lizzie’s colour deepened. ‘It was before you started going out with him. He always used to flirt—I mean, I just thought he flirted with everyone.’

Jane nodded. ‘He probably does. Fishing expedition.’

The cab driver sighed. ‘Meter’s running,’ he said bleakly.

‘Not a problem,’ said Jane. ‘It’s on the account. And don’t forget to add a decent tip. All this loading and unloading. I’d stick a tenner on if I were you.’

‘Did they say you had to get out straight away?’ asked Lizzie nervously.

‘No, that was my choice,’ Jane said, hugging her and then Cal, and then the others. ‘Watch your back,’ whispered Jane as she gave Lizzie one last hug. ‘Especially if you have to work with Lucy.’