1
‘Don’t think of it as a dead end. Try to think of it as an opportunity!’ Mark said brightly, flashing his perfect porcelain veneers. ‘You’ll be given a generous redundancy package: three months’ salary, plus an additional lump sum to keep you going.’
‘I… what?’
For a moment, time slowed. Through the slightly grubby window above Mark’s head, Lily could see the shadows of cars purring by on the road; the flicker of figures walking purposefully past. Muffled snippets of conversation filtered in and out of the basement office as people outside on the pavement moved closer then further away. The sights and sounds of ordinary life seemed suddenly jarring.
‘In the current climate, it’s a generous package,’ Mark added into the silence.
Lily looked at the executive toy on Mark’s desk – a silver row of balls that, when tapped, perpetually rocked back and forth. She imagined what would happen if she picked it up and lobbed it through the frosted window – the glass shattering; balls everywhere.
‘Lily? Everything all right?’ said the man who’d just ripped the rug from under her entire life.
‘Who said it was a dead end?’ she asked suddenly, the words only just sinking in.
He at least had the good sense to blush. ‘I didn’t… I mean, of course,’ he stammered.
But this wasn’t his fault. The partners had brought Mark’s company in to ‘streamline the business’; and avoid the awkwardness of giving loyal employees the boot.
Although it wasn’t the boot in the traditional sense, was it? She wasn’t being ‘sacked’. It wasn’t that she’d messed up on a client file, or started turning up for work late. She was simply surplus to requirements, and they were trying to survive in a world where every man and his dog thought he could design his own logo.
She’d have done the same, probably, in their shoes. Not that she’d be seen dead in a pair of ‘comfort brogues.’
She looked again at Mark, with his untroubled, unmarked brow, sharp, fitted suit; nails that had probably had a more recent manicure than hers. He couldn’t be much more than twenty-five. Employed to deliver bad news, but with no real sense of its impact. She was just another name on his to-do list.
She wished she could say that it didn’t matter anyway. Or that she’d had the chance to quit before they’d fired her, marching purposefully out of the office and leaving the partners wondering if they’d made a mistake.
And if only they’d held off till this time next year, she could have. By then she and Ben would have their house on the market and be packing for a new life in France. They’d been planning for years, but each time they’d tried to fix a date something had come up: a promotion at work, Ty getting into a new sports club and so on. Then a few months ago they had finally agreed on a definite time. ‘OK,’ Ben had said. ‘Let’s take a year to get Ty settled at uni, then we’ll go for it!’
She’d leaped into his arms laughing, and he’d twirled her around as if they were twenty years younger, and she was ten kilos lighter.
It had been the culmination of a lifelong dream; and she’d been looking forward to dramatically handing in her notice next spring. Now, even that minor victory had been snatched away.
‘I take it I get to go home now?’ she asked, turning to face Mark as she reached the office door.
‘Well, it’s entirely your decision,’ he said. ‘There is a one-month notice period but the partners were keen to stress that if you don’t feel able to come in, it won’t reflect badly on your exemplary record.’ He smiled again, delivering yet another pre-rehearsed line.
She almost took the bait. But not quite. They knew she was a perfectionist, that she always wanted to do the right thing. But she wasn’t going to endure a month of working effectively for nothing when she could be out finding another job. Or finally cleaning out the kitchen cupboards. Or, if it came to it, sitting on the sofa watching reruns of Homes Under the Hammer while working her way through a giant pack of Pringles. ‘Right, well, I’ll be off then,’ she said, trying to keep her voice from wobbling.
Mark’s eyebrows raised slightly, but he said nothing.
She raced into the corridor and up the stairs to the ground floor, then made a beeline for the exit, hoping to escape before she started to cry. But when she was halfway across the main office, her progress was thwarted by the thwack of a door almost opening in her face. Her boss, Grahame, stepped out of the toilet; saw her, coloured and vanished back inside, a lock clicking audibly.