Break Up the Days
- CEO’s Pet
Grace was at the company for fourteen years, paying invoices and expenses. She was the sort of employee who was at her desk and ready to work at 9:00am and putting on her coat and heading for the exit at 5:30pm. She took the full hour for lunch.
Managers came and went. All were frustrated by her slowness but the CEO, Mike Harris, was dismissive of complaints. She joined when the company was a start-up and he regarded her as his loyal servant. It’s why he called her “my Gracie”.
He knew she lived alone and liked to crack jokes about dating apps and going on “hot dates” at the weekend.
“That’s right,” she’d say, smiling in a way that showed a set of teeth that seemed too big for her mouth. She was nicknamed ‘The Horse’ by the sales team.
The exchanges between the CEO and Grace annoyed her colleagues. They didn’t understand how someone could be in the job for as long as her and not be able to use spreadsheets beyond basic AutoSum calculations. She needed help with the printer and forgot where to save docs. They mimicked how she referred to the CEO as Mr Harris.
As the business grew, Grace watched the CEO develop a taste for designer clothes, buy a sports car and get a hair transplant. He left his wife and three children to be with a woman twenty or so years younger than him. She couldn’t decide if success changed him or simply enabled him to be his true self. She heard people call him a narcissist and say he was untrustworthy.
Grace disagreed.
She thought Mr Harris was kind at heart. He instructed HR to hold her salary when the problems started with her liver. At some point she would need a major operation, but in the meantime the medication controlled the disease. The doctors were puzzled, saying it was a rare illness for a woman who was underweight and didn’t touch alcohol.
When Grace returned to work, she was self-conscious about the yellow tint of her skin. Mr Harris definitely noticed her jaundiced complexion when she went into his glass-walled office to thank him for not reducing her pay.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
“It was kind of you,” she said, feeling him look at her differently.
“Don’t mention what we did otherwise they’re all be expecting the same treatment,” he said.
“I won’t.”
It was a peculiar remark. She never engaged in conversation with her colleagues outside of basic pleasantries about the weekend and the weather.
Nobody knew a thing about her.
Grace paid invoices. She was a teetotaller with a liver condition. Couldn’t use spreadsheets or the printer. Lived by herself.
Was the CEO’s pet.
- Stranded
In her tiny kitchen, Grace scooped stew from a pot on the electric cooker into containers. She fixed on the plastic lids, wiped sauce with a cloth, placed each one in a backpack and hung up her apron. She put on her beige mac and left the flat. It was getting dark early and she felt the temperature had dropped as autumn arrived.
Walking along the street, she passed the bus shelter with the shattered glass and the bin with the lid kicked off. An orange shopping bag filled with green lager cans was placed beside the bin. Her mother spoke about moving out of the area for most of her life, talking about a return to the seaside town where they once lived. It was a curious fantasy given her mother had nothing complimentary to say about the town when they went to visit relatives.
Grace walked to a block of flats. She headed up a stairwell and along a balcony, knocking on a custard-coloured door.
“Just a minute,” came a voice.
Grace listened to the undoing of latches and locks. Archie appeared, keeping a hand on his walking stick.
“Evening,” she said. “How are you doing?”
“Bah. Surviving.”
“I’ve brought you dinner.”
His expression softened. “You shouldn’t have.”
She unzipped the backpack and handed him a container. “It’s your favourite.”
“Beef casserole?”
“Stew.”
“Let me give you some money.”
“Put it away. I’ll fetch the box tomorrow.”
“Do you want to come in?”
“I’ve a few of these to deliver. How are you doing?”
Archie told her about his operation and an issue with a utility bill. His son offered to help but had gone silent.
“The boy’s so busy these days. He travels a lot.”
Grace nodded.
Archie eventually asked how she was doing and she provided her stock reply, “I’m ticking along.”
When the chit-chat petered out, Archie said she was an angel.
Heading to the next flat, she thought about how she liked the feeling of supporting others.
It was scary how many people were by themselves.
Stranded in plain sight.
- Affairs End Badly
The medication caused sleepless nights. Lying in bed, her thoughts splintered and had their own propulsion. Worries crept in too. The situation at work was a concern. She’d never seen the CEO so stressed following one major customer not renewing and another refusing to negotiate on a long-term contract that had become unprofitable.
It was gone 3:00am. Grace found herself thinking about the married man who was brought into the company on a temporary basis to update the customer database. It was rare for her to feel a connection with another person, male or female, and yet she found herself opening up, telling him about her childhood in the seaside town and how she had dreamed of becoming a vet. It seemed natural to say “yes” when he asked her out.
This was ages ago, before Grace was sick. She was aware she had large front teeth and was not as pretty as other women – her mother called her ‘a plain Jane’ – but she was slim, looked after herself as best she could, and she sensed how he was attracted to her. It was on the second occasion when they went to the pub that he drunkenly kissed her. Soon afterwards, she’d go to his hotel. They talked about their lives, which mainly consisted of him telling her that he was in an unhappy relationship with his wife and that he adored his children.
She tried to remember the sensation in her body of being in love and believing she was loved.
It was like nothing she’d ever known.
Grace gradually realised he was never leaving his wife. She understood that he would vanish when his contract was over. Sure enough, she received the speech about how he felt guilty, saying the affair was a mistake and he regretted what he had done. It was truly never his intention to cause her pain but they could not stay in touch anymore. He’d always be grateful for their time together and she was a special person.
She recalled his explanation as a set of contradictions. He succeeded in making her feel like she was dirty and unclean, while his wife, the woman he had complained about repeatedly when he was drunk in pubs and restaurants, or after sex, was pure and wholesome.
Grace left her bedroom and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She sat in the dark at the wooden table by the window in the lounge and opened the curtains, looking at the hazy orange glow of the street lamps and how the fringes of the clouds glowed in the moonlight.
She sipped hot lemon water and wondered if he ever thought about her like she thought about him.
Her mother warned her about men.
- Good Luck
At the office, Grace hooked her mac on the coat stand and was about to switch on her computer when the Finance Director came over. “Do you have a moment?” he said.
It was a command, not a request. She followed him to what was referred to as ‘the little meeting room’ and saw the Human Resources Director was already there.
Grace asked, “Have I done something wrong?”
“Not in the slightest,” said the FD.
She noticed a box of tissues on the table and a jug of water with three glasses.
“It’s not like that,” said the HRD.
Grace heard them explain how the company had cashflow problems and was faced with stark choices about where to cut costs.
“Having been such a loyal employee, you’ll have a substantial package. We want to be clear about that,” said the FD.
They tried to make redundancy sound like they were doing her a favour.
“Please do ask questions,” said the HRD.
“How long do I have?”
There was a pause. The HRD expected the FD, as Grace’s manager, to answer. He seemed reluctant to speak, so it was the HRD who said, “You’ll be leaving after we conclude this meeting.”
“Right now? Today?”
“Correct,” said the HRD, nudging the box of tissues nearer to Grace.
“We wish we didn’t have to make this call,” said the FD.
“I’ve not had a chance to make a cup of tea and already I’m out the door.”
“Would you like some water?” said the FD, reaching for the jug and a glass.
Grace ignored him and said, “Can I say goodbye to Mr Harris?”
The two of them seemed to have rehearsed this request. The FD, who poured water for himself into a glass, said, “Michael sends his apologies and he wanted me to pass on the message that he deeply values your service with us and that letting you go is one of the hardest decisions we’ve had to make. He guarantees we’ll take care of you and that we’ll do this the right way.”
“So, I can’t say goodbye?”
“I’m afraid he’s tied up on calls,” said the FD.
“Is there anything else?” asked the HRD.
“I guess not.”
“I’ll take you to the lift,” said the HRD.
“What about my mac and the things on my desk?”
“We’ve put everything in a bag. We’ll courier anything we’ve missed.”
“Good luck,” said the FD.
Grace looked at him. “With what?”
He stood up and awkwardly shook her hand.
It was a long walk between the desks of the various teams to reach the lift. Grace imagined colleagues emailing back and forth. It was like their messages cut through her. ‘The Horse’ was finally getting axed.
She saw Mr Harris behind the floor-to-ceiling window of his office. He wasn’t on a call. He glanced at her above his laptop screen.
The HRD’s assistant, who was in her early twenties, stood by the lift with Grace’s mac and an orange shopping bag with her pills, pens, a calculator, mug, lunchbox and book of crossword puzzles. “Can I take your security pass?” she said, smiling.
Grace handed it over.
The HRD pressed the button for the lift and they stepped in together.
Grace realised she was being escorted from the building. “Am I the only one?” she asked.
The HRD held up six fingers. “That’s just today. We have a whole week of this,” she said.
On the ground floor, the HRD stood in the foyer, waiting for Grace to walk out of the main door and for it to close behind her. Like there was the remotest possibility of going back in the lift and storming into Mr Harris’ office and saying how she thought it was disgraceful that he didn’t have the decency to say goodbye in person.
- A Town on the South Coast
When Grace stepped off the bus, she dropped her plastic bag of work stuff next to the other bag by the bin, only keeping her tablets. Entering the flat, she experienced the oddness of coming home early on a weekday.
She made a cup of tea and sat at the table. A photograph of her mother stared back at her from a shelf on the wall. It was taken after the first heart attack. Her mother never uttered a word about the identity of her father. It was a family taboo.
Grace packed a suitcase and the following morning she went to the train station and paid for a ticket to the seaside town where she had grown up. It was raining and she decided to take a taxi to the B&B she stayed in with her mother when they visited together.
The room was supposed to have a sea view. From the window, she saw a sliver of bluey green on the horizon. Mostly, the view was of the Co-op car park with wheelie bins and metal cages loaded with soggy cardboard. In a block of flats nearby, a St George’s Cross flag hung across a window.
She undressed and climbed into the hard bed, listening to the wind and the raindrops.
- Memory Lane
The seafront was unrecognisable from yesteryear. The rides had disappeared. There was a single arcade for videogames and gambling machines. The pub by the roundabout had somehow kept going. None of her family ever drank there as it had a reputation for being rough. A sign out front advertised strippers, which sounded about right.
She sat on a metal bench overlooking the pebbly beach and the sea. She watched the waves roll in and break into spume on the shore. Heard the hiss of the ocean sliding back out and the stones clicking and clacking like tap shoes.
A white and grey seagull landed nearby.
“I don’t have anything for you,” she said.
The clouds opened and soon her clothes were soaked.
She kept her hands gripped on the straps of the handbag on her lap, summoning pictures of herself on the beach with her mother, aunties and cousins. Swimming in the water. Blowing up lilos. Eating ice creams. She wanted the images to make her feel emotion and strained to remember, craving a sense of connection.
Memories should be meaningful.
There was only blankness. It was as if the past didn’t matter.
She used to think loneliness was about waking up alone. Coming home to silence. Everything the same as she left it. The only guarantee of contact came in the form of requests for payment and hospital appointments. In some ways, she was accustomed to living by herself and could deal with that part. The habits of solitude. The quiet, uneventful weekends in the flat.
What bothered her was not having anybody to care for and love.
After her mother died, there was no-one.
Mr Harris made spinster jokes. “You’ll be getting a cat soon,” he’d say.
It wasn’t funny.
The job managed to break up the days.
Grace was motionless, telling herself that not moving kept the coldness at bay by stopping her drenched clothes from touching her soured skin.
The gull screeched. She watched it run, hop and flap its heavy wings to rise into the air and fly.
It had all the freedom in the world.
Flight of the dragonfly 