The Beard (16 page)

Tom nodded. This breakthrough could be short-lived, so he didn’t want to say or do anything that could backfire.

“OK,” Derek said, standing up, “let’s do it!” With that, he marched past Tom and violently swung the door open. “Listen up,” he said to a floor full of nervous employees. “Meeting in the boardroom in five minutes. Stop what you’re doing and make your way there now.”

He slammed the door shut and looked at Tom. He had a glint in his eye. “That should shit them up good and proper!”

Tom shook his head. “You arse,” he said involuntarily.

Derek stared back at him. “I’ll take that comment on my chins,” he said with rare self-deprecation. “At least this time, I’m being an arse deliberately!”

Tom smiled. “I have something to tell you,” he said, slipping over each of his words.

“Oh?” said Derek as he peered through the blinds at the confused workforce making their way to the boardroom.

Tom shuffled. “Yes, it’s rather important.”

Derek dropped the blinds and looked at him. “Is this about Amy? You haven’t got her up the duff, have you?”

Tom’s reaction and, “No!” was perhaps a bit too emphatic.

“You doinking some other bird?” Derek asked, checking the various options off his list.

Tom again shook his head.

“Well, you’re not a shit-stabber, so what is it?”

Tom knew there and then that whatever journey Derek had taken (or was about to), it was only in its early stages. Now was not the time, after all.

“I have her family wedding to go to, so I still need that Friday off if you’re going on holiday. That’s all.”

Derek looked at Tom curiously. That surely didn’t warrant such a build-up? “OK,” said Derek. “I hadn’t forgotten, don’t worry.”

Instead of looking pleased, Tom looked frustrated.

“Let’s go and have some fun, shall we?” said Derek, swinging his suit jacket around his shoulders and gradually squeezing it on. “Follow my lead,” he continued, opening the door.

“I’ll try,” said Tom, following him out with his head held low.

Derek pushed the door of the boardroom open. Everyone immediately looked at Tom and witnessed his crestfallen face. Instinctively and immediately, they assumed the worst.

Tom made his way to the back of the room, trying hard not to let anyone look at him directly.

Derek paced at the front of the boardroom. Twenty men looked back, unsure of what was happening.

“So, I’ve been talking to Tom and he tells me that I’ve been… what was it you said, Tom, an arsehole?”

There were genuine gasps around the room as Tom’s stupidity (or bravery) was shared with all of them.

Tom nodded.

The staff members looked at one another, bewildered.

“I’m also told that I haven’t been the easiest person to work with. That I’ve been too demanding. Too… well, you get the picture.”

People looked at Derek, still unsure of what was happening, and then at Tom. Was he a saviour or had he got them all sacked?

Derek looked around the room. “Would any of you like to disagree with that assessment?”

That was a masterstroke. Anyone who did disagree would be castigated as a traitor and a liar (not to mention a brown-nosing suck-up). If they remained silent, they were all complicit in the character assassination.

Everyone remained quiet and anxiously glanced at one another. Would anyone make the first move? Would anyone stand alone?

“I see,” said Derek. “You were right then, Tom, and they’ve all agreed. I see.”

Derek paced the floor, his arms as far behind his back as he could manage. “Well, you’re right. I have been a total tit,” he said, drawing up and looking at the room. “For that, I’m sorry. My divorce screwed with my head more than I thought and I took it out on you.”

The principle feeling in the room had become one of shock. What HAD Tom said to him? Everyone was stunned. Some hadn’t drawn breath for longer than was good for them.

“As a result, I’ve decided to take a much-deserved and long-overdue holiday,” continued Derek. “I’ll be away for three weeks as of Friday. As in tomorrow.”

The noise of shoulders dropping in synchronised relief was audible. Sighs of delight were plentiful.

“So, you won’t have to accompany me to the pub,” Derek declared, before adding, “or escape via a bush to get away from me.” A few heads fell in shame. A perfectly acceptable ruse looked, in hindsight,
like an act of cowardice and selfishness. “In the time I’m away, Tom will be in charge.”

Everyone looked at Tom – the lionheart who’d slain the dragon and stood proudly in the corner of the room. He was soon aware of the esteem in which he was suddenly held. Everyone bathed him in glory for tackling the monster, with some looking on in awe.

“He’s my kind of man,” Derek declared as Carl could be heard to snigger. “A man unafraid to tell someone the truth,” he added, looking at Carl. “And how is your injured child, Carl?”

Carl mumbled something unconvincing and fell silent. Derek looked around the room. He smiled at the faces that looked back at him. THIS, he thought to himself, is the correct use of power.

“Aside from that, it’s business as usual. You all have issues to attend to, so I’ll let you get back on. Unless anyone has any questions?”

A low rumble could be heard and the shaking of heads seen.

“Excellent,” said Derek. “Off you go, then. Tom, hang back, please.”

The guys filtered out, looking at the floor, the shoulders of the guy in front or the ceiling – anywhere but at Derek. The door closed and Derek slumped in a chair.

“That was great,” offered Tom, not sure quite how effusive he should be.

“You know, Tom,” Derek replied, playing with a paper cup half full of water left on a table. “I’m lucky to have you on the team. Thank you for your honesty. I know it couldn’t have been easy. I thank you for that.”

In the tradition of two men speaking, Tom looked away, for fear that any emotion might be shared. “Thank you,” he said, staring at his shoes.

“No one else would’ve told me. You’re very… oh, what’s the word? Brave? Is that right? Bold? Not sure. Whatever the word is, you’re it.”

Tom looked up and adopted a nodding gesture by means of reply. He didn’t feel brave or bold or anything else. Helping someone else to see the error of their ways was one thing, but having the courage to change your own was quite another.

“Thanks,” he muttered, slightly embarrassed.

Derek laughed. “Come on, let’s crack on before I embarrass you any more!” He walked over to Tom and slapped him on the back as the boardroom door swung open. There was a subdued but jovial atmosphere in the office.

As Derek and Tom walked back in the direction of their desks, Derek shouted, “I’m so thrilled to see how many of you are happy to see me go. I’ll remember that come your appraisals.” Then, with a lopsided, cheeky grin, he turned into his office and slammed the door. Everyone remained in situ looking at the door. The blinds swung open as Derek looked out at everyone looking back at him. “Well, do some bloody work!” he cried out at the statuesque frames. Everyone looked back at their screens and continued to work, affording Tom repeated curious glances.

“Pssst,” said Carl, looking over his shoulder at Tom. “Well done. Thank you!”

“Shut up,” said Tom. “You’d have done the same.”

Carl shook his head. “No, mate, you’re the man. You’re the only one in here with balls.”

Tom let the words fall to the floor. If only, he thought.

Amy was pacing around her room. Ah-Lam passed by her open door on the way to her room and glanced in. As Amy strutted back and forth, it appeared that she was speaking to herself. Either that or she was memorising lines for an upcoming play.

Ah-Lam hurried into her own room and closed the door. Amy continued to stride around her room, gasping, guffawing and generally demonstrating her distaste with the world.

“But he has to work!” she kept saying as if it was a tricky line to learn. She stopped walking and stood in the centre of the room, her hands on her hips. There was a long pause as she stared out towards her two bedroom windows. Both looked down over the charming street outside – rows of fine Victorian houses with quaint front gardens and rare iron fences. Her room was a standard, but no less grand, example of Victorian architecture: spacious, double-fronted, high ceilings and a fading but ornate architrave. Her bed occupied one corner of the room, with wardrobes, a desk and shelves occupying the other. It left a swirling space in the middle that was accentuated by a bold, circular designer rug. Amy had fashioned a seating area next to one of the windows so that she could escape the communal lounge and watch the comings and goings of the busy street below.

Right now, however, she was standing looking at the windows, rather than through them, her back turned almost in protest towards her bed, where a small heap of clothes lay. After a few moments, it became clear that Amy was locked in a conversation with her mother. She was on the speakerphone that was nestled somewhere in the pile of clothes, thrown in a fit of pique at something that had been said. To Ah-Lam, it seemed as if Amy was progressively going mad. To Amy, she was merely
getting
mad.

“How many times do I have to say it? He has to work! His boss has taken sick leave and appointed him manager for the time being. He can’t leave!”
she implored.

Her mother was having none of it. “I really couldn’t care less. Edith has told me all about him and she specifically said that she’d discussed the date with Tom and that he’d kept it empty. As empty as your womb, some might say.”

Amy steamed her irritation and jumped up and down, trying to contain any noise, so that her mother couldn’t see the rage she was creating.

“Tom told Edith it was in his diary. The room is ready and I’ll expect to see you both for Friday, Saturday and Sunday,” came the voice beneath Amy’s knickers.

Amy attempted a protest. “But Tom has…”

She didn’t get very far. “Yes, dear, I heard,” her mother replied. “He’s been promoted to cover his boss. I’m beginning to wonder about you and Tom,” she said ominously. “First, you say he has to look after his sick friend and now, that he has to work. Which is it?”

“Both!” Amy said with exasperation.

“Yes, but didn’t you say that his friend was much better now?”

Distressingly, Amy had. It had been an off-the-cuff reply to a question about Ash’s health and well-being. She’d had no idea that it would be remembered and used against her.

“So all’s well,” continued her mother. “His friend is better and, seeing as he told Edith the date was booked, I imagine he’ll have taken a day off work for it. They’ll have to honour that, so it still stands.”

Amy let out a grizzled sound of sheer, unbridled frustration. It was duly ignored.

“Right, well I have plenty to do, so I shall expect to see you both next Friday. Oh, and Amy? Do make an effort. Try to look happy and positive. I’m not sure what Tom sees in you, but I can assure you that no one wants a repeat of last Christmas. Must dash. Kisses!”

The line went dead as Amy screamed and grasped clutches of her hair.

Tom walked in through the open door as Ah-Lam, who’d let him in, fled to safety.

“How’s your mother?” he opened, walking in to see Amy kick the clothes, and her phone, across the floor.

Amy continued making aggressive, guttural sounds as she paced the room, her fists clenched.

“I see,” said Tom, jumping onto her bed and stretching himself out across its full length.

“She’s insisting that you come next week,” said Amy, stamping her feet as if putting out an imaginary fire.

Tom seemed not to care about this revelation. “You know Ah-Lam thinks you’re bonkers, don’t you?” he said by means of reply.

Amy, who by now was leaning against a wall, head first, spun around. “Did you hear what I said? You have to come with me to the wedding.”

Tom wriggled and squirmed on the bed. “Yes, I know.”

Amy walked over to the bed and stood over him, staring down. “You don’t seem bothered!”

Tom plumped up Amy’s cushion and sunk his head into it. “I’m not,” he managed, kicking his shoes off one by one, using his free foot to lever the other one off. They landed with a clunk at the bottom of Amy’s bed. “Not now. Not really.”

Amy looked startled. “What happened to ‘over my dead body’, ‘not if you pay me’ and ‘I’d sooner starve’?”

Tom looked up at his perspiring friend. Her hair had sunk down around her face like a spaniel looking into a hole. This amused Tom enough to share his observation. “You look like a dog,” he said. He was aware of how offensive it could’ve sounded, but she looked exactly like a well-trained pup. Rather than apologise, Tom just laughed and sat up. “Look,” he said, taking Amy’s hand and pulling her towards him. She sunk down onto the bed next to him and lolled against his shoulder. “After everything that’s happened lately, will it be THAT bad? I mean, will it be the kind of gig where we’ll need to escape using a hole in the hedge?”