Susie Learns the Hard Way (11 page)

One length of desktop had been hastily cleared of all its old piles of paper, and they were now stacked unsteadily on the desks all around it and on the floor.

‘Is this my terminal?' asked Susie, looking happily at the keyboard and screen; she was just beginning to get used to the idea that she was in the newsroom and she'd actually got a job.

‘Yes, it is. But never use it.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘My point exactly.'

‘Oh, come on Harry, you can't keep going on at me for something that isn't my fault. I can't help it if Mr Skase told you to look after me, any more than I can help being a woman.' She sat on the edge of her desk and carefully crossed one slender stocking-clad leg over the other.

Harry snorted, but he was looking all the same. ‘Don't put anything in it,' he said finally. ‘Oh letters, faxes, stuff like that – anything unimportant, fine – but nothing special, and certainly nothing about any story you're working on.'

‘Like V2, you mean?'

‘Shhhh. Keep your voice down. Don't even mention V2 when anyone can hear you.'

Susie thought at first he was joking, but she could see from his worried expression that he wasn't.

‘And definitely don't write anything about it on there.' He made a sweeping gesture that took in her terminal and all the others round the room.

‘But why, Harry? What's wrong with it?'

‘It's not secure, that's what's wrong. Anyone here can get into the network any time they like.'

Susie must have looked blank. Harry sighed deeply. ‘Oh, look. See him?' There was a fair-haired man in his mid-thirties sitting at a desk a short distance away, and though they couldn't see much of him apart from his head and shoulders, the distinctive rattle of the keyboard was clearly audible. Susie saw him, and said so, and Harry tugged her keyboard across the desk. Watching the screen intently, his fingers danced across the keys and the screen flipped several times and then produced a screen full of words.

‘Right,' whispered Harry confidentially. ‘We're now looking at his work. And he hasn't got a clue – though he could find out if he wanted to, and he could protect it with a password. But anyone with network supervisor status can go above that, so you may as well not bother with a password. In fact you may as well leave the manuscript lying around on your desk for all the protection you'll get from the network security system.'

‘But surely everyone's working together? All on the same team?'

Harry shrugged. ‘Who knows what team anyone is on? Anyway, we're not the only paper in the building and that lot,' he jerked his thumb upwards, ‘are definitely
not
on our team.'

‘You mean—?'

‘Yep,' he interrupted her, his voice still low. ‘They'll nick anything – cigarettes, sandwiches, drinks and stories. We've lost several major ones just lately – all set ready to go on Sunday, and they appear on Friday in the competition almost word for word.'

‘But can't you do anything—?'

‘Like what?' Interrupting her was getting to be a habit, she thought, but at least he was talking to her now. ‘You can't prove anything and they just laugh at us. So we just protect ourselves better.'

‘Fair enough.'

‘Have you got a laptop?'

‘Well, yes, but not with me.'

‘That's okay. But make sure you use that then. Nothing goes in here.' He tapped the terminal. ‘Put everything on your laptop, and keep it with you. Don't leave it switched on while you're in the loo, don't leave it lying around if you go to lunch, and definitely don't leave it here overnight. This place is full of them in the evenings.' He jerked his head towards the upper floor again.

Of course! thought Susie. The staff of a daily paper would be in the building most of the night – when the staff of a Sunday would be safe at home. There would be plenty of opportunity for them to read the files on someone else's terminal – or in their laptop.

Harry spent the next half hour explaining the system to her anyway, so she could put faxes and expenses on it and make it look busy, and they spent a few moments discussing word-processing formats, until Susie felt like a real reporter, and began to think Harry was unbending.

‘So Harry,' she asked, looking him in the eyes with her brightest smile. ‘What about tonight?'

Harry looked glum.

‘You know – Catford,' she prompted.

‘Okay girl, I suppose you'll have to come, but I don't know why we need you at all, and especially not on this.'

‘Mr Skase thinks you do.'

‘What does he know?' sniffed Harry petulantly. ‘
I'm
the journalist. He's just a bean-counter.'

‘Never mind complaining, tell me where we're going.'

‘Catford.'

‘Tell me where we're going
in
Catford,' she said carefully.

‘Just a boxing club.'

‘A box...' she saw his expression just in time to cut herself off. ‘Okay. What's that got to do with – you know?'

‘Anyone who's been around a bit knows that sports clubs and drugs are linked,' he growled impatiently. ‘If there were no drugs there'd be no gold medals at the next Olympics. Where do you live – London?'

She was almost caught out by the rapid change of subject, but she recovered quickly and fired off the answer.

‘Where?' queried Harry incredulously – and saw her expression just in time to avoid giving her the satisfaction of asking the same question again. ‘Oh fuck,' he said, instead.

‘What's wrong with it?' she challenged.

‘Middle of nowhere. You'll have to come like that.'

‘What's wrong with this?' she looked down at herself, still quite pleased with the effect of her smart suit.

‘You look like a lawyer. Or a copper.'

Susie sat up straight, but Harry didn't give her the chance to speak the protest she was framing. ‘Never mind. Just keep your pants on and you'll be okay.'

Susie seethed at his jibe, but she couldn't really say anything, and anyway, Harry was speaking again.

‘Right. I'm going upstairs to argue with the dragon about my ex's. Think you'll be safe on your own in here? Just don't touch anything, and definitely don't say anything to anyone about anything.' And he stomped off, leaving her alone at her new desk.

For the next few minutes she sat there proudly, quite happy to enjoy the sensations of being there, in the building, at
her
desk. She almost hugged herself she was so happy, but she was determined to look suave and sophisticated, as if she was used to being in places like this every day.

After a while she began to look around; it was late morning, beginning of the week, and there were few people about. Clearly there was space for many more than the few who bustled about, all apparently on missions of importance; too important to notice a new face. Or perhaps they didn't care who came into their office.

She twiddled idly with the keyboard, created a document, wrote her name and address and then came face to face with writer's block. After a while she changed to the organiser, adding her name, address and telephone number to the database.

Then she was bored.

Fifteen minutes later she wandered off to the loo, and took the opportunity to put her knickers back on, as well as fiddle with hair and make-up.

Two hours later, still sitting at her desk, she became suspicious.

The next time someone passed close by – a girl of about her own age – Susie called out, ‘Excuse me, you don't happen to know where Harry went, do you? Harry Anderson?'

‘The girl brushed long dark hair from her eyes and consulted her watch. ‘Lunch, I expect.'

Bastard! She thought it, but didn't say it. ‘Does he go anywhere regular?' she asked brightly, hoping not to reveal her anger and embarrassment.

‘As clockwork,' the girl snorted with laughter. ‘If he isn't glued to his seat in the
White Horse
by one-fifteen latest, the world's come off its perch.'

‘
White Horse?
'

‘You can't miss it. Right across the road. Dead opposite.'

It was indeed. Almost geometrically aligned with the main gate. Harry was easy to find, sat at a table in the corner with two other men.

Susie decided the best tactic was to put a brave face on, and she walked straight over, sitting down at the table, conscious that six eyes watched carefully as she crossed her legs, letting her skirt climb to reveal a few extra inches of sheer thigh.

‘Hi Harry. Buy me a drink?'

He clearly didn't like being wrong-footed, but the two with him were already encouraging him to do just that. As Harry went off to buy her drink and get in the round the others had decreed was his, Susie introduced herself. By the time Harry returned with the drinks there was conversation and laughter around the table. He had two choices and he chose to sulk. Quite clearly it was Harry's turn to be cross.

Susie enjoyed getting her revenge, but she made the effort, trying to draw Harry into the conversation, but with little success.

Later, walking back across the road, she decided again that the best way to deal with Harry was to be completely up-front with him. ‘Why did you do that?' she asked. ‘Leave me sat there like a lemon while you sneaked off to the pub? I'm supposed to be helping you, aren't I?'

Harry only grunted in reply.

They showed their ID cards to the man on the gate, but he didn't look at Harry's, though he scrutinised Susie's temporary one fairly closely.

‘Well,' she persisted, ‘if you're going to be funny about it I suppose I'll just have to follow you around all afternoon to make sure you don't give me the slip again. Or are you going to let me come with you of your own free will?'

Harry's answer was to turn aside and disappear through a door, and Susie was about to follow him when she saw the symbol just in time.

‘Harry!' she called, but the toilet door swung shut behind him.

 

 

 

Harry drove the way he spoke, in short sharp bursts of aggression.

As they lurched rapidly from one road-going crisis to the next Susie hardly noticed the drama and the danger. What a day! She'd been given a job, she was working with the famous Harry Anderson on one of the biggest stories the paper had ever handled, and here she was going on her first job with him, on her first day at work. What a day!

Going into the men's toilet after him had been the turning point. Though her appeal to him while he stood with his back to her, unable to stop what he'd started and certainly at some slight social disadvantage, had been well-worded and passionate, the simple act of following him somewhere he thought she couldn't go had proved a great deal.

‘Listen, Harry,' she had challenged, her courage born of the fear that the editor would bow to Harry's demands and take her off the story, leaving her jobless on the same day she'd been hired. ‘You've got to let me help you with this, you know. It may not mean much to you, just another story, but it's my future, my whole career, and I've got to go ahead with it. This job means everything to me, and if I have to follow you into every men's toilet between here and John O' Groats, then that's what I'll do.

‘You think I can't help you and maybe you're right – about some things and some of the time. But I'm smart enough to know when that is and I promise I'll keep out of your way. But there will be times when you need me; you'll need someone to do the things you can't and then you'll be grateful I'm there and happy to make use of my talents.'

‘Yeah, and if you don't then I'd like to,' said the man three stalls along from Harry. Zipping up his trousers her grinned broadly at Susie, looking her slowly up and down. ‘Talents like yours shouldn't be wasted.' Smiling cheerfully to himself he pushed out through the double doors, leaving Susie and Harry alone.

‘Well?' she demanded. ‘Friend or foe?'

‘Okay,' was all Harry said, but she counted it as a victory. Perhaps only a small one, but nevertheless, here she was, on her way to Catford with Harry, who had made no more attempts to escape or shake her off, but actually helped her with the department secretary, sorting a hotel for the night, travel back home tomorrow, payroll, healthcare, permanent ID card and all the other technicalities of employment – all of which made it real. It wasn't just a dream!

She hugged herself in the darkness of the interior and relaxed back in the deep leather seats of the BMW, thinking she could get used to this. Not even Harry's rapid charges through the traffic between sets of stop lights could spoil her pleasure. Outside the window in the gloom, London rushed past, brightly lit and buzzing with life. She sighed happily, devouring the busy spectacle with her eyes.