Patient Blue

I know I have to go back to work. It’s Wednesday morning just before six and in my difficult phone conversation with Patrick yesterday I had rather rashly promised that I would return this morning. I put on my bedside lamp, one of those touch ones where you can control the brightness. I keep it as dim as possible. Alice is still asleep and dreaming, I wonder where she goes? She is very still apart from her eyes moving beneath the lids it seems somehow strange almost like looking at a reanimating corpse. Beyond the window it is mid-winter pitch black, which bearing in mind what occurred on Monday morning is rather reassuring.

My sleep was disturbed by more bad dreams and though I can’t clearly remember them I know they were frightening and sinister, full of loss and regret. I have a vague recollection of waking with a start in the early hours with a feeling of deep sadness and it took me ages to get back to sleep. Now I have the headache from Hell and really, really don’t want to get out of bed and spend a day under the cosh at Real Money. I turn on the bedside radio and listen to the last two minutes of Farming Today, which I immediately regret as a farmer is explaining in graphic detail the best way to castrate a Pig. Alice mumbles, ‘why do you always listen to this awful program?’

’I just put it on for the news.’

After the six o’clock pips and an introduction from Justin Webb, the news headlines are still fully focused on the phenomenon of two days ago. The Solar Event and its aftermath dominate every aspect of the news media and will likely do so for the foreseeable future. Though inevitably, given time and audience fatigue and as had happened after other major events of the TV and video age such as 9/11, the Indonesian and Japanese earthquakes and tsunami’s, the news agenda will, if nothing else similar happens, move on.

The world-wide death toll is in excess of three quarters of a million people and as many fires continue to rage out of control this is likely to rise further. Limited air travel has been cautiously resumed but thousands of people are stranded at airports throughout the world. As to the cause of the event, Scientists remain baffled. The sun appears to have settled back to a normal pattern of activity, though the underlying Wang Pulse phenomenon, I love that name, Wang Pulse, is still causing problems. As to the question that everyone keeps asking, including me, could it happen again? That remains resolutely unanswered.

Bollocks! I’m late for work the traffic has been unusually heavy and there are no bays left in the staff car park. I’ll have to find a space in one of the nearby residential streets. By the time I finally park and walk to the office it’s nine fifteen. I almost considered running to make up time but then decided I really couldn’t be arsed. As I enter the slightly shabby open plan space where I spend eight desperate futile hours a day, a couple of my colleagues look up and mouth hello or briefly flap a hand in my direction. They are mostly either taking or making phone calls. I see Mark, actually not a bad lad, who looks up from his screen; ‘it’s been Hell, the internet’s down, the solar wang thing and the customers can’t access their accounts and of course they’re not blaming God they’re blaming us.’

’Oh joy, just fucking peachy.’

’And Patrick wants to see you straight away, he seems pissed off. You OK by the way? You look a bit rough? I heard about the body thing, Christ, what a nightmare. This whole thing is a nightmare we’ve all been talking about it, scary.

’Yeah I have felt better and you’re right the body thing was a nightmare I’m not feeling too well, after I’ve spoken to Patrick I might see if I can leave.’

‘Good luck with that.’

I approach Patrick’s office with some trepidation, noting with concern that the door is closed, normally a bad sign. I knock gently, too gently making hardly any sound at all, then over compensate by crashing my fist against the door three times loudly. Startled, everyone looks up in surprise and I pull a face and mouth oops.

’Come in’ says Patrick and I push at the door which seems rather slow to open. I push harder and it fly’s open and I half fall into the office making Patrick look up sharply: ‘Sorry’

’Sit down Michael,’ Patrick indicates the chair opposite the desk, how are you feeling?’

’Not too good really but I thought I would try to come in, move forward, try to forget. It was a terrible shock, the plane crash and finding the body, I’m not a hundred percent yet, in fact I was thinking—’

’Well done for coming in and being prepared to put in a full day’s work. I know that what’s been going on with the sun and weather and everything is rather startling, far worse for you, in fact terrifying. All the staff are scared, but I and of course senior management feel that the best way to confront these fears and move forward is to carry on working, get some of the old spirit of the blitz that kind of thing. Anyway it all seems to have settled down now and fingers crossed it won’t happen again.’

’No let’s hope not Patrick.’

’Do you mind me asking you something?’

’No, ask away.’

’Why were you paddling in the sea in the early hours of Monday morning, were you looking for something, maybe had a few drinks?’

’The light, the event I thought I’d go down there and see if I could, er see anything in the sea and on a whim I went into the water. I hadn’t been drinking, well not much anyway. Then there was this body and I fell over and the head was in my lap and I couldn’t let it go, couldn’t move, it seemed like forever, but was less than an hour, must have been the shock.

’I see. I suppose we might all act in unfathomable ways if confronted with, with, things. Anyway I’m glad you’re back and seeming not too much the worse for wear, even though you are more than fifteen minutes late.

’About that, being the worse for wear I was thinking, hoping to leave earl—’

’Working through these things is often best and besides we have a few issues generally to discuss and more specifically I want to review your level of overall sales or indeed lack of them. Maybe not right at this time, but we must all get on with our work despite all this doomsday stuff, which may prove to be just a flash in the pan, pardon the pun. Business as usual is as always my motto’

’I’ve been trying, working hard but with these difficult economic circumstances and now this- flash event thing, customers won’t be looking to invest so much, they’re hanging on to their money, all this death and disaster is hardly likely to help.’

’I understand that things are generally more challenging at present, but these challenges and difficulties seem to be affecting you and your sales in a disproportionate way when compared to your colleagues, who are all working to the Real Money ethos of treating each challenge as a potential opportunity.’

’Well I can assure you I am a great believer in the Real Money ethos and I’m making every effort to succeed.’

’You need to be more proactive.’

I make proactive calls, but often the customers aren’t in I’m leaving messages but they don’t always call back.’

’You may need to make these proactive calls after five, take a leaf out of Janine’s book, who has most of her finest moments after five o’clock, more customers will be at home then. Sometimes you have to go the extra mile to find success.’

I’ve heard the rumours about Janine’s finest moments after five o’clock, though it has little to do with Real money but more to do with cheap booze and desperate men.

’Yes Patrick I understand that, but it’s going to be difficult to stay after five I have commitments outside of work and need to leave on time.’ This is of course a lie. I desperately need to leave on the dot of five or end up going crazy with the sheer stress and tedium of it all. At one minute past five I just know that if I’m still on the premises I’ll turn into a Pumpkin.

’I’ve noticed that you are always the first to leave and normally the last to arrive’

’I normally leave after Norman.’

’Yes but Norman has health problems, he’s in a wheelchair and he has to leave on the dot in order to have his colostomy bag emptied.’

‘Colostomy bag! oh I thought it was some sort of a large key fob, he seemed oddly attached to.’

’Well there’s that other girl the black one Rochelle who does all the filing and making tea and sharpening pencils that sort of thing; I always leave after her.’

’Rochelle has special needs, she has to be picked up by her Mother and catch the 5.05 train, she does however get in early to compensate.’

’Oh! I hadn’t realized. I mean I’ve never really looked at her properly I just thought she was a bit unusual, plain and rather childish, but I didn’t like to mention it, her being black, it would be a bit non PC. You know how sensitive they can get, one wrong look or comment and you’re a paid up member of the Ku Klux Klan and forced to go on one of those diversity awareness courses. Not that I’m against them, it, diversity, the black or disabled generally, give everyone a chance no matter how strange or— I do work hard when I’m here and I’ll redouble my efforts.’

’OK, but I’ll be monitoring your progress and performance, unofficially for now. Anyway back to work and let me see some real improvements in both your attitude and results.’

I leave Patrick’s office fuming, what a stunted little dickhead. As I make my way to my desk my ears are assailed by the hideous cackling laugh of Janine who is on the phone to Barry, one of the external sales force and someone she obviously has a thing for. I hate Janine with a vengeance she manages without apparent effort, to encompass most things in a woman that I find repulsive. Worse still, Patrick seems to love her and considers her an exemplar, a paragon of hard work and dedication to the Real Money ethos and an example for all others to emulate. Physically, she’s no looker, not a big deal, nor am I these days, but she acts like she thinks she is. She exudes an if you play your cards right you can fuck me vibe. Though to be honest she has never exuded that vibe in my direction. She has a slight lisp and a laugh that always sounds like she is either being, or about to be, getting fucked, perhaps at the late foreplay stage. This would be more disconcerting if I found her attractive, but in her case just plain annoying. Then again, perhaps I have a repressed lust for her after all. I doubt it but I wouldn’t want to be in a situation where that theory is put to the test in case I fail. My God the horrendous implications of that just don’t bear thinking about.

I log onto my phone, put on my headset a contraption that always makes me feel like a Borg, which is really what I am, part of the collective with no independent thought. I take my first call of the day. As I pick up the phone I notice Patrick is lurking with intent close to my desk. Normally and despite the Real money guidelines and script I would answer by saying; ‘Good morning, Real Money, how can I help you?’ But, with Patrick listening I will have to do the full spiel, obviously put together by an over eager Spanish marketing graduate who really doesn’t understand the British psyche.

As I pick up the phone I mentally chant a silent mantra, please don’t be Bob Parrett please don’t be Bob.

’Good morning, thank you for calling Real Money you’re speaking to Michael, how can I help make your nest egg grow today?’

’Don’t give me all that bollocks you’ve well and truly shat all over my nest egg.

’Oh! Good morning Mr Parrett.’

’Tell me how much did I invest in your crap company?’

’I would have to look into the exact amount’

At this point I notice that Patrick has put on the head set that allows him to listen in on the call.

’Don’t you know?’

’Not without looking.’

’I can tell you it was ten grand.’

Why did you ask if you already knew you tosser.

’I see, certainly a substantial investment.’

’What’s that ten grand worth now?’

’I would need to look it up and our systems are a bit slow, the Solar event, so it may take a while.’

’Don’t bother its eight thousand two hundred and eighty pounds sixty eight pence.’

There you go you already know you fucking tool.

’I see. You have just received the statement then?’

’Yes. Why has my investment decreased by almost two grand over the last year rather than increased by the promised three percent?’

’It wasn’t a promise more an expectation, but the economy hasn’t performed as well as was hoped and expected.’

’Don’t give me that shite. I bet you still get your bonus and it’s coming out of my hard earned money. I want compensation for my losses, what are you going to do about it?

’Hello;’ Patrick now speaks on the line. My name is Patrick Drage and I am the Senior Manager, who am I speaking to please?’

’For fuck’s sake, you sound as useless as him don’t you know who I am?’

’Well I was just listening in to the call’

’So if you were listening in you know my problem and it will save me writing a letter of complaint. When will I receive my compensation?’

’Well I’m not sure that compensation will be appropriate I will need to look into the circumstances.’

’You may be as useless as him, though I bet your bonus is even bigger. Look I can’t spend hours on the phone talking to the likes of you and I don’t want to hear any crap or excuses about the end of the world affecting the money markets. I want a letter of confirmation within three days that I will receive compensation in full for my losses or I will write to the Financial Ombudsman and I will be using your name as the Senior Manager who agreed to this compensation, what was it again, Patrick Drain, ‘Drage’ said Patrick, OK Drage, have a nice day.’

’But I agree’ the phone went dead ‘to no such thi—’

Patrick looks ashen faced as he removes the head set, catching his glasses as he does knocking them to the floor. He draws himself up to his full five foot three inch height and says; ‘Can you come into my office please Michael so that we can debrief that call.’

I know as I follow a humiliated Patrick from his desk to his office, that a formal coaching and development plan is about to be put in place. As I thread my way between my so called colleagues’ desks, some of them seem to be smirking, Patel is and Simpson, self-satisfied smug bastards both. As I take the public walk of shame, no one meets my eye. The phrase “dead man walking” seems to be most appropriate at this time, though all I can really think is, you fucking poison dwarf bastard, one of these days I’ll put your misshapen little head through a wall.

At home this evening I’m brooding on my three month performance improvement plan that has now been made official. This effectively means that Patrick will closely be monitoring my work and sales performance and listening in on more of my calls. He will also be setting stretching but achievable, his word, targets. If this improvement plan fails I will be on written warning and if that fails, Patrick left the inevitable consequences of this hanging in the air.

I pour myself another large Scotch, the third this evening and my thoughts about Patrick and what I will do to him become ever more lurid violent and inventive. All impotent piss-head bravado, as of course in reality I will do nothing. Alice is working late again and with no one to talk to I’m becoming morose and unhappily drunk. By nine I’ve had enough and stagger my way to bed where I fall into a heavy, troubled alcohol induced sleep. I become vaguely aware of Alice climbing into bed next to me. ’What time is it?

‘Gone eleven go back to sleep, sorry to have woken you.’

In the early hours I jolt awake with a pounding headache and dry mouth. I think I might throw up and need water. I blunder my way to the bathroom and turn on the light then I’m down on my knees, head in the toilet retching. Nothing other than a small amount of bitter bile comes up and I hawk this down the pan. Satisfied that I’m not actually going to vomit I stand up and flush the toilet which begins filling above the normal flush line, fucking hell it must be blocked. As it rises, I can see dark shapes floating in the water which begins spilling out as it reaches the top of the pan. I shudder and step back to avoid it but slip and fall over banging my head on the sink. The water begins soaking my bare feet and legs and the dark shapes in the overflow begin growing in size and start writhing, changing shape, taking on human form, surrounding me, touching me with deformed hands. There’s screaming, it’s mine. I have to get away must escape these things. There is a shadow in the doorway, it’s Davey he’s making these strange choking sounds and begins walking towards me.

‘Michael, Michael wake up stop it you’re having a bad dream, sweetheart can you hear me it’s Alice, try to wake up.’

I open my eyes the bedroom light is on and Alice is stroking my hair and looking at me with a combination of fear and concern, ‘are you alright?’

‘It was a dream a terrible dream, but I thought it was real and I was awake in the bathroom, Davey, Christ it was awful. What time is it?’

‘Just after three, try to go back to sleep.’

‘Alice, are you having an affair?’

‘Of course not, silly, why did you say that?’

‘I don’t know you’re always late home and things have changed, we’ve changed, well you have.’

‘Hush now, go back to sleep, you can tell me about your dream, nightmare in the morning’

‘Alice.’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t think I can go back to work, I’m not right.’

‘Just see how you feel in the morning, I’m sure you’ll feel better.’

The conversation is over and within minutes Alice is gently snoring, but I don’t close my eyes again once. Davey was real, it wasn’t a dream not that part I’m sure of that.

I finally make it into work but am almost twenty minutes late. As I enter the office Rochelle, who is sharpening a pencil looks up and starts waving. Jesus, how could I not have realized that she isn’t quite right. My thoughts are interrupted by a cheery beep- beep and Norman glides by in his powered wheelchair. I notice Patrick standing by his office door pointedly looking at his watch which he proceeds to tap in an exaggerated way with his index finger. Somebody give that stunted twat an Oscar; sorry I mouth, traffic.

I have the hangover from Hell and am dreading the day ahead. On the way to my desk I pass the staff notice board and there among the Union news, thank you cards and pictures of babies posted by lucky ex- employees of the company who have used sexual intercourse as a means of escape, is the notice of the upcoming monthly social event. It is to be held on Saturday and as that is the day before my thirty fifth birthday I have rashly said I will attend and even buy the first round. The venue is Snatcha’s, a bar and bistro in the centre of town and reputedly quite lively, which means rough as far as I’m concerned. A situation not helped by the regular Karaoke nights, of which this Saturday is one and the happy hour with all alcohol at half price up to eight o’clock. I just know I will hate the evening with its false works do bonhomie, the potential embarrassment of getting pissed and the fact that I hate most of the people who will be there. At least I can keep the finding the body in the sea thing up my sleeve as an excuse just in case I can’t face going.

My working day progresses slowly, with most callers expressing concern that the Solar event will have a detrimental effect on world stock markets and their own nest eggs in particular. I receive call after call on this theme from the confused, angry, scared and just plain annoying customers and not one of them wants to invest more funds with Real Money. Janine however seems to be bucking this trend and at one point after finishing a call yells ‘yeth, a hundred thousand new funds invested in the Far East futures fund.’ Patrick emerges from his office; ‘Well done Janine, great stuff, see everybody it’s still possible to win some valuable new business and if Janine can do it all of you can with a bit of hard work and the Real money ethos put into practice. Now I want you all to put a pledge on the white board for how much new funds you will personally attract today. Michael, you go first.’

I get up walk to the white board and write five thousand pounds.

‘Is that all?’ Says Patrick, you need to treble it at least.′

I add a one in front of my original figure and return to my desk silently cursing the poison Dwarf and the lisping slapper. Christ what a pair I wish they would both die horribly, preferably together and soon.

After the mock enthusiasm of the pledges, mine is the lowest, things settle down. I take a call; ‘Good Morning thank you for calling Real Money you’re speaking to Michael, how can I help make your nest egg grow today?’

‘Hello’ says a wavering voice that sounds like it belongs to a hundred year old woman.

‘Hello, can I help you?’

‘Hello’

‘Hello, can I help you?’

‘Hello’

‘Good morning it’s Real Money Michael speaking can I be of help to you?’

‘Hello’

‘Can I please help you?’

‘Is that the money rail?’

‘It’s Real money.’

‘It’s Leslie Smith.’

‘Hello Mrs Smith, how can I help?’

‘It’s Mr Smith, Les.’

‘Oh sorry Mr Smith, bit of a bad line.’

’I want all my money back today please, twelve thousand two hundred pounds, It’s in the Japanese five year growth bond. Barry who sold it to me said it can’t fail and would be invested in the rebuilding of Japan following the tsunami and he said I would almost certainly double my money. He said it would be a win, win situation. I would make money whilst helping with a good cause, not that I like the Jap’s, fought them in the war we did, did you know that?

‘Yes I had heard.’

‘Cruel little bastards my brother always said, he had to build one of their railway bridges.’

‘Not on the River Kwai?’

‘No in Tokyo 1970, when he was working for Balfour Beatty, but he didn’t like the country or the people, always said they were cruel to dolphins and whales, in fact you couldn’t stop him saying it especially after he went a bit senile. Barry said I can get my money back at any time and although I only put it in two months ago I need it back, today.’

‘Ah, well Mr smith the problem there is that you invested it for five years, Barry would have explained that I hope and it’s only been in for two months, so you can’t really have it back until the term ends in five years otherwise you’ll lose most of it in charges.’

‘But I want all of it now I need to pay for my daughters’ life saving operation in America, cancer, it’s her only hope.′

‘Oh dear.’

‘I need my money now.’

‘I’m so sorry but I don’t think you will be able to have the whole lot back, charges have been deducted already and in the first year they are considerable, the product is designed for the medium term and giving a potential substantial return at the end of the term, which as I have said is five years.’

‘I want my nest egg, who is your boss, the one in charge?’

‘That would be Patrick Drage.’

‘Drain?’

‘Drage.’

‘Let me speak to him.’

‘No, I mean you can’t he’s out.’

‘I want him to phone me I need my money it’s a matter of life or death.’

‘Even if he phones he won’t be able to help.’

‘I’m going to write to the Finance Omnibus and say that you and this Drage have stolen my money and are leaving my daughter to die.’

‘Look Mrs Smith.’

‘Mr Smith.’

‘Sorry, Mr Smith, look I’d personally love to give you all of your money back but the product has charges. Barry really should have explained all of this.’

’I bet you and Drain still get a bonus, blood money paid for out of my savings and the death of my poor sick daughter, you’ll be hearing more about this, goodbye.

Shaken, I put down the phone.

‘Yeth!’

It’s Janine.

‘Another fifty grand bond sale agreed, I’m weally on a woll today.’

Not for the first time the thought of murder seriously crosses my mind.