Simon Brett - A Shock to the System

‘Meaning that it is insane to have someone in that job who’s not computer literate.’

‘What?’ This frontal attack winded Graham. Mustering what reserves of sarcasm he had left, he asked, ‘If that’s how you feel, why don’t you just get me out of the job? Kick me out?’

‘I have investigated the possibility,’ Robert replied coolly, ‘and unfortunately it can’t be done. You’re too senior in the company to be removed for any reason other than gross misconduct.’

‘Terrific,’ said Graham. ‘I’m honoured that you’ve taken the trouble to find that out. And bear in mind, you’re less senior in the company, and getting you removed may prove a lot easier!’

Graham Marshall looked down at the swirling waters of the Thames from Hammersmith Bridge. The place now held no fears for him; rather it was a source of strength, a shrine almost, the scene of his conversion, of his rebirth.

The sun that glinted on the water was warm with the promise of summer. It made him think of holidays. Yes, he would have a nice holiday this year. Somewhere hot, somewhere rather luxurious. He would put behind him the rowdy family heartiness of Cyprus, the awful memories of self-catering in Wales, and go. . where? The West Indies, maybe … Yes, that had the right sort of feel. And he’d certainly be able to afford it now. Luxury for one was comparatively inexpensive.

He thought about his scene with Robert Benham. The skirmishing was over; both sides had nailed their colours to the mast. For Robert to have admitted that he had investigated removing his rival left no further ambiguity in the relationship. It was now open war.

Graham had spent lunchtime in the company bar with other members of the Department, and then set off home, an action that could be interpreted as a symptom of bereavement, or an expression of pique against Robert Benham.

The bar-room conversation had given Graham considerable encouragement. His were not the only hackles which had been raised by Robert Benham’s ungentle style. Already, before he had taken over the job, a power-base of opposition had built up against him. Marshalling that opposition was the kind of task for which Graham’s skills were uniquely formed. He began to relish the guerrilla warfare ahead.

Robert Benham would fight hard, but Graham knew that Robert Benham would not win. He might have a formidable armoury of skills and talent, but he did not possess Graham’s ultimate weapon. It was a weapon that might not be brought into play, but it was there, and in extremity Graham Marshall would not hesitate to use it.

On his way home Graham walked past an estate agent. He went in, announced that he wished to put his house on the market and arranged a time for a valuer to call and assess the profit of his crime.

‘I think we really ought to sell it. I’m sure we could use the money.’

‘What?’ Graham looked up. He had only half heard his mother-in-law’s words, engrossed in the book he had just got from the library. It was a book about famous murder cases, and he was reading it with amused relish. It boosted his confidence. They had all been such incompetents, such amateurs, all weakened by lapses into inefficiency or pity. His feeling of untouchable exclusivity increased.

Lilian repeated her words, exactly, an habitual form of reproach she had used on her daughters when they weren’t listening to her. She prefaced the statement, as ever, with ‘I said’.

‘I said , I think we really ought to sell it. I’m sure we could use the money.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Go to an estate agent. Put it on the market.’

‘Ah.’ Graham smiled. ‘I’ve already done it.’

He anticipated an explosion, and rather enjoyed the anticipation. The scene had to come, and it was as well to get the future sorted out sooner rather than later.

But he was disappointed. Lilian did not seem put down by his revelation; if anything it cheered her up. ‘Good,’ she said.

‘We want to get things sorted out as soon as possible.’

This sentiment so exactly mirrored his own that he stared at her with some bewilderment. It did not seem likely that Lilian Hinchcliffe should succumb to a sudden flush of reasonableness at her advanced age.

She looked quite girlish as she continued. ‘Might get as much as thirty thousand for it now.’

‘Thirty thousand? You’re out of date, Lilian. If I only got thirty thousand, I would have been done. Do you know how much I paid for this house?’

‘This house?’ In the echo her girlishness was gone. Every year of her age, and a few more, showed in her face.

‘Yes. This house.’

‘But, Graham, you can’t sell this house. I was talking about my flat.’

‘Ah.’ He laughed good-naturedly at her error.

‘You can’t sell this house. It’s ideal for us and the children.’

‘I disagree.’

‘Is it the money? I thought the mortgage was paid off by Merrily’s death. But if it is money, when we’ve sold my flat I’d be happy to lend you — ’

‘It isn’t the money. I just want to sell the house.’

‘Oh yes, that’s a natural reaction. Straight after Merrily’s death, with the cremation only yesterday, of course the house is full of memories. . But you mustn’t do anything hasty. Henry and Emma need stability at the moment. Don’t you see that, Graham?’

He shook his head with some impatience. He had always found it exasperating how much slower most people’s minds worked than his own. And now that he had planned his future with such sense and precision, it was annoying to encounter someone unable to appreciate his logic.

‘Lilian, I will tell you what is going to happen,’ he began patiently. ‘Merrily’s death has merely crystallised something I have been thinking for a long time. I do not enjoy family life. I would like to live on my own. And I am now free to follow my inclination. Because she is dead.’ And then he added, for form’s sake, ‘Sad and regrettable though that undoubtedly is.’

Lilian Hinchcliffe’s mouth gaped open. ‘You’re in shock. You ought to go and see a doctor. Graham, you’re not talking sense.’

‘On the contrary. I am talking better sense probably than I have ever talked to you. There is no need for me to go and see a doctor. I am not in shock. I am simply telling you that I wish in future to live on my own and am therefore going to sell this house. It seems a perfectly logical decision to me.’

‘But no, no it’s not logical. You are forgetting that there’s not just you. There’s Henry and Emma, and me. You do not exist on your own.’

Ah, but I do, thought Graham smugly. Very much on my own. Two murders have set me apart from everyone else in the world. And the thought gave him a burning, exhilarating sense of identity.

But he still had the boring process of spelling it all out to go through. ‘Listen, Lilian, the only thing you and I ever had in common was Merrily. We never liked each other. No, don’t argue, don’t pretend, we never did. Merrily was our sole, circumstantial link. With her gone, there is no reason why we should ever see each other again.’

‘But, Graham, she’s only just dead and. . I’ve just lost my daughter, I. .’

‘Better to get it sorted out now,’ he said soothingly, ‘than for either of us to continue under any illusions.’ In the circumstances, he really thought he was being very understanding, breaking it to her with great sensitivity.

She gaped more. Tears appeared in her eyes, their appearance delayed by genuine shock rather longer than in most of her scenes.

‘But, but Graham, putting me on one side for a moment. .’

Which is exactly what I’m doing, he thought.