Ben Cheetham - The Society of Dirty Hearts

“For any build-up strategy to work there needs to be a strong flow of new orders in the pipeline.” The line was straight out of Julian’s business textbooks. He said it more because, faced with his dad’s sharp U-turn of opinion, he felt a responsibility to reciprocate his enthusiasm than because he believed it.

Robert clicked his fingers in assent. “Exactly. And that’s what I want you to do — find new markets, new buyers.” He talked on eagerly about all the possibilities they could explore, but Julian was only half-listening. The other half of him was thinking about Mia and Jake. He suddenly found himself longing to be back in the ‘Cripples’ storeroom, shut away from the world and himself. By the end of the day he felt exhausted from listening to his dad. But he wasn’t ready to go home and face the nothing of the evening. Neither did he want to risk going out drinking. Knowing what this town was like, there was every chance word had gotten out about his involvement with Mia.

When his dad offered him a lift home, Julian shook his head. “I’m going to hang around here a while and have a good think about everything you’ve said, maybe come up with some ideas of my own.”

Robert’s eyebrows lifted. “You sure? It’s been a long day and you look tired. There’s no need to burn yourself out trying to prove your commitment.”

“I’m fine, Dad, honestly.”

Robert stood by the door, keys in hand. “Maybe I should stick around too. We could brainstorm together.”

“I don’t need to talk, I need to process.”

“Process?”

“Yeah, I feel a bit overloaded with information. I need to let it all sink in.”

“Why can’t you do that at home?”

“’Cos I’ll just end up staring at the TV or messing around on my laptop. There are no distractions here.” Still, Robert hesitated to leave. Julian didn’t doubt his concern was genuine, but he also had a sneaking suspicion that he was reluctant to trust him in the factory alone. “You should get going. It’s already late. Mum’ll be wondering where you are.”

Julian guessed that would do the trick — and it did. His dad tossed him a bunch of keys. “Just make sure you lock up and put the alarm on.” He gave him a final look that was half pleased, half uncertain, before leaving.

Julian wandered around the factory. He’d never been there alone before. There was a kind of unnatural hush over the place, as though the machines were sleeping. A thought came to him. He returned to his dad’s office and searched his desk drawers. In the bottom one there was a tumbler and a bottle of whisky. He poured himself a large one and sat sipping it in his dad’s leather swivel chair. His gaze moved around the office. A slight thickness came into his throat at the sight of a framed photo of his mother in her bridal dress, her smile as big as a full moon. He’d almost forgotten what she looked like before she got ill. He couldn’t bear to look at the photo for long. His eyes dropped away from it, coming to rest on a filing-cabinet. He approached the cabinet and opened it. Inside was nearly two decades worth of business accounts. He took out files containing the balance sheets for the previous five years and returned to the desk to peruse them, quickly and gladly losing himself in the figures. Hours passed, night came down. He worked backward through the years, occasionally pausing to sip his drink or scribble notes. When he was done, he took out more files and worked through them too. Darkness was wearing away to the blue edge of dawn as he returned the last of the files to the cabinet and dropped, yawning, into the swivel chair. He only closed his eyes for a second, and then suddenly he was waking to find his dad frowning down at him. He sat up with a jolt, his neck stiff from the chair, his mind still reeling from the dream. He blinked the dark images away.

“You’ve been here all night,” said his dad, stating the obvious.

“I started working on something and lost track of time. I meant to come home when I finished, but I guess that, well, I must’ve fallen asleep. I usually don’t go to sleep so easily.”

Robert glanced at the almost empty bottle of whisky. “Looks like you had some help.”

“Sorry about that. I needed something to keep me going. You don’t mind, do you?”

“That depends. What were you working on?”

“I went through the balance-sheet accounts to look for any possible savings.”

Robert’s frown gathered intensity. “And what did you find?”

“It’s not rising supply costs or even lack of orders that’s killing us, it’s overheads. You see, overheads accumulate on companies the way barnacles accumulate on the hull of a ship. And, from time to time, they need to be scrapped off, just as barnacles need-”

“Enough of the business-school stuff,” broke in Robert. “Get to the point.”

Julian gathered up his notes, motioning for his dad to look at them. “Here’s the thing, year on year our spending on stationary, telephone bills, insurance, equipment repairs, rent, interest on business loans and so on has risen. I’m certain we could make significant savings in all these areas.”

Robert thumbed for Julian to get out of his seat, sat down and scanned through the notes. His frown gradually relaxed into a smile. “This is really good work, Julian. I’m…well, I’m impressed.”

Julian was surprised to find himself blushing with pleasure at his dad’s praise. There was a genuine enthusiasm about him as he said, “So, I guess now I should start work on a strategy for reducing overheads.”

Robert nodded. “But that can wait until tomorrow. Now you should go home and get some rest.”

Julian was about to tell his dad that he’d rather get to work right away, but at that moment his phone vibrated in his pocket. He snatched it out. ‘1 message received’ read its screen. The text-message was from Jake. ‘meet me at mill asap and bring food’ it said.

“Anything interesting?” asked Robert.

“Just a friend wanting to meet up.” He returned the phone to his pocket. “See you later then.”

As Julian turned to leave, Robert said, “Hey, Jules. Here, catch.” He tossed him his car keys.

“But how will you get home?”

“I’ll sort something out. And next week we’ll sort you out a new car.”

An expression of pleased surprise flitted across Julian’s face. “Seriously?”

Robert smiled. “Seriously.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I’m the one who should be saying thanks. Truth is, I’ve let things here slide,” Robert admitted. A certain sadness came into his smile. “What with your mother and everything else that’s been going on.” He heaved a breath, breathing away the sadness. “Anyway, from now on things are going to be different. We’re going to make this company great together, aren’t we?”

Julian felt his dad’s weight of hope in him with the same reality that he felt the weight of tiredness in his body. He forced a smile. “Of course we are.”

As Julian drove home, his phone vibrated again. This time it was Eleanor ringing. His thumb hovered over the answer button, but didn’t press it. “Sorry, Eleanor,” he murmured.

When he arrived at the house, his mum was in the front-garden. From a distance, at a glance, she almost looked her old self — the self from the wedding-photo. It gave him a lift to see her pruning her beloved roses. She waved to him and called, “Where were you last night?”

“Working.”

“Working? What’s so important you had to work on it all night?”

“I’ll tell you later. I’ve got to be somewhere. How are you feeling?”

“Better than I have done in ages. I think the seizure must’ve jiggled some life into me.”