Ken McClure - Lost causes

It was cold inside, familiar but seeming strangely foreign as he checked the rooms. He turned the mains water on and let the taps run and splutter for a bit to clear the airlocks before parking himself in his favourite chair by the window.

The flat was one street back from the river but he had a view of it through a gap in the buildings across the way. He had watched a lot of river traffic pass by from this seat while he’d wrestled with the puzzles that Sci-Med had thrown his way. He’d also looked up at a lot of stars while letting gin and tonic take the edge off his day. But that was all in the past. He’d moved on.

As he entered the outskirts of Leicester, a time check on the radio suggested that Tally would not be home for another couple of hours, so he decided to call in at work before going home to see if there was anything that needed his attention, and to catch up on any urgent messages, not that he could recall ever having had one of those in his new job. He had rung in earlier to say he wouldn’t be in but hadn’t said why.

Rachel Collins met him coming out of the lift. She was on the point of leaving for the day. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

‘Fine, thanks.’

‘We thought you might be ill.’

‘No, a friend is.’

‘Oh, good. Oh, God, I mean not good about your friend but, you know… The chief exec was looking for you earlier.’

‘Thanks, Rachel.’

Steven planked himself behind his desk and started going through his mail, all of it routine and largely comprising extra reference checks he’d made on new employees who’d started in the past couple of months. None of the checks had thrown up problems. He hadn’t really imagined they would. There was an internal letter from the chief exec’s office listing the names of people from the accounts and statistics department who had been charged with preparation of the company’s bid for the government vaccine initiative now that it had become a reality. Steven was reading the names when his door opened and the chief executive, Lionel Montague, walked in as if modelling a black cashmere overcoat and contrasting red scarf. All that was missing was a 360-degree twirl. ‘I was about to leave the car park when I saw your light was on. I tried to get you earlier.’

‘I had to go to London.’

A frown crossed Montague’s face. ‘In connection with what, might I ask?’

Steven could sense the man was spoiling for an argument but didn’t fully understand why. He hadn’t had much to do with him since his arrival, although he had noted on occasion that Montague’s name seemed to inspire either respect or fear in other staff members, and he wasn’t sure which. Once again he had the familiar feeling of being an outsider in a world he didn’t fully understand. ‘In connection with the fact that my friend and former employer is dying. He asked to see me.’

‘You know, I really shouldn’t have to point out to senior staff like yourself that their first duty is to this company. Personal matters come second. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Depressingly.’

Montague bridled at Steven’s choice of word but chose not to push things further.

‘How can I help you?’ asked Steven, already regretting the use of it. The art of biting his tongue had yet to be fully mastered.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘You said you were looking for me earlier.’

‘Oh, yes. I wanted to talk to you about security screening of the accountants we are tasking with the preparation of our bid.’

‘I’ve just read who they will be,’ said Steven, holding up the internal note.

‘It’s absolutely imperative that nothing leaks out. I can’t stress that enough.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And it will be your job to see that it doesn’t.’

‘Right.’

‘Just so we understand each other.’

‘We do,’ said Steven calmly.

‘And consider what I said earlier about conflicts of professional and personal interests.’

‘I will.’

Montague exited, leaving Steven staring at the closed door. He was experiencing inner conflict over the choice of a word to describe Montague. A toughie, but just another challenge to be faced in the wonderful world of commerce. He turned to his computer and started going through his email.

‘How was he?’ asked Tally, when Steven got in just after seven.

‘Not good.’

‘Do they know if it’s malignant yet?’

‘No. I had a word with his doctor afterwards who showed me the scans. They’re going to have to remove it but it’s not going to be easy. They’ve told John fifty-fifty.’

Tally’s eyes asked the question.

‘On a good day.’

‘Could you have a conversation with him?’

‘Yes, he was very tired but quite compos mentis. He wants me to take over at Sci-Med if the worst should come to the worst. I declined.’

‘How did he take that?’

‘He was… disappointed. He seems convinced that something awful is about to happen.’

‘The one-last-mission gambit,’ said Tally.

‘Maybe,’ said Steven, impressed as always by Tally’s understanding of the games people play.

‘It must have been hard to turn down a dying man, especially a good friend. What reason did you give?’

‘I couldn’t afford to lose you.’

The reply stopped Tally in her tracks. She swallowed and unconvincingly changed the subject. ‘You’re back late.’

‘I went to the London flat to make sure it was okay and then called in at work on the way home to go through the mail — shouldn’t have bothered. Got my wrist slapped by Lionel Montague for putting personal considerations before work and swanning off to London, as he saw it.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Tally, her eyes widening like saucers. ‘But you’re… No, no, no, this is all wrong. This shouldn’t have happened.’ She started to pace around the room as if wrestling with some inner conflict.

‘Hey, it’s no big deal,’ Steven tried to assure her, feeling alarmed and not quite understanding her reaction.

Tally shook her head. ‘No. It’s not just this. I’ve been kidding myself. This is all wrong. I’ve been hoping against hope that our life together could work but it’s not going to. You’re not like other people, Steven. You really are special… and I thank you for trying to change for my benefit but I can’t allow it any longer. You must tell John that you’ll go back to Sci-Med.’

Steven was stunned. ‘But what about us? We made a bargain. I agreed to walk away from it all.’

‘We can’t be the kind of “us” I hoped for. I’m just going to have to accept that; we’ll have to work round it. You are Steven Dunbar, the kindest of the kind, the bravest of the brave, and the fact of the matter is that one day with you is worth a life-time with any nine-to-five, arse-kissing, pen-pushing emasculated excuse for a man who’d put the company before the wishes of a dying friend — the sort of man I was trying to turn you into and I’m so, so sorry.’

Steven felt her warm, wet tears on his cheek as he held her close. ‘Maybe we should sleep on this and talk about it in the morning.’

‘No,’ said Tally, pulling away slightly and trying to regain her composure, wiping her cheeks with her palms and smoothing back her hair, which was still tied back the way she wore it to work. ‘I’ve decided.’

With Steven’s pharmaceutical company suitably compensated by Her Majesty’s Government for taking their employee away without notice, he endured an excruciating farewell sherry party in Lionel Montague’s office, smiling his way through jokes about his having found life in the private sector a bit too tough and scuttling back to the safety of public sector life.