Kate Lawson - Lessons in Love

‘Well, here we are then,’ said Mrs Findlay brightly, easing herself in behind the desk and settling herself down. ‘Now, as I’m sure you’re aware recently we’ve been looking at ways to restructure and improve our current levels of service. And I think we are developing some exciting strategies to meet that challenge.’ She had a file with Jane’s name on it spread out across the desk. ‘I’ve been looking at the projects you’ve been involved in since you began working with us here at Buckbourne and some of the things you’ve initiated—and I have to say it’s all terribly impressive.’ Mrs Findlay smiled warmly. ‘A lot of very intriguing and innovative ideas, Jane, lots of outreach to take library services into the wider community, identifying and targeting groups with special needs, good use of resources, coming in under budget, as I said, this is very impressive, just the kind of thing we want to encourage, which is why…’

It was the following Monday morning and it felt to Jane as if she had just survived the longest weekend of her life. It was the second weekend since Steven Burney Day—13 days 19 hours and 11 minutes since Lucy had just popped in to her office to tell her all about Steve. The first weekend Jane had been so stunned she could barely remember it. Barely breathe. It felt like one great red raw emotional blur. But this one, the first one out of the fire and into reality, had been interminable, even given the trip over to Creswell Close to deliver the post. In quiet moments Jane reran the last conversation she had had with Steve, phrase by phrase, syllable by syllable.

He had turned up at her house after she rang him. He’d brought flowers and a balloon and some ridiculous card shop bear that had, ‘Pwease don’t be cross wiv lickle me,’ embroidered across its T-shirt.

Now, as Steve filled her mind Mrs Findlay’s voice faded to a distant drone.

‘Jane, I’m so sorry, the thing is, it really wasn’t my fault,’ Steve had said. ‘Please don’t look at me like that. We were both a little bit tipsy. I didn’t mean it to happen. Really. Lucy and I had been talking about the new strategic county policy document and I suggested a glass of wine. Neither of us had eaten. It could have happened to anyone. I know that is no excuse but I’d been on tablets as well—you remember, I’d had that nasty cold. And she was, well, you know Lucy—she’s a lovely girl but…We started talking about life and all that stuff and…and, well, it just happened. Let’s be adult about this. It was nothing. You have to believe me, Jane. We all make mistakes. It was a moment of madness. And I’m really sorry.’ Steve looked down at his nice shiny shoes, the very epitome of contrition. ‘Trust me, sweetie, it was an accident.’

‘So you’re telling me that your clothes accidentally fell off and by some miracle not seen since the days of the Old Testament, Lucy Stroud was instantly covered in Greek yogurt, chocolate sauce and strawberries?’

‘Ah…’

‘You know I’ve wondered for weeks what those stains were on your sofa.’

There was a very interesting pause and then Steve gathered himself together and said, ‘Well, the thing is—’

But Jane was ahead of him. ‘The thing is I could probably understand it happening once, Steve. It’s the regular Wednesday evenings ever since that are proving a little more problematic.’

‘Ah…’

And then Jane had trashed the flowers, popped the balloon and offered if he said pwease to insert the bear into the orifice of Steve’s choice. He said she was being unreasonable.

Being in a state of shock, Jane hadn’t thought to ask him about Carol and Anna. Maybe she should. Maybe she could send an email memo to her whole ‘at work’ mailing list asking for more details. Lucy said that she had pictures if Jane needed any further proof. The cow.

Meanwhile it was still Monday morning and despite thoughts of Steve, on the far side of the desk Mrs Findlay, big in internal human resources, was still talking.

‘…So I do hope you understand our position in this, Jane. I have to say we’ll all be awfully sad to see you go.’

Jane looked up at her in amazement. ‘What?’

‘I realise that it may come as a bit of shock but we’re all aware that you’re an extremely talented individual, Jane. I’m certain that it won’t take you long to find another position. Let’s look at this current situation positively—and rest reassured that we will be doing our very best to help you in your search to find another position while you’re working out your notice. There may very well be something coming up within your present department. Who knows? I’ve had Maureen in the front office run off a list of current County Council situations vacant for you and we have prepared a very useful pack for members of staff who find themselves in this situation.’ Mrs Findlay pulled a cheery yellow and navy-blue folder out from a box on the floor.

‘What?’ Jane said again, staring at her. ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean, I’ve got the sack? You were just telling me that I was the best thing since sliced bread. And then you follow that up by telling me I’m sacked? It’s ridiculous—I’m really good at my job so you’re going to get rid of me ? How the hell do you expect me to look at that positively?’

Mrs Findlay’s contorted expression took professional concern to new and dizzying heights. ‘I have to say, Jane, that “sacked” is really not a term I’m very happy with. But, yes, I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go.’ She held up her hands, in a ‘what can I do?’ gesture.

‘I’m not a seal being released back into the wild.’

Mrs Findlay looked pained. ‘There’s really no need to take that attitude, Jane. You must understand that I find this part of my job terribly stressful and very difficult.’

If she was going for the sympathy vote Mrs Findlay had picked the wrong moment. Jane stared at her; some sort of weird benign touchy-feely PC sacking on top of Steve Burney’s very public infidelity was just about the final straw.

‘My heart bleeds for you,’ snapped Jane. ‘So what happened to how impressed you were with what I’ve done for the department?’

Determinedly Mrs Findlay held her ground. ‘Sometimes, Jane, we need to prune a tree to ensure its continued healthy growth and when we prune a tree, some of the wood, sometimes even some of the new vigorous wood, has to be cut away. But I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that we’ve decided to adopt some of your wonderfully innovative ideas, structure them into our working practice in a more permanent way.’ She paused while Jane took a moment to catch up. ‘We’ve asked Lucy to head the project up. You know Lucy.’

Jane stared at her. ‘Lucy? Lucy Stroud?’

‘Yes, I thought you’d be pleased. She holds you in very high esteem. Recently she’s expressed a real interest in developing community links. We all thought she was a natural choice. And she comes highly recommended.’

Somewhere in Jane’s head a pile of pennies dropped noisily. ‘By Steve Burney?’ she whispered, through clenched teeth.

‘I couldn’t possibly comment on that,’ said Mrs Findlay, gathering Jane’s file together. No, of course she couldn’t; she didn’t need to, it was written all over her face. ‘Now with regards to passing the baton, we’ll need to discuss her shadowing you—’

‘Really?’ said Jane, standing up.

‘I didn’t think you’d mind,’ said Mrs Findlay, obviously pleased with how well it had all gone.

‘Well, you thought wrong,’ said Jane.

The self-help pack was entitled ‘So You’ve Lost Your Job? What Next?’. Inside the front cover in a flowery font that was probably meant to look like it was handwritten from a favourite aunt, it read, ‘You know, it really helps to look at this as a positive step. We have to see this as a fresh start, a chance to explore our potential, rather than taking a negative attitude.’