Cecelia Ahern - The Time of My Life

The shouting and bangs got louder and louder. We could see people running past our window at top speed, women with their shoes in their hands, men without their jackets, just running. Everybody was running, why couldn’t we? My question was answered very quickly. I saw someone running in the opposite direction to the fleeing men and women, a familiar shape. He was running straight to our door. Then I saw a team of security men chasing him. Our door burst open.

It was Steve. Sausage.

He had his briefcase in his hand, his suit jacket was ripped at the sleeve and there was blood gushing from a gash in his forehead. I was so shocked I couldn’t speak. I looked at Twitch to see if he could see what I could, but his hands were in front of his face, his shoulders were shaking, he was quietly crying. At first I was relieved, it was only Steve. I was about to jump out from under my desk and run to him when he threw down his briefcase and dragged a nearby desk across the floor to block the door. Despite his physical shape he moved quickly, and then piled chair after chair on top of the desk to block the door. Once he was satisfied, he picked up his briefcase again and with his breathing way out of whack, made his way to his desk.

He started shouting, ‘My name is Steve Roberts and I work here. My name is Steve Roberts and I work here. You cannot remove me from these premises.’

When the others realised who it was, they began to slowly creep out from under the desks.

Graham was first up. ‘Steve, man, what are you—’

‘Stay away from me, Graham,’ Steve shouted, his breathing all over the place; the blood was dripping from his nose and his chin down onto his shirt. ‘They can’t take this job away from me. All I want to do is sit down and go to work. That’s all. Now back off. Seriously, you too, Mary, you too, Louise.’

Quentin was still under the desk. I stood up.

‘Steve, please don’t do this,’ I said, my voice shaking. ‘You’ll get into so much trouble. Think of your wife and your kids.’

‘Think of Teresa,’ Graham said, adding the personal touch. ‘Come on.’ His voice was gentle. ‘You don’t want to let her down.’

Steve was softening, his shoulders were relaxing, his eyes becoming a little less hardened but they were so black, so dark and wild. He was looking around as though he was wired, as though he was on something, not able to focus on one thing.

‘Steve, please don’t make this any worse,’ Edna said. ‘We can end this now.’

But it was as though a switch was flicked and he turned again. He glared at her and almost threw his briefcase at her and my heart quickened. ‘It can’t get any worse, Edna, you have no idea how bad things are already. You have no idea. I am fifty years old and today a twenty-year-old girl told me that I am unemployable. Unemployable? Apart from the day my baby girl was born, I’ve never missed a day’s work in my life.’ His voice was full of venom and he directed his anger at Edna. ‘I’ve always done my best for you, always.’

‘I know that. Believe me—’

‘You are a liar!’ he shouted, voice thick with rage. His face was bright red, the veins in his neck protruded. ‘My name is Steve Roberts and I work here.’

He put his briefcase down, pulled out his chair and sat down. His hands were shaking as he tried to open his briefcase. When he couldn’t do it he yelled so loudly we all jumped and he thumped his fist down on the desk. ‘Graham, open it!’ he shouted. Graham hopped to it and opened the brown battered briefcase that Steve had carried with him every day that I’d been here, and then he wisely took several strides backward, away from Steve. Steve calmed a little then placed his mug back down, the one that said Steve likes his coffee black with one sugar, but he banged it down so hard that the bottom chipped. He replaced his basketball and hoop and the photograph of his children. There was no packed lunch. His wife hadn’t planned on him coming in today. They were messily placed, not as he had them before. Nothing was like he had it before.

‘Where’s my computer?’ he said quietly.

Nobody answered.

‘Where’s my computer?’ he screamed.

‘I don’t know,’ Edna said, her voice trembling a little. ‘They came and they took it this morning.’

‘Took it? Who took it?’

Banging began on the door to the office as security tried to get in. The door wouldn’t budge, he had cleverly – though I think accidentally – placed one of the chairs below the door handle and it was firmly lodged. I could hear voices outside talking at top speed, trying to figure out what to do. They were worried, not so much about us I imagined but about the two heads of the company inside, and I was hoping Steve wasn’t going to find out any time soon either. The action at the door wasn’t doing anything to help Steve’s temper. The constant rattle of the chairs and desk at the door was like a slow simmer and we were all waiting for the big explosion. Steve was starting to panic.

‘Well then, get me your computer,’ he said.

‘What?’ Edna was taken aback.

‘Go into your office and get me your computer. Or better yet, how about I take your desk, how do you like that?’ he shouted. ‘Then I’ll be the boss around here and they won’t be able to get rid of me. Maybe I’ll fire you,’ he shouted. ‘Edna! You’re fucking fired! How do you like that?’

It was beyond disturbing watching a colleague fall apart like this. Edna just looked at him, gulped hard, didn’t know what to do. Her two bosses who held her life in their hands were hiding out in her office.

‘You can’t go in,’ she stuttered. ‘I locked it at lunchtime and I can’t find the key.’ She struggled saying it and we all knew, even Steve in his demented state knew, that it wasn’t true.

‘Why are you lying to me?’

‘I’m not, Steve,’ she said a little stronger. ‘You really can’t go in there.

‘But it’s my office,’ he shouted, moving closer to her. He shouted in her face and she blinked with each word. ‘It’s my office and you have to let me in. It will be the last thing you do before you pack up your things and leave!’ His demeanour was intimidating, there were six of us in there, two more in Edna’s office, and together we could have taken him down but he had us all captivated, frozen in our spots in fear of a man we thought we knew.

‘Steve, don’t go in there,’ Graham said.

Steve looked at him, confused. ‘Why, who’s in there?’

‘Just don’t, okay?’

‘Someone’s in there, aren’t they? Who is it?’

Graham shook his head.

‘Quentin, who is it?’

It was only then I’d noticed Quentin had risen from below the desk.

‘Tell them to come out,’ he said to Edna.

She was wringing her hands.

‘I can’t do that,’ she said, giving up, her confidence dying.

‘Quentin, open the door for me.’

Quentin looked at me; I didn’t know what to do.

‘Open the damn door,’ Steve screamed and Quentin scurried over. He opened the door slowly, didn’t look inside and immediately returned to his desk to be away from the action.

Steve moved a little closer to the office, peeked inside. Then he started laughing. But not happy laughter, it was demented, disturbing.

‘Get out,’ he said to the men inside.

‘Look, Mr …’ Michael O’Connor looked at Edna for help.

‘Roberts,’ she whispered, but not deliberately.

‘You don’t even know my name,’ Steve screeched and his face was bright red, his nose was covered in blood, the bloodstain on his shirt was spreading. ‘He doesn’t even know my name,’ he shouted to the rest of us. ‘Just yesterday you ruined my life and you don’t even know my bloody name,’ he yelled. ‘My name is Steve Roberts and I work here!’