Cecelia Ahern - The Time of My Life

‘We all need to calm down here, maybe open the door and tell everybody outside that we’re okay, then we can discuss what’s happened.’

‘Who’s he?’ Steve said, looking at Augusto.

‘This is … he doesn’t speak English, Mr Roberts.’

‘My name is Steve,’ he shouted. ‘Lucy,’ he screamed and my heart went from a mile a minute to stopping. ‘Get over here. You speak languages, ask him who he is.’

I didn’t move. Quentin looked at me with concern and I knew that he knew.

‘He’s Augusto Fernández from the German office and he’s here to visit us today,’ I said, my voice cracking along the way.

‘Augusto … I’ve heard of you. You’re the guy who fired me,’ Steve said, getting worked up again. ‘You’re the fucker who fired me. Well, I know what to do with you.’

Steve rushed towards him and it looked as though he was going to punch him.

Michael O’Connor grabbed Steve to pull him back but Steve was quick, he punched him in the stomach and Michael went flying back into Edna’s office and landed on the ground. I heard the bang as his head hit the desk. I don’t think Steve noticed. He had stopped inches before Augusto’s face. We waited for a head butt, a punch, something awful to happen to his perfect sun-snogged Spanish face but it didn’t happen.

‘Please give me back my job,’ Steve said in a gentle voice that broke my heart. Blood had rolled down to his mouth and it spattered as he spoke. ‘Please.’

‘He can’t do that, Mr Roberts,’ Michael said from inside, clearly in pain.

‘Yes, he can, give me back my job, Augusto. Lucy, tell him I want my job back.’

I swallowed. ‘Em …’ I tried to think of words, I tried to think of all I’d learned but the knowledge just wasn’t there.

‘Lucy!’ he roared and he reached into his pocket. I thought he was going for a handkerchief. It would be normal for him to reach for that, blood was pouring from his head, covered his nose and was on his hand from where he’d wiped his mouth. I waited for the handkerchief to come out of his pocket but instead I saw a gun. Everybody screamed and dived to the ground, apart from me because it was pointed at me and I had frozen.

‘Tell him to give me my job back.’ He moved closer to me, all I could see was a black thing pointing at me. It was shaking in Steve’s trembling hand. I could see his finger on the trigger and he was trembling so hard I was afraid it would go off any minute. My legs were shaking; I could feel my knees about to go. ‘If he gives me my job back, I will let him go safely. Tell him.’

I couldn’t answer him. He rushed at me again, the gun only inches away from my face. ‘Tell him!’ he screamed.

‘For fuck’s sake put the gun down,’ I heard Graham yell, terror in his voice.

Then the others started shouting and it was too much, it was too much for me to bear. I was afraid it would be too much for Steve to take too, all those voices, all those terrified voices confusing our thoughts.

My lips were trembling, my eyes filling. ‘Please, Steve, don’t do this. Please don’t do this.’

He toughened up, ‘Don’t cry, Lucy, just do what you’re paid to do and tell the man I want my job back.’

My lips trembled so much I could barely make out the words. ‘I can’t.’

‘Yes, you can.’

‘I can’t, Steve.’

‘Just do it, Lucy,’ Graham said encouragingly. ‘Just say what he wants you to say.’

The banging on the door stopped and I felt lost. More lost than I’d ever been. I thought they’d left us. They’d left us on our own.

‘I can’t.’

‘Do it!’ Steve shouted. ‘Do it, Lucy!’ He waved the gun closer to my face.

‘Jesus, Steve, I can’t do it, okay? I can’t speak Spanish. Okay?’ I shouted back.

There was a silence, everyone looked at me in shock as if that revelation was more surprising than the brandished gun, then they remembered, and quickly returned their gaze to Steve.

Steve was looking at me as shocked as everybody else, then his eyes darkened again and the trembling in his hand stopped and his arm firmed up. ‘But they fired me.’

‘I know. I’m sorry, Steve. I’m really sorry.’

‘I didn’t deserve it.’

‘I know,’ I whispered.

In the middle of the thick silence, while Michael was slowly rolling onto his side to get to his feet and the others were cowering together, Quentin stood up. Steve whipped around with the gun to face him.

‘Jesus, Quentin, get down,’ Graham shouted.

But Quentin didn’t move. Instead he faced Mr Fernández, who was in a terrified state on the floor, and in a firm voice with what sounded like word-perfect Spanish he began to speak to him. Augusto rose to his feet and also remained cool and responded, his voice authoritative and believable even though none of us had a clue what he was saying. In the middle of this madness they carried out a conversation of complete calm. Suddenly there was the sound of a drill from outside. Movement, at last, and the door handle began to rattle. Steve looked at the door and it seemed that a little part of him gave up.

‘What did he say?’ he asked Quentin. His voice was quiet and we could barely hear him over the noise of the drill.

Quentin, full of twitches, recited Augusto’s response. ‘He said that he is very sorry about the error which led to you losing your job. He is sure there was a mistake in the system and as soon as he is able he will make a phone call to head office to have you reinstated. He is very sorry for the distress this has caused you and your family and he will very quickly make plans to have you back in the job as quickly as possible. It is obvious from your actions today that you are a fine dedicated worker that he and the company should be extremely proud of.’

Steve’s chin lifted higher with pride. He nodded then. ‘Thank you.’ Swapping the gun to his other hand, he moved towards Augusto and reached out with his free bloodied hand. They shook hands. ‘Thank you very much,’ he said. ‘It’s an honour to work for your company.’

Augusto nodded, warily and wearily both at the same time.

Then the door handle fell off, the door burst open, the desk was thrown across the room and three men dived on Steve.

As soon as I had the opportunity that day I made my call.

He answered.

‘Okay,’ I said, my voice still trembling from the shock. ‘I’ll meet you again.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

We had arranged to meet the following day in Starbucks at the end of my block. I couldn’t meet him on the day of the office incident, I would rather not have seen anybody or anything, apart from Mr Pan and my bed, that day, but word had reached my mother, via on-the-hour-every-hour news bulletins, and she was frantic with worry. Father was up the walls. Mum had sent a messenger into the court with word that her daughter’s office had been held at gunpoint and Father had demanded a recess in a controversial high-profile case. He had broken every speed limit for the first time in his life to make it home to Mum and they’d sat around the kitchen table together eating apple pie and drinking tea, crying and hugging and reminiscing on the little Lucy stories they loved to regale so much, bringing my soul to life as if I had been shot in the office that day.

Okay, I lied.

I’m not sure how Father felt about it – the underlying feeling was probably that I deserved it for landing such a lowly job with standard people – but I was in no mood to learn his thoughts on the matter. I’d refused to visit, insisting I was fine, but even I knew this time that I was lying and so Riley had landed on my doorstep unscheduled.