The Ballroom on Magnolia Street (12 page)

‘He could get a full-time labouring job; there are plenty available. And still work as a doorman in the evenings, if he really wants to hang around such degenerate places. That is not my problem. Fraud are in control of that case, now. You, on the other hand, are in some considerable trouble, yourself.’

‘Me?’

‘You passed on confidential information to Mr Stone.’

‘I did not.’

‘I found the letter in your desk. It should have been filed in his case folder.’

‘That doesn’t prove I told him anything.’ But her face was suddenly as red as a red-hot chilli pepper.

‘I’m sorry, but a decision has already been made.’

‘What decision?’

‘Regarding your employment status.’

‘I’ll go to a tribunal. I will. This is just discrimination. You just don’t like me because I’m young and a free spirit.’ Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Kate knew what was coming. A song from the ballroom came back to her, suddenly: ‘Damned Don’t Cry’ by Visage.

‘Now, really. This is a serious situation. Talking to Mr Stone was only one thing on a long list.’

‘What do you mean?’ Kate’s heart seemed to turn right over. She could feel the arteries and veins straining to hold it in place.

‘Poor time-keeping, taking and making personal calls, a negative attitude to the customers, eating and drinking at your desk, lack of respect for senior management, not to mention careless filing, and playing tasteless practical jokes which contravene health and safety regulations.’

‘What! Those things are not serious! Everybody in the building does things like that.’

‘Oh, please! Stop trying to bring innocent people into this.’

‘They do. They all do. We’ve drunk tea and coffee at our desks for years. Come on, now! It’s not a high-tech lab we’re working in.’

‘We have very high standards here. You just don’t make the grade for the civil service, I’m afraid.’

‘The civil service is full of people who couldn’t hack it in the private sector. We’re very sensitive and delicate types. Except for you, of course, Miss Bingham.’

‘How dare you!’ Miss Bingham stood up, snorted air out through her nose again, and then sat down. ‘You cheeky little – Oh, I won’t say it!’

‘No, you don’t understand. I meant that as a compliment. That you’re tough. You know? Tough as old boots! Oh, no; I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.’

‘Miss Winters, I regret to inform you that your position here has been terminated.’

‘What? I thought I was getting a written warning, or something. You’re sacking me?’

‘Indeed, I am. How dare you slander the civil service!’

‘All I did was state a true fact.’

‘There are no slackers here. Besides yourself.’

‘You’ve no compassion at all. Poor Mrs Kelly was in tears last week. Did you know that?’

‘What rubbish!’

‘It’s true! Twenty-eight letters she had to send to one claimant, to recover a four-pound over-payment, because you wouldn’t let it go. If you were a decent boss, you’d be nice to your staff, instead of prowling round the desks like a starving panther, picking off the weak and the vulnerable.’

‘This interview is concluded.’

‘Alex Stone calls this building Gestapo HQ. Put that in your secret file.’ She called Miss Bingham a witch under her breath, too, but the outraged supervisor heard her.

‘You may leave right away.’

‘Is there no way to appeal this? What about my human rights? My loss of dignity?’

‘Leave this building now, before I lose my temper. Go on, off you go. I thought you hated it here. What’s your problem?’

‘I will go, and gladly. I never liked you, if you want to know the truth.’ There was the trembling. Check. And the palpitations. Check.

‘Goodbye, Miss Winters. Don’t bother to clear your paperwork.’

‘I never liked this job. It’s boring. I’m overqualified to be a clerk.’

‘Goodbye, Miss Winters.’

‘I’ve got ten O Levels, you know. You’re just a horrible, hateful old witch! How many O Levels have you got? Or didn’t they do exams in the Middle Ages?’

‘Get up!’

But Kate couldn’t get up. She felt dizzy. Her legs had turned to jelly. Even her feet were shaking now. She staggered to her feet, wobbled forward for a couple of steps and then tried to sit down again. But Miss Bingham had her by the elbow and was pushing her out of the door and into the corridor. She summoned a colleague from across the hall and told her to fetch Shirley Winters, as soon as possible, please. A white-faced Kate was helped into her coat, and escorted by a security guard to the front door, where he gently removed her security pass. He felt awful having to do it, but orders were orders. That old Bingham woman had no feelings, he knew. He smiled sympathetically at Kate to show her he was not enjoying his task. The sight of a friendly face helped Kate to recover slightly. She stepped out of the building and took a deep breath, her face turned upwards to the morning sun. The security guard stayed with her for a couple of minutes, talking gently about the weather. They both ignored Miss Bingham, who was pacing the foyer, spoiling for another argument. Kate’s breathing returned to normal. She noticed that although the trembling had also stopped, her heart was still racing. Shirley came running, then, and Miss Bingham explained the situation.

‘Oh, Kate. What have you done, Kate?’ Shirley tried to put an arm round Kate’s shoulders, but Kate turned away and began to walk in a crooked line, down the street. Miss Bingham was thrilled to have the troublesome Kate out of her way at last. She followed the sisters for a few moments, squeezing every second from this exciting small-scale drama.

‘Take her home, dear. I think she should see a doctor. She’s very emotional. I’ll expect you back at your desk tomorrow morning, Shirley.’

Shirley nodded.

‘It’s not a crime to be emotional! Old witch! You’ve done me a favour, do you hear me?’ Kate began to cry then, and several fat tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘You and your stupid rules! I’ll be rich one day. Because I’ve got a mind of my own. And I’ll use it and I’ll be rich! And you can go to hell!’

Miss Bingham went back inside, having safely seen a disgruntled ex-employee off the property, and with some choice gossip to report to the other supervisors. The two sisters were left standing on the street.

‘Do you want to go home, Kate?’

‘Sorry about that, Shirley, old bean. I think I said a couple of things out of turn, there. God, I feel weird. I thought I was going to crack up there, for a minute or two. Took a turn of some kind.’

‘Never mind. You’ll be okay in a couple of days, and then you can put all this behind you. I’m sure you can get a doctor’s note to say you haven’t felt so well recently, and fight the dismissal. Hormone trouble, or something.’

‘I need a drink, Shirley.’

‘Do you think that’s wise, Kate? It’s only half-past nine in the morning.’

‘I can’t go home and tell Mum I’ve lost my job.’

‘Come on! When have you ever cared what she said? Look, I think the drink is making you unstable. To tell you the truth, Kate, I think you might have a little problem with the old firewater. To be perfectly honest.’

‘Give me strength!’

‘Don’t be cross with me, but have you noticed that it makes you a little bit irritable? That could be the craving.’

‘I
need
a drink. I’ve just been sacked by the most awful woman. Talk about solidarity among the sisterhood! She didn’t even give me a verbal warning. Never mind a written one. I’m having a drink. And that’s final.’

‘Oh, God. Well, where do you want to go? We’ll have to wait somewhere, until opening time. I take it you’re not going to start drinking on the street?’

‘Shut up. We’ll go to the Crown Bar. I want to sit in a private snug and get quietly hammered.’

‘Now, Kate. Think of your poor liver. It’s taken a bit of a bashing over the years.’

‘Are you coming with me, or not?’

‘I’ll come, I suppose. To keep you out of trouble.’

‘Right. Come on, then.’

The two of them linked arms, and drifted aimlessly around the shops until eleven o’clock. Kate almost bought a pearl choker, but she couldn’t summon up enough enthusiasm to get her chequebook out.

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go home and relax in a hot bubble bath, Kate, and I’ll make you something nice to eat? Shepherd’s pie? You know, you love my shepherd’s pie.’

‘Shirley, if I want to be nursed, I’ll go to hospital. Now, let’s hurry before all the booths are taken.’

‘Okay, but I want it on record that I think this is a big mistake.’

They walked in silence through the mid-morning shoppers, towards the dark and womb-like interior of the Crown Bar. They went in through the swing doors, their eyes taking a moment to grow accustomed to the lack of light. The bar staff were removing tea-towels from the beer pumps, slicing lemons and placing ashtrays on the tables. They nodded hello to their first customers of the day. Needless to say, there were still plenty of free booths available at that early hour, and Kate gave Shirley a twenty-pound note, as she sat down wearily on a leather-covered bench.

‘A couple of doubles, Shirley. That’s the girl.’

Shirley looked at her watch. It was three minutes past eleven. She couldn’t believe that Kate was about to go on a bender so early in the day. What the heck would the bar staff think of the pair of them? As it happened, Shirley didn’t have to go to the bar, as one of the barmen came to the booth to take their order. And Kate, who was deep in the throes of self-pity, still managed to wink at him. Although, to be fair, it wasn’t up to her usual standard. She delivered her order with a huge yawn. The trauma of the morning was beginning to make her feel very tired.

‘Just an orange juice, for me,’ said Shirley, mutinously.

Three hours later, Kate was beginning to get over her humiliation. A plate of half-eaten chicken-and-bacon toasted sandwiches sat beside a small mountain of empty glasses. The lunchtime crowd had come and gone, and there was a blanket of cigarette smoke floating near the ornately carved ceiling. A few men sat at the bar studying the racing pages in the newspapers. The place had warmed up nicely, and Kate was feeling much happier.

‘Shirley, you were right. I got the Boot, the Big E, the old Heave-Ho! It’s all Alex Stone’s fault. And he wasn’t even worth it.’

‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, Kate.’

‘You’d better watch yourself in there, I think they have the whole place bugged. Bingham was ferreting about in my desk, did I tell you that?’

‘Never mind. Sure, you hated it, anyway.’

‘True. But it was better than nothing.’

‘Why don’t you go into retail? Fashion, maybe? One of those fancy boutiques on Royal Avenue? It would be a real home from home for you.’

‘What kind of a reference do you think they’ll give me in the dole office? And the boutiques are a non-starter anyway. Those snobby managers want some dimwit teenager who won’t talk back to them, or else they have to hire some dried-up old prune who’s friends with the owner. It’s not what you know that counts in this society, Shirley. It’s
who
you know. It’s hopeless. Besides, I don’t want to be on my feet all day. I’m thirty-odd, for God’s sake. I’ll get varicose veins like Kevin’s mother.’

Shirley blew a massive sigh, and struggled to her feet. She was a little bit cross with Kate for drinking money she could ill afford. If Kate kept this up, she would pass out, and then Shirley would be stuck with the problem of how to get her home. She would tell the barman to put only a drip of spirits in Kate’s glass next time. But she didn’t get the chance. The door of the booth opened, and a barman came in and stacked their empty glasses into a small tower, which he leaned against his shoulder while he wiped the table.

‘Ah!’ Kate smiled, drunkenly. ‘Another round, my good man. And some loud music, if you please. My sister will be back presently, with some ready cash. There she goes! Hurry back, darling!’ Shirley slithered out of the narrow door and left the pub. She didn’t notice Declan Greenwood, who was standing at the bar. But he saw her.

‘And some cigarettes, too. I think I’ll take up smoking, again!’ Kate called after the barman. ‘A little smoke for a girl who’s just been fired, ha, ha, ha!’

When the drinks arrived on a tray, they were not carried by the barman with the white apron over his black trousers, but by Declan Greenwood himself. He set the tray down gently on the mahogany table.

‘I hope you’ll let me pay for this. I’m Declan, by the way. Declan Greenwood.’

‘Indeed you are,’ said Kate, taking the box, pulling out a cigarette and striking a match. ‘Cheers, and thank you very much. Will you have a drink, yourself?’

‘There’s a pint of Guinness settling.’ A Stranglers tape crackled into life overhead, and the lights dimmed.

‘That’s the proper stuff, now. A bit of atmosphere, at last. So tell me, Declan Greenwood, how do you know me?’

‘Oh, a friend of mine knows you. He told me your name. Actually I wanted to meet your sister. Shirley?’

‘Aye, Shirley! She’s a little pet! She’s looking after me today. I just left my job.’

‘I see. Celebrating, then?’

‘Drowning my sorrows, actually. I was shown the door, so to speak. By a woman, would you believe? I thought we women were supposed to stick together. Unless there’s a good-looking man involved, that is.’ She yawned again, and thought of her lovely French-style bed.

‘Well, never mind. You’ll get something else.’

‘Are you a working man yourself, Declan?’

‘Well, I’m a student, and I help to run a small restaurant, but my father owns the place, so I can’t boast.’

‘Not at all. That sounds a hard enough job, to me. Anything to do with the public is a total nightmare. Always begging with their hands out. Or complaining about the service. I don’t know which is worse.’

He shrugged. ‘Must be hard on them, though, not having a job?’

‘Well…’ Kate had no interest in the private miseries of the unemployed.

‘Has Shirley gone home?’ asked Declan. ‘I saw her leaving.’ The barman brought his pint, and he stood up to pay. Kate poured her mixer into the glass very carefully. The glass seemed to be moving around the table on its own.