“Not another checklist, please.”

  “Starting a new job is well stressful, like divorce. And so’s death, but I don’t get that. If you’re dead, how can you feel stressed?”

  “I’m fine, Kelly. And you’re right, Gemma will be nervous about her first day.”

  “I’ve heard she’s well pretty.”

  “What difference does that make?” Lucy asks. “You should be worried what she’s going to tell her uncle. You only have to say one word out of place and her uncle will know. Now, that’s stress.”

  Kelly puts a finger to her lips. “I don’t think that was in my stress list. Burgers were in there, I think. All those additives and colourings make you well hyper. Or was it caffeine? I bet Gemma will know.”

  “Why?”

  “She worked in a posh restaurant, right? One where everything has a French name.”

  “La Floret,” I say. “Now, I think she’s here so let’s be civil.”

  They turn to watch Nigel escort her into the office. Everyone tries to put her at ease by falling silent and staring at her.

  “Why did you let Nigel show her round?” Lucy asks me. “That’s your job.”

  Kelly gasps. “Wow, she is pretty. And so slim. Look at her hair, Lucy. Yours could look that good if you went to the right salon.”

  I miss Lucy’s response, as I’m too busy watching Gemma’s slow progress across the open plan office. She’s slim, in her twenties, and has the poise and confidence that good looks can bring. Her glossy auburn hair has a bounce that matches her lazy, relaxed stroll. But her dark brown eyes are sharp, taking everything in. Her trouser suit is subtle and stylish, her heels sensible. But as hard as she tries to tone things down, her confidence and stylish appearance make her stand out. Even Nigel seems in awe of her, his mouth open as he watches her weave her way towards us in the corner.

  “I think he’s in love.” Lucy chuckles and turns to me. “How about you, Kent? She’s certainly young enough and pretty enough for you.”

  Kelly agrees. “We need an office romance. How cool would that be?”

  “Kent doesn’t do commitment, Kelly.”

  Nigel stops as he reaches our section and turns to Gemma. “This is Kelly, our admin support officer, and Lucy, the technical officer who covers the southern district.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Gemma says. “Love the ear rings, Kelly. Where did you get them?”

  Before Kelly can reply, Lucy steps forward, extending her hand. “Welcome to the team, Gemma. We’re all looking forward to working with you. We’ve organised your desk and if there’s anything you need, just ask. Maybe you could fetch a cup of coffee, Kelly?”

  “This is your desk,” Nigel says, gesturing to the one facing his. “You’ll be working closely with me, as I’ve been tasked with settling you in.”

  The battle to impress our new recruit has begun. Nigel is about to show her to her desk when he notices me and blushes. “And last but not least, Gemma, this is our Team Leader –”

  “Kent Fisher.”

  She walks up to me, pulling what looks like a folded red handkerchief from her jacket pocket. She shakes the handkerchief, which turns out to be a pair of neatly folded boxer shorts, carefully ironed.

  “I was going to burn them,” she says, handing them to me, “but there didn’t seem much point unless you were in them.”

  Sticky Willies

  “Mr Fisher, what would you say to a condom in a granary bloomer?”

  Now there’s a question with any number of intriguing answers, none of them to do with bread. I would prefer cheese salad to a condom as a sandwich filling, but all I can think of are sticky willies – the iced finger rolls that seem popular on staff birthdays. Or something savoury, but this is no time for crudities.

  “I take it you’re being literal rather than hypothetical,” I reply.

  “I have the offending article, Mr Fisher, awaiting your collection and examination. I’m sure you’ll understand when I say my wife was not amused when she prepared lunch.”

  “I can understand her distress. I’ll pass you over to my colleague, Gemma Dean, who investigates foreign object complaints.”

  Gemma looks excited at the prospect of a real complaint. It would make a change from the induction checklists she’s been completing. In between checklists, she’s watched and listened as the rest of us have dealt with the usual flow of mundane calls about dirty pub toilets, butchers who handle filthy, germ covered money and ham, and smokers who pollute the doorways of just about any building you care to mention.

  “You’ll need the correct form,” I advise her, “as the complainant has found something unusual in his granary bloomer. Get the details and arrange to collect the complaint as soon as possible. Okay?”

  She gives me a smile that says she can deal with a piddling food complaint. This smile soon turns to a scowl. “A what?” she queries. “In a loaf – sorry, granary bloomer. Can you tell me more? No, I mean when and where you bought the loaf. I don’t think ribbing makes any difference to the complaint.”

  It obviously does, as Gemma can hardly get a word in for the next minute or so. “Yes, Mr Elliot, I can see that ribbing would keep the condom in place, but that’s not the point, is it? This is obviously a practical joke.”

  Another minute of frustrated grimaces follow. “Mr Elliot, we have a policy on food complaints and we don’t investigate sabotage,” she says, looking at me for confirmation. “No, it shouldn’t have been there, but it’s hardly a natural ingredient, is it? And you’re unlikely to eat it or come to any harm.”

  So far she’s been holding her own. Now she’s antagonised him. She manages to get a few words in, but finally accepts defeat and agrees to collect the complaint.

  She bangs the phone down. “This better not be a wind up, Kent,”

  I settle back. “Or what? You’ll burn my boxers?”

  Quiet floods the office as voices fade and people try not to look interested. Having enjoyed Gemma squirming with her first food complaint, her colleagues must be hoping to learn more about the boxer shorts.

  She gets to her feet. “Someone threw a condom into the dough mixer as a joke. Maybe they wanted to get the bakery in trouble. What can I do about that?”

  “So, you don’t think the complainant put it there?”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Compensation? Disgruntled employee? Disgruntled ex-employee?”

  “Attention seeker,” Lucy suggests.

  Kelly wanders over. “You’re not playing guess the complainant, are you?”

  “Someone got a condom with his granary bloomer,” Gemma explains. “And I –“

  Kelly gasps. “He’s complaining about a free condom with his bread? There’s no pleasing some people, is there? I’d be well pleased with that. Normally, all you get are poppy seeds, which keep turning up on the sofa weeks later. Those that haven’t fallen off before you get home.”

  “It’s a food complaint, Kelly.”

  “An edible condom? How cool is that! Would it count as one of my five a day?”

  “It’s ribbed,” explains Lucy. “Which means it can’t be a smoothie!”

  Gemma looks lost and mutters something unintelligible as the rest of us chuckle. Once the laughter subsides, I say, “It’ll be good experience for you, Gemma. Go and interview, Mr Elliot, make a brief report and recommend a course of action, bearing in mind the statutory defences available to the bakery.”

  “You’re doing this to get your own back, aren’t you?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. If I wasn’t here would you waste time investigating this complaint?”

  “Of course not,” I reply. “I’d give it to Lucy.”

  ****

  Danni also thinks I made the wrong decision. “When the Chief Executive finds out you sent his niece to examine condoms he’s not going to be pleased. What on earth were you thinking? And don’t say safer sex,” she warns, raising a finger, “because I’m not happy about you and Gemma.”

  I feign innocence, knowing full well where she’s heading. “If someone finds a condom in their food we have to treat it as a complaint,” I say. “That means someone has to investigate the claims. As it’s likely to be a practical joker in the bakery, I sent Gemma rather than waste an experienced officer.”

  “You should have taken her and shown her how we deal with these things. That’s how we train people, in case you’d forgotten. Or do you have a problem taking her on jobs?”

  “Why would I have a problem?”

  “You’re the only one who hasn’t taken Gemma on a visit yet. Why is that?”

  “Because most of my time is spent filling in induction checklists and doing appraisals? When I’m not being criticised for running my team as efficiently as possible, that is. Can I get back to my pen pushing now?”

  She looks exasperated, but she sounds calm enough. “You two have a past, don’t you?”

  “Everyone has a past, Danni. It’s how we get to now.”

  “Don’t get cute, Kent. This is no joke if your relationship with Gemma impacts on the smooth running of the team.” She sits back and studies me with disdain. “The minute we discussed Gemma’s appointment you should have told me.”

  “Told you what?”

  “That you two were involved.”

  “Involved?” I put as much ridicule in the word as I can. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Because you’re being economical with the truth.”

  “No, I’m simply keeping my private life out of the office. It’s none of your business, Danni.”

  “It is if it causes ill feeling and friction in the team. Morale’s under enough pressure from cutbacks and uncertainty.”

  I get to my feet. “And who causes the uncertainty?”

  She gestures to her motivational calendar. “Nothing makes us as lonely as secrets.”

  “Bad breath does,” Kelly says, arriving with a latte. “Why don’t lonely people buy mouthwash? It’s well easier than going on the internet, looking for single people, and ending up meeting some minger who’s over 50, or a teenager pretending to be grown up. Mind you,” she adds with a shrug, “if you’ve got really bad breath you won’t come to any harm, will you? No one’s going to get too close, are they?”

  I follow her out of the room, delighted with her ability to stop Danni in her tracks. “Thanks for rescuing me,” I say.

  “No probs. When I realised you weren’t going to reveal anything, I came in with the coffee. It was almost cold by then.” She gives me a smile. “You can tell me, you know.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Nigel reckons you slept with Gemma’s best friend. Lucy reckons it’s her mother and you left your boxer shorts behind. They’re even taking bets on it. But I don’t think you’d do that.”

  “Because I’m honourable?”

  “No, her mother’s too old for you from what I hear.”

  “Her mother and I go back a long way, Kelly. We were friends for years.”

  “Were friends?”

  “It’s complicated,” I reply, not wanting to talk about it.

  She winks. “I thought so. Was it Gemma’s younger sister?”

  “She’s an only child and I’ve never worn a pair of boxer shorts in my life. Keep that to yourself, okay?”

  Kelly frowns. “Are you saying she made it up?”

  “Let’s just say you don’t want to spoil the odds Nigel is offering.”

  Christmas Spirit

  The spirit of Christmas is alive and kicking at Downland District Council. To counteract the despondency caused by the ailing economy, the threat of redundancies, a continued pay freeze, and government plans to reduce our pensions, the council is giving everyone an additional hour at lunchtime.

  “Is that it?” Lucy looks up from the Chief Executive’s blog. “We work our butts off for no pay rise or recognition and we get one lousy hour in return.”

  “What about the Christmas decorations competition?” Kelly asks, adjusting her Santa Claus hat. “That’s a well seasonal idea. We could have a theme, like mouldy food complaints, or blow up some of those photos of dirty kitchens. What do you think?”

  Lucy shakes her head. “It’s not going to happen, Kelly.”

  “Why not?” Danni has crept up unnoticed again. She strolls over and perches on the edge of my desk. “If we win the competition, it will raise our profile, Lucy. Have you considered that? And as we now have the Chief Executive’s niece in our team, it should be a foregone conclusion.”

  Gemma looks up from a tangle of fairy lights. “How?”

  “You know what your uncle likes, so we can decorate the office to his tastes and win.”

  “But my uncle hates Christmas. He always has. That’s why he never wishes anyone a happy Christmas in his blog. That’s why he’s usually in Tenerife.”

  Danni frowns. “Then why do we have a Christmas decorations competition?”

  “We don’t,” Lucy replies. “That’s the irony.”

  Danni looks, so I try to help her out.

  “Decorations sway and fall from the ceiling, tripping the motion sensors on the alarm system. That’s why the Chief Executive hates Christmas. The police woke him up nearly every night when we first got the system because the alarm kept going off.”

  “So, nobody is allowed to put up decorations,” Lucy says. “All because the council bought a cheap alarm system. Happy Christmas!”

  Kelly sighs. “That’s really sad. It’s bad enough already with so many people committing suicide because they’re well lonely. And families always end up fighting because they don’t like each other. And no one can afford to pay their credit card bills, right? And I’m allergic to almonds, so I can’t eat Christmas cake.”

  An uneasy silence falls over the team. “Well, at least the chairman’s visit will improve morale,” Danni says.

  “Why don’t you just remove the marzipan?” Gemma asks.

  “Then the icing won’t stick,” Kelly replies.

  Danni clears her throat. “As I said, the chairman’s visit is an opportunity to raise our profile and show all the good work we do.”

  “You could use jam,” Nigel suggests. “That would help the icing stick.”

  Kelly nods. “Yea, as long as it’s seedless. My nan wears false teeth and it’s bad enough when she bites into a toffee.”

  Danni looks ready to explode. “The chairman of the council will be visiting to thank us all for our endeavours. That includes you, Kelly. Why don’t you just buy a cake without marzipan and icing?”

  “Yea, but then it’s just a boring fruit cake, right?”

  Danni lets out a weary sigh. “Just make sure you say as little as possible during the chairman’s visit.”

  “Why don’t we have a mayor?” Kelly asks.

  “Because we have a chairman. Councillor Mrs Yvonne Thackeray.”

  “We have a chairman that’s a woman? Why isn’t she a chairwoman?”

  “She should be a chairperson,” Gemma says.

  “Or just a chair,” Lucy adds.

  Kelly giggles. “You can’t have a chair running a council. Mind you the government’s run by a cabinet, isn’t it?”

  “And the FBI’s got a bureau,” Nigel says. “An intelligent one, allegedly.”

  “And we’ll have hot desks,” Gemma says.

  An uneasy silence falls across the office. When everyone stares at her, she blushes. “Shit! You weren’t supposed to find out till the New Year – once heads of service have sorted out the details. Sorry.”

  Now everyone looks at Danni, who smiles. “Mobile working is the key to reducing our overheads. If we use fewer desks, we need less office space, which means we don’t pay as much on services. The savings are enormous.”

  Lucy goes over to Gemma’s desk. “When did your uncle tell you this?”

  “Leave it, Lucy,” I say, sensing what’s coming. “The Chief Executive had no right to burden Gemma with that news. And it’s not as if we hadn’t already guessed. We all know the council has to cut costs.”

  Lucy shakes her head at me. “You knew too, didn’t you? When were you going to tell us, Kent? When they handed out the redundancy notices?”

  “No one’s losing their job,” Danni says, rising. “That’s the whole point of hot desks. We accommodate all staff while cutting building costs.”

  Kelly raises her hand. “If there are less desks, do we work shifts because I’d like to come in late and go late? I’m like a zombie first thing – unless I’ve been at a party all night.”

  “We work from home more,” Nigel says.

  “Skive, you mean,” Lucy says. “We’ll end up doing less work. Where does that leave the council?”

  “Our IT section can log everything you do on the council’s systems,” Danni replies. “That includes working remotely, so I’ll soon know if anyone is underperforming.”

  “But how do we discuss problems if we don’t have permanent desks?” Nigel asks. “And what if we’re scattered across three floors?”

  “Ever heard of the phone?” Gemma asks, a little too sharply.

  “You’ll notice the difference,” he warns. “You won’t be able to ask us questions if we’re not here. Or come out with us on jobs.”

  “Try to look on the bright side,” Danni says, heading towards her office. “If you’re working at home you could miss the chairman’s visit.”

  No one laughs until she’s back in her office with the door closed. She hasn’t realised that when the chairman and Chief Executive reach our office, we’ll be down the pub enjoying our Christmas meal.

  Now that’s what I call Christmas spirit.

  Fraught Polio Holder

  There’s nothing like a competition to get the New Year off to a good start. And the Downland Pub of the Year award is nothing like a competition – thanks to Councillor Gregory Rathbone.

  Over the years there have been many similar competitions. It started with the Downland Hotel of the Year, followed by restaurant, café, butcher, delicatessen, and newsagent. Public and business interest in these events declined each year, hitting an all-time low with the System Analyst of the Year. Only one vote was cast, but it was decisive.

 

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