not to end in December.
Not everything has gone smoothly in Braddock Land, however. I had to sack Mark from his position as general manager at Coventry. Despite his promises of improvement, his performance at work had deteriorated with rapidity. He was like a different person. All the old sparkle had gone. I tried to offer him his old job back, but I guess the step-down was too much of a humiliation for him. Mark seemed to have aged in a matter of months. He never did discuss the break-up of his marriage and for me to have raised it would have been yet another kick in the genitals. His bitterness was only too evident. He packed up and left without a goodbye.
I installed Harry as acting general manager to give me some time to think and to see how he coped before making his position permanent. That did not go down too well either.
“Have you lost confidence in me too, David?” Harry sounded exasperated.
“For God’s sake, Harry,” I responded with some heat. “I’ve just let Mark go. Let’s not act with indecent haste on this. Certain people are convinced I set Mark up to fail from the start so that you could get the job. Cut me some slack. And while you’re about it, lose that fucking check jacket. It’s a grey or blue suit from Monday.”
He muttered something about ‘short odds’, but took the job anyway.
That weekend, Claire, Katie and I had dinner at my father’s.
As usual it was a stilted affair. Nang and the other two ladies tried their best to keep the tone light, but it was always a struggle.
My father sat at the head of the table bemoaning the state of the nation following the recent bomb explosions in Brixton and Brick Lane. Behind him on the wall hung the Braddock coat of arms, an ermine shield with an engrailed line and, at the centre, a large oak. Our motto reads, A Fructibus Cognoscitur Arbor – ‘The tree is known by its fruit’. I’ve always hated the pomposity of it. Furthermore, given that Nang had suffered two miscarriages before giving up on having children, the sight of that every day must serve to keep that wound open. My father is one insensitive bastard.
To give him his due, though, he does have a soft spot for Katie, and they talked at length about how her studies were going while Claire and Nang chattered about some new dress shop that was opening in town.
Eventually Edward Braddock remembered I was at the table.
“What are your thoughts on the new Zafira, David?” he asked.
So we talked about cars. Again.
“Where would you like me to file this business card, David?” Sandra asked me. “Should I file him under your personal section, or what?”
She handed me a white embossed card. James Fosse, Consultant .
“We don’t have a ‘psycho’ category, do we?”
“Not yet. Do you want me to start one?”
“Just joshing. He’s an American guy I met at the Chamber of Commerce. He has a rather black sense of humour. The sort usually reserved for Brits.”
“OK, I’ll put him under ‘Chamber of Commerce’.”
“Let me just enter him in my phone contacts first.”
I chucked my briefcase on the bed and changed out of my suit. I was wacked. It had been a long day at work.
As I wandered downstairs, Claire announced, “We’re having a family night in. The weather’s filthy anyway. I’ve ordered pizza for us all and Katie has chosen a DVD.”
“Sounds great,” I replied. “What are we watching?”
Katie handed me the DVD case.
“It’s a comedy. Throw Momma from the Train with Danny DeVito and Billy Crystal.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s kind of a funny remake of Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train . You know, that film noir stuff? Danny DeVito offers to kill Billy Crystal’s ex-wife if he’ll kill his mother in return.”
“Sounds like a barrel of laughs.”
The doorbell rang twice.
“That’s either the pizza boy or the postman,” remarked Claire.
“The postman?” I asked.
“The postman always rings twice,” said Katie
Not everything has gone smoothly in Braddock Land, however. I had to sack Mark from his position as general manager at Coventry. Despite his promises of improvement, his performance at work had deteriorated with rapidity. He was like a different person. All the old sparkle had gone. I tried to offer him his old job back, but I guess the step-down was too much of a humiliation for him. Mark seemed to have aged in a matter of months. He never did discuss the break-up of his marriage and for me to have raised it would have been yet another kick in the genitals. His bitterness was only too evident. He packed up and left without a goodbye.
I installed Harry as acting general manager to give me some time to think and to see how he coped before making his position permanent. That did not go down too well either.
“Have you lost confidence in me too, David?” Harry sounded exasperated.
“For God’s sake, Harry,” I responded with some heat. “I’ve just let Mark go. Let’s not act with indecent haste on this. Certain people are convinced I set Mark up to fail from the start so that you could get the job. Cut me some slack. And while you’re about it, lose that fucking check jacket. It’s a grey or blue suit from Monday.”
He muttered something about ‘short odds’, but took the job anyway.
That weekend, Claire, Katie and I had dinner at my father’s.
As usual it was a stilted affair. Nang and the other two ladies tried their best to keep the tone light, but it was always a struggle.
My father sat at the head of the table bemoaning the state of the nation following the recent bomb explosions in Brixton and Brick Lane. Behind him on the wall hung the Braddock coat of arms, an ermine shield with an engrailed line and, at the centre, a large oak. Our motto reads, A Fructibus Cognoscitur Arbor – ‘The tree is known by its fruit’. I’ve always hated the pomposity of it. Furthermore, given that Nang had suffered two miscarriages before giving up on having children, the sight of that every day must serve to keep that wound open. My father is one insensitive bastard.
To give him his due, though, he does have a soft spot for Katie, and they talked at length about how her studies were going while Claire and Nang chattered about some new dress shop that was opening in town.
Eventually Edward Braddock remembered I was at the table.
“What are your thoughts on the new Zafira, David?” he asked.
So we talked about cars. Again.
“Where would you like me to file this business card, David?” Sandra asked me. “Should I file him under your personal section, or what?”
She handed me a white embossed card. James Fosse, Consultant .
“We don’t have a ‘psycho’ category, do we?”
“Not yet. Do you want me to start one?”
“Just joshing. He’s an American guy I met at the Chamber of Commerce. He has a rather black sense of humour. The sort usually reserved for Brits.”
“OK, I’ll put him under ‘Chamber of Commerce’.”
“Let me just enter him in my phone contacts first.”
I chucked my briefcase on the bed and changed out of my suit. I was wacked. It had been a long day at work.
As I wandered downstairs, Claire announced, “We’re having a family night in. The weather’s filthy anyway. I’ve ordered pizza for us all and Katie has chosen a DVD.”
“Sounds great,” I replied. “What are we watching?”
Katie handed me the DVD case.
“It’s a comedy. Throw Momma from the Train with Danny DeVito and Billy Crystal.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s kind of a funny remake of Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train . You know, that film noir stuff? Danny DeVito offers to kill Billy Crystal’s ex-wife if he’ll kill his mother in return.”
“Sounds like a barrel of laughs.”
The doorbell rang twice.
“That’s either the pizza boy or the postman,” remarked Claire.
“The postman?” I asked.
“The postman always rings twice,” said Katie
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