All That Mullarkey by Sue Moorcroft

been tied to his hospital bed by monitors and drips, looking calm but curiously loose and dishevelled. An oxygen mask was within his reach and the smell of sick people hung on the air.
    Cleo hated the temporariness of camping in her parents-in-law’s spare room. She had only the few clothes that Gav had thrown into a bag for her, and slept in pyjamas because she never knew who she’d meet on the way to the bathroom at night. But she had no real option other than to ring Ntrain on Monday morning and arrange to stay longer.
    Nathan hummed as he consulted the bookings schedule. ‘Let’s see, let’s see …’ Cleo could imagine him wearing his telephone headset, scrolling across the on-screen roster. ‘I can cover your work till Wednesday but is there any chance of you coming back for Thursday? You’ve got Interpersonal Skills at Rockley Image and I just haven’t got another body to fill in. Rockley’s a brand new client so I don’t want to have to reschedule.’
    The Interpersonal Skills Through Effective Communication seminar for every communicator wanting to climb the ladder of success! was a day of quirky exercises, discussion and group activities aimed at encouraging colleagues to communicate effectively with each other and with clients. It was popular with firms who wanted training short and easy on the budget. Their newly aware staff usually emerged chattering and joking, giving the impression that Ntrain had done a great job in helping them to enjoy outstanding working relationships and become people masters and making good the promo material’s promise: Employees will smile.
    Gav looked a bit stony when she told him that she had only three days’ compassionate leave but, as George was making progress, he had no real grounds for objection. So, late on Wednesday evening, she cruised home, having agreed to return at the weekend.
    Stretching blissfully in her own bed, she slept like a log away from the tensions of Gav squabbling with Yvonne and Pauline and George worrying about each other, overslept, and had to rush to get ready and reach her ‘gig’.
    Ntrain employees had a look – a glossy, groomed, flight-attendant look of suits, sharp hairstyles and, for the women, expert make-up. After a lightning-quick shower and drying her hair whilst she ate her toast, Cleo whizzed through foundation and powder, a flick of bronzer on her cheekbones, copper eyeliner to catch the lights in her dark eyes, brown-black mascara, cinnamon lipstick – and it was time to go.
    Rockley Image occupied a business park unit, comprising a large print works with a glossy reception in front and a floor of offices above. As was boringly common, she’d been allocated a staff room. It boasted grey tables, green chairs and armchairs and a little kitchen area. After setting up the portable screen and hooking up her laptop to the projector, she dragged a table and chair to the front for herself and arranged the others informally, facing her. The armchairs she demoted to the back of the room. She loved the familiar feeling of anticipation and excitement as she set the room up. Would today’s group be bright, eager and productive? Sluggish and coy? Or, as occasionally happened, hostile and abrasive?
    Nathan, bless him, had had someone prepare and drop off a bag of name tags, seventeen including her own, which she picked out and clipped to her jacket as the first Rockley Image staff sauntered in. As her mobile rang at that moment, she shoved the list of participants to one side and spread the name tags over her desk for everyone to find their own, while reassuring Nathan that, yes, she was at the venue with no problems, and yes, she’d be able to meet clients the next day to plan a Telephone Etiquette and Customer Communication seminar.
    She clapped the phone shut and launched herself into being a training professional, making connection through a flurry of words that would quiet the muttering and shuffling as the members of her group