The Reunion by R J Gould

set off from
the reunion immediately after his Sunday morning conversation with Penny
Tratton. He was tired and irritable and had no enthusiasm about returning home.
The very word ‘home’ had a cosy ring to it but any link with cosiness was
shattered.
    The Tuesday after Jane left had been even worse than the
Monday and David was glad he’d resisted Bridget’s wish to find out more about
the sordid events.
    Rachel had come downstairs for breakfast with a new song
to insult her mother, this one based on the Queen hit ‘We Are the Champions’.
    She is a fucking bitch
    She is a fucking bitch
    No time for losers
    ‘Cause she is the biggest bitch – in the world
    It was a song David had always liked and he had to admit
Rachel sang the updated version perfectly, she had a lovely voice. Half-heartedly
he acted out the enraged parent, but for the rest of the day he couldn’t get
the tune or words out of his head.
    He was humming it as he entered the car park underneath
the local authority offices. It had been constructed for tiny vehicles, the
concrete columns demanding preposterously tight turns. David failed to
negotiate carefully enough and the front passenger side of his car donated a
Tornado Red streak to the multi-coloured assortment of scraped paints on the
pillar. The parking bays were so small it was difficult to open a door without
knocking against a neighbour’s car. His door no more than tapped against a
Honda Civic, but it was enough to set off the alarm. He made a run for it.
    Work began with a continuation of the meeting with Mary
Dyer to discuss overspend on residential care home support. Today the office
gossips had described her attire as Ms Footsie 100 CEO. She was wearing a
tailored navy pinstripe suit with a crisp white blouse buttoned to the neck and
shiny patent shoes with large black bows.
    There was no welcoming smile, not even a greeting, as he
entered her office. He was on time but she made a point of looking at her watch
before gesturing for him to sit down opposite her. “I’m pushed for time this
morning, David, but we need to get this done. We’re already £350,000 over
budget and that’s with half the financial year to go. Before we start I want to
make it clear that you’re the one who should be sorting it, it’s within your
remit.”
    David was prepared. At home the previous evening he had
constructed water tight counter arguments. “A couple of points before you
continue, Mary. Did you know that…?”
    “Don’t interrupt David. Let me finish.” She paused and
made steely eye contact before continuing. “Some questions. Are you double
checking how many assets these old people have before we start dishing out
money? Do we ask if their children can contribute? And are we pushing them to
consider having their parents move in with them?”
    “Yes to all those things. Applicants have to complete
Form F43-H27/B and attach evidence and then…” He looked up. Mary was sifting
through files and it was evident she wasn’t listening. She didn’t even notice
that he’d stopped speaking mid-sentence.
    “I’ve been doing some checking and I can tell you, this
division is out of control.” She pulled out an invoice. “Even the stationery
budget is way over. You spent £286 on post-its last month. Why on earth would
you want £286-worth of post-its?”
    “That was a mistake. Dorothy was asked to get 400 but she
mistook the instruction and ordered 400 packs and there are ten sets of
post-its in each pack.”
    “So now you’ve got 4,000 little booklets. How many pieces
of paper in each, a hundred? That’s 400,000 post-its.”
    “I don’t think there are a hundred in each booklet, I
could get Dorothy to count.”
    “Hardly the point, David. David? Are you listening?”
    ‘No time for losers, ‘cause she is the biggest bitch –
in the world’ he was thinking, dividing his anger between Jane and Mary.
    “Well, that’s an aside, I think we should get back to the
main issue,