what you actually pay me for. Can we have another go soon, please? Oh, hang on,’ she added, ‘you’re supposed to ask me if there’s anything I want to ask you. It says so, look, on your bit of’
‘Another time, perhaps,’ the reptile said. ‘I’ve got an appointment at half-past.’
‘But it’s only twenty-five’
‘Thank you so much for your time.’
Connie stood up. ‘Not a bit of it. Ah well, back to the coalface. Nice meeting you, Mr’
Mister didn’t say anything; not, at least, until her hand was on the door handle. Then he called out, ‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’
‘Yes?’
‘Here,’ he said. He was holding out a little plastic bag, sealed with sticky tape. ‘For you.’
‘Oh.’ Connie hesitated, then went back and took it from him. About the size and feel of a large apple turnover. ‘What’s this for?’
‘Appropriate occasions,’ the reptile answered, and in his small round eyes there was a tiny flicker of satisfaction snatched from the jaws of frustration. ‘Goodbye.’
Back in her office, Connie ripped the bag open and retrieved from it a baseball cap, one-size-fits-all. It was fluorescent green, and on the front was a bright orange logo made up of the letters JWW, hideously twisted together, as though they’d been melted in a fire. Under the logo was printed, also in orange: The A Team
Connie stared at it for a full five seconds before shoving it in the bottom drawer of her desk, which she then locked. Hmm, she thought, that’s right. Like the old saying goes: never underestimate a bastard.
‘Well,’ Cassie demanded, ‘how did it go?’
Connie handed her a mug of tea and sat down. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘it was fun.’
‘Fun.’
‘Fun.’ Connie nodded. ‘Thinking about it, I could’ve been just a teeny bit stroppier if I’d really tried, but I’d have had to set fire to his tie or squirt shaving foam up his nose, something like that.’
‘You were stroppy.’
‘Very stroppy.’ Connie ladled two spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee and stirred it with a pencil.
‘It was basically, “If you want to fire me, here’s two dozen perfectly good excuses, and if you don’t, piss off playing silly games and let me get on with some work.” I remain unfired. You’ve got to be firm with these people, or else they’ll make your life a misery.’
‘I see,’ Cassie said neutrally.
‘On the other hand,’ Connie conceded, ‘he did give me a baseball cap.’
Cassie blinked. ‘A what?’
‘Here, see for yourself.’ Connie removed it from the drawer, using thumb and forefinger-tip only, and laid it on the desktop like a cat delivering a nicely matured dead mouse. ‘In particular I’d like to draw your attention to the colour.’
Cassie frowned. ‘It’s revolting.’
Connie nodded. ‘There are some pretty sick minds in this world,’ she said. ‘It’s also about twenty years behind the times, isn’t it? I thought all this crap went out with paintball weekends and motivational t’ai chi on the roof every morning.’
‘I believe it sort of goes in cycles,’ Cassie said absently; it was taking her longer than she’d have anticipated to get over the fluorescent greenness of the thing.
‘Ah, well.’ Connie improvised a pair of forceps out of two biros and put the cap away where it couldn’t do any more harm. ‘So on balance,’ she went on, ‘I’d have to put it down as a draw. Not that I’m bothered, really. It’s like what they say about being a successful knife-fighter.’
‘Really?’ Cassie looked at her. ‘What do they say about being a successful knife-fighter?’
Connie smiled. ‘You can only do it if you don’t really care if you lose. Like me; if they fire me, so what? I miss out on a bit of pension, but that’s okay, I hardly ever spent anything all the years I was in America - company apartment, obscene bonuses - so if they chuck me out tomorrow, all it means is that I get to be a little old lady in a country
‘Another time, perhaps,’ the reptile said. ‘I’ve got an appointment at half-past.’
‘But it’s only twenty-five’
‘Thank you so much for your time.’
Connie stood up. ‘Not a bit of it. Ah well, back to the coalface. Nice meeting you, Mr’
Mister didn’t say anything; not, at least, until her hand was on the door handle. Then he called out, ‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’
‘Yes?’
‘Here,’ he said. He was holding out a little plastic bag, sealed with sticky tape. ‘For you.’
‘Oh.’ Connie hesitated, then went back and took it from him. About the size and feel of a large apple turnover. ‘What’s this for?’
‘Appropriate occasions,’ the reptile answered, and in his small round eyes there was a tiny flicker of satisfaction snatched from the jaws of frustration. ‘Goodbye.’
Back in her office, Connie ripped the bag open and retrieved from it a baseball cap, one-size-fits-all. It was fluorescent green, and on the front was a bright orange logo made up of the letters JWW, hideously twisted together, as though they’d been melted in a fire. Under the logo was printed, also in orange: The A Team
Connie stared at it for a full five seconds before shoving it in the bottom drawer of her desk, which she then locked. Hmm, she thought, that’s right. Like the old saying goes: never underestimate a bastard.
‘Well,’ Cassie demanded, ‘how did it go?’
Connie handed her a mug of tea and sat down. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘it was fun.’
‘Fun.’
‘Fun.’ Connie nodded. ‘Thinking about it, I could’ve been just a teeny bit stroppier if I’d really tried, but I’d have had to set fire to his tie or squirt shaving foam up his nose, something like that.’
‘You were stroppy.’
‘Very stroppy.’ Connie ladled two spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee and stirred it with a pencil.
‘It was basically, “If you want to fire me, here’s two dozen perfectly good excuses, and if you don’t, piss off playing silly games and let me get on with some work.” I remain unfired. You’ve got to be firm with these people, or else they’ll make your life a misery.’
‘I see,’ Cassie said neutrally.
‘On the other hand,’ Connie conceded, ‘he did give me a baseball cap.’
Cassie blinked. ‘A what?’
‘Here, see for yourself.’ Connie removed it from the drawer, using thumb and forefinger-tip only, and laid it on the desktop like a cat delivering a nicely matured dead mouse. ‘In particular I’d like to draw your attention to the colour.’
Cassie frowned. ‘It’s revolting.’
Connie nodded. ‘There are some pretty sick minds in this world,’ she said. ‘It’s also about twenty years behind the times, isn’t it? I thought all this crap went out with paintball weekends and motivational t’ai chi on the roof every morning.’
‘I believe it sort of goes in cycles,’ Cassie said absently; it was taking her longer than she’d have anticipated to get over the fluorescent greenness of the thing.
‘Ah, well.’ Connie improvised a pair of forceps out of two biros and put the cap away where it couldn’t do any more harm. ‘So on balance,’ she went on, ‘I’d have to put it down as a draw. Not that I’m bothered, really. It’s like what they say about being a successful knife-fighter.’
‘Really?’ Cassie looked at her. ‘What do they say about being a successful knife-fighter?’
Connie smiled. ‘You can only do it if you don’t really care if you lose. Like me; if they fire me, so what? I miss out on a bit of pension, but that’s okay, I hardly ever spent anything all the years I was in America - company apartment, obscene bonuses - so if they chuck me out tomorrow, all it means is that I get to be a little old lady in a country
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