…

T is for — This is not what I ordered.  There’s a reason for everything

…

I knew the moment I opened my eyes that this day was going to be different.

My life had begun to sink into a rut where everyone, everything, was the same.  In fact, it was so predictable that I could recite every word spoken to me and in response for the first half hour.

So monotonous, I didn’t want to go to work today, any day, any more, ever.  Except I had to pay the rent, I had to pay the bills, I had to eat.

How would life have been so much easier if I were a robot?

Except…

When I turned over, ready to close my eyes and forget the alarm had gone off, I saw the one thing that changed my mind in an instant.

Beth, short for Elizabeth, not Liz or Lizzy or Bethany.

The girl I had seen at work asked about, told she was unavailable or looking for friends like me, and gave up any hope of even saying hello.

Until last night when I was holding open the door as the masses exited, and she was last in the queue.  She thanked me, the only one, and I blushed.  Yes, the introvert got tongue-tied.

She asked me if I was going her way, which I was, and we walked.

And talked, and talked, then went for a drink, had dinner, and no, I had no idea how she finished up next to me.

She, it appeared, was in the same group I was in, the assistant to the assistant, the gopher, doing odd jobs and worse for people who didn’t appreciate us, a stepping stone to something better, the bottom rung of the ladder to a career.

We had a lot in common.

We both had ambitions, and these were slowly being eroded by unhelpful, demeaning, and unappreciative superiors.

Now, in the cold, hard light of day, all those plans, everything we said we would do, all those strategies to put our superiors in their place, seemed a million miles away.

Except she was still there.

And I will be honest, I had no idea how or why she was.  We did have a little too much to drink, something I never did on a work day, and something she said she didn’t do ever.

And I hoped nothing happened, anything that would ruin a fledgling relationship that had possibilities.

When I tried to edge myself out of the bed, she woke, surprised, but with a smile.

“Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Anything I might have said or done that I can’t remember.”

“Good thing then that I do. Did I forget to tell you that alcohol doesn’t really affect me, other than in the moment, but it doesn’t affect my judgment.  You were silly, not stupid, and I thought it wise to tuck you in and make sure you were OK.  Now, come back and rest for a few more minutes.  I gave you my mother’s hangover cure last night, so you will be fine.”

I slid back under the covers.

“Thank you.  Normally, after that much wine, I would be a mess.”  I had to admit I felt almost normal except for a slight ache behind my eyes, perhaps from not enough sleep.

“You’re welcome.  It was interesting to discover you hate the management group as much as I do.”

“Not so much hate as to wonder how they actually made the group.  They certainly have no people skills, but at least they treat everyone the same.”

“Which is wrong?”

“Well, at the orientation, they did tell us what to expect.”  Not quite, we were told that we needed to learn quickly during the internship, and that sometimes, in high-pressure situations, we might find ourselves in trouble, especially if we had the training and forgot the lessons.

That was the sticking point.  Most of those in management failed to complete our training, usually because of time constraints or simply their lack of interest in ‘molly coddling’ as one called it.

“But there are ways of doing it, and ways of not doing it.  Perhaps we need to remind them.  Subtly.”

“Is there such a thing?”

“You said there was last night.  You have so many ideas, and equally no idea how to make them happen.  I’ve been thinking about it, and I have a plan.”

That morning transcended any I’d had in a lifetime and taught me one very valuable lesson.  I needed to be sober and aware at all times if I wanted to impress any woman.

I knew she was just being kind to me, even though I felt like she might like me as more than just a colleague, but I would have to impress her if I wanted any sort of a chance.

It was odd that I hadn’t thought about her or any of the others in that way; such was the necessity to keep your mind on the job and keep ahead of the game.  There were a dozen of us, and we were all competing for three positions, and it was coming to the end of the trial period.

No one had an edge.  Trying to grovel didn’t work, trying to be better than the others didn’t work, and they let you make mistakes without telling you, which in front of the group wasn’t exactly the best way of getting any of us to stay.

Perhaps they didn’t.  Perhaps those they didn’t harass out of the job were the sort of lackeys they wanted.

And apparently, I had told her that I’d been spending a lot of my spare time studying the whole financial structure of the organisation and found that our managers had been taking the wrong path

Both of us had been working on the background papers that were to be presented to the board members, and because of that, we would be allowed to sit in.

She had a plan, and when she stepped through it, I agreed with her that it might work.  It just depended on one particular board member, the lone woman, Sylvia.  Beth had worked with her for a week when she requested an intern from HR, one of the girls.

Unlike management, Sylvia was interested in helping the interns and taught them some valuable lessons, and this, along with the corporate knowledge we had, was either going to win us some points or get us fired.  Either way, we both agreed it was better than keeping the status quo and would be worth it, one way or the other.

As usual, the two managers we worked for, each in different departments, were charged with conducting the presentation.

But, this morning my manager hadn’t arrived in time for the meeting, and it was handed to Beth.  He was annoyed and those last few minutes before it was due, Beth arrived with the morning coffee run, scribbled on a piece of paper, while I distributed the papers, including those I had written that showed the true started of the business and the recommendations to put the company on a more profitable trajectory.

My speciality at uni was rescuing poor-performing companies using alternate strategies, and I had tried to get this across to the current management group, but they had consistently ignored it.  It was no secret that the current strategy was not working, and the meeting with the board was to tell them how to overcome this.

What did an intern know?

Before it started, Beth handed out the morning coffee and cakes, which the presenters hoped would put the board members in a better frame of mind.

It did not.

He had got the orders wrong, yet another example of not listening properly, and the unthinkable happened.  He told Beth to go and sort the mess out.

Sylvia put her hand up and asked who was responsible for writing down the orders, stating plainly that what she had was not what she ordered, and that the order, and had been taken by the manager.

Therefore, she said the manager should sort it out.

And since he had a perfectly adequate team of interns whom the presenters no doubt had gone through the presentation with as was required as part of the training standards of the organisation, the two interns could make the presentation in his place.

She then told him to leave.

The door closed, Beth made a precise of the manager’s presentation and then said that there was an alternative strategy available, one that was hot off the press and would be delivered by the person she described as a top-of-the-class strategist in reviving poorly performing companies.

She then handed the floor to me, and I went through the basics and then the specifics, closing just as the manager returned.

Over coffee, four board members grilled him over the merits of the two strategies, one of course he knew about and had discounted and now had to admit was the more successful path.

If looks could kill, there would have been two dead interns.

Meeting over, we were dismissed.  The manager was kept in the room while the more senior members of management were summoned to explain how interns could possibly come up with a better strategy and why the current management team was still pursuing outdated and frankly incomprehensible methodologies.

Or at least that’s what we were told later.  Both Beth and I had decided that we would pack up and leave.  Even if we were right about our strategy, it was still the wrong way to go about it.  Board members come and go, so currying favour with them was not a successful way to get a position in the company because they couldn’t trust you to do what you were asked to do.

We both knew that. Getting a job was on merit, but when the company’s hiring staff were not appraised, well, perhaps the company was not worth working for.

That inevitable call came from HR.  It was from the same man who had conducted our interviews, the same man who basically told us we were worthless until we were forty.

It was a novel way of engendering loyalty and selling the company as a place worth working it.  But that year was a difficult one, and jobs were hard to find, especially in one as prestigious to make a splash on our resumes.

We were both in the breakout area because we didn’t have a permanent office.  That would have come if we were selected to stay.

I put my phone on speaker.

“You two do realise that what you did, how you did it, was not the right way.  There are procedures and a hierarchy, and it should be followed.”

Beth was more blunt than I was, especially in dealing with her manager and purported mentor.  She said, “A hierarchy may work in a proper environment, but this isn’t where there is one.  The ideas we presented were communicated several times to the appropriate people, and they were ignored.”

“That is regrettable, but our procedures are there for a reason.”

“So the current muddle management can steal the interns’ ideas and pass them off as their own.  How are you supposed to get a position here if they deliberately stifle you?”

Good point.  I think most of us just accepted that was the way it is in the corporate jungle.

“I will agree that presenting something different can be delicate.  But there is always a better way, and the two of you failed.  Regrettably, your internships are cancelled, and you will be escorted from the building by security.”

Conversation over.

Beth shrugged.  “No surprises there.  No surprise either when we read about the company seeking a Chapter 17 bailout in a few weeks.”

That comment coincided with the arrival of two security guards.  One would have been sufficient.

Of the two, one was the genial old man who took the time each morning to greet each of the employees by name, a remarkable feature given how many worked there.

What was more remarkable was the disdain and plain rudeness most of the staff treated him.  He shook his head.

“If I were to make a bet on you two, it would be that you would be the first to show initiative and then the first to be shown the door.”

He was not wrong in our case.  “You could have cleaned up.”

“I did, but not in the manner you would expect.”  He didn’t tell us why, but there was a wry grin and an interesting expression on Beth’s face.  Perhaps she knew.  I’d ask later.”

On the ground floor, we gave back our pass keys.  We had to sign an NDA, which was normal.  Then, after the formalities were done, I could see Sylvia come out of the elevator lobby and head over towards us.

Beth put her hand on my arm, a sign we should wait.

She saw the old man take off his cap and smiled, “It’s been a while, Miss Sylvia.”

“Too long, Archie.  Everyone fine?”

“Fine enough.  Yours?”

“Spread all over the country.  Can’t tie them down anymore.”

“No.  Kids always seem to have a sense of adventure these days.  You take care, Archie.”

She turned her attention to us.  “You two should know better, but then if you did, you wouldn’t have been here.  But, on the other hand, I’m glad you were.  As you may or may not know, I am an investor, mostly silent, and sometimes the holdings in shares get me a seat on the board.  Until this morning, I was going to sell those shares.  That presentation changed my mind.  And I heard what happened to both of you.  It’s not surprising this company is completely off the rails. Are you two looking for a job?  Of course you are.  Come and work for me.  Both of you.  I know a team when I see one.  Your first job, clean out the baggage and get this place back on track.  When I see my shares for ten times what they’re worth now, you two will get a very handsome bonus.  Do you need time to think about it?”

Beth looked at me, and I nodded.

“No.  We’re in.  When do we start?”

“Now.”  Sylvia handed her a card.  “That’s the office I keep. Annabel knows you’re coming.  The paperwork will be there for your employment and your first assignment.  Welcome aboard.”

A handshake each, and she was gone.

I was shocked at how quickly your life could change. My mother always said that in troubled times, when one door closes, another one opens.

How true.

Then I saw Beth’s look of anguish.  “You do want to work with me, don’t you?”

I smiled. “Of course, I have never been more certain of anything.” I held out my hand, and she took it in hers. “That, and whatever may follow.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

…

S is for – Sudden Death – never good any time

…

It was a perfect day for a funeral.  Overcast, cold, snow imminent, after a week of gentle falls culminating in a blizzard the night before.

I shivered.  Was it her ghost?

No one had told me Gwen had died, and I had to find out from a newspaper.  I guess that was the price to be paid, being an ex.

It was not my choice; she had decided to move on to bigger and better things with a man who would, in her words, more likely aspire to far more than I ever would.

At the time, I would have agreed with her.  I didn’t make a fuss when I discovered the affair, nor did I make it difficult for her to do as she wished.  I loved her, always would, and it was better to let her follow her heart.

The children, Ben and Amber, decided they wanted to go with her, the thought of living in a mansion, and having a life of luxury, was more appealing than staying with me.

Again, I didn’t object, believing they would be happier there.

And now, twenty years almost to the day she left, here we were.  A cemetery.  The last place I expected to be ten days before Christmas.

Oh, by the way, I hadn’t been invited to the funeral service, so I didn’t get into the church, which was for families and celebrities only.  I was at the burial plot, waiting to have the last word.

Perhaps not getting an invite was a blessing in disguise.

To say that I abhorred Jerry Northington-Jobson from the very first moment I saw him would be an understatement.

He was the only child of perhaps the fifth richest noble family in the country, spoilt beyond reason, indolent, rude, and the last man I expected Gwen would so much as look once at let alone twice.

When his parents died, in suspicious circumstances, I might add, he became the seventh Earl of something or other, the owner of a dozen estates in England and throughout Europe, and then Gwen’s second husband.

He was a lucky man.

Until she died.

In the last week, there was little else in the newspapers, every minute detail of his affairs, of his company’s misdemeanours, and the most telling of all, how he had, in twenty years spent every penny of his inheritance, and then some, on bad investments, gambling, and simply travelling around the world.

Had Gwen been alive to see it, it would have destroyed her.  I honestly believed she had no idea what their financial state would have been.

Nor would she, or any of her friends, had they been invited, have appreciated the funeral he had planned.

My cell phone vibrated in my hand.

“It’s over, sir.”

“Thank you.”

I felt, for a second, like I was in a spy novel.  It was nothing like that, just a friend who had got into the church where the service was being held, so I’d know when the coffin would arrive at the plot.

It seemed an odd way of seeing her to her final resting place, but it was the only way.  My request for a seat in the church had been denied.

It took about ten minutes before the procession came into view, with the priest leading the way.  Jerry Northington-Jobson, at the lead of the coffin bearers, looked every bit the stricken husband over the loss of his wife.

Yet, according to the message I just received about the service, he had delivered a somewhat emotional eulogy that lacked, yes, real emotion.

It took five more minutes before the coffin was laid on the struts over the open grave, and those willing to brave the minus temperature to hear the last eulogy before her body was committed to the ground.

Fittingly, light snow began to fall at the same time the priest uttered his first words, in Latin.

I had forgotten they were both Roman Catholic.  That had been another strike against me, I did not have the same faith in God.

“Are you really an irascible old man?”

I turned, then looked down.  It was a girl, dressed in black, about five or six years old.

“It depends on who told you that.”

“My mother.  She tells me you are my long-lost grandfather, the one we never talk about.”

OK, that was a surprise.  Having not heard about any grandchildren, my two children too busy making asses of themselves in public as befitting the rich and somewhat famous, it was not improbable that this was my granddaughter.

“And why is that?”  I kept my voice in the same low, conspiratorial tone.

“He deserted my grandmother, but I think he dodged a bullet.”

I almost laughed, just managing to keep a straight face.  She was obviously repeating what she had heard elsewhere, but it was hard to believe it would come from Amber.  Last words I spoke to her, she hated me.

“What’s your name?”

“Daisy “

“I’m Ken.  Sometimes irascible, but I don’t go out very often.”

“Do you always hide?”

“Not usually, but today it was prudent.  I don’t want to cause trouble at your grandmother’s funeral.”

“You don’t have to worry.  My other grandfather has already done that.  My mother says he’s an ass too, so it must be something all grandfathers have in common.”

A distinct possibility, I thought.  I scanned the few people remaining, the snow falling harder now, and her mother was not one of them, or at least anyone I might recognise as Amber.  It had been so long that she may have changed, and I’d not know her.

“It is most likely because we are old.  Where is your mother?”

“In the church still.  She is not very well.  She told me to come out and see if you had come.  Her description was quite accurate.”

I had changed, too, so how could she know what I looked like?  Unless she had put two and two together.  She never used to be that clever.

“Do you think she might want to see me?”

“I think so.  It’s a bit hard sometimes to tell what she’s thinking.  Perhaps we should go and find out.”

The last of the mourners had gone, and the snow had settled in.  It was time to get indoors, preferably near a large fire.  There was one waiting for me back at the inn I was staying for a few days.

“OK.  Lead the way.”

Her little hand slipped into mine, and we headed towards the church.  A thought did cross my mind that she was far too trusting of strangers, but then, I didn’t feel like one.  Perhaps she had sensed that.

Still. I would have a word with her mother about it.

We dusted off the snow before going into the church.  Not far from the entrance, a solitary person was sitting, head on hands.

Daisy left me and went up to her mother, shaking her.  “Mummy, mummy, I found the man.”

Her mother lifted her head slowly and turned towards me.

That was the first shock, that she was the spitting image of her mother, exactly as I had seen her that first day.  So flawless, so beautiful, so English.

The second shock, that she was very, very ill.

“Hello, daddy.”

I walked over as she stood and held out her arms.  The next moment, she collapsed, and I just managed to catch her.

She was not just ill; she was very near death.  I recognised the signs; she had the disease that finally killed her mother.

“Can you fix her?” Daisy asked, tears welling in her eyes.

“Yes.  I know what to do.”  I looked at Amber, her eyes watery but open.  I gently lay her down.  “How long have you been like this?”

“About six months.  It’s been getting progressively worse.  I told my mother, but she refused to listen.”

Just then, Jerry Northington-Jobson came in the entrance, obviously looking for Amber.  “What the devil…” he yelled out.  “What are you doing here?”

“I think you know why I’m here.”

“She wanted nothing to do with you.”

“Which is why I’m waiting outside to say goodbye.  Amber is not well.”

“Attention seeking, more likely.  Well, it may have worked on her mother, but it will not work with me.”

He came up to her and grabbed her arm.

Wrong move.  I pulled it off, and then I hit him as hard as I could.  There were twenty years of venom in that punch.

My personal assistant came in looking for me and stopped.  It coincided with Jerry Northington-Jobson hitting the floor.

“Sir?”

“Get the helicopter fired up.  Tell the pilot we need to go to London.  Then call the fleet manager and tell him I need the jet.  We’ll be going to Cannes, France.”

When she blinked as if it was indecipherable gibberish, I said, “Now, Bethany.  We’re wasting seconds.”

Amber looked up, her expression less pained, and then stood.  “I’m better now.”

“But not for long.  You’re going to the clinic that your mother went to.  I just hope we haven’t left it too late.”

Amber looked down at her stepfather.  “What happened?”

“He spoke,” Daisy said, “and then your real daddy thumped him.  I would have myself if I were grown up.”

“Violence doesn’t solve anything.”

The look on Daisy’s face said something different.

The priest came down from the altar end of the church and was aghast at seeing Jerry Northington-Jobson on the ground, and leaned over to help him up.  “What happened here?”

I answered for him, “He made a comment about his stepdaughter that I found offensive.  It’s quite common for weddings and funerals.”

Amber and Daisy headed for the door, not waiting to speak to Jerry Northington-Jobson.  I didn’t blame her.

He glared at me.  “This isn’t over?”

“I agree.  You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.  Now, it’s been a pleasure, Jerry.”

I caught up with Amber and Daisy just as the helicopter landed in the field opposite the church.

“Wow.  A real helicopter.  Are you rich too?”  Daisy was surprised.

I shrugged.  “I just know people who know people.”

It was a short walk to the aircraft, and when the co-pilot opened the door and activated the stairs, he came over and escorted us inside.  He shut the door and went back to the flight deck.  A few minutes later, we took off.

The rear cabin was insulated from the noise of the engines, but we wore headphones just the same.

“I was going to come and see you, but my mother died suddenly.  She only just found out where you were, who you were.  How did you have a different name?”

“My mother’s maiden name.  I figured Gwen would want to know that I might have actually done something with my life.  She was happy where she was.”

“And Ben and I?”

“She made me sign a document.  We asked you who you wanted to be with, and you both chose your mother.  I wasn’t going to argue the point or make demands.  It was her idea of a clean break.”

“You could have waited a few years and then come back.”

I shook my head.  I tried that, but she stopped it.  It was before I made my first million, and not in the same class.  But I did watch her and Ben grow up from afar, and at times. Make life easier for them, just don’t let them know about it.

“It was better this way.  I was always hoping there would come a time, and I was very sad that it had to be at her funeral.  How long have you been this way?”

“Six months.  I knew something was wrong with my mother, but I didn’t think I had the same condition.  I don’t have all the symptoms.  If it is, I assume you know what it is?  My doctor really has no idea.”

“Gwen didn’t tell you?”

“No.  I guess she didn’t want me to fret over it, or she thought it would miss my generation.”

“It doesn’t.  When we get to London, is there anything you need?”

“I have everything I need.”  She glanced down at Daisy.

“No husband?”

“Never married.  One steady boyfriend who was steady until he learned I was pregnant and then disappeared.  Gave up on men after that.”  She leaned back and closed her eyes.  “I’m tired now.  Wake me when we get there.”

I leaned back also and rested.  It was a good idea to come to the funeral.  All that remained was to discover where Ben was, and why he didn’t come to his mother’s funeral.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025