Clapham Lights (30 page)

Craig laughs. ‘You know that’s the girl whose mum attacked me.’

‘Yeah, she said. There are obviously a few defective genes in that family. She told me to go back round there later.’

‘Are you going to?’

‘No way, I’m too tired. And I need to get back soon.’

‘Have you seen the other boys?’

‘Some of the other lads are cuddled up in Ophelia’s lounge but I haven’t seen Tony.’

‘Why are they at her place?’

‘They tried to get in here, but the door was locked and you weren’t answering. I might go outside and get some air.’

Craig follows Adam through the scattered bodies and they stand out on the terrace, sharing a bottle of Coke. The bottom half of a red
sleeping
bag is poking out from under a garden chair and the pair approach the cocoon. There is a pile of mashed pizza vomit by the head end of the bag and Adam loosens the head flap. It’s Tony.

Adam kicks him gently. There is no response. Craig bends down and shakes him whilst Adam pokes his face.

‘He’s stone cold,’ Adam says, looking to Craig. ‘Do you think he’s dead?’

Tony rolls over into the wall. ‘Stop shouting you twat. I wish I was dead. My head’s banging.’

‘Jesus, mate, have you been out here all night?’ Craig asks.

‘Of course I haven’t.’

‘Do you want some Coke mate,’ Adam says, putting the bottle by Tony’s head. ‘I’m glad you’re not dead. There’s no way I was carrying your body home.’

The boys stay out on the terrace until Tony drags himself up. He has tile print pressed into his cheek. Craig tells him to clean the sick up and the trio amble back inside to get a bucket of water.

‘Who’s under there,’ Adam asks, pointing to the mound on the sofa bed.

‘No idea,’ Craig says. ‘Leave them.’

Adam has a mischievous grin on his face and jerks back the duvet to reveal three huge naked men all face down. One is bulky and muscular; the other two are fat and covered in hair.

‘What the fuck?’ Craig says.

Adam and Tony burst out laughing.

One of the men turns his head and opens his eyes.

‘Brian, what are you doing here?’ Craig says.

‘We got a taxi from Fire Bombs don’t you remember? Your flatmate said we should come back for a drink.’ He has a graze on his knuckles.

‘Who are they?’ Craig asks, pointing to the other snoring bodies.

‘That’s Clive,’ Brian says.

‘Well who’s the other bloke?’

‘That’s Harry. He said he’s a friend of Mark’s.’

I
t is six fifteen in the morning and dark when Craig leaves the flat. He drives to the BP petrol station at Wandsworth Bridge and puts his car through the car wash - which company policy dictates he isn’t allowed to. He reads the sport section of
The Daily Telegraph
as the
rotating
brushes run over the Mini and when the fans finish, he edges out of the hangar and gets out to check the roof. There are two inches of water in the wooden house. He tries to flick it out with his palm but this makes his sleeve wet so he gives up.

He drives back along York Road, past the monstrous new-build apartments of Battersea Beach and the Livingstone estate. On Plough Road he gets stuck behind a 295 bus and follows it all the way to Clapham Junction.

By ten to seven, Craig is in the office. After switching on the lights, he sits at his computer and deletes his inbox. Once he’s done this, he browses the BBC Sport website and checks his Hotmail as the sun slowly rises outside.

He is still on his own at seven twenty so he makes a cup of tea and drifts around aimlessly. He sits on one of the customer sofas in reception and flicks through the latest issue of
Maison d’Etre
, and then checks the sales board in Christian’s office. It’s the second week of October and he’s joint top with Ahmed, on one sale. The other ten names have nothing beneath them.

A girl in a yellow puffa jacket enters the building. Craig jumps up from his chair.

‘Sorry, we’re not open yet,’ he says.

‘I work here, dickhead,’ she replies, tilting her head and kissing her teeth. She puts her fake Prada handbag down in front of a computer and picks at her oily hair.

‘How was your weekend?’ Craig asks, amused.

‘Why do you want to know?’

Christian turns up wearing sunglasses and a woolly cap pulled down over his ears. He hurries into his office without acknowledging anyone and shuts the door.

Craig stands outside and hesitates before knocking. There is no response so he knocks again. Christian shouts for him to wait and then the door opens. His left eye is black, he has a raw graze covering his nose and left cheekbone, and one of his bottom front teeth is broken.

Craig stares at his face. ‘What happened?’

‘I fell over on Saturday night,’ Christian says, going back behind his desk.

‘You look like you’ve been beaten up.’

‘No, no, I was just a bit out of it. I fell over on the pavement outside Chernobyl.’ He looks away and coughs.

‘How come you went to Chernobyl?’

‘I tried to get into Fire Bombs but the queue was too long so I went there instead.’

‘Who did you go with?’

‘I had a few mates in there. I remember being in the toilets and then suddenly I was outside and had blood all over my face.’

‘Did anyone call an ambulance or anything?’

‘No, I just went home.’ He touches his eye and winces. ‘I might go to the dentist later. Get my tooth fixed. And my nose is a bit bashed up. Good party though. Do you know where Hannah got to?’

‘She was in Fire Bombs.’

‘I text her yesterday and she didn’t reply. She didn’t pull that mate of yours did she?’

‘No.’

‘Good.’ Christian rolls his tongue across the chip in his teeth. ‘Why are you here so early, anyway? Catching up on stuff you should have done last week?’

‘No, not exactly. There’s something I want to talk to you about.’

‘Yeah, what’s that then?’ he asks, his attention focussed on his
computer
.

‘I’m resigning.’

‘Hang on.’ Christian types away on his keyboard. ‘Typed the wrong password. What did you say?’ he says turning to Craig.

‘I’m resigning, Christian. Leaving.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘I am. Sorry.’

‘Craig, you aren’t leaving because I’m not letting you. You’ve got targets to hit. Once you’ve hit your sales targets then I might consider letting you resign. But until then, no chance. It’s not happening.’

‘I’m afraid it is.’

‘Craig. I’m the boss. I decide whether you work here or not, not you. You leave when I want you to and not before.’

‘I’m leaving now.’

‘You can leave if you want to but it’s gonna cost you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The only way for you to leave before your contract expires is to buy your way out.’

‘I’m not buying my way out. I’m leaving. This isn’t the army.’

‘Craig, check your contract. If you leave voluntarily within the first four years of employment, you have to pay a five thousand pound
get-out
charge. I suggest you go back to your desk, forget these stupid ideas you’ve got and go sell some houses.’

‘I would have checked my contract, Christian, but I never actually signed one.’

‘You would have done. You’ve probably lost it.’

‘No, I never signed one because when I joined you said it was
company
policy to have an informal agreement rather than a contract… so you can get rid of people more easily.’ Craig shuffles in his chair.

‘No, Craig. It’s not so we can get rid of people. We have a
gentlemen
’s agreement with the staff because that’s how we expect them to behave. A gentleman doesn’t just walk into his boss’s office one morning and tell him he’s resigning.’

‘It makes no difference.’

‘Well it does because the terms of this gentlemen’s agreement are binding. You’ll have to pay the five grand whether you like it or not. We’ve invested thousands in your training and development. We can’t just watch that investment walk out the door.’

‘What training?’

‘What do you mean “what training”? All the expertise that I’ve passed on to you. You wouldn’t have made a penny without my guidance.’

Blood starts to trickle from Christian’s left nostril. Craig tells him and he stuffs it with tissue.

‘And that’s not all,’ Christian continues.

Craig sighs. ‘What else is there?’

‘You’ve gotta pay three hundred pounds for us to process and release your P45. And a one thousand pound damage charge for your car.’

‘There’s no damage to my car.’

‘There is. The wear and tear from driving alone will cost us more than that. And you have to pay back your clothing allowance.’

‘I’ve never had a clothing allowance.’

‘You did. It was built into your salary. Thirty pounds a month for twenty-odd months. That all adds up. Then there’s the cost of
advertising
for new staff which will have to be paid for as you’re leaving us one salesman short and there’ll be the shortfall in revenue. All in all, you’re looking at about fifteen grand.’

‘Christian, I haven’t got any money. That’s why I’m leaving.’

‘Craig, do you not understand what I’m telling you? If you want to leave then you can pay up. If you’re really that desperate to go you should get out there and sell some houses. Once you’ve made the commission you can pay us what you owe and you’ll be free to go. If you work hard you can be out by March next year.’

Craig shakes his head. ‘No. I’m leaving as soon as I can. I’ll give you a week’s notice.’

Christian leans forward onto the desk. ‘I’m fucked off, Craig. You’ve been like a son to me. I’ve sacked hundreds of better sales people than you and I could have got rid of you, but I didn’t because I thought you might develop. I even let you use the saw. But now you stab me in the back.’

‘How have I stabbed you in the back?’

‘You’re selfish.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re leaving here because you can’t hack it and you’d rather leave the hard work to others. You’re spineless.’

‘No I’m not.’

‘If you had any guts you’d stay and tough things out, like I have to.’

‘I’m leaving because I make less than the minimum wage.’

‘Because you’re not making the sales.’

‘Because nobody is buying houses.’

‘Because you aren’t trying hard enough!’

‘I’ve tried everything.’

Christian slams his fist on the desk. ‘No you haven’t. If you’d tried everything you’d have a board full of sales. You know I’ve just bought an apartment in Battersea Beach, don’t you?’

‘I know, you’ve told me.’

‘I’ve got a huge mortgage and do you know how I pay the mortgage?’

‘Money?’ Craig says sarcastically.

‘Yes, money. Money I earn from working here. Money I earn from managing a team who are meant to hit their targets by selling houses.’

‘And.’

‘And Craig, how am I meant to pay for my flat if my most
experienced
salesman comes into my office on a Monday morning and tells me he’s jacking it in?’

‘Christian, that’s not my fault.’

‘YES IT IS YOUR FAULT!’ he shouts. ‘What am I meant to tell my bank? Sorry but I can’t pay the mortgage this month because Craig Tennant didn’t want to do any work?’

Craig shrugs.

‘Don’t shrug your shoulders at me, Craig. After all I’ve done for you. You’ve got a responsibility to me and a responsibility to this company. You were more than happy to work here when you were raking the money in.’

‘I was never raking any money in. I took a pay cut to work here because I believed all the lies I was told.’

‘The only liar around here is you.’

‘I haven’t lied about anything.’

‘Yes you have. If you weren’t such a liar you would’ve told me you were planning to leave months ago.’

‘I wasn’t planning to leave months ago.’

‘You must have been.’

There’s a knock at the door. Christian’s fists are clenched and he is taking short, angry breaths.

‘COME IN,’ he shouts.

It’s Hannah. She has her glasses on and looks shocked at Christian’s appearance. She asks if they are having a team meeting. Christian says he’ll be out in five minutes. Hannah smiles at Craig as she leaves.

‘And whatever childish playground flirting is going on between the two of you stops now,’ Christian says.

‘Why?’

‘If it doesn’t, I’ll suspend you.’

‘Can you suspend me permanently?’

‘Don’t push me.’

Craig laughs. ‘Jealous are you?’

Christian clenches his jaw and a vein in his neck throbs. ‘You did something with her, on Saturday night, didn’t you?’

‘It’s got nothing to do with you.’

‘You did, didn’t you? I knew it. I wondered why I hadn’t seen her leave the house on Sunday morning. And that’s why when she came back she was wearing the same clothes she had on the night before.’

‘How do you know that? Shit, are you stalking her?’ Craig says, astonished.

‘Get outside. You’re dead to me, Tennant.’

Christian shoots up from his chair and tears open the door,
slamming
it against the wall. ‘RIGHT, TEAM MEETING, NOW,’ he yells. ‘You too Hannah.’

The eight sales staff who have turned up exchange concerned glances and roll chairs into a semi-circle at the back of the office. Christian stands next to a flip chart with his arms folded, glaring into the distance.

‘What happened to your face, boss?’ Danny asks.

‘I’ll tell you what happened to my face when you sell some houses Danny, you little prick,’ Christian says, throwing a topless felt-tip pen which hits Danny on the chest and marks his suit.

Craig loiters at the side of the group. Hannah sits two seats away.

‘Right, everyone here?’ Christian growls.

‘Yep,’ Danny says, turning his shaved head left and right to check.

‘Good.’ Blood starts to trickle from Christian’s right nostril. It reaches his lips and he licks it, and then he wipes his nose with his sleeve, making a red smudge on his shirt and across his face. ‘I’ll do all the target stuff later. Firstly I’d like to announce that unfortunately two members of the team, Craig and Hannah, have been sacked.’

‘
What?
’ Hannah says.

‘You’ve been sacked. You and him,’ Christian says, pointing at Craig.

‘Sacked for what?’ she asks.

‘Gross misconduct.’

‘But I haven’t done anything!’ Hannah says angrily.

‘Yes you have. You know exactly what you’ve done.’

‘Christian, I’ve not done anything.’

‘You slept together,’ Christian says through gritted teeth.

There are embarrassed smiles from the staff. Danny cheers and gives Craig a thumbs-up.

‘SHUT UP DANNY!’ Christian shouts.

‘I haven’t slept with anyone,’ Hannah says. ‘And even if I had, you can’t sack me for it.’

She gives Craig a fleeting, angry look as the rest of the staff turn back to Christian:

‘I can do whatever I like. You’re members of my team. It’s
unprofessional
and I’m not letting it happen. I can’t trust you, Hannah. Get out and take him with you.’

‘You can’t do this,’ Craig says. ‘I’m leaving. Hannah’s not.’

‘You’re both leaving.’

‘You’re pathetic, Christian. Just because I turned you down. Is this what it’s about?’ Hannah says.

‘YOU NEVER TURNED ME DOWN. CLEAR YOUR DESK!’

Hannah stands up and Craig starts to follow her but she ignores him and heads to the toilets. Craig’s face drops.

‘Aren’t you going to chase your girlfriend, Craig?’ Christian asks, smirking with blood running down the side of his mouth.

Craig glares at him, chucks his car keys at Christian’s feet and walks out.

Craig sits in Café Nero at Clapham Junction until midday. He texts Hannah to apologise and swears that he told Christian nothing, but she doesn’t reply. After a cheese roll from Greggs, he walks back to the flat and watches the
Hollyoaks
omnibus on E4 with an expression of numb sorrow.

Three days later, Craig is on Lavender Hill to get passport photographs taken. On his way home he passes the Cinq office on the opposite side of the road. A boy with a crew cut is getting into his old car and there is
nobody behind reception.

He goes into HSBC to pay in £50 that his mum has sent him. As he folds his receipt into his pocket and moves towards the doors, Hannah appears at one of the cashpoints in the entrance foyer. She is dressed for work and has a Mulberry handbag over her shoulder. Craig stops and waits as she slips her debit card into her purse and takes her cash. She glances left and sees him.