Meltdown (31 page)

‘Under
Marcus
?’ Jimmy asked, finding it difficult to meet anybody’s eye.

‘Yeah,’ Caleb replied without his usual good-natured smile, ‘and the Man said he wanted to see you on MJ3.’

Jimmy smiled a confident ‘I’m not bothered’ smile.

‘See you guys in a minute,’ he said.

It took slightly longer than that, but it was over in less than five.

The Man tried to be kind, but it was clear that all he wanted was for the interview to be done with.

‘We’ve pulled out of Eastern Europe altogether,’ he said. ‘If it’s any consolation, all the guys are going. The heads like you today but I’m afraid most of the blokes will have to follow. The other desks just can’t absorb them.’

It wasn’t any consolation. Jimmy wasn’t like that.

‘The problem is all these damn countries were doing too well,’ the Man explained. ‘Their currencies were unsustainably high and they all started borrowing dollars on the strength of it. Now their currencies are returning to realistic levels and basically half a bloody continent is one big slab of negative equity. We just can’t operate in their markets any more.’

Jimmy didn’t attempt to argue the suddenness of the decision. Everything was happening suddenly in the second half of 2008. Banks were folding. Prices collapsing. Governments tottering.

‘Head Office sent the news through at close of play in New York. I got it this morning,’ Jimmy’s boss said. ‘The order was quite clear. Shut down immediately. Cut our losses and run. Your desk is closed.’

There was a moment’s silence. Jimmy wondered if he was expected simply to get up and leave.

‘Accounts will be in touch re your redundancy package,’ the Man said. ‘I’m sure it’ll tide you over.’

‘But . . .’ Jimmy began. He was about to protest that his situation was a little more complex than most. That he had mortgaged his home and become a property speculator on the expectation of continued employment. That a poxy redundancy package would not begin to cover the interest payments on the debts he had recently and recklessly incurred.

But what would have been the point? Besides which, the Man did not want to listen.

‘There are no buts, Jim,’ he said. ‘It’s happened. To be honest, it should have happened six months ago. We’ve been carrying you in the hope that things would improve. In a sense, you’ve been lucky.’

Lucky?
Lucky!
Jimmy wanted to scream at the guy that had he been sacked six months before it would have been brilliant. Because he would not then have committed himself to a multi-million-pound property scheme that he could not afford. He would still have
owned his house
.

But he didn’t say anything. He just sat there. Struck dumb.

Subtly the Man’s attitude hardened a little.

‘I’m sorry, Jimmy,’ he said, ‘but you don’t work here any more. You have to go. I’ve had your desk boxed up for you. Goodbye . . . I’m sorry.’

Glancing behind him, Jimmy noticed two security guys hovering at the door. That was how it was done, he knew that. Once they’d dumped you they wanted you out immediately. Occasionally people turned unpleasant. Occasionally people went back to their desks, drank half a bottle of Christmas whisky and then stormed in to try to punch the CEO.

Jimmy rose to his feet without another word.

Five minutes later, he was back on the plaza floor of the Dildo walking out through the security barriers.

Then he stopped.

This was all wrong. They couldn’t just bundle him out of the building. He wasn’t going to cause trouble or make a scene, but he’d known some of those people for years. He needed to say goodbye.

Jimmy turned and headed back to the turnstile. He swiped his card through the slot and then walked straight into the rotating bar, bruising his leg. The bar did not rotate for Jimmy any more. His swipe card no longer worked. It had already been deprogrammed.

He got out his BlackBerry. He would email Caleb and get him to come down and let him in. But Jimmy found he couldn’t do that either. His Mason Jervis email server refused to serve him. Besides, Caleb’s email address had disappeared from the screen, along with every other address stored in his business address book. Every professional contact of any sort, both within and without Mason Jervis, had gone.

Of course. Jimmy remembered now, this was another part of what they did. They didn’t want you carrying away any secrets, taking valuable information and networking potential to a new employer. They’d closed him down. It was as if he had never ever had a life at Mason Jervis. And they had done it in the time it had taken him to descend from the Bell End to the bottom of the Great Big Cock.

An hour later Jimmy phoned Monica.

‘Monica,’ he said, his voice slightly slurred, ‘I’ve lost my job. I’m in the pub and I feel
great
.’

First choose your school

For a little while Jimmy and Monica had dared to hope.

A quick Google of the various state schools in their area had thrown up a couple of really encouraging possibilities which were actually close by. Could it be, they wondered, that the socio-economic disaster which had befallen their son was not going to prove quite as terrible as they had first assumed?

The closest state school was a Church of England primary that sounded rather lovely. It had excellent SATS results and a stated commitment to a ‘caring but disciplined educational environment’. Just like Abbey Hall really. The school also championed the concept of ‘whole child’ learning, which, when they skimmed the ‘mission statements’ section of the site, seemed to mean that they did a lot of art. Which was also very nice.

‘Do you think we’d have to convince them that we’re Christians?’ Monica asked. ‘I mean I’m happy to say I’m Buddhist if it’ll get him in, but they might want some sort of proof.’

‘Well, we are Christians . . . aren’t we?’ Jimmy said.

‘Sort of . . . I suppose. Culturally, perhaps. But we never go to church, do we? Except for christenings, weddings and funerals and . . . we don’t really believe in it. I mean, virgin birth, him rising again and all that. Not
really
.’

‘But all that’s allegorical, isn’t it? They don’t require you to believe in it. Not any more. Not
literally
. Just kind of . . .’

‘Kind of what?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. In a “love is good” kind of way.’

‘We can do that. We certainly believe love is good.’

‘Of course we do. And all the kids were christened.’

‘Only because it’s such a lovely excuse for a party.’

‘It doesn’t matter, they’re in. We have photos. And Abbey Hall was Christian, wasn’t it? They had hymns and an end-of-term service and
they
accepted us,’ Jimmy replied. ‘Blimey, if we’re good enough for posh Christians we’ve got to be good enough for state-funded ones, haven’t we?’

‘Yes, but we were paying the posh school. I imagine that makes a difference.’

Jimmy pondered this for a moment.

‘Well, maybe we
should
start going to church. You know, just to show willing.’

‘What? Out of the blue? It’d look a bit suss, wouldn’t it? They must be used to that one. No, I think the best way is that when we apply we stress our “spiritual” side.’

‘Blimey. Have I got a spiritual side?’ Jimmy asked.

‘Well, I certainly have.’

‘OK, prove it.’

‘What?’

‘Come on, we’re being interviewed. I’m the head of the school. Do you believe in God?’

‘Yes, absolutely,’ Monica replied firmly before adding, ‘sort of.’

‘Sort of, Mrs Corby? Sort of? This is a
church
school.’

Monica collected her thoughts.

‘Well, I certainly believe in something bigger and more important than us . . .’

‘Good,’ Jimmy replied in his role of stern interrogator. ‘Can you perhaps be more specific?’

Monica thought hard.

‘A force. A
reason
, so to speak. I mean there has to be a reason, doesn’t there? A greater purpose? Greater than us, certainly, and I’m very happy to call that God if you want. In fact, yes, I do call it God
and
I believe in it . . . and I was a Girl Guide.’

Jimmy looked at her for a moment and smiled.

‘That was brilliant, Mon,’ he said.

‘You really think so?’

‘Sold me. And if God is love, I truly believe that I love you even more now than when I first loved you. Which is fucking saying something, incidentally. Therefore, I experience God every moment of my life.’

‘Wow, Jimmy,’ Monica said, very touched. ‘That’s
lovely
.’

‘Do you think I should say it?’

‘Maybe. See if a moment comes up. But lose the swearing.’

Monica kissed him.

‘That’s got to be enough, hasn’t it?’ Jimmy said, printing out the application form. ‘Enough for the Church of England? I mean we believe in something called God, we’re English and we’re big on love. That must cover all the bases.’

‘I think so,’ Monica said. ‘I mean it would be different if we were pretending to be Catholic, those guys play serious hardball, but
anybody
can pretend to be C of E, I’m sure of it.’

Once more they studied the website and found themselves getting quite excited.

‘It really does seem like a
very
nice school,’ Monica said. ‘Look, a stringent anti-bullying policy.’

‘And free,’ said Jimmy.

‘A belief in bringing music teaching back into schools.’

‘And free,’ Jimmy said again.

‘An emphasis on traditional subject matter but inclusively multicultural.’

‘And absolutely fucking
free
,’ Jimmy repeated. ‘Amazing. We should have sent Tobes there in the first place.’

Monica thought the photos on the site of the previous year’s nativity play looked very sweet and the school was also big on football, which would make Toby happy.

‘It says they’re always happy for parents to come along and help coach,’ Monica said.

‘I certainly have plenty of time,’ Jimmy replied ruefully.

‘Subject to stringent police checks,’ Monica added.

‘Ah. Well, I don’t think I’m on the sex offenders list, but if they check my credit rating I’m off the squad.’

They both laughed. They had always laughed a lot together but not so much lately since their troubles began. It felt good.

The second-nearest school also had a good exam-result rating, and although not actually a church school it looked smart and well run. It was rumoured that a local rock star had sent his children there for a couple of years.

Neither school was quite Abbey Hall, of course, in that their classes were twice the size and their facilities considerably smaller. On the other hand, Jimmy doubted that they would turn Toby into a crack dealer before he had had time to get their fortunes on an even keel again.

‘And they’re co-educational,’ Monica said, ‘which frankly I prefer. For a start it means Cressie can start there next year and we won’t have two separate school runs, which I was
dreading
when we were planning to send the girls to St Hilda’s.’

They decided to apply for the C of E school as their first choice and the other one as their second, but felt confident that they would be happy with either. Unfortunately everybody in their area felt the same about these two schools and they were both massively oversubscribed.

Toby failed to get into either and was instead placed at Caterham Road, the large Victorian edifice on the very edge of the borough, from which, as far as Monica could see, the middle class had fled. It seemed to cater exclusively for tough estate kids and the children of newly arrived immigrants.

Monica cried for about three hours and then began writing letters and sending emails. She wrote to the head teachers of her preferred schools, she wrote to the boards of governors, she wrote to the council and she wrote to her MP. She went personally to the town hall on several occasions, demanding an interview with a representative of the local education authority.

Not surprisingly, every parent felt that their child had a right to go to the most desirable school. When Monica finally got to see someone from the authority, her one argument, that coming so suddenly from a posh school her son would be an obvious target for bullying, elicited very little sympathy.

‘We have to find numerous places for children who have come straight from war zones,’ she was told. ‘I think your Toby will find readjustment easier than they do.’

Monica and Jimmy were eventually forced to face the fact that the only place the education authority was prepared to offer their precious, unique, more-special-than-the-rest son was at Caterham Road.

Monica was nearly hysterical at the prospect.

‘We’ll home-educate him!’ she announced suddenly. ‘You’re not working, I’m not working. It’ll be wonderful! We’ll spend our days in the local library as a family. Have picnics together and visit museums and . . .’

Unusually for Jimmy, he put his foot down.

‘No, Mon,’ he said firmly.

‘No? What do you mean, no?’

‘A kid needs friends.’

‘A
gang
, you mean. That’s what he’ll get. A gang. A knife gang. He’ll get knifed.’

‘Mon,’ Jimmy said, ‘I watch the local news every day. As far as I know, nobody has ever been knifed at Caterham Road.’

‘Yes, but . . .’

‘There are four hundred kids at that school—’

‘Exactly.’

‘They can’t all be delinquents. They can’t all take drugs. The majority have to be ordinary, OK kids. If those kids can make it at Caterham Road, then so can Toby.’

‘But he’s—’

‘He’s a nice, bright boy, Mon. That’s all. Whose parents happen to be broke. Like lots of parents. That’s the new reality. We have to face it. If it doesn’t work out then OK, maybe we can look at other options, but we’re not going to give in before we’ve started.’