The Beard (15 page)

“You want any sauce?” he asked as Tom set about unfolding his napkin. “Just ketchup, please,” Tom said with a very broad grin.

Derek had remained sour since being deserted by everyone at the work’s do. He would storm about, slamming papers down on everyone’s desk and barking orders. He even took some time off from work (virtually unheard of) to avoid the Friday pub quest. It was, everyone agreed, fairly serious.

No one had been singled out for specific criticism but as Tom’s desk was nearest to D
erek’s office, he felt the heatwave first. There was a large window directly behind Tom’s head. It had a set of Venetian blinds at it, which were rarely, if ever, opened. However, Tom suspected that the blinds were being moved slightly, as Derek surveyed his modern-day shop floor.

He wanted to go in and just have it out with his boss but, seeing as Derek was the owner of the company, to do so would
’ve been bold. If it went well, you were in for life. Well, however long an obese 50-year-old with addictions’ life would be. Get it wrong, though, and you’d be out on your ear. Derek wasn’t averse to being ruthless – around the time of his divorce, he’d sacked half a dozen people. In truth, they’d been getting away with murder for years, but their sudden departure reminded everyone where the power lay.

As Tom tapped away at yet another re-hash of yet another feature, he once again felt eyes bearing down upon him. He kept typing, ignoring the sensation of contact on his back, thus lulling the voyeur into a false sense of security. Then, without warning, he stood up, spun around and walked through Derek’s door, which was partially ajar.

Derek, who’d been spying, was kneeling on a set of office cupboards to get a better angle for viewing. Removing himself from this with speed, he stumbled back and kicked his bin across the floor. As he did, he reached out and knocked a pile of papers from his desk. They fell, ironically, into the bin.

“Nice,” said Tom. “I doubt you could’ve done that if you’d tried.”

Derek looked flustered, like a work-experience kid caught stealing rubber bands from the stationery cupboard. He tried to regain composure and sat down in his chair. At one point, he attempted to straighten and tighten a tie he wasn’t even wearing. Tom looked on with some amusement and pity.

“Yes, Tom?” Derek finally ventured, grabbing a piece of paper and looking at it. He stared down at the paper as if he’d already been doing so when Tom walked in.

“Two things,” started Tom as if nothing had happened. “The September issue. Are we featuring the three-page advertorial we discussed a few weeks back? I ask because sales haven’t sold anything to go alongside it, and I was wondering if we should hold it over until later in the year.”

Derek was still looking at the paper. “Yes,” he said abruptly.

Tom stared back at him quizzically. “Yes, we’re including it or yes, we should delay?”

Derek nodded and looked up at Tom with a degree of brooding menace. He knew that he held all the cards but it was also dawning on him how little respect his employees had for him. He’d begun to suspect that he was a laughing stock. This hurt more than anything – even more than the divorce. To be rejected was one thing, but to have your supposed subordinates look down on you – that was plain humiliating. The stone-cold reality was simple. He could suck it up and deal with the issues as he imagined them to be, or he could sack everyone. On the one hand, it had taken him years to get to the point he was at, and he was very reluctant to part with any of his “lads”. He’d invested his time, faith and hope in each of them; he’d developed them, trained them, tolerated them and was ultimately proud of them. He could tell anyone who cared to listen about all of their first days, along with their biggest mistakes and achievements. In the absence of
one, they’d become his family. He could talk about the long hours worked into the nights to keep the business going, to keep the gang together. The times he’d put his house up as security to cement their livelihoods. The fact that he was never home, which was one reason he’d been unable to make his marriage work. All of that for them. Was it too much to expect something in return? Not praise, maybe not even thanks, but certainly not pity. That was a step too far – the ultimate in galling behaviour. Without him, they were nothing and, in exchange, he’d walked out of an all-expenses-paid do to see them escaping through hedges. This was one of his lowest, most debilitating moments. The mirror had been held aloft and the reflection, with all of its baggage, was unbearable to look at. Even a glance caused physical pain.

“Something wrong?” asked Tom as Derek stared at him without blinking. Tom knew that this line of questioning could end up with him jobless but, for some reason, he didn’t care. He knew that, sooner or later, the anger had to be addressed and the boil – however painful – had to be lanced.

“Wrong?” Derek shouted. There was an appreciable drop in noise in the office outside. “Why would anything be wrong?” he said, accentuating the word “wrong” as if it were a marathon not a sprint. He was well aware that Tom knew exactly what was wrong.

Accepting that he may now be circling the career drain, Tom continued unabashed. “There’s no reason why something should be wrong, Derek. You seemed distracted, so, as a matter of common courtesy, I thought I’d ask. However, if you’re fine… that’s great.”

The matter-of-fact manner in which Tom had dealt with the issue unnerved Derek. Derek’s intention had been to intimidate and, instead, he’d just made himself look psychotic. His paranoia had been momentarily punctured. In a switch of circumstance, Derek felt a pang of guilt towards Tom. Perhaps he was channeling the thrust of his irritation at his employee, which he knew wasn’t fair. He’d always felt closest to Tom, as the senior man in the office. He never did anything to let this show, however. As such, he was expecting more from Tom than even Tom knew. To judge a man based upon such a criteria wasn’t right.

Derek’s father had built a company from scratch, too. Derek had “earned his stripes” working there. He’d witnessed his father alienating workers by taking favourites and offering favours to some and not others. As such, his father hadn’t been as universally popular as he’d thought. Derek had vowed that he’d never do the same himself. Accordingly, Tom didn’t know he was Derek’s favourite. He never would.

In addition, Derek had always thought that, as his staff retention was good and everyone seemed to get on, he’d avoided his father’s mistakes. To discover that he hadn’t was genuinely painful. He wondered if it went with the territory – whether managers and bosses were always unpopular. If his father were alive, he’d ask him. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. His father’s idea of interviewing someone was to say, “Are you winning?” If they replied, “Yes,” they were in. If they set about explaining why they were or weren’t, they were out. As a by-product of this hardline on such garrulous matters, his father ended up surrounded by a literal army of “yes” men. Derek had deliberately done the exact opposite. He wanted people to challenge him and question him, yet here was someone doing that and he was trying to shout them down.

Inadvertently, Derek had made mistakes. Cast aside by his wife, pitied by his workforce and single by his own fault, he had a choice to make – continue with such a bombastic, combative stance that would surely result in a loss of staff, or change his ways.

It was one of the bitterest pills he’d ever swallowed.

“Close the door,” Derek said softly.

It was a tone that Tom hadn’t heard in many a year. He did as he was bid and he could see a room full of eyes staring back at him inquisitively as he did so. Was this it? Were they all for the high jump? Tom sat down instinctively, not waiting for an invite.

“Tell me, Tom,” Derek began, looking at him piercingly. “Do you… does everyone hate me?”

The question was a bolt out of the blue. Tom had expected to talk about what had happened the other night, but nothing quite as soul searching. He wondered what would happen if he just said, “Yes.” Surely, it wouldn’t bode well for the business or their careers at the business – assuming it survived. Wisdom suggested a more delicate approach. And besides, it wasn’t so much that they hated Derek, rather that he made himself difficult to like.

Yet Tom sat and considered the question. He suspected that all rules were suspended and that he could speak freely. Whether this was the case would only be revealed as the day progressed.

“I can’t speak for anyone else officially,” he offered as a starter, attempting to limit the number of people made unemployed. “But no. No one hates you.”

Silence followed. Tom felt like asking, “Is that it, then?” but elected to keep quiet. Derek seemed unsatisfied by this, as well he might.

“Go on…” he said after some thought. He knew there was more to it than met the eye. Tom had made no secret of that.

“Well,” Tom started tentatively. “Are we speaking candidly?”

Derek nodded hesitantly.

“Well,” Tom repeated, “you haven’t made life entirely pleasant working here since, um… since the…” Tom searched desperately for a nicer way of saying divorce.

“The divorce?” Derek added, his turn to be matter of fact.

Tom was surprised by the tone and openness on display. It was, after all, a sea change from normal. “Yes,” he added with sensitivity. “Since your divorce, you’ve, quite understandably, not been yourself.”

Derek found that simple statement shocking. He hadn’t realised that his divorce had taken so much out of him. The profound consequences of the split had, perhaps, not registered with him, as they should. His separation had affected him in ways that he wasn’t aware of, yet he’d assumed that the staff knew and were on his side. His failure to communicate anything but anger had limited this quite dramatically. Sitting listening to Tom’s comment, which allowed for considerable compassion, he realised something else. Whereas he’d assumed that the staff weren’t showing their loyalty, it was transparent that their putting up with him, working with him, laughing at his jokes and smiling when he had beer poured over him was nothing but loyalty. In the time since his divorce, no one had quit. He wasn’t so foolishly sentimental to forget that there was a recession on, but he also knew that it was far easier to go than to stay. In that moment, he felt humbled and foolish. He also knew that Tom was, in fact, speaking for everyone.

“It has been hard,” Derek mumbled, uneasy about opening up. “Yes, it has,” he nodded, as if speaking to himself rather than a staff member.

Tom looked at a broken man and felt a degree of sympathy. Derek had been odious and no one could bear to spend any time with him, but it hadn’t always been thus. He used to be quite acceptable, if a bit bigoted. Tom knew that, however emotional they now were, now was not the time to come out. Derek’s mood was far too unpredictable to drop that little bombshell.

“Did I mention,” Derek said, clearing his throat, his capacity to speak severely diminished, “he left her?”

At first, Tom had no idea what Derek was talking about. Just at the point when he was about to ask who, he realised that Derek was referring to his ex-wife. “No,” he said gently, “you didn’t say.”

Derek nodded in contemplation as t
hey both sat in awkward silence. Men didn’t do this. Talking openly about feelings wasn’t done. Not at work and most certainly not sober.

“When was the last time you took a holiday?” asked Tom gingerly. He knew. It was years ago. He often felt that Derek needed to get away, to recharge his batteries.

Derek took a deep and unfulfilling breath. “God knows,” he said. Tom was relieved that his boss wasn’t offended by the implied suggestion. “You telling me to sod off on holiday, then?” asked Derek, showing some of the spark they all knew.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you to do,” Tom replied. His tone was relatively jovial without being flippant.

Derek smiled. It seemed like the smile of a man finding a painkiller after months of agony. “Tell me, Tom,” he said mischievously. “What does it do for a staff member’s prospects when he tells the boss to do one?”

It was Tom’s turn to smile. “I’d say about 10 per cent in the next pay review,” he retorted unashamedly.

Derek looked through some papers and searched for a pen on his desk. He scribbled something on a piece of paper, turning it momentarily before writing again. Then he held it up to Tom – the message scrawled thereon was simple.
Sod off!!!
it said. Derek kept it aloft as Tom laughed.

“Worth a try,” Tom said, chuckling and shifting in his seat. At that moment, Derek turned the paper around. The figure written on it was 8 per cent. Tom blushed his gratitude. Derek put the paper down.

Derek stood up and walked to the window. He pushed aside the blinds that kept the cold light of day at bay, glanced down at the pub across the road and shuddered. “So, I suppose you’ll want to be in charge while I’m away?”

Tom was taken aback, but not so much as to relinquish such an opportunity. He was tempted to add, “Well, it couldn’t be worse than having you in charge,” but thought better of it. “I’d be happy to,” he said plainly.

Derek turned back to the room and sat down. “My sister keeps saying that I should go and visit her. She thinks I need a bit of TLC. She’s moved to Spain. God knows where but, by all accounts, it’s good. Maybe I’ll go there.”