The Ascendant

Final Chapter

I was being left to stew, marinating in my hot, spicy juices, and the omens were bleak.

Rob had been given a final written warning as a result of his failure with the quarterly figures and the personnel bod who sat in on that hearing was again sat in Hobbs’s office, discussing what looked like serious stuff. Hobbs and I both knew the statistics resulting from my thirteenth week with the company, and the steady improvement of the last few weeks had been maintained: and though Hustings and Winters had begun to pile on the pounds in my costs column the trend was still below average.

My mobile phone beeped and I checked my message, predictably from Dawn. “Any news??” she asked. It was 3:30pm and still I awaited the call from Hobbs. Was he leaving it so late through shear thoughtlessness or was this just more of his everyday sadism, the type Rob and I had become accustomed to of late. I clicked the Reply option and sent the same message as I had the last three times: “No”. I wondered what her reaction would be if I were to send her a message declaring my unemployment. Sympathy perhaps? Encouragement? Pity? And what if I failed to regain such a prestigious footing on the corporate ladder? What then?

I sat at my desk, pointing arrows, clicking buttons, pretending to work busily and constructively, but my mind was on my uncertain future, my recent past, and what I was set to lose. The deletion of Rob’s file had been an extreme and woeful measure but the attempted manipulation of my contractor’s minds and figures had brought the short term results which I required: until one squealed, as they inevitably would, given time.

My dishevelled appearance had now been thoroughly corrected, although I still felt like a farmer in a new suit, even though my reflection often caught me by surprise: virile haircut, subtle pinstripe, gratuitously expensive white shirt, classy yet unostentatious cuff links, a broad and chunky tie, shoes befitting a gentleman. Maybe I should have listened to Dawn a little sooner than I did. At least I had my outfit ready for any interviews I might organise, although I had neither the inclination or the local knowledge to orchestrate such an elaborate hoax of my referees. I would have to deal with that when the time came. All good things come to an end, I lamented: relationships, winning streaks, sex, incomes, lies, health, life.

I checked the time in the bottom corner of my computer screen: 15:52 as the end-of-week e-mails were arriving for Blagman@Vanguard-London.co.uk – mostly anxious messages which would probably never receive my response.

We had a full house – by some fluke of timing Joost, Angela, Rob and Mike, who had all taken to ignoring me since I fell off the hallowed precipice of success, were in the office to witness my humiliation – so I filled ten minutes by making a full round of drinks. It was Friday, so with the exception of the perpetually glum Rob, the tone was bright and chirpy and the piss-takes flowed plentifully, as I filled the kettle up and sloshed out the mugs. Retaliation or even holding my own had slipped from my agenda altogether, however, and I stole a glance in Hobbs’s direction at every opportunity, looking for positive signs, but although he was now smiling, I still didn’t know what was going on. At 4.15, as my coffee cooled to a drinkable temperature, I finally got my wish.

‘Are you ready Ben?’, asked Synthia, Hobbs’s personal assistant.

‘Sure,’ I replied, pretending to be upbeat and confident about the outcome. I was led into Hobbs’s office like a criminal being escorted into the dock but I was determined to brazen it out, if not in the manner I had done with Jayne, then at least in a fashion which would leave me with some dignity. Hobbs made the necessary introductions and I shook the hand of the personnel representative, a gawky looking bloke with milk bottle goggles. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ I lied sincerely.

Hobbs chaired the meeting with customary arrogance, making incessant references to the disappointment he had felt in my overall progress, and in my lack of ability to relate to senior company representatives in particular. He included himself within this elite strata, though I had previously believed the understanding we had built up was a reasonable one, certainly healthier than my usual boss-minion relationship.

‘From the moment I saw your company car hopping across the car park like a mechanical, maniacal kangaroo, I have held the darkest doubts of your ability to do the job Ben. This view was colourfully embellished upon by Nigel Swift after your regrettable attempts to entertain and impress him at the opera.’ Hobbs entitled himself to a churlish smirk but his gawky mate remained stone faced and respectful, like a family friend attending a wake. Pass the guy a whisky, I thought, and make mine a large one.

‘I have, however, seen a positive change in you over the past four weeks Ben, an immeasurable improvement in fact. Your results have steadily come in line to meet your targets, your clients – and I include Nigel Swift in this – have said words of encouragement and your contractors are being held in check. Your appearance is exemplary and your organisation is quite impressive. Quite a transformation from the chancer who walked through the door three months ago, wouldn’t you say Ben?’

What could I say? Was it another game, an opportunity for Hobbs to demonstrate how much cleverer than me he was? I said nothing. If he wanted to hang me I wasn’t going to take a length of rope from him and do the job myself.

‘Nothing to say Ben? I wonder why that could be. You know, I rather admire you Ben. I think you’ve got balls, and that’s the type of person I want in my department. Even Angela’s got a fairly colossal pair of cahoonas; I regard them as an essential feature, much more than say, an English degree or a financial pedigree.’ Hobbs smiled and I tilted my head back at him, waiting for him to make his final move: to giveth or taketh away.

‘I have booked a table for six at Pie 2 Mash in Camden, Ben, to mark the occasion of your permanency with the company. That does of course depend upon you accepting my offer Ben.’

‘Yes of course,’ I squeaked after a disbelieving delay, ‘I accept.’

‘Excellent. Well, time is knocking on, do you want to see if all the others are ready to leave, I take it you are ready also Ben?’

‘Yes of course,’ I repeated, light headed with all the stress and confusion. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me Ben,’ said Hobbs, with an accompanying glare which read like an implicit threat.

I ducked out of the office and rounded up the others, who enthusiastically congratulated me on the successful outcome of my trial. I returned to my desk and pressed some buttons on my computer, waited for it to shut down and took out my mobile to read yet another message from Dawn: “Well?!”

I pressed the 4 and 6, adding a couple of symbols and hit the Send option.

“In!!”