And I sit and listen, with my hands clamped so tightly in my lap, they ache. My face is immobile. My demeanor is calm. But all the time, my brain is crying out like a child: There is something you can do. You can let me keep my job. You can let me keep my job. Please, let me keep my job. It’s all I want. Please. Please. Please. I can’t have no job, I can’t, I can’t…
No job. The thought is so frightening, so engulfing, it feels like a real physical threat, like a hundred-foot tsunami looming out of nowhere, paralyzing me with its enormity. I can’t run, or escape, or beg. It’s too late. It’s upon me.
I know there are difficult times and current financial challenges. I do read the news. And maybe I should have seen this coming…but I didn’t. I didn’t.
Demeter is now on to the generic stuff: “Looking forward…any help we can give you…proper paperwork…” She’s started glancing at her screen as she talks. She’s mentally moved on. Job done. Tick.
I feel as though I’m in a dream as she suggests I might like to work out my week’s notice or I might like to take money in lieu.
“Money,” I manage to utter. “I need the money.”
There’s no point sticking around. If I leave now I can start making applications to other places.
“Fine,” says Demeter. “I’ll just call talent management….” She makes a quick call that I barely hear, my thoughts are such a whorl of terror. Then she turns back. “In fact, Megan in talent management needs to see you, so she suggested you pop up straightaway. Shall I walk you to the lift?”
And then I’ve stood up and I’m following her down the hall, and still I feel like I’m in a dream. I’m disembodied. This can’t be reality, it can’t….
But then we arrive at the lift, and something slices through my dream state. A sharp resentment. I’ve been so good up to now—such a model employee-being-fired-and-not-making-a-fuss—that it’s as if something in me breaks free in protest.
“So in the lift, you thought you’d already fired me,” I say bluntly. I can see I’ve hit home, from the flinch that passes across Demeter’s face.
“I apologize if there was any misunderstanding,” she says, and her weasel words make me want to slap her. If? If?
“Of course there was a misunderstanding.” My voice is tart, even to my own ears.
“Cath—”
“No, I get it. It’s such a trivial, unimportant detail to you, you couldn’t remember if you’d done it or not. I mean, I understand!” I throw up my hands. “You have a very full, exciting diary. Meetings…lunches…parties…fire your employee. No wonder you can’t keep track.”
I didn’t know I could sound quite so sarcastic. But if I thought I was going to make Demeter chastened, I was wrong.
“Cath,” she says calmly. “I appreciate this is an upsetting time for you. But it’s a mistake to become bitter. If we stay on good terms, keep the door open, who knows? Perhaps you’ll come back and work for us again. Have you read Grasp the Nettle by Marilyn D. Schulenberg? It’s a very inspiring book for all working women. It’s just been published. I read a proof copy, some time ago.”
Of course she read a proof copy. Demeter would never wait for a book to be actually available in the shops, like normal people.
“No,” I say evenly. “I haven’t read it.”
“Well, there we are.” Demeter looks pleased with herself. “Here’s a goal for you. When you leave here, go straight to Waterstones and buy it. You’ll find it inspiring. Listen to this quote.” She scrolls through her phone, then reads aloud: “Take your future into your own hands. Make it happen. Life is a coloring book, but you have the pens.”
I’m trying to stay polite, but my distress is seething up. Doesn’t she understand anything about anything? I can’t afford to buy a hardback book telling me to color in my life.
I try not to be envious; I really, really try. But right now all I want to do is yell, It’s all right for you! Your life is already colored in and you didn’t even go over the edges!
The voice in my head is so loud, I feel like she must be able to hear it. But Demeter’s still looking at me with that complacent expression. She’ll probably boast later about how she gave me lots of marvelous advice and I was really grateful.
And then, just to cap off a perfect day, I spot Alex. He’s walking along the corridor toward us with a questioning look. He glances at Demeter, and she makes a quick answering face and my humiliation is complete.
“So,” I say stiffly to him. “I’m off. Thanks for the job and everything.”
“I thought you knew.” I can hear the wince in Alex’s voice. “Earlier on. I’m sorry.”
I’m aware of Alex and Demeter exchanging expressions in a kind of shorthand. They have a body language I never picked up on before. A kind of easy, close naturalness that you don’t get with a professional colleague. I wonder if they shag here at work? Well, of course they do.
Demeter’s phone buzzes, and she answers it. “Hello? Oh, Michael. Yes, I did get your email….” She lifts up five fingers at me, which I guess means, “Wait five minutes,” and steps into a nearby empty room. And I’m left with Alex. Again.
I glance up at him and see his kind, tactful eyes, and I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it. The horror of my job loss is so devastating, you’d think nothing else would even sting. You’d think I’d be numb to lesser feelings like humiliation and crushed pride. But I’m not. They just smart in a different way.