‘You’re sacked,’ Simon said.
‘Eh? What did you say?’
‘Sacked, as in, get your things and leave. You’ll be paid until the end of the week.’
‘What do you mean “sacked”?’ Daisy wailed.
‘Fired,’ Simon said, leaning back in his chair, folding his arms, and gazing at her with a self-satisfied expression.
‘Don’t you mean “made redundant”? We’ve already had this conversation.’
‘No, I mean sacked.’
‘But you can’t sack me,’ she said, close to tears for the second time that day, and this time she didn’t try to hide it.
‘Yes, I can.’
‘Why?’
‘For inappropriate use of the internet.’
She had no idea what he was rabbiting on about. Was he accusing her of looking at porn?
Simon noticed her blank expression and explained, ‘For job hunting on company time.’
‘It was only for a few minutes,’ she protested. ‘And everyone uses the internet. I have to use Google for my job.’
‘For your job, yes, but not for the purpose of changing your job.’
‘This is a joke, right?’ she pleaded. ‘Tell me it’s a joke.’
‘No joke, you’re to leave at the end of the day.’
Daisy’s eyes brimmed with tears, and they spilt over to trickle down her cheeks. ‘You’re really sacking me?’ she whispered.
‘Yes, I am.’ You’ve contravened the company’s internet policy, which states, and I quote, “no employee will use the company’s internet for personal use”.’
‘You booked your last holiday in work, and you’re always on eBay.’
‘I’m not,’ he replied, calmly, with no change of expression.
‘You are, I’ve seen you.’
‘But I haven’t been caught,’ he said, ‘and if you try to make trouble I’ll deny everything. It’ll be your word against mine, and I know who management will believe.’
‘You bastard!’
‘Calling me names won’t help, not if you want a reference.’
Daisy, about to call him something far worse, snapped her teeth together with a click. She had to have a reference, she simply had to, otherwise getting another job would be downright impossible.
Defeated, she got to her feet, turned to leave, then paused and walked back into Simon’s office.
‘Can I go home now?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘I can’t stay here another minute.’
Simon didn’t speak for a moment, taking a quick look at the other staff in the office beyond his own. They were all trying desperately to hear what was going on.
‘Okay,’ he said, pretending to be reluctant, but Daisy saw the gleam of relief and satisfaction in his eyes.
‘Thank you,’ she said, quietly. There was no point in saying anything else. She knew the company’s rules, she’d broken them, and she’d been caught. They had every right to dismiss her. The fact that everyone else did their personal stuff on company time and using company resources, wouldn’t hold any water. She needed that reference.
It was actually very good of them to provide her with one under the circumstances, because they were well within their rights not to.
As she slunk out of Simon’s office she wondered if Simon, or another manager had spotted her screen by sheer bad luck, or if someone had shopped her. Melissa had seen what she’d been looking at, but there was no way her friend would blab. It must have been bad luck – one of the pitfalls of working in an open-plan office was the lack of privacy. She’d been so engrossed in her job search that the Queen could have strolled past, and Daisy wouldn’t have noticed. She did, however, have an inkling she might know who had split on her – Stacey, the marketing officer. Her job was to source out new clients, but she fancied herself as being creative, often spouting ideas, hoping someone would take her up on one of them and recognise her talent.
Daisy had very few belongings at work, apart from her coat, scarf, gloves, and bag. It took her all of thirty seconds to go through her desk drawers to check there was nothing she wanted to take with her. There wasn’t, except for a bundle of receipts she’d stashed in an envelope – reminders of the items she’d bought and not confessed to Freddie (“What? This old thing? I’ve had it ages/Sara gave it to me because she can’t fit in to it/picked it up in a charity shop…”).
When she lifted her coat off the rack of hooks, Melissa appeared at her side.
‘What’s the Grumpmeister got you doing now?’ the other girl asked brightly then hesitated when she saw Daisy’s expression. ‘Is everything alright?’
‘Simon sacked me,’ Daisy whispered, not wanting the others to hear, though they could clearly tell that something was up and would find out for themselves soon enough anyway.
‘He did what?’ Melissa exclaimed, lowering her voice when Daisy shushed her. ‘Why?’
‘Job hunting on company time,’ she replied, wrapping her scarf around her neck.
‘That’s terrible. As if he doesn’t do stuff like that all the time.’
‘He didn’t get caught. I did.’
‘Can he do that?’
‘Apparently.’
‘Are you going to do anything about it?’ Melissa asked.
‘Like what?’
The question gave Melissa pause. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know’, she said, ‘but there must be something.’
‘I honestly don’t think there is.’ Daisy was ready to go, her bag slung over her shoulder, and her coat on.
Melissa leaned in for a hug. ‘You’ll keep in touch, won’t you?’ she said.
‘Of course, I will,’ Daisy replied, hugging her back.
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’ Daisy meant it at the time, but once again the gods were about to teach her a lesson – don’t make promises because you never know if you will be able to keep them.
And for the last time, Daisy walked out of Caring Cards, attempting to hold her head up while keeping her tears at bay, and failing miserably.
Which was why she ducked back inside and headed for the comforting solitude of the ladies’ loos, to give her time to compose herself and wait for her mascara to stop running down her face.
Mindful that someone might walk in at any moment, Daisy went into a cubicle, locked the door and put the toilet lid down, then she sat on it and wept.
First Freddie, then the Christmas Day debacle, and now this.
What more could go wrong?
She was about to find out, and by the end of the day she would seriously begin to wonder if someone up there was having a sick joke at her expense.
At last her crying jag began to abate, subsiding into hiccupping sniffles. She felt washed out, drained, an empty shell of herself, and she leant back, resting her aching head on the wall behind her. At least she hadn’t broken down in the middle of the high street – the meltdown had been in private, and though there may be a few more episodes to come, she had a feeling this was the worst. She hadn’t really cried over Freddie, and she supposed it was overdue. Combined with the terrible news today, it had all become a bit much.
She gave her nose one final blow, wiped her eyes with a fresh tissue, and took a deep breath.
Time to face the world again.
A door opened and the click of high heels on the tiled floor made Daisy decided to wait until whoever it was had left. She’s simply couldn’t face any more questions, so she sat there listening to the sound of perfume being sprayed and lipstick being applied.
Then…
‘Hiya, it’s me.’ Melissa’s voice was low and sultry.
Daisy stopped breathing, hoping her friend didn’t realise she had an audience. Saying goodbye to her once had been hard enough and she didn’t want to go through it a second time in less than fifteen minutes.
‘Yeah, she’s gone. I can’t believe Simon actually had the balls to do it.’
Who on earth was Melissa talking to? Daisy gave a mental shrug – she knew what a gossip Melissa was, and she didn’t hold it against her. Daisy would probably do the same in Melissa’s shoes, and she realised she was going to be the topic of the day for a while yet.
‘Nah, meek as a lamb.’ A pause, then Melissa laughed, and it wasn’t a nice laugh, either. ‘I don’t think she’ll make any trouble. I asked her before she left, and she didn’t think there was anything she could do. If only she knew. But thank God she doesn’t.’
Another pause and Daisy fervently wished she knew who was on the other end of the phone, and what it was Melissa was thankful Daisy didn’t know.
‘I know she could go to ACAS and claim unfair dismissal, but believe me, she won’t. She slinked out of here with her tail well and truly between her legs. You’ve heard the last of Daisy Jones.’ This time Melissa’s laugh sounded downright mean. ‘Now, do I get that promotion you promised me, snookums?’
What promotion? Who was Melissa talking to?
‘Okay, I love you too,’ Melissa was saying, her voice breathy and flirty once more. She giggled. ‘I look forward to playing secretary to your big, powerful boss, Mr Dearborn, sir.’
Too much info, Melissa – hang on, Mr Dearborn? The Mr Dearborn, the new MD?
Daisy realised she was right, and as soon as she did, everything slotted into place.
Melissa had ratted her out to the MD because she was having an affair with him, and because he’d offered her an incentive.
The lying, scheming, two-faced cow!
Then something else Melissa said pinged on Daisy’s shellshock radar. ACAS? Did Melissa mean the Advisory, Conciliation and Arbitration Service? Unfair dismissal? Daisy searched her mind trying to remember the details of the contract she’d signed when she first started with Caring Cards. She vaguely recalled something about verbal warnings, written warnings, and gross misconduct. But which one of those categories did her misdemeanour fall under?
There was only one way to find out. She had a copy of the contract at home somewhere, and as soon as she got in through the door, by gum she intended to find it.
Not wanting to give Melissa (or Mr Dearborn) any inkling that she was anything other than a meek lamb to the slaughter, Daisy waited until Melissa left, then waited some more, just to make sure. She didn’t want her so-called friend to witness her leaving the premises for the second time. As she splashed cold water on her blotchy face, Daisy had a new determination in her eyes.
Sacked indeed? She’d see about that!