James had found the past few days almost therapeutic. Away from the humiliating scene of the food incident – and, indeed, anyone who knew about it – it had been almost possible to forget that it had ever happened. He could go about his normal day-to-day business in London without having to listen to people’s jovial comments about what to him was a major source of embarrassment. That was the trouble with living in a small village: everyone knew everyone else’s business. It would be forgotten soon, some other piece of local gossip would rise up to eclipse it, but for now it felt painful being the butt of the joke. He had never been any good at laughing at himself.
Following his conversation with Sally, he had called Malcolm and then Simon, and told them he had decided to get rid of her. They had each protested that he had no grounds to do so. Besides, she worked hard and was invaluably reliable. ‘She even came in on Christmas Day last year when we had that emergency,’ Malcolm had said angrily.
James, irritated by their lack of support, had dug his heels in even further. It was his practice, he said imperiously. He was the one with the power to hire and fire.
‘So why did you bother to ask my opinion?’ Simon had said.
‘You can’t just sack people randomly,’ Malcolm had continued to object. ‘There are procedures. Verbal and written warnings, that kind of thing.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ James had replied. ‘This isn’t Goldman Sachs.’
Sally, when he’d called her to break the bad news, had been incredulous. ‘You’re kidding, right?’ she’d said, seemingly thinking at first that maybe this was some kind of bizarre practical joke. When it had become obvious that James was, in fact, deadly serious, she had given way to tears of indignation. ‘But what have I done wrong?’ she’d cried. ‘Just tell me what it is and I can try to put it right.’
James had stuck to his guns. It wasn’t her work so much, it was her attitude. He had received several complaints from clients, he’d said, thinking on his feet. This wasn’t true, of course. Sally was generally well thought-of in the local community.
‘From who?’ she’d asked.
‘I can’t tell you that. It’s confidential.’
‘But it’s so unfair,’ Sally had wailed. ‘Do Malcolm and Simon know?’
‘We’re all in agreement about this, I’m afraid. You can work out a month’s notice, obviously, to give you time to look for another job.’
Once off the phone Sally had stormed into Malcolm’s room. Before she’d had a chance to say anything he’d put his hands in the air to stop her. ‘It’s nothing to do with me or Simon. I’d sue him for unfair dismissal, if I were you. There are laws about this kind of thing.’
‘I would never do that,’ Sally had said. ‘I’ll just look for another job and then go quietly. I just wish I understood what I’m meant to have done.’
‘You and me both,’ Malcolm had said, giving her a hug.
Half an hour after he’d made the phone call James was feeling like he might have overreacted a little. After all, Sally had only been having a joke with him: she wasn’t to know she’d hit a raw nerve. He considered calling her back and telling her that he hadn’t meant it, or that he’d found out the complaints had been made up so, of course, he had changed his mind, but he felt like he had gone past the point of no return when he’d said her attitude stank so he decided he was better off just leaving things be. He would give her a good reference and he was sure she’d have no trouble finding another job. Besides, he would look weak in front of Malcolm and Simon if he backed down and that would never do.
With the twin horrors of both Sally and the dinner-party fall-out, not to mention his visiting parents, James felt a sense of impending doom on Saturday that threatened to completely overshadow his precious day off. It was a feeling he didn’t think he had experienced since school when the last few glorious days of the summer holidays would be wasted, given over to depression at the thought of the new term.
He ended up staying in bed far too late, like a sullen teenager, emerging from the bedroom at eleven thirty to find Finn sitting huffily on the top step of the stairs, just outside the bedroom door. ‘I thought you were taking me to the park,’ he said accusingly. ‘I’ve been waiting here for one hour and eleven minutes …’ he looked at his watch. ‘… and twenty-seven seconds.’
James felt a rush of guilt. He saw Finn little enough as it was and he had indeed promised to play football with him in Regent’s Park if the weather was fine. ‘Well, why didn’t you wake me up?’ he said, ruffling Finn’s hair.
Finn squirmed out of reach. ‘Because Mum told me not to. She said you must be tired if you were sleeping in this late so I should leave you alone.’
‘Tell you what,’ James said, ‘next time you wake me up anyway. I promise I won’t be cross, however tired I am. OK?’
Finn tried to stay looking angry. ‘OK,’ he said.
‘Now, let’s go and find Mummy and see if she’ll let us take a picnic. What do you think?’
‘Just me and you,’ said Finn, who loved his mother but was desperate for a bit of father-son bonding …
‘Of course,’ James said, confident that he had won his son back over. ‘Just us.’