happened last night?’ I ask, perplexed.
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ he replies. I open my mouth to tell him the situation but he carries on talking. ‘That’s why I’m here. It gives me no pleasure to do this … but I have to suspend you. We’ve had serious sexual harassment and bullying complaints lodged against you and you need to be off work while we investigate the allegations.’
‘What?’
The absolute bastard. My seat sticks against the carpet as I spring out of it and my feet get tangled in the legs. Steadying myself on the table, I stare at my boss. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Luckily the complainant won’t be involving the police, which is helpful. Otherwise we’d have to use the prosecutions policy as well, which as you know would make things more protracted.’
‘Again,
what
?’ The room goes blurry round the edges.
Nigel grinds his teeth and utters a sentence that clearly makes him uncomfortable. ‘Your assistant has alleged you’ve been putting pressure on him to enter into a…’ distaste colours his voice, ‘personal relationship and last night you tried to force physical contact on him—’
‘But it was him! He—’
‘It’s best you don’t say any more,’ the woman sitting with Nigel intervenes, expression bland. ‘Have a careful think about the allegations and wait for the investigatory interview to give your account. Sorry,’ she shakes her head, ‘I should have introduced myself. I’m Sally, one of the HR Managers. I’m here to explain the process. My role is—’
‘I know exactly what the process is,’ I say, speaking carefully. ‘I’m a manager. Just take my stuff and go, right?’ I long to get down on the floor and have a tantrum at the utter unfairness of all this but need to stay calm. Being anything other than professional will go against me. ‘Just send me the paperwork in the post. I’ll see you in the investigation meeting.’ I nod tightly. Stalking out, I take the stairs at a near run, intending to leave immediately, face burning and chest itchy with humiliation. How can this be happening? How did he get to them so quickly?
On the verge of bursting into reception, I realise I left my personal diary and other bits in my office last night. Turning round, I slam into Big Baz’s chest. Reminding me of a very big, very dog-eared version of Danny Blue from
Hustle
, he’s the longest serving, sweetest security guard. He’s not usually here at this time of day, unless we’re cashing up. Which we’re not. I wince. He’s here for me. Another wave of humiliation hits.
‘Sorry Charley. Can’t let you back up.’ His eyes are sympathetic and it’s some consolation he looks genuinely pained.
‘There are things I need.’
‘Make a list luv, and call with it later. I’ll arrange for one of the boys to drop it round to ya.’
‘But—’ He crosses his arms and shakes his head. ‘Okay,’ I surrender. This is bad enough without attracting extra attention.
Following me into reception, he has the grace not to lay a hand on me, but it’s still a thousand times awful because a few people I manage are drifting in, faces bewildered as they watch me heading out with Baz in my tracks.
The heat of mortification deepens but I force a reassuring smile, ‘Just a bit of a mix-up. I’ll be back soon. Everyone keep on working hard.’ I feel like a criminal. Usually Baz’s services are for throwing out drunks or poor losers who’ve been parted with their cash because they don’t know when to stop gambling. But I’m neither of those. Still, as I step out the front doors, tears of frustration and anxiety scorching my eyes, I wonder if the second label is apt. Have I lost? Tony has already cost me so much. Respect, confidence in my abilities, and now, perhaps, my job. Am I like a gambling addict who doesn’t know when to quit?
More than anyone, I should know that in the end, the house always wins.
Now
There’s so much worse to come my mind
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ he replies. I open my mouth to tell him the situation but he carries on talking. ‘That’s why I’m here. It gives me no pleasure to do this … but I have to suspend you. We’ve had serious sexual harassment and bullying complaints lodged against you and you need to be off work while we investigate the allegations.’
‘What?’
The absolute bastard. My seat sticks against the carpet as I spring out of it and my feet get tangled in the legs. Steadying myself on the table, I stare at my boss. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Luckily the complainant won’t be involving the police, which is helpful. Otherwise we’d have to use the prosecutions policy as well, which as you know would make things more protracted.’
‘Again,
what
?’ The room goes blurry round the edges.
Nigel grinds his teeth and utters a sentence that clearly makes him uncomfortable. ‘Your assistant has alleged you’ve been putting pressure on him to enter into a…’ distaste colours his voice, ‘personal relationship and last night you tried to force physical contact on him—’
‘But it was him! He—’
‘It’s best you don’t say any more,’ the woman sitting with Nigel intervenes, expression bland. ‘Have a careful think about the allegations and wait for the investigatory interview to give your account. Sorry,’ she shakes her head, ‘I should have introduced myself. I’m Sally, one of the HR Managers. I’m here to explain the process. My role is—’
‘I know exactly what the process is,’ I say, speaking carefully. ‘I’m a manager. Just take my stuff and go, right?’ I long to get down on the floor and have a tantrum at the utter unfairness of all this but need to stay calm. Being anything other than professional will go against me. ‘Just send me the paperwork in the post. I’ll see you in the investigation meeting.’ I nod tightly. Stalking out, I take the stairs at a near run, intending to leave immediately, face burning and chest itchy with humiliation. How can this be happening? How did he get to them so quickly?
On the verge of bursting into reception, I realise I left my personal diary and other bits in my office last night. Turning round, I slam into Big Baz’s chest. Reminding me of a very big, very dog-eared version of Danny Blue from
Hustle
, he’s the longest serving, sweetest security guard. He’s not usually here at this time of day, unless we’re cashing up. Which we’re not. I wince. He’s here for me. Another wave of humiliation hits.
‘Sorry Charley. Can’t let you back up.’ His eyes are sympathetic and it’s some consolation he looks genuinely pained.
‘There are things I need.’
‘Make a list luv, and call with it later. I’ll arrange for one of the boys to drop it round to ya.’
‘But—’ He crosses his arms and shakes his head. ‘Okay,’ I surrender. This is bad enough without attracting extra attention.
Following me into reception, he has the grace not to lay a hand on me, but it’s still a thousand times awful because a few people I manage are drifting in, faces bewildered as they watch me heading out with Baz in my tracks.
The heat of mortification deepens but I force a reassuring smile, ‘Just a bit of a mix-up. I’ll be back soon. Everyone keep on working hard.’ I feel like a criminal. Usually Baz’s services are for throwing out drunks or poor losers who’ve been parted with their cash because they don’t know when to stop gambling. But I’m neither of those. Still, as I step out the front doors, tears of frustration and anxiety scorching my eyes, I wonder if the second label is apt. Have I lost? Tony has already cost me so much. Respect, confidence in my abilities, and now, perhaps, my job. Am I like a gambling addict who doesn’t know when to quit?
More than anyone, I should know that in the end, the house always wins.
Now
There’s so much worse to come my mind
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