Working Wonders. Jenny Colgan
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towards some light, which could either be good, as he wasn’t face down in a gutter, or bad, if he were dead. He realized how ironic this would be after wishing himself dead all morning, then realized that if he really were dead irony probably wouldn’t come into it. He tentatively opened his eyes.
‘Well, hello.’ A warm voice sounded in his head. He focused. He was lying on a sofa. A woman in her mid-fifties, with long grey hair tied back, was sitting opposite him, regarding him calmly. She was staring at him without blinking, and her eyes were an odd shade of yellowish hazel.
Arthur blinked twice. ‘Um … Where am I?’ he sputtered, in the traditional way.
‘You’re … just here,’ said the voice.
He became aware of the throbbing in his head, as the faint memory of what had happened started to crystallize. He didn’t think it was going to be good.
Arthur sat up a little way and looked around. He was in a heavily furnished room. The room was full of things: sticks, models, pipes; every available surface was covered in clutter. There was a familiar noise which he realized was the whistle of an old-fashioned kettle. The furniture was old – dark wood mostly, including a long desk. There was even a window, which looked out onto a small sunny garden – it must have been round the back of the building, away from the car park. That was odd; the rain must have cleared up. Then in a flash, he remembered the whole thing.
‘Oh, God. Oh no. Oh no.’
‘Sssh.’ She smiled and leaned forward. ‘Don’t worry about it. It appears a telephone jumped up and attacked you.’
‘Oh,’ said Arthur. He was feeling it deeply. ‘Oh, my God. Did I really throw a photocopier …’
The woman nodded. ‘Yes, you did. That’s why we thought you had probably better go somewhere quiet for a little while.’
Arthur tentatively fingered the impressive bump on his head. ‘Where am I?’ he asked again.
‘Oh, you’re still in the building. You’re just in my office, that’s all.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Lynne,’ she said, reaching out to shake his hand. ‘I’m the company psychotherapist.’
Arthur lay back and exhaled. ‘I was afraid of that,’ he said ruefully.
‘What?’
‘When I saw, you know, the non-office soft furnishings and stuff. Company shrink. Today of all days.’
Lynne smiled. ‘And that is so terrible?’
‘I would say me turning into an official, rubberstamped nutjob on the day the consultants come in is, on the whole, pretty terrible, yes.’
‘Nobody is saying you’re a nutjob.’
‘Well, I just did. Oh, hang on, if you think you’re a nutjob, doesn’t that mean you’re not one? Or maybe it’s the other way around. In which case I’m really in trouble.’ He sat up again.
‘Calm down,’ said Lynne. ‘Relax. I’m a doctor, you know. And it’s not every day someone throws a photocopier through a window then knocks themselves unconscious. We had to look you over. You’re going to be fine.’
‘Oh, God.’ Arthur winced at the memory. ‘I am so not going to be fine. I’m going to get fired for this, aren’t I? That’s why I’m down here with you. You’re to calm me down with yoga or something so I don’t run upstairs and strangle Ross’s pimply little carcass. Great. This day could not possibly get any worse.’
‘Ssh,’ said Lynne. They sat in silence for fifteen seconds.
‘So this is treatment, is it?’ said Arthur eventually, as it became clear that she wasn’t thinking of saying anything to follow up ‘Ssh’.
She stared him down until he went quiet again, lay back, then finally began to relax. After five minutes – and as Arthur was on the point of dozing off – she leaned over slightly.
‘That’s better.’
Arthur blinked up at her through sleepy eyes.
‘Am I in serious trouble?’
She shrugged. ‘No. I don’t think so. You may have to see a bit of me, though.’
‘But why not? I mean, I destroyed half the office and could have killed someone.’
‘I know,’ said Lynne. ‘And when that copier went through the window I could hear the cheers and applause all the way down here.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, yes. You’ve become something of a folk hero.’
‘Good God.’
‘Well, possibly not amongst the professional photocopier repairman fraternity. And yes, you certainly sparked some excitement upstairs.’
Arthur couldn’t quite take this in. ‘You mean, they’re not going to fire me?’
Lynne permitted herself a quiet smile. ‘Who’d dare escort you out of the door?’
He blinked. ‘Doctor …’
‘Lynne is fine.’
‘Lynne …’ He turned and looked straight at her. ‘Lynne, I can’t lift a sack of potatoes. How on earth did I do that?’
She looked right back at him. Her gaze was penetrating, and he noticed again that her eyes had a curious, almost yellow cast to the iris.
‘Well, maybe if you keep coming to see me we’ll find out.’
Arthur crept slowly out of the building – he’d been given the rest of the day off. From the corner of his eye, he saw something burning. A horrid acrid smell was being given off and as he went closer he saw that someone had set fire to the photocopier, which had landed in a mangled heap on a patch of landscaped grass. A small crowd of people were standing round it, watching it burn from either end, the paper igniting and the plastic melting.
Fumes, he thought, slinking his way to the car. But one of his colleagues saw him and peeled off from the group.
‘Hey! Hey everyone, it’s Arthur!’ The crowd of people gathered round, then all began to clap and cheer. Arthur took a step backwards, touching his bump again. Marcus, the accounts manager, came running up to him.
‘Hey, well done, mate!’
‘Yeah!’ shouted one of the secretarial staff. ‘Won’t be getting any more paper jams from this bloody thing, will we?’ She kicked the smouldering mass with her shoe.
‘Yeah! Collate THIS!’ yelled someone else, kicking it again.
‘That was great, what you did,’ said Marcus, clapping Arthur on the shoulder. ‘Much respect.’
‘Yes, well, um, good,’ said Arthur. ‘Well, I’m off.’ And he wandered slowly towards his car. As he reached it, he turned and looked up at the offices. He could see Ross, eyeing him up from behind the glass. When Ross noticed him, he very slowly drew a line across his throat.
Cock, Arthur thought to himself. That tosser’s going to sack me after all.
The house was quiet when he got in. Unused to being around during the day, he padded up and down, looking for something to do. The semi looked gloomy and dark – immaculate but somehow unpleasant. Arthur didn’t like the relentless tidiness; it implied a panic that anyone should ever smell anything or see anything not entirely bland and lemon-scented. He picked up the TV remote control, then threw it back on the sofa in fear. His life may be going to the absolute shits, but nothing would make him watch daytime television.
He knew he should phone Fay, but he was putting it off for as long as possible.
Putting what off? he suddenly thought. How much with Fay was he really putting off?