Working Wonders (25 page)

‘It seems quite an extreme form of public sector management, that’s all.’

Ross narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you being funny?’

‘No,’ said Fay instantly, looking at the floor.

‘Good. Dress up. It’s about intimidating the fuck out of them. By the time we’re done, they’ll be wishing they’d never heard of European City of Culture.’

There was a palpable air of excitement in the office. Partly it was because they were closing at four thirty to allow people time to get changed for the evening, partly because a light covering of snow had fallen the previous evening, rendering their world slightly less ugly than it had been before, and partly because Sandwiches was wearing his tuxedo early, because he was so looking forward to the party.

Arthur smiled up at Gwyneth as she walked into the room and she smiled back. She’d been reporting in London and he hadn’t had much time to spend with her, but the report was really coming on: they were shaping up to have a strong case. And every time he saw her, his heart skipped a beat like a teenager.

‘Hey baby cakes.’

‘
Baby
cakes? Who are you, Philip Marlowe?’

‘Well, this beautiful broad walked into my office like a ray of sunshine in a deadly tomb …’

She smiled and rapped him on the head. ‘Thank you. Is this because I’m holding some draft reports in my hand?’

‘Aren’t you going to ask me if I’d like to investigate a case?’

‘Yeah, a briefcase. Here, read these.’ She took them off to her desk.

Arthur scrunched his nose up as Sven wandered in. He looked uncharacteristically sheepish as he sidled up to Arthur.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Arthur. ‘You’ve run out of X Men t-shirts?’

Sven made a face. ‘Can’t you ever be serious?’ he said grumpily.

‘What are you talking about? You’re the one put here on earth to make my life hell!’

Sven stared at the floor.

‘Okay, okay. Caring boss mode. What’s the matter.’

‘Um … will there … are there going to be girls at this party tonight?’

Arthur stared at him. ‘Sven, it’s the office party!’

‘Yeah, I know …’

‘So, it’ll be full of the women you see around you,
every day
.’

‘Yeah, but they’ll be covered in glitter!’

‘Relax. What are you going to wear?’

‘Um, my Wolverine t-shirt.’

Gwyneth wandered back over. ‘How come Sandwiches gets a tux and you’re going to wear a t-shirt?’

‘He looks better than me in one.’

‘Well, that’s true. But still, why don’t you tart yourself up a bit? You never know, the temp looks pretty foxy when she’s done up.’

Sven squinted. ‘Do you think so?’

‘Of course! I thought Scandinavian men were meant to be …’ Gwyneth was casting around for something romantic to say, but she remembered what she meant was, ‘really tall and handsome’ and there was absolutely no universe in which that applied right at the moment. ‘Kind and fascinating,’ she finished, patting him on the arm.

‘Who are you talking about?’ said the temp, who was walking past. ‘Nobody like that works here. By the way, Gwyneth, do you know if anyone cute is going to this thing tonight? Maybe from another department or something?’

‘Um,’ said Gwyneth. Sven sagged slightly.

The Mediaeval Knights restaurant was in a vast complex off the A250 which also housed a bowling alley and a three-hundred-and-forty screen cinema. Arthur had arranged people carriers to transport everyone, so he didn’t have to worry about drink drivers – there was absolutely no other way to arrive. The place had so much flat car park around it, it looked like a massive corrugated shed on the surface of the moon.

‘Are you sure about this?’ Gwyneth asked Arthur, tucking her hand into his elbow as they fought their way, eyes streaming, across the wind-scape. Teenagers were taking it in turns to balance on their skateboards and shout obscenities loudly at one another. Some were swigging from enormous bottles of cider, their eyes distracted and aimless.

‘Yeah,’ said Arthur. ‘I think so.’

Round the back of the building, there was a small ditch dug into the ground. A piece of corrugated iron had been placed over the top and, unless his eyes were deceiving him, Arthur noticed there were two of the jugglers he’d had to shoo out of the office the other day, hanging around. They saw them too and bowed low again.

‘Well met, sir!’ they called out as the party proceeded over the aluminium grate. Arthur smiled back at them.

‘There’s obviously more jester work around than I thought,’ he whispered to Gwyneth.

‘I’m not surprised they’d rather work for us than out in this wasteland.’

‘We’re going to ask them to work in the middle of a river.’

‘Yes, well, I suppose …’

‘What’s that smell?’ said Sven.

‘You know, Sven, if they made a film about your life it would be called “What’s that smell?”,’ said Marcus, who looked extremely neat and tidy in a sharp, shiny suit and immaculately tied bow tie.

‘No, no,’ said Sven. Sandwiches was snuffling about excitedly. ‘I mean it.’

Gwyneth shook her head. ‘You lot are such a bunch of city lovers, she said. ‘Although I realize that isn’t necessarily a bad thing to be, given our jobs … but it’s obviously horses. There are big pictures of them all over the brochure!’

‘Yes, it is,’ said Rafe, bringing up the rear. ‘Landlubbers.’

As he spoke, they entered a huge hall lit by enormous braziers. It was so large – and dark – that the corners of the room had completely faded away. There was an enormous roaring fire on one side wall, and they moved towards it instinctively after the cold outside. Two long, rough-hewn tables had been set up near the fire, each laid for a large number of people. At the other end of the hall, was a low wooden wall dividing the dining area from a large space with a dirt floor, covered in straw, like an arena. To the far side was an inn-like bar. Even Arthur was impressed.

‘Wow!’ said Cathy. ‘It’s like olden times!’

‘Good evening, fine gentlemen and fair ladies!’

A woman appeared in front of them with an extremely highly hoisted bosom bursting out of her loosely laced period dress.

The men goggled at her. The women checked out her underwiring.

‘Can I take your coats?’ said the wench, without quite so much mediaeval panache. ‘Cocktail?’

Arthur looked around at the faces seated at their long wooden table, made ruddy by the fire and the odd cider ale that was being served as part of the ‘Christmas package’ as mead, but which tasted rather more like … well, flat snakebite. Nobody seemed to be complaining, though. And a smell of roasting meat had overtaken that of the horses, although he suspected the rotating pig in the fireplace was only for show. Well, he hoped that was the case. He suddenly felt a warm feeling of benevolence creep over him. This was his team. Gwyneth was on his left hand, Rafe on his right. Sven and Sandwiches were contentedly chewing their way through the contents of the bread basket at the other end of the table. Marcus was looking worried and Cathy was being nice to him.

Arthur stood up. ‘Friends and colleagues,’ he started.

‘Good Lord, is he drunk already?’ somebody said, but they were quickly shushed.

‘I just wanted to say …’ He looked around, suddenly, suspiciously, then smiled. ‘Actually, the last time we all got together for a drink, I got confronted by –’

‘Your arch-nemesis?’ said Ross, stepping in from the shadows by the bar.

‘Aw, fuckit,’ said Arthur.

‘What are you doing here?’ Arthur asked sullenly. ‘Desperate for another punching?’

‘Oh, I’m not so worried about that,’ said Ross. ‘More indulging yourself at the expense of local people, eh? Howard?’

Howard the journalist stepped forward, smiled apologetically and took a big picture of the table with the pig on a spit clearly visible behind them.

‘Sorry,’ he mugged apologetically. Then, ‘Ow! That dog’s biting me on the leg again!’

‘I would love to say “what a coincidence” at this point,’ said Arthur. ‘But it would be pointless, wouldn’t it?’

‘Just need the right friends, Art,’ said Ross, as his party sat at the next long wooden table.

‘Oh God, have you been sleeping with people again?’ said Gwyneth.

‘No!’ said Arthur.

Ross picked up a haunch of what could have been venison, and gnawed it roughly.

‘Why are you doing this?’ asked Gwyneth, shaking her head.

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Ross sat back in his chair and took a long slug of mead. ‘I just can’t get over how much I’m looking forward to the day I get to turn up at your offices and tell you you’re all out of a job. It pleases me so. It doesn’t seem right that I should be the only one who knows what that’s like.’

‘It was a while ago. So get over it,’ said Arthur.

Ross pulled forward Fay, who’d been loitering in the shadows. She looked wan and tired. Arthur was shocked at the sight of her.

‘Hey,’ he said quietly. She didn’t reply, but sat timidly on Ross’s knee.

‘Yes, we’re all
getting over things
,’ said Ross. ‘Anyway, this isn’t about revenge.’

Sven and Sandwiches sniffed at the same time.

‘There’s only one big troughful of Euro money, my friend, and I’m sure it’s going to be ours.’

‘What would
you
do with it?’ asked Rafe.

‘Well, I wouldn’t build a fucking tramline,’ said Ross.

Rafe looked amazed. ‘But that hasn’t even …’ He shook his head. ‘That’s incredible.’

Ross and Dave Gorman sniggered to themselves.

‘So, are you looking forward to the twenty-sixth of January, then?’ said Ross, rudely gesturing to the waitress for more drink.

‘What happens on January twenty-sixth?’ asked Gwyneth, wishing she hadn’t had to.

‘Ooh, don’t you know?’ said Dave, sniggering immediately. The group looked at each other.

‘Yes we do,’ said Sven suddenly, as another waitress came round. ‘It’s going to be shit. Can I have beef – um, haunch, please? And, do you do onion rings?’

‘Shit for you,’ said Ross.

Oh, God, thought Arthur. He’s probably about to start cleaning his nails with a knife.

Ross picked up the knife. ‘Of course, there’s whether you think the application presentation date is important at all.’

Only the background of lutes stopped total silence from falling.

‘Ignore him,’ said Gwyneth. ‘He’s talking out of his arse.’

‘Is he?’ said Arthur.

Gwyneth shrugged. ‘I just supposed they’d tell us eventually … at the same time.’

Yup, there it goes, thought Arthur, as the knife went under Ross’s thumbnail. He’s loving this. And: ‘Why didn’t we know? WHY?’

‘You should get your notification in … two or three days. Just in time for the Christmas holidays! Such a shame you haven’t been able to work on it for a few weeks like us.’

‘You’ve known for
weeks
?’ Gwyneth couldn’t help it. ‘Um, just a salad for me thanks.’

‘Not officially, no. In fact, I’d deny that anywhere. Big affair, I believe. Flying all sorts of delegates in from Brussels to hear what you’ve got to say.
Have
you anything to say?’

‘More than you, I bet,’ said Rafe. ‘Yeah, the chicken, thanks very much.’

‘Really? What do you know about our plans, then?’

Arthur’s team shuffled and looked at their plates. Oh God, he’s going to do a big fake evil laugh, thought Arthur in despair.

‘Bwa ha ha!’ shouted Ross. ‘Oh, this
is
going to be fun. I’ll have the chicken too, wench.’

Just as he said this, the lights went down and the show began.

Fuming, Arthur stared into the gloom. Gwyneth was whispering frantically at him and trying to take notes in the dark. Suddenly there was a huge yell, an enormous commotion, and two doors at the end of the barn opened up and two horses charged through. The audience gasped.

Seated on the horses were two knights, one wearing black insignia, one in white. They cantered to opposite sides of the arena, then the horses stood stock-still, and on walked people dressed as a king, a queen, and various courtiers. The jugglers were back, joined by a fire-eater, and the jester was dancing around, his bells ringing in the sand. The white knight dismounted and bowed low to the party, but the black knight (who, with his visor closed, did actually look quite frightening) continued to stare straight ahead. Catching on quickly, the crowd booed him loudly.

‘Fair ladies and noble gentlemen,’ said the king figure.

‘I’m glad this isn’t going to be really cheesy or anything,’ whispered Gwyneth. ‘Guys, we need to go and sort out dates. Now!’ Arthur agreed.

‘But it’s our party!’ said Cathy, looking stricken.

‘And he’s the king! Ssh,’ said Sven, who looked rapt.

‘I can’t believe an out-of-work actor dressed up in tin foil has more authority over Sven than I have,’ whispered Arthur crossly.