Trust Page 0,18

a pre-programmed routine of moaning and whining. I'd sat through this far too many times before, and I guessed that before long I'd have to sit through it again.

'I tell you,' he continued, 'it's pretty desperate right now. I know things were bad when you were there but Christ, I've never known it like it is at the moment.'

'So what's happened now?' I heard myself ask. I hadn't really wanted to know, but some stupid subconscious reaction inside me made me speak. What a bloody idiot. When would I learn to shut up?

'Remember Simon?'

'The bloke with the red Jaguar?'

'No, that's Marcus Phillips. Simon's got an old Rover.'

I thought carefully for less than half a second. I couldn't remember ever working with anyone called Simon but I knew that would be inconsequential. James would continue with his tales of woe whatever.

'Oh yes,' I lied, trying to speed things up, 'I remember.'

James paused for a second to concentrate as he steered the car around a deep pothole in the track.

'Middle of last week, one of the new juniors we've got asked him to check over an order he'd put up. Now Simon's just like the rest of us, his desk's piled high with crap and he didn't check the order properly. Turned out it was an urgent order for E S Carters and they only got half of what they wanted. They'd had problems before apparently. Upshot of this one was that they closed their account. And they were worth a fucking fortune...'

'But if you don't give the customer what they want then...'

James ignored me.

'Worst of it was though, because Simon's signature was on the dispatch note, he's the one who's taking the rap for us losing the business. He's up on disciplinary for it.'

'Really?'

'Really.'

'And was it his fault?' I asked.

James thought for a moment.

'Suppose it was. I mean, the junior should have...'

'Tough shit then, isn't it?' I said, successfully and abruptly ending the conversation for a couple of seconds.

Less than a minute later it started again.

'They've downgraded him,' James said. 'Who?'

'Simon. They've downgraded him. And they've transferred someone in from another department to do his job. Then they had the nerve to turn around and ask him to train the new bloke up!'

'So has he done it?'

'No, he told them to piss off.'

'And what did they do?'

'They suspended him. Now we've got some bloody graduate in there until Simon's back or he's given the boot. It's all wrong, you know. There are four of us sitting there who could do the job with our eyes closed but instead of paying one of us a little deputising they bring in this fucking high-flyer who doesn't know his arse from his elbow.'

I smiled to myself. As James became angrier so his language became worse.

'Just grin and bear it like you always do,' I sighed. James nodded. I sympathised with him to an extent, but James was one of those people who was always happy enough to moan but never willing to do anything about the problem. He'd quickly enough point out what was wrong, but never look for a solution. At that precise moment in time the only emotion I felt was sweet relief that I had managed to leave behind the desperate and dirty world of back-stabbing and seedy office politics. No matter how bad things got I could never imagine going back there.

'How's the baby?' I asked with my voice full of blatantly false enthusiasm. The parents of young children had, in my experience, a devastating ability to bore. But these were desperate times, and desperate times called for desperate measures. I knew that if I wanted to avoid more soul-destroying stories about overtime, shipping orders and in-trays then I would have to suffer a string of humourless anecdotes about the varied colours of the contents of James' baby's nappy instead.

'Fine,' he smiled, suitably distracted. 'She's fine. Doing really well.'

'Glad to hear it.'

'I just wish I could spend more time at home.'

Here we go again, I thought.

'I'm sure you do,' I sympathised.

'If I could resign tomorrow then I'd do it.'

'Why don't you?'

As James struggled to answer me we finally arrived (thankfully) at the entrance to Porter Farm. I had my seat belt off and the door half-open before he'd even stopped the car.

'You okay for a lift back tonight?' he asked.

'Don't know,' I replied. 'But don't worry about it. I can walk or get a lift back from Joe.'

'You've got my mobile number in case you get stuck?'

'I've got it.' James