Free Killing Cupid by Mark Edwards, Louise Voss Page A

pretending he’s heard of the bands I like. Our conversations make me want to weep with despair.
    ‘I was only off for two days,’ I said as soon as I sat down in his office. There was a picture of a golden retriever on his desk. His best friend.
    He shook his head slowly. ‘This isn’t about your sick leave, Alex. Everybody’s entitled to go off sick from time to time. Even I had a day off last year, when I had that infection.’
    I waited. I was starting to get a bad feeling.
    He folded his arms, a classic defensive gesture. Bad news was coming. The kind of news that made him fear that I might attack him. Even just seeing him then, this ‘oh isn’t it awful being a manager when we could be great mates on the outside?’ look on his stupid face, I did feel like slapping him. Punching his fucking nose through the back of his head.
    ‘We’ve had a report from the IT department that you broke one of our most important rules, Alex. We know that…’ he closed his eyes, as if the very concept of what he was about to say, this thing that I’d done, was too awful for him to bear. ‘We know that you looked up a customer’s personal records.’
    I didn’t speak.
    And I don’t even want to recount the rest of it. I don’t want to have to write about how a random spot-check had revealed that I had taken an unauthorised look at a customer’s details. How the call-monitoring computers confirmed that this customer hadn’t called that day. How the IT department recorded every message that we sent from our email accounts and that they knew I had pasted this customer’s details into a message and sent it home.
    How he had no option but to let me go. With immediate effect.
    And I certainly don’t want to recount the details of how I asked him, as he sat there with his arms still folded, unable to meet my eye, what the hell I was supposed to do to pay the bills now. How a cold sickness crept through me at the thought of being jobless and having no money. I couldn’t believe that I’d been caught on the spot-check . . . It wouldn’t surprise me if Martin had told IT to monitor everything I did because of my recent poor stats, so the bastards would have an excuse to get rid of me.
    But I have to face it. How will I pay my rent? How will I eat? The only bright spot is that – thank God – I paid for Siobhan’s writing classes up front.
    I left Martin’s office and pushed open the double doors to the main office, feeling, once again, all those eyes burning into me. Jackie avoided my eye too. What is it with these people? Why are they so gutless? Suddenly, I was an embarrassment, something that made them feel awkward. I was a failure and they wanted me gone.
    I pulled open the drawer of the pedestal beneath my desk and began clearing out the contents. There wasn’t much in there. A couple of books, a computer magazine, scrappy paperwork, stationery. I found a carrier bag and scooped this pitiful selection into it. Then I turned round to find Sally, the girl who sat next to me, staring at me.
    She asked me what had happened. I told her.
    ‘They just wanted to get rid of me, and this was their excuse, this cock and bull story.’
    ‘If you didn’t do it, you should fight them. Surely it’s unfair dismissal?’
    I sighed. I didn’t want to tell her that it was all true. I was too ashamed.
    I picked up my carrier bag and left, suddenly desperate to get out of there, not able to bear any of it, hearing my mum’s voice in the back of my head, saying, F-A-I-L-U-R-E – that’s what you are and what you’ll always be.
    Fuck her. Fuck the job. Fuck them all. I don’t need them. I’ll show them. Because I’ve found somebody to love now. That will give me strength. And think how much more time I’ll have now! This is a blessing. Sure, it’s pretty heavily disguised, but that’s what it is. It’s another sign, isn’t it? A sign that I should devote more of my time to my own happiness. And to Siobhan.
    My head was