Free We All Fall Down by Peter Barry Page A

with a child, so were unable to rely on rational behaviour. If Russell knew of this – and it’s possible he did – he probably would have been pleased. It was how he wanted his staff to feel. Uneasy was good. Fear fed hunger. Insecurity was an excellent incentive to work. In the circumstances, it was more than likely Russell, when he said curtly into the phone, ‘Hugh, we need to talk,’ fully appreciated the kind of reaction his words would arouse. A view that was bolstered by the fact the managing director was not well known for his small talk. The niceties of social discourse were not his forte. He rarely initiated conversations on a Monday morning with a show of interest about a person’s weekend or an observation about some sporting fixture that had just taken place, not even a question about one’s family or a short, passing comment about the weather. In fact, ‘Hugh, what did you think of the Manly game on Saturday?’ would possibly have been more unsettling and more likely to strike panic into the mind of the recipient than ‘Hugh, we need to talk.’
    Despite being the managing director and therefore nominally in charge of personnel, management-staff relations were definitely not high on the man’s agenda. Once, in front of Hugh, he’d said, ‘I know they spout off all that crap about an ad agency’s most valuable assets going down in the lift at the end of the day, but that’s exactly what it is – crap. Our most valuable asset is the computer that prints out the invoices at the end of the week. That’s what keeps this place going, a machine. I have a friend –’ A statement that momentarily startled Hugh – ‘Rob’s the CEO of a large software company. And you know what he said to me the other day? “Russell, I don’t talk to staff.” That’s word for word what he said. “Russell, I don’t talk to staff.” I like that. If I could do that, I would. It’s a good approach.’ So, really there was no need for Hugh Drysdale to – what, panic? Was that too strong a word? – because of his managing director’s comment over the phone.
    As he walked down the corridor towards the opulent upper management corner of the building, Hugh reminded himself that redundancies had been handed out last Friday, and it was now Monday. But his every affirmation was met by a negation. He’d been out of the agency much of Friday, when many of those employees had been told their services were no longer required, so it was within the realms of possibility that Russell had decided to sack him on Monday instead. But Friday had been a good day for Hugh: his client had signed off on a million dollar plus campaign. He’d phoned Russell after the meeting to give him the good news, so it was more likely he was being summoned by the managing director to be congratulated, to receive a rare Russell Grant pat on the back, maybe a pay rise, possibly a promotion? Now he was allowing his imagination to run away with itself. All right, concentrate on the negation instead, wallow in the scenarios of misery: it was rare for the managing director to congratulate his staff on their achievements. It wasn’t in his nature to praise or encourage employees. And a pay rise or promotion, in the current climate, was unlikely. The agency, as they were being constantly reminded, needed to tighten its belt. Frugality was the order of the day: biscuits were no longer available from the kitchen, flowers had disappeared from the reception desk, and single-ply toilet paper had replaced doubleply – this money saving venture causing more consternation amongst the employees than any other. No, it was obvious; he was about to be sacked.
    Most people had made it into work by now, and were visiting the offices that lined both sides of the corridor, discussing their weekends, many with the air of having returned from holiday, not