Free We All Fall Down by Peter Barry Page B

simply been out of the office for a couple of days. Some acknowledged Hugh as he went past, and when he apologised for not stopping, saying that he had to see Russell, they either raised their eyes as if uninterested, looked vaguely concerned, or made some comment like, ‘Who’s been a bad boy then?’
    As he passed the lifts, one of the doors opened to reveal Julian, an account planner. He fell into step beside Hugh. He was a pleasant enough fellow, almost inconsequential, a definite yes-man. Although being very much flavour-of-the-month with management and seemingly incapable of doing any wrong, most of his colleagues thought he was out of his depth in his new job. Russell had recently promoted him over the head of the longest serving member of the planning department, Don Akeman, a brilliant man who neither suffered fools gladly nor bothered to hide his talents for making the managing director look like one. This was unfortunate. When the head of planning had retired a few months earlier, it was taken as a foregone conclusion by everyone in the agency that Don would step into the position. Instead, Julian had received the nod, leapfrogging the more experienced and undoubtedly better qualified man. Don had immediately resigned, with one of his more memorable parting shots – direct to Russell’s face – being that a plank of wood had more brains than the managing director.
    â€˜Julian! How was your weekend?’
    â€˜Spent most of it in here, unfortunately.’
    â€˜What was that about?’
    â€˜The usual. My brewery client called me up at five on Friday, just before setting off for his weekender.’
    â€˜Nice.’ Hugh was nodding, unsurprised by what he was hearing.
    â€˜He told me he wanted a marketing proposal on his desk first thing Monday morning because his board’s suddenly demanded a presentation off him on Tuesday. “Not my fault, mate,” he says. “Sorry.” And he disappears off down the coast.’
    Hugh suspected Julian felt a degree of guilt over his promotion, and was going out of his way to be friends with everyone in the agency. It was a subtle thing, but it was definitely there, and he felt some sympathy for the planner’s predicament. They were approaching Russell’s office, so Hugh attempted to end the conversation, ‘That’s advertising.’
    But the disenchanted planner had other ideas. ‘No it’s not, it’s inefficiency. These people seriously could not organise the proverbial piss up in their own brewery. Their idea of long-term planning is the end of the week.’
    Hugh felt for him, still surprised at how easily he himself became upset by what he perceived as business incompetence, even when it didn’t directly affect him. He disliked the way clients were reactive rather than proactive, and regularly attempted to stem floods rather than show a little foresight and channel events. He shrugged to show Julian how hopeless he found the situation and turned away.
    Hugh had been working at The Alpha Agency for almost four years now, but was still struck by the dichotomy between the managing director’s office and its occupant. The room was as large as three or four ordinary offices, with a meadowlike expanse of grey carpet, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Harbour. A large Victorian desk was centred at one end of the room while, at the other, was a circular table with six chairs. Between the desk and the conference table were two large black leather sofas with a glass-topped coffee table between them. Original abstract paintings hung on two walls. Opposite the windows was a fake antique wall cupboard with a fridge behind one of its doors. Shelves, full of books on management – the theories, necessary skills and modern-day gurus of – rose to a modest height next to it. Some had Post-It-Notes protruding from between the pages as if to provoke clients and colleagues into