2^nd Jan

It’s that period between Christmas and New Year when most people are at home eating leftovers and watching Morecombe & Wise, but I’m in, working on all the stuff I failed to finish in 2011 oh, and readying my resignation letter.

The secretaries (who, clearly, view this as an extended holiday) have set up a buffet by the photocopier and put on some seasonal music, whilst they dissect, discuss and debate what happened at the Christmas Party.

“I can’t believe she did it!” Danielle is telling Lynnette (who is tucking into a piece of black forest gateaux at 9.30am!).

“I know,” she agrees, between mouthfuls of cream.  “I thought she’d gone home.”

“Me too! We looked everywhere for her; well, we thought we had; no one thought to check under the tables, I mean, why would we?”

“Precisely. She said she was going to the Ladies!  Does anyone know how she ended up there?”

“Celia said she came back to find us but we were dancing. She felt a bit dizzy so she decided to have a lie down. The next thing she knew it was two thirty in the morning.”

“And then she panicked?”

“Yeah. It was dark, the room was deserted; she didn’t know where the hell she was. “

“Nothing new there!”

They both laugh.

“No! Ha ha ha! Anyway, she wakes up and stumbles about in the dark for a hit.  Then she manages to let herself out of the ballroom into the corridor. She heads to the Ladies and then looks for the exit. But when she finds it it’s locked, so she goes back to the lavs and calls her boyfriend. But he’s asleep in Romford.  So, then she tries to break out of the window, but she can’t get through the hole.”

“She got wedged in?!”

“Yeah!”

They fall about at the thought of this.

“She freed herself eventually, but only after she’d pulled half the sequins off her new dress.”

“She’ll be devastated about that.”

“She was.  She sits down on the sofa to have a little cry and the next thing she knew it was six am and the cleaners had arrived. They thought she was a burglar so put her under house arrest until the management turned up and released her.”

More gales of laughter. I have to admit: it is funny.  Only Melinda could have ended the Christmas party locked in and asleep under a table.

But that isn’t the only thing that happened. The Senior Partner gave a speech about the impending ‘merger’ (which was supposed to allay fears about job losses but did the opposite). After the initial shock, a reckless spirit seized the room; sod it (everyone thought) if we’re on the Titanic, let’s go down with splash! There was a rush on the bar; a settling of scores, a few confessions of unrequited love, two fights and (I’d guess) at least one unplanned pregnancy; it was like the fall of Rome! Everywhere we looked people were drinking, shouting or snogging each other. And Carlton took advantage of the chaos to make his move.

“Well, hello, Heleeeeen.”

“Well hello, Philiiiiiiip.” Ok, I admit, I was making the most of the drinking part.

“Are you having fun?”

“Absolutely!” I giggle, as Jane’s request for Anarchy in the UK blast out over the disco: ‘I am the Anti-Christ, I am an anarchist…”

“Indeed? Well, don’t worry; I’m certain you won’t be going down with the ship.”

“Too right!” I nod “I shall be jumping overboard and taking my chances with the sharks.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I won’t have anyone to entertain me…..”

He will have plenty to ‘entertain’ him when I file my sexual harassment claim.

“I’m not here to entertain you,” I smile, “I am here to do my job and to pay my mortgage.”

“What’s wrong with a little amusement in between?”

“Nothing.” So long as it doesn’t involve poles, feathers or thongs, which, knowing him, it probably does.

“You should let your hair down a little, Helen. Enjoy work.”

“It’s hard to enjoy something so filled with horrible things,” I tell him.

“You don’t mean that,” he smiles.

I do. But I don’t reply and there is a pause whilst he fixes me with one of his predatory looks.

“You need to loosen up. Let me help you….”

No no no!

“I’m perfectly limber, thank you very much.”

“No you’re not; you’re like a tightly coiled spring. You need unwinding and I need some action. I always get action at the Christmas Party, Helen.”

“Do you?” I fight to keep voice level. “That’s a very bold statement to make.”

“It’s the truth.”

‘She Works Hard for the Money’ has just cranked up on the loud speakers.  Can the DJ read my mind?

No, it turns out to be another of Jane’s play list (which, for the record, also includes: 9 to 5; A Hard Day’s Night, Factory Worker; Manic Monday, Livin’ on a Prayer, Respect, Every Day is Like Sunday and Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now. She has given it a lot of thought.)

“Come on!” she appears and bundles me onto the dance floor.

“Sorry!” I mutter to Carlton.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he mouths, “It can wait.”

“What the hell did he want?” she gasps.

“Action.”

“Action?!”

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe he says that kind of thing!” she laughs.

“He says it and he means it,” I tell her.  “I think I’m going to go home after this.”

“I’ll join you. I’ve had enough anyway.”

We slog our way through a couple more numbers before making our exit. Jane heads to the Ladies as I collect our belongings from the cloak room. I’m waiting outside when she creeps up behind me and puts her hands over my eyes.

“Very funny,” I tell her. “It’s freezing out here, come on let’s get going.”

But she won’t let me go.  And then I catch a whiff of a strange scent. And I realise: it’s not Jane.

“Did you think you could escape so easily?” asks Carlton.

OMG!

“I’m not escaping you,” I lie. “I’m simply going home.”

“Without giving me a kiss goodbye……”

He releases his hand from my eyes, and (still retaining his steely grip) turns me slowly round towards him.  I am paralysed with shock and fear and astonishment and he presses his mouth to mine and sticks his greasy tongue down my throat.

But that quickly passes and I knee him sharply in the groin.

He staggers away in amazement. “You have just made a big mistake!”

“Really?” I exclaim.  “I’m not the one who has a wife and children waiting at home. I’m not the one with a recorded history of this kind of behaviour. I’m not the one in the position of trust!”

“And you are not the one who makes the decisions around here,” he hisses. “You may be sorry for what you’ve just given up.”

“I doubt it.”

And, although I don’t think he can be right, I’m readying my resignation letter, just in case.