In work, he had hardly taken his coat off and sat down when his boss came up behind him and rapped the side of the cubicle. Pat turned quickly, knocking his phone and headset flying off the desk.
“Jesus sake, Pat, be careful! Those phones cost a lot of money!”
“Sorry, Steve. Everything okay?” Pat said, replacing his phone set on the desk. He turned around and looked at Steve with a quizzical expression.
“My office please.”
“What’s it about? Have I…” But Steve had turned on his heels and was marching off back to his office.
“Great,” he whispered, to no one in particular. Practically the whole office had been ear-wigging, straining forward with craned necks in their desks like Meer cats. Nosey bastards, Pat thought to himself. He didn’t like any of the people in his office and they disliked him. It was simple enough. There had been a respectful indifference between him and them up until the Christmas party a few months ago, but Pat got very drunk and ended up openly slagging them all, telling them what he thought of them, and since then the mutual indifference had blossomed into outright disdain. It was unfortunate, but that was the way things stood; he had apologized for his behavior, had even gotten a warning in work over it.
“Close the door there Pat,” Steve said. Steve’s office was a sort of make-shift affair. It consisted of two partitions which were a different shades of colour to the walls in the main open floor office where the other 15 staff worked. There was a cheap, thin wooden door and a Perspex window on one of the partitions. It always reminded Pat of the” little tykes” playhouse his daughter had at home.
“Have a seat,” said Steve, not looking up from his computer screen. He continued typing for a few minutes, stopping to push up his glasses or scratch his beard every so often, putting on these little faces that looked like he was constantly making tough decisions, making hard choices between one thing or another. Steve fancied himself as a bit of a lothario around the office. His slimy brand of flirting went down well with the girls, which said as much about them as it said about him. Pat noticed Steve’s slicked back hair was looking particularly black this morning, and he also noticed the flecks of grey in Steve’s beard that he had missed with whatever cheap dye he used at home. From a distance Steve’s age looked indeterminate, but when you got up close to him, his face had more cracks in it then the Mona Lisa, and his fancy shirts, slicked back hair, and Gucci specs couldn’t mask this.
“Now,” he said, eventually, in an almost triumphant voice, pulling his eyes away from the computer screen. He looked at Pat with a blank expression, as if he had forgotten that he was there. Apart from the laptop and a small clock and some papers on the desk, there was nothing else in the room. Nothing on the walls; there wasn’t even a rubbish bin. If you took the laptop and clock and papers away, the office would look brand new. You could even smell the cheap wood. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell.
“I’m afraid, Pat, I have bad news….”
Pat sighed. He knew what was coming next.
“We have decided to let you go, Pat. We have taken into account your good work in the last few months but there are other considerations as well, I’m afraid.” Steve put his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands together.
“With the recent downturn and everything, we will be looking at making some lay-offs. And although I do note your recent good efforts, I noticed there is some animosity between you and the rest of the staff.”
Pat never realized before how frail looking Steve was, how thin his arms and shoulders were. He sat there listening to him ramble on, suddenly feeling a strange pity for the man. As Steve continued speaking, Pat started to feel more and more remote, as if he were leaving his body and drifting off into the clouds. He wasn’t even listening to the spiel; he was just looking at Steve hunched there on the desk.
“I’ve…” Pat stopped and cleared his throat, “I’ve been having some problems lately. My wife has moved in with another man, and eh….my—“ Pat rubbed his forehead and started to laugh ironically. His throat tightened again.
“Look, Pat, I’m not a therapist--”
“Steve, will you listen for a second. I’m not asking for the world here….but can you just give me another few months, til I find another job at least. I’ve got bills coming out of my ears....you can’t do this to me now…please, Steve, just keep us on til the end of next month even”. Pat placed his palms down on the desk. He was actually beginning to feel a bit dizzy.
“Sorry, Pat.” Steve recoiled into the chair, drawing his arms back into his chest. “I’ll give you until the end of the week. You take the afternoon off—paid. Now, I’ll have to get back to work….” Steve got up and held open the door.
“But Steve, I’ve been working here two years now.” Steve pretended not to hear him.
Pat shuffled out of the room, head bowed. On the way down the stairs he heard a few of the workers tittering away to each-other. A good day for them anyway, he thought to himself.
As he stepped out into the throng of pedestrians, he briefly felt the ground move beneath him and had to slink into the foyer of a shop, propping a hand up against the wall to steady himself.
“Sh-it," he muttered. His face was flushed and he could feel hot tears welling up in his eyes.
He felt just then that he couldn’t trust his own body. Then he considered ringing an ambulance. For a few minutes he just concentrated on breathing, taking slow deep breaths. It’s just a panic attack, he told himself. Mind over matter, that’s all it was. Mind over matter. He regained himself somewhat, and then rejoined the throng of human traffic.
Pat had a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in the car, he remembered. That would calm him a bit. He got down to his car, started the engine and let it run for a minute or two. He reached over to the glove compartment and fished out the bottle of JD. The JD was a Christmas present from his wife and hadn’t been touched. Christmas was the last time they spoke to each-other as well. Now was as good a time as any to make a dent in it he figured. With the engine still running, Pat polished off half of the bottle in one draught. Looking in the rear-view mirror he wiped his mouth and smirked to himself. He suddenly felt a lot better, more energized. It dawned on him then, came with the force of an epiphany you could say, what needed to be done. He needed to sort this whole mess out. Nothing happened while you sat around and waited. Nothing good at least. That’s what his Mother used to say to him. And she was right. Action needed to be taken. He needed to grow a sack for once in his life. Bring himself to his problems, not just sit there and let the problems come to him. His thinking, his strategy, was all wrong. He took another belt of the JD, then flung the empty bottle in the backseat.
When he got to his daughter’s school, all the kids were out in the yard on break-time. He pulled the car up to the fence, spotting his daughter straight away, with her distinct whitey blonde pigtails. She was skipping on a rope which two other girls held out for her. Smack in the middle of the school yard. Always the centre of attention, Pat smiled to himself.
“Julie….Julie,” he shouted from behind the fence.
Julie looked up for a second, examining him almost as if she were trying to place who he was. Pat started to wave and jump up and down. “Julie.”
She came running up to the fence. Pat put his arms up and hoisted himself on the fence. Gaining his balance after a bit of a wobble, he held his arms open, entreating her to come to him.
“Daddy….” She put her hand on her mouth for a second.
“Daddy, what are you doing here? Mammy said you shouldn’t—“
“No, dear. Mammy knows. Me and Mammy were talking today. Come on now, dear. Jump, jump.”
Julie jumped into his arms and he swung her down from the fence then jumped down himself.
“Now come on dear. We are going over to see Mammy. We will all be together and everything will be ok again, I promise. Ok?”
Pat started the car and Julie reminded him to put his seat belt on.
“But Daddy, Jim says---“
“Never mind Jim, dear. I will tell Jim what’s going to happen now. Ok?”
Julie looked up at him, her pale little face an expression of uncertainty. She looked around at the empty bottle of JD on the backseat as if she had never seen anything like that before, as if it were a foreign object, something dangerous. Pat pushed the bottle down under the seat, then reached down and gave her a hug. She hugged him back and he squeezed her into his chest, smelling her hair. Tears started to stream down his face and he wiped them with the back of his hand, still clasping his daughter to him.
“Now dear. Everything will be like it used to be. Do you trust me?”
Pat held his daughter by the arms, looking into her eyes, “Do you trust me?”
“Yes. Why are you crying?” she asked, little tears beginning to run down her face.
“Because I’m happy, dear. I’m happy.” He wiped the tears from her face with his thumb, and then hugged her.
When he reached Jim’s house, Pat noticed the living room light was on. Jim worked nights and was probably getting ready for work, Pat figured.
Pat got out and took the crowbar from his trunk, putting it down the leg of his trousers and covering over the part that stuck out with his jacket.
“Julie, stay here a minute while Daddy goes to have a word with Jim.”
“But Daddy, Jim says this is my house now as well---“
“No Julie! Your home is in Daddy’s house”
“Mammy says they are taking your house. Are they taking your house Daddy?”
“No dear. No. Stay here. Ok? I’ll be back in a few minutes, and then we will go and get Mammy.”
Pat tripped on the kerb as he stepped up to the house but grabbed on to the gate to stop himself falling. Composing himself with a few deep breaths he stepped up and pressed the door bell. There was a rustling noise from inside, then he say the silloutte of a figure coming down the hall. His wife opened the door.
“Jesus, Pat!” she said
“Who is it, love?” a voice from inside shouted.
