‘What about the office back-up?’
‘It’s a weekly back-up. I’ll ask Nina. She does that on a Friday.’
I sit patiently and when, some five minutes later, Sandy hasn’t got back to me, I get up and go out to find her. She’s at Nina’s desk. Both look up and I can tell instantly, by the looks on their faces, that it’s not good news. ‘What’s the verdict?’ I ask needlessly.
Sandy steps forwards. Nina had to go home early on Friday. She wasn’t well.’
‘Sorry,’ says Nina, her voice barely audible.
‘So who’s supposed to do the weekly back-up when Nina’s not here?’ I ask.
Sandy’s gaze drops to the ground. ‘Either me or one of the other secretaries. It’s no one’s fixed job.’
‘What? It’s just left to chance that one of you three will remember?’ That doesn’t sound like Carr, Tennison & Eggar. We’re much more organised than that. ‘What about last week’s back-up? They’re done on a four-weekly rotation aren’t they?’
‘Oh, God, I’m sorry, Clare, but I didn’t update the file last week,’ says Sandy.
‘How long are we talking since you updated the file? I mean, what weekly back-up will contain the most up-to-date information?’ I keep my voice calm. Inside I’m a mix of anger and panic. ‘Sandy, how far back are we talking?’ The impatience is surfacing.
‘Three weeks. I do it at the beginning of each month.’
‘Ffffff …’ I stop myself from swearing. Or at least I think I do. ‘For fuck’s sake! What sort of system is that?’ I don’t want an answer and march back down to my office, yelling over my shoulder. ‘The system is shit and needs an overview. We can all stay late tonight to sort it out and get a proper one in place!’
As I slam my office door behind me and slump into my chair, I’m hit with not only the hypocrisy of my rant, but how bloody rude I was too. There’s me criticising them, when, if I’d done my job right in the first place, the sodding file wouldn’t be missing.
‘Shit!’ I kick out at the wastepaper bin in frustration.
My door swings open with such force it bounces back from the rubber stopper that prevents it smashing against the wall. I jump and flinch as the memory of my father slamming open doors makes an unwelcome visit. I half expect to see Patrick Kennedy storming in. Instead, it’s Leonard. He throws the door behind him and it crashes against the doorframe as the latch clicks into the keep.
‘What the fuck is going on, Clare?’ He keeps his voice low, but the anger is apparent. ‘I could hear you ranting at the girls from my office. Good job I didn’t have a client with me. Not sure I can say the same for Tom, though.’
‘The back-up system has failed,’ I say in my defence. ‘The back-up system that isn’t actually a system – more hit and miss, if someone can be bothered to do it.’
‘That’s no excuse for you shouting and swearing, not at your staff, anyway. So unprofessional, not to mention downright rude.’
I hold up my hands in apology. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll apologise to Sandy and Nina.’ His eyes rest on me without moving. ‘It’s okay. You can quit with the death stare. I’ll apologise right now.’ I go to get up.
‘Before you do,’ says Leonard. ‘Can you explain to me what is actually going on?’
‘I haven’t got a file with me. I left it at home. I wanted the digital copy but it’s not up to date. Nina went home early on Friday and no one else thought to back up the week’s work. Sandy hasn’t updated the digital copy for three weeks. Subsequently, no one has up-to-date records. I have a meeting today and I need the info.’
‘What file are we talking about?’
I was hoping he wouldn’t ask. ‘The McMillan file.’
‘When you say you haven’t got it with you, where exactly is it?’
I feel like a naughty schoolgirl who has been caught out for not doing their homework. I briefly wonder if I could blame the dog for eating the file. I dismiss the flippant thought. I haven’t got a bloody dog anyway. ‘It’s at home.’
‘Can’t you nip back and get it, if it’s that important?’ I now wonder if I can buy a dog this afternoon and post-date the purchase to place the dog at the scene of the alleged crime. ‘You do know where the file is, don’t you?’
‘I thought I put it in my briefcase. Well, I did on Friday, but now it’s not there.’
‘You had it at home? Where did you read it?’
‘That’s just it. I didn’t. I was too busy in the end.’
‘The file’s lost. Is that what you’re telling me?’
‘Possibly. But I need to check at home. Perhaps I did take it out and forgot to put it back. Or put it down without realising. Or put it in Hannah’s book bag.’
‘What?’ Leonard looks incredulous.
‘Sorry, that was a joke, that bit,’ I say, realising my attempt to defuse the situation isn’t going to work. ‘Look, I’ll postpone the meeting until later in the week. That will give me a chance to find the file.’
‘Of course, it would have to be the fucking McMillan file. You couldn’t lose some poxy petty divorce file, could you?’ I get the death stare again and look down at my desk, feeling truly admonished. ‘And don’t forget to apologise to Sandy and Nina.’
More door-slamming as Leonard leaves.
I debate whether to call home and ask Mum or Luke to have a look around for the file, but I decide against it. I’m not exactly flavour of the month there. In fact, I’m not flavour of the month here, either. I get up, grab my handbag and shoot out to the delicatessen over the road. I buy cream cakes and deluxe hot chocolates, with all the trimmings, squirty cream, chocolate sprinkles and marshmallows and take my peace offerings to Sandy and Nina, with grovelling apologies for being such a cow.
It’s good practice for the grovelling apologies I’ll have to make tonight when I go home. My phone pings with a text message. It’s Pippa.
Fancy a quick coffee aka a glass of wine? I’m in town. Xx
I smile at the message. I could do with a friendly face. I reply straight away that I’ll meet her across the road at the deli in an hour.
Sitting in the window of the deli, some sixty-five minutes later, my appointment with McMillan successfully postponed, albeit begrudgingly on his part, I start to feel myself relax for the first time today.
‘Your text couldn’t have come at a better time,’ I say, wiping a line through the condensation on the glass of wine with my thumb. ‘Honestly, it’s been a pig of a day already.’ I fill Pippa in on the details, not just the missing file but the hoo-ha at home this morning.
‘What’s bothering you most? The missing file or Alice?’ asks Pippa.
‘I don’t know,’ I reply honestly. ‘The file, I can get over. It will be a pain, not to mention embarrassing, having to confess to losing all that info.’
‘And Alice? Can you get over her too?’
I stall for time by taking a sip of my wine. ‘I wish …’ I look away. ‘I wish it was easier with her. Everything has been turned upside down. I can’t put my finger on it but it just doesn’t feel right. Maybe I’m expecting too much. I’m not naive. I know these things take time, but it’s getting worse instead of better. It’s like she’s come into our lives in a blaze of glory and everyone has fallen in love with her, except me.’