Working Wonders Read online

  Yes, that must be it. He’d put in something about it tomorrow.

  He shook his head again, then switched off the light and turned over to sleep.

  This time he could feel the horse move under him, the muscles rippling against his skin, the bright cold of the frosted day. The twigs and icicles cracking above him on the trees, the sound of the crisp bracken under the mare’s hooves. Sparks from her shoes bounced off rocks.

  Gwyneth sat before him in the saddle. She twisted her head to look up at him. ‘I’m so, so sorry,’ she said.

  He shook his head. ‘What do you mean?’

  But her face was a picture of cold and misery, and she merely stretched out a hand from under her cloak and lightly touched his face. Her hand was cold too, and as he clasped hers with his, she handed him a small white flower.

  He woke up with the flower in his hand.

  ‘Oh crap,’ said Arthur to himself in the bathroom mirror.

  He peered into the office, unusually late and still feeling distinctly odd in the head.

  Everyone had moved into the boardroom by special permission of Sir Eglamore, and it was completely overrun. It looked like a war room. All the computers had come too so they could work with each other without having to pop their heads over cubicles, and it meant the conversation could run in a constant hum, or in Sven’s case, humming and then shouting. There was paper everywhere: charts, graphs, and Marcus’s tear-stained financial projections littered the floor. Sandwiches had built himself a tunnel out of the computer paper circling the table, so he could get from one pot noodle to another undetected, and with less chance of getting one of Gwyneth’s stilettos in the ear.

  Arthur looked in on them with, it struck him, a near parental air. It was strange to feel so separate from them, suddenly. And yet so concerned. He wandered over to where Sven was frantically typing.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Arthur asked, gently.

  ‘Why? Nothing? Why? It’s nothing. I haven’t done anything!’ said Sven, whizzing round.

  ‘No, no, I was just interested … But it doesn’t matter,’ said Arthur.

  ‘Oh.’ Sven shrugged. ‘Well, it’s ice density ratios. Look.’

  Arthur leaned over his shoulder as Sven pressed a button and initiated a moving graph. ‘The ice moves in waves when you change the climate, just like real ice does.’

  ‘That’s really nice.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Sven. ‘Now, have you finished your bonding textbook bullshit or do we have to talk some more?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  Arthur looked over to where Gwyneth normally sat. There was so much to take in and organize that he had started coming in earlier and earlier. It was nice to get some peace and quiet in the morning and it meant he missed a lot of the traffic. Also, Gwyneth often came in early too, and he got a little happy feeling in his stomach when he saw her glide in with her bought-elsewhere coffee, perhaps a wisp of hair across her face if she’d been buffeted by the wind coming in from the car park. She would immediately head to the root of their latest problem – how to move people around the city, how to grant concessions, where to get the staff – with customary directness.

  The submissions and presentations were, it seemed, still months away, but the team had to go up in front of the council in three weeks’ time to humbly ask them that if, on the complete off chance they were to get some hypothetical money, then possibly, just asking, no harm in taking a punt, could they annex half a park and import the largest maze in the world? And illuminate the top halves of all the buildings? And make a forest out of lamp-posts? And the six hundred other crazy ideas various people popped up with every day – ooh, and by the way, they wanted to pump one hundred tons of frozen nitrogen into the river and freeze it, was that okay, Mr Health and Safety and persons in charge of not letting anyone fall through the ice or inhale poisonous gases?

  Part of Arthur felt nervous, but part of him felt like he hadn’t had so much fun in years, as he came in, tripped over the mess, shouted out projection figures and tried to get Sven to stop making the maze spell ‘fuck off’ from above in Danish.

  As for Gwyneth, well, he tried (and, had he known it, failed utterly) to stay calm and professional around her, but he was definitely … Well, maybe he’d take the team out for a drink to celebrate all their hard work. He knew it was tacky, and that crapping on your own doorstep – even if she did allow him to, uh, crap – was a terrible idea and that it would upset the entire office and unbalance everything and everybody else would hate it (everybody else, actually, already thought something was going on) and it would be terrible … ooh, but even just the idea. Maybe a little business trip away … He found something extremely erotic about the idea of them knocking over the mini kettle in some three-star travel tavern and banging into the trouser press.

  Suddenly, with a shock, Arthur realized he might almost be happy.

  He quickly quashed any ideas of whatever the hell Lynne had been talking about, and decided to concentrate on the work in hand.

  It was in this state of tired but pleasurable reverie at the end of the day that he parked the car outside the house, looked at the house and thought he really must put it on the market, give Fay some money and move somewhere he didn’t hate, when he saw her. At first he thought he was imagining things: thinking about someone and seeing them at the same time. She looked very strange indeed. He watched her for a second, then with a sigh, his stomach plummeting like a runaway lift, he slowly unbuckled his seat belt and opened the car door.

  ‘Hello, Fay.’ Too late, he remembered what Lynne had told him. Dammit, he should have called her before. It was so stupid, and selfish.

  He didn’t even call me, thought Fay, her hands clenching at her sides. He puts a bomb under my life and now he tootles up here looking … looking happy. She couldn’t bear it. If she had had the slightest reservation about her plan, about what she’d come here to do, it evaporated. He really didn’t give a shit and he’d proved it, every night, every hour she’d sat on her old single bed at her mother’s house, crying and crying and waiting for the phone to ring.

  ‘Hello Arthur!’ she said gaily, pasting the smile onto her face and stepping forward. ‘Just came to pick up the … um, coving.’

  ‘I can’t – I mean, you’re being so good about this,’ Arthur was saying. It was much later. Fay had brought two bottles of wine and he’d drunk most of them.

  ‘Well, there’s no point in being unreasonable,’ said Fay. ‘These things happen.’

  They were dividing up what was left of the plants and small ornaments and finishing off a Chinese carryout. After he’d stepped out of the car, Arthur had been expecting almost anything – John Wayne Bobbitt had briefly come to mind – but a smile and a bottle of wine hadn’t been on the list.

  All the way into the house she’d apologized for her behaviour before: talked about how shocked she was, but how she was getting on with life as usual.

  ‘How’s work?’ he’d asked.

  ‘Oh, same old, same old,’ she’d replied. ‘You know how it gets in that crazy old world of recruitment.’

  ‘Yes,’ he’d said, registering vaguely that he never really had.

  And now they were lying on the rug, listening to one last unmauled Bruce Springsteen album to ascertain which one of them liked it the best so could take it home, and giggling.

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly got this stripped down living fashion right,’ said Fay, looking round the practically empty sitting room.

  ‘Yes. But it’s funny, things keep disappearing. Toilet roll, soap. That kind of stuff. I can’t work it out.’

  ‘Oh, it’ll come to you eventually.’

  Fay rolled herself over onto her stomach and manoeuvred herself towards him.

  ‘What about … a little bit of old times’ sake?’ she said suddenly, sucking seductively on a noodle.

  Arthur was drunk but not crazed. ‘Look, Fay … I don’t really think … you know I don’t think we can get back togeth
er …’

  ‘I know that, silly,’ she said, playfully batting him on the nose. ‘In fact I’m seeing someone else anyway.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, kind of. But that doesn’t matter. This would just be by way of … you know, what do the Americans call it?’

  ‘Don’t have sex with your ex, Tex?’

  She giggled, letting herself sound more carried away with the wine than she actually was. ‘Closure, stupid.’

  ‘Oh. Is that that thing about the two psychiatrists in Seattle?’

  ‘No.’

  They were lying side by side on the rug now, their shoulders touching. She leaned her head on his shoulder. Arthur was thinking this was rather nice and odd, and how it really shouldn’t be …

  She kissed him.

  It had been a long time since they’d really kissed, properly. Kissing is the first thing to go in a relationship. Everything else just drips down after that. He’d forgotten how nice it was. He’d forgotten what it was like to kiss anybody. It was very very nice. He was dimly aware that he was terribly drunk.

  ‘Oh, don’t stop,’ he said, smiling at her when she pulled away.

  ‘I won’t,’ she said, running a hand across her shirt and fingering her bra strap.

  ‘But it’s just … you know, we probably won’t see each other again after tonight. Or, it won’t be the same.’

  She poured out the remainder of the wine. ‘So. Tell me everything. Tell me about your life. Just so I know.’

  Arthur looked puzzled. His hand followed hers to the bra strap, and she rubbed against it.

  ‘What do you want to know?’ he said, wondering when he’d forgotten how soft her skin was.

  ‘Well, tell me about this new job. What are you doing?’

  ‘You really want to know about that?’

  She rolled over, unbuttoning her shirt. ‘Tell me everything.’

  And he told her everything.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Arthur was nearly asleep, but he could see her silhouette in the bedroom as she calmly dressed.

  ‘I’m going home. This isn’t my home.’

  Arthur grimaced. He’d been expecting this, really. You don’t just get free sex with someone you used to go out with. It was going to have to be an argument.

  ‘Oh, come back to bed, pet,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk about it in the morning, I promise.’

  Fay switched on the overhead light. Arthur winced and stuffed his head under the bedclothes. There was a pause, as if she was gathering her thoughts. Then she began to speak.

  ‘No, I will not come back to bed – look at me, Arthur. No, I am not coming back to bed. In fact, my last cervical smear test was more fun than anything that’s ever taken place in there.’

  Arthur’s head whipped up. ‘What?’

  ‘You heard. Ugh, I am so glad I never have to go through that again.’

  Arthur’s head was starting to throb. ‘Um … wasn’t it your idea?’

  She sniffed. ‘Oh, boys are so susceptible.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about? What are you going to do – impregnate yourself from the condom and charge me child support? Clone me? Have you taken compromising pictures?’

  ‘Your child! Your child! Ha. HA!’

  She stood ready to go in front of the doorway where she knew he could see her. He was cowering under the bedclothes, looking confused and a little frightened of her. Good. If only she could have made him cry.

  She took a deep breath. ‘No, in fact, I did this for Ross.’

  And she turned and walked downstairs and out of the house.

  Arthur felt pinned to the bed. For who? For what? He couldn’t even understand what she’d just said. It made no sense. She couldn’t mean his ex-boss Ross, could she? She wouldn’t. She couldn’t …

  Arthur jumped out of bed starkers and pounded down the stairs. Out on the street, Fay was already in her car, pulling away. He ran out after her before realizing that he was both naked and in absolutely no fit condition to drive, so merely had to content himself with staring angrily and shaking his fist at the departing car.

  He turned around wearily, to retreat before the neighbours popped their heads out for a look, and wandered back into the house.

  Listening carefully, he thought he could hear the cry of wolves again.

  Chapter Six

  ‘You look tired.’

  ‘Thank you. I thought since I got made boss you were going to stop being so cheeky to me.’

  ‘Why?’ said the temp. ‘Want to fire me?’ She pulled a long string of gum out of her mouth and coiled it round her fingers.

  ‘Can’t this morning, too tired.’

  And, he didn’t add, guilt-ridden and ashamed and fearful of what he’d done.

  He couldn’t see anybody in the boardroom, even though it was after nine. Just mounds of paper and charts lining the walls and something that looked suspiciously like a model railway, with a small train rattling round the tracks.

  Moving forward to examine it, Arthur tripped over the prone forms of Sven, Marcus, Rafe and Sandwiches, landing rather heavily on his side.

  ‘Oh, morning Mr P,’ said Rafe.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ said Arthur, still spreadeagled on the floor. ‘If you’re hiding from me, I’ll have to point out, it’s not working terribly well.’

  ‘It’s Sven,’ Rafe went on cheerfully. Arthur turned his head. Sven was indeed a horrible colour, and was making quiet groaning noises. In fact, he looked even worse than Arthur felt.

  ‘I’m not well,’ said Sven. ‘I had a bad tortilla.’

  ‘How many tortillas did you have in total?’

  ‘Just, well, maybe twelve.’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘Lying on the floor is going to help stop him being sick,’ said Rafe. ‘And we’re helping by still discussing work down here. So, actually, it’s good really, isn’t it?’

  ‘Actually I just fell,’ confided Marcus, who was operating the train controls, ‘but now I’m down here I quite like it.’

  ‘And he’s helping us brainstorm,’ said Rafe. ‘You know – horizontal thinking.’

  ‘Well, while I’m here,’ said Arthur, wondering if this was giving out the right message, but deciding in his extremely messed up universe it didn’t really matter, ‘is that a model railway?’

  Marcus smiled happily. ‘Yup.’

  ‘And it belongs to …’

  ‘I thought I should bring it in,’ said Rafe. ‘It’ll give us a good idea of how to integrate, you know, the transport network.’

  ‘Uh huh. And not so you can all play with it?’

  ‘No,’ said Marcus. Sven grunted his assent with a loud moan.

  Arthur gazed at the ceiling. ‘So, it’s just coincidence that Sandwiches is wearing a guard’s hat then, is it?’

  Sven looked slightly embarrassed. ‘Something like that. Ouch.’

  ‘Sven, if you’re not well, go home, or to your cave or wherever it is you live.’

  ‘He can’t,’ explained Rafe. ‘It’s the maze guy today.’

  Oh, crap. In the confusion of everything that had happened last night, Arthur had forgotten. A man who worked for a maze designing firm was coming up from the south coast to discuss what they were going to do here, and, more importantly, what it was going to cost and how long it was going to take.

  ‘Have you got the swearwords out of it yet?’

  Sven turned a jaundiced-looking eye to him. ‘Yes.’

  ‘In every language?’

  ‘Unless there are any Sumerian speakers buzzing over the top in low-flying light aircraft, you’re going to be fine.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Arthur. ‘Great. If we can only get off the carpet, everything’s going to be just wonderful.’

  Gwyneth landed head first over the top of all five of them.

  ‘Oh, Christ,’ she said, and flopped, not moving while she caught her breath. Sven grunted, but possibly not with pain at this particular moment. ‘Well, if thi
s is the new way of working, can I just remind you, one, that the maze man probably doesn’t know this, and two, Sandwiches is too heavy to be riding that goods van.’

  ‘Yeah, all right,’ muttered the guys, starting to make moves upwards.

  Arthur, being at the end, had Gwyneth’s head very close to his. She looked at him briefly.

  ‘Morning,’ she said, with a twinkle in her eye.

  But Arthur was too ashamed of what had happened the night before to even look at her, and he half-smiled and looked away.

  When he arrived late that afternoon, the first thing Arthur noticed was that the maze man was tall, very tall. He appeared at the door in a dark grey suit which looked like armour. He didn’t smile, but stalked in, looking around him.

  ‘The cubicles,’ he said, gesturing at the open-plan space. ‘Were they designed on labyrinthine principles?’

  ‘Um, I don’t think so,’ said Arthur, indicating for him to sit down.

  ‘Hum.’ The man looked at his well-manicured hands. ‘You know, it’s a big responsibility, taking on a maze.’

  Everyone nodded seriously.

  ‘Do you know how they arrived in history?’

  They looked at each other, unsure of his school-masterish tone.

  ‘I do,’ said Gwyneth suddenly. ‘They’re Welsh. Brought here from Troy.’

  The maze man nodded solemnly, but the others just looked at her. Sven snorted.

  ‘Welsh people think everything came from their country, even when it’s bollocks.’

  ‘No, right. Another thing that came out of Wales was rollmop herring. Or was that Denmark? I can’t remember.’

  Sven shrugged. ‘I’m just saying, that’s all. It’s not all down to the Welsh, you know.’

  ‘I don’t know. Best king of England,’ said Gwyneth sharply.