Administration
by Andrew Lee-Hart

 

 

One

I like to be in control; not of people but of numbers and data, commodities and products. Making sure that items go where they are supposed to, that figures add up and that there are no loose ends. It doesn’t matter how; so long as everything balances out by the end of the day; because if they don’t, well there are consequences….

 

It isn’t a bad office; situated on the canal in Nottingham’s city centre; so that if we are not busy at lunchtime, I will often eat my sandwiches on a bench on the towpath, watching the barges float past, and the joggers and dog walkers heading towards the Boots factory or beyond that towards Beeston Marina and Derbyshire.  It is good to have a few minutes to relax after a busy morning in the office.

 

The building where we are based is modern; lots of silver and glass, reaching high so that it can be seen from the castle walls. We only take up one floor, sharing the building with solicitors, private dentists and other more secretive concerns. I am not sure how we came to have such a prestigious building; but then Mr Porter is like an octopus with tentacles everywhere, so it may have been as the result of a favour, or money owed. But our offices are comfortable and plush, so that it is a pleasure to come to work.

 

“I need you to come with me this afternoon, I have an important meeting at the Hilton Hotel and I want you to make notes.”

“Yes Mr Porter”, I never called him Carl, I wouldn’t have dared, in fact I only discovered his first name because his silly wife once came in and called him that as she mocked and teased him, unheeding of the shocked expressions from those in the office. We all are in awe of her husband, and would never dream of taking liberties with him. We never saw her after that one occasion, and I suspect that he had a word.

 

I had an early lunch, sitting in the staffroom; there was a coffee maker, which was a bit fiddly to use, but worth it because the coffee was divine, and on the side a tempting array of pastries and cakes brought in by Donna, head of H.R. People sometimes looked a little askance when I said for whom I worked but it was civilised and pleasant, with excellent wages, five weeks leave and a very generous pension scheme. We even had half price access to the gym down the road.  None of my friends had anything like the perks that we did.

Mr Porter came in as I was eating.

“Just to say anything that happens does not go out of this building, not even to that fine husband of yours.”

“Yes of course Mr Porter” and I gave him a smile.

He was a handsome man; clearly he worked out and had an air of menace about him that I found attractive. How he could have ended up with his silly wife I don’t know. I got myself together and freshened up in the luxurious bathroom; I wanted to look my best in an important meeting.

 

We drove to the hotel in the Merc. In the front was Andy, the chauffeur and an unnamed man who was large and sucked a pear drop noisily, whilst we drove through the streets of Nottingham. Mr Porter gazed outside.

“Just note everything down, and keep your eye on Mr Shah; he is a tricky customer.”

I smiled, I liked the fact that he trusted me, and had noticed my talent for observation. And I enjoyed the sense of adventure, I realised that Mr Porter was not really a crook but it was more exciting than my previous job as a receptionist at a rundown school near Derby.

 

Mr Shah had a luxury suite on the top floor at the Hilton; he was sat on a bed in his suit, drinking coffee. He shook all Mr Porter’s hand and gave me a slight bow, and then gestured us to some rather uncomfortable seats, where there was cold coffee and stale biscuits. Dotted around the room were three young men just lounging around, looking bored and slightly nervous, Andy and our bit of muscle stood opposite them, just looking.

 

“How many items do you have?” Mr Porter could be charming but today he clearly wanted to get straight to the point, and dispense with any empty compliments.

Mr Shah fiddled with his cup, “over one hundred, most are still in my warehouse in Pakistan but I can get them to you, very soon.”

Mr Porter looked at him.

“How many items do you have here?” I could tell he was getting angry; he was not one for shouting, but there was a tension about him. I hoped that he was okay and that this meeting would end soon. I hated seeing him stressed, and worried that one day collapse he would have a stroke.

Mr Shah thought for a moment, and then muttered ten.

Mr Porter looked at him.

 

Mr Shah cleared his throat, “there are ten here, but the others will be here very soon.”

“You have said that. But I need them now, and that’s what you promised. There are lots of people relying on these…. Pieces of equipment.” He paused for a moment….and then looked at me.

“Wait in the car for me would you Lisa, I just need to have a quiet word with Mr Shah which doesn’t need to be minuted.”

Mr Shah looked even more nervous, “she doesn’t need to go, look have more coffee.”

But I knew I had to leave, and as I shut the door, I heard somebody clear their throat.

 

 

Two

I set up my laptop on the table, whilst Brian started to wash up.

“Working again? I need to have a word with that Mr Porter.”

“Oh I am paid well, and he lets us go home early often enough; it’s swings and roundabouts.”

“Maybe, but this should be family time. I ought to give him a ring, just tell him that I like to spend time with my wife.”

“I wouldn’t” I said, “I really wouldn’t.”

 

He looked at me.

“Are you sure you should be doing this job? It seems a bit dodgy and you have got two children; we would hate anything to happen to you.”

“Oh don’t be silly Mike. It is fine and I enjoy it, and any way the money is good. We would struggle if I didn’t have it.”

“But I would rather struggle than something happened to you.”

“What could happen?”

“Oh you know, you could get arrested; you could always get another job; you have a lot of experience.”

“Oh don’t be silly…” but just then Gary came downstairs asking for help with his maths homework, and Mike went to help, although I could probably have explained it better.

 

Later in bed, he reiterated that he was worried.

“It is just a job” I told him, “nothing dodgy, just admin.”

“Okay” he muttered and turned over a fell asleep, and shortly afterwards I put away my book and did the same, and dreamed of numbers all neat and in order just as they should be.

 

 

Three

It was Katie’s birthday. She was the financial advisor and thus quite senior in the company with her own office to use when she was in Nottingham. But when she was here she liked to sit with us in admin (Donna, my assistant Simone and me). I got the impression that she had a bit of a fraught relationship with Mr Porter, something that happens even in the best places of work.

 

When she and Donna talked, it was mostly Katie saying how unhappy she was; she had a good degree from Durham and had worked for the Green Party before Mr Porter made her an offer, she clearly couldn’t refuse, but she clearly missed her previous work and felt she had sold out her principles.

“I keep reminding myself of the money” she often said, “I have a mortgage and children….”

Mind you I was not sure what she had to complain of, she got to travel extensively, and meet wealthy clients; there were even rumours of lavish gifts and free holidays, call me materialistic, but I would take that without a moment’s thought, even if it did mean the occasional argument with Mr Porter and the odd bit of overtime (extremely well-paid I am sure).

 

Anyway today was Katie’s fiftieth birthday, although she could have passed for ten or more years younger. She brought in chocolate muffins for us all and sat with Donna, waiting for her meeting with Mr Porter.

“Are you doing anything for your birthday?”

“Yes, Phil got tickets for “Macbeth” at the playhouse, so I hope that I am not here too long.”

“Oh just go, you are only fifty once.”

Mr Porter came in with wine (which I suspect Andy had bought) and a kiss for Katie. To be fair to him, Mr Porter tended to remember birthdays and was extremely generous, as if he had read somewhere, that this was the sign of a good manager. For my birthday he given me lovely Swiss chocolates and a voucher for £1,000; I had thought there was some mistake, or he was trying to seduce me, but apparently everyone got something similar.

 

Mr Porter then went into his office and then later rang through for Katie, who was still chatting – somewhat nervously I thought - with Donna. She gave us a mock scared look and then went into the office, the blinds went down almost immediately, and then during the next few hours various men and women came in and hurried into the office, but Katie did not emerge.

“Looks serious” Simone muttered to me.

“I hope not, Katie wants to be gone by four.”

“Best of luck with that.”

 

At three our internal phone rang.

“Mr Porter says we can all go home”, Simone told us, “they won’t be needing us and he suggests that we enjoy the sunshine.”

“Good idea” I said, “but I hope Katie gets to escape.”

Just then I heard a shout and what sounded like a scream coming from the office, which stopped abruptly.

“What was that?”

“Oh nothing” but Donna looked pale, “come on we had better go, we don’t what to end up doing extra work.”

“But what about Katie…..?”

Donna shrugged, “that’s what happens when you get paid a lot; more responsibility….” and the three of us hurried to the lift.

 

It was a week later that I realised that I had not seen Katie since her birthday, nor heard her mentioned, not even by Donna. I did think of asking Donna what had happened to her friend, but somehow I never found the right moment. I just hope that she got to see “Macbeth” and was able to forget about work.

 

Four

I love administration work and am glad I found something that I enjoy and get paid for. After sixth form I was at a bit of a loose end and did not know what to do; my ‘A’ Level results had been much better than expected (certainly better than I had expected) and my form tutor thought I should apply to university for next year and in the meantime spend a year working.

“With your grades you could go somewhere good.”

So I got a job for Social Services, basic admin. work, which I soon discovered I loved and was good at; organising everything, (and boy did it need organising), creating databases for all the files, flirting with the social workers and seeing what they had to deal with. Involved, but not really.

 

I got promoted and within two years was running the office, my application with UCAS long cancelled and forgotten about. I never regretted it and was glad I had found my niche, rather than wasting three years at university with tedious lectures and stupid public school boys. I tended not stay at one place for very long; once an office was running efficiently I moved on to somewhere else; and set to work. Perhaps I could have earned more money if I had gained a degree, but I am not sure that is the case and there was nothing they could teach me that I didn’t learn on the job.

 

I love organising; making everything straight and clear. I may not understand people, but I understand systems and numbers, data and logic. I know that without decent administration no office can function. The mysterious packages that come from the Middle East or Eastern Europe and arrive late at night; they would not get to their destination if it wasn’t for me, and I am glad that Mr Porter recognises that and pays me so well.

 

Sometimes I picture God as a giant administrator; moving people here and there, making sure that the world runs smoothly, or as smoothly as one possibly could, considering what she has to deal with. And when fallible humans make mistakes, are lazy or stupid, then she fixes them so that the system continues to run as efficiently, as it should.

 

 

Five

I rang the office; Gary was very unwell and I needed to take him to the doctor. He was struggling to breathe and had a rash.

Donna answered the telephone. She seemed quite put out when I told her.

“Couldn’t your husband take him, or go on his own, he is fourteen isn’t he?”

“He is twelve, it is Connor who is fourteen. And he is very poorly.”

“Oh dear, we have got someone important coming in and Mr Porter wants us all in the office.”

There was a silence for a few moments

“It is okay, I will ring my mum, she can do it.”

“Thanks.”

 

I was late but only by an hour, and nobody seemed to care. Donna and Simone were working very quietly typing away, not even looking up when I sat down at my desk, whilst there was no sound at all coming from Mr Porter’s office; the door was closed and the blinds were down.

“Thank you for coming in” Donna whispered, “I hope that your son is okay. If you need to ring later feel free.”

“Thank you.”

 

I worked on a database that I had created and which needed more information adding to it; I was not sure what exactly I was dealing with, something to do with goods coming into the country and then leaving again almost immediately, but it was easy to do, and Mr Porter had given me a raise after I created it as it made our work much quicker.

 

The office remained quiet if not peaceful; apparently Mr Porter was there with Mr Driver from Leeds and Mr Baker from Sheffield; the two other cities where we were based, although Mr Porter was in charge and ours the central office. Every so often Mr Baker and Mr Driver would go outside for a smoke, leaving Mr Porter inside on his own. Unusually none of were called in, not even to bring in refreshments.

 

They eventually all headed out to lunch, with serious expressions on their faces. Mr Porter leaned over Donna.

“If anyone comes, or you hear anything at all, just ring Carlo’s, make sure that’s the first thing you do, whatever you do. And don’t let them into my office; it doesn’t matter who it is, just say you don’t have a key.”

Donna nodded and the three men trooped out. It was Autumn now and they all wore woollen suits and looked smart. Three ordinary businessmen going for lunch.

 

Nothing happened whilst they were out although we had sat on edge, waiting for who knew what. Eventually the three men came back from lunch an hour or two later and went back into the office, and we continued to work. Nothing changed all day, and then as five o’clock approached I began to think that the crisis – whatever it was – was over.

 

Later on Mr Porter called me into his office, Mr Baker and Mr Driver were looking out of the window, for some reason they seemed on edge.

“I am sorry to impose, especially with your son being unwell. But I need someone to stay here with me whilst we wait. It might only be a couple of hours, but I want someone in case they do come.”

I looked at him; his eyes were dark and he was looking at me intently as if nobody else was in the room; that the two other men did not exist.

“Of course” I said, “let me just ring my husband.”

“It will be double time and you can have tomorrow off.”

 

Mr Driver and Mr Baker both left shortly after Donna and Simone. Whilst Mr Porter and I waited, for whatever. Mr Porter gave me data for a spreadsheet, so I typed away; it was work I could do without even thinking about it, which was good, because even though I did not know what was going on I could feel the tension.

 

“Is it the police we are expecting?”

“No, I wouldn’t mind the police, the police usually play by the rules, or their version of them. No these people don’t have rules. I am not exactly even sure who they are. Some kind of a takeover, or attempt at one.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Sorry, but I really need you.”

“No it is okay, my husband will be fine, and Chris will have been spoilt by his grandmother.”

 

At six he ordered in a Chinese for both of us, and as we sat eating noodles he asked me about my children.

“Chris is very bright; he will go to University and study something scientific, but Connor I am not sure. He likes his sport, but I am not sure that he can do much with that; I doubt he will end up playing for Forest or even Notts County. He lovely, just I don’t know what he will do with his life.”

 

“He is welcome to work for me” Mr Porter said after a moment, “we can always do with healthy young people.”

“Thank you, but no. I don’t mean to be rude, and I am grateful…but no.”

He looked at me, and nodded, “you are probably right, but if anyone needs help, all you need to do is ask.”

I couldn’t help but think that if anybody needed help it was the man sitting opposite me, with soy sauce on his chin and his hand, shaking slightly, never far from the telephone.

 

As I cleaned out the silver containers and put them in recycling, there was a telephone call. I hurried into the office. Mr Porter was just sitting there, listening but saying nothing. And then eventually he put the phone down without a word.

“That was them” he told me, without saying who “them” were, “they want to meet me.”

There was a silence, I could tell he wanted me to ask him, and I thought of Brian and the children, but in the end the man in front of me seemed so vulnerable that I could not say no, even though he had not asked me a question.

“Do you need me?”

 

He put on his dark jacket, the one with deep pockets that he always wore for “important” meetings; his “gangster jacket” Simone called it, although it did not look particularly gangsterish to me, although it was less smart than his usual grey one. He gave me a smile as we were about to set off, and I gave a nervous smile in return.

 

We were to meet at the nature reserve over in Attenborough. I had been there a couple of times with Brian but now it was dark and empty and we sat in the carpark waiting. The car smelt of leather and a lemon air freshener.

“We are a bit early,” he told me, “I am sorry that I have brought you into this.”

“It is okay”, I said and turned to him and stroked his arm, and then we were kissing passionately, whilst part of me thought that I had become a cliché; a secretary having an affair with her boss, most of me just wanted to help him, calm him down. He gasped and then he muttered “they’re here”.

Unnoticed by us a large black car had pulled up beside us and two young men got out.

“Come with us.”

 

Mr Porter got out of his car, “and her”, said one of the men.

“No, she is not part of this, she will wait quietly. She will not harm you.”

Both men looked at me calculating and then seemed simultaneously to come to a decision and nodded.

“Give me an hour” Mr Porter told me, “and then if I am not back drive home and forget about this.”

I cried as he walked away, a young man on either side of him, and then I sat in the car and put on Radio 2 and let the music sweep over me.

 

I was getting cramp so got out of the car; I had been waiting about thirty minutes although it felt much longer. And then I heard a dull thud from deep in the reserve, and then another, and I hurried back to the car.

“Oh my God, oh my god.”

And then there was a bang on the car door, and I screamed, but it was Mr Porter, pale and breathing heavily. I let him in.

“Drive” he said, “just drive.”

 

We headed back into the city, he kept giving me directions, seemingly at random, as we did not seem to be going anywhere.

“Nobody is following us that I can see.”

And then, “I am sorry about this, and I hope you are okay.”

I just nodded, unable to say anything.

 

We drove to a park near West Bridgford, and continued with what we had begun before the men had arrived, but with more violence and passion. Afterwards he drove me to the end of my road.

“Don’t forget to take tomorrow off” he told me, “you deserve it” and then he kissed me lightly on the cheek before speeding off into the dark. I watched him go, wondering if the neighbours had seen the kiss, but not really caring.

 

Six

Brian was waiting in the front room when I arrived back and he was very unhappy.

“Are you okay? I was so worried. What on earth were you thinking? And leaving Chris with your mother; do you know what she fed him on? Chips from the chip shop; just greasy fat, and him unwell. Not even any fruit….”

As he ranted I turned on the news and then made myself a coffee.

 

“What on earth are you having coffee for at this time of night, you won’t sleep.”

“Well I have got the day off tomorrow, so I don’t need to.”

“I should think so, it is the least you deserve, you really need to quit….”

“Shush” I told him as I walked back into the front room, the national news was on, but they had mentioned Nottingham and I was curious.

 

I sat down and watched, my coffee burning my hand. There was Attenborough Nature Reserve, floodlit, with police, reporters and others milling around looking important. And then I understood what they were saying; three men found dead amongst the trees, no names at the moment. The head of Nottinghamshire constabulary was interviewed who said there were no clues as yet, and urged anybody who knew anything to contact the police. She looked tired, as if she had been called out of bed; but then presumably that’s what she gets paid for.

 

In the studio the reporter talked darkly of “a gangland feud” and fears that it would escalate, and a few moment’s pause they turned to Sport and I switched it off.

“Fancy that” said Brian, “we’ve been there, nowhere is safe. Not even Attenborough.”

I swigged down the coffee and then had a shower before forcing sex on my husband, as if to exorcise what had gone on before.

 

 

Seven

I never went back. I told Brian I needed a change and was tired of being taken for granted, it wasn’t that, it was the thought of seeing Mr Porter again after our groping in his car which I could not face. Brian may not be the brightest but he is my husband and I love him. Once with Mr Porter was excusable, but that had to be the end of it.

 

I rang Donna late the next morning and told her I was resigning with immediate effect; and she said she understood.

“I am surprised that you stayed that long” she told me, “most people don’t last as long as you, one way or another.”

“Oh I enjoyed it….but well there was a thing.”

Donna was silent.

“Give my best to everyone” I told her, “and tell them I am sorry.”

 

There seemed to be no hard feelings, quite the contrary; because not only I was paid at the end of the month as usual, with a substantial bonus. And Donna and Simone both sent me a card. The suggested we meet in the city for a farewell drink, but I could not face it. Once you leave somewhere, it is best if you stay left; move on and forget all about it; even your colleagues.

 

I soon found another job; doing admin for a nice young man working from his home in Bulwell. I am not sure exactly what he was doing as I was just in charge of finances, and clearly he was not telling the taxman everything, and once we even had a visit from a couple of policemen who were eventually persuaded to leave, but Jesse was lovely, full of easy charm and flirty. And although I did not get paid as much as when I was with Mr Porter, it still wasn’t bad, not bad at all, with several bonuses, when he had had a “windfall.”

 

I never forgot about Mr Porter, how could I, but he faded a bit to the background. Until one Friday Brian was out with friends as were the two boys and I was sat watching the News on my own, when once again Nottingham was mentioned and there was my old office, I could even see where I used to sit and then I realised they were talking about the body of a male found in shot and they mentioned his name… Mr Porter, and after a moment I got a stiff drink and thought about this and that.

 

On Monday I rang my bank to check my account to see that I had been paid, as I had bills due (incredibly I had been) but there was an extra twenty thousand pounds which had appeared overnight.

“Who is it from?”

“Oh it is from an overseas account. There is a note, it just says “with thanks””.

“Oh” I said, “oh”, and I put down the phone and went to work.

 

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