“I’m guessing things didn’t go so well?” came Bev’s voice. She had appeared at the end of his desk without him noticing.
“Depends,” said Spencer, still seething. “If you’re asking whether she kicked me out of the office, then the answer is yes.”
“She can’t do that,” said Bev quietly.
“Well, guess what?” said Spencer. “She just did.”
“Without pay?”
“Well, no. I’ll still get paid until my official leaving date.”
“You’re on garden leave, then? You lucky thing. Any chance we could swap places?”
Spencer stopped what he was doing and peered quizzically at Bev, processing what she had just said. She was right. Despite what Muriel had said, he would have been prepared to come in and work until his last day, to help train up the new person and hand over tasks. But now he had been given a couple of weeks’ extra leave on full pay. With a sigh, he collapsed into his seat and swivelled towards her.
“You’re right. I’m just pissed off at not getting any credit for anything I’ve done.”
“Which is perfectly natural, Squirrel,” said Bev. “Come on. Let me take you to my local cafe haunt and get you a coffee and a muffin. I want to hear everything and I’m guessing you need to let off steam.”
Spencer stood back up, pulling his coat on from the back of the chair.
“I’ll need to hand my security pass to Kim on the way out.”
Once he had lifted the cardboard box from his desk, he turned back to Bev. He found her staring at the container, then at him, shocked.
“You have to go straight away? You can’t leave at the end of the day?”
“I asked her if she wanted me to go straight away and she said yes. Honestly, Bev, I need to get out of this place. Before I do something I regret.”
“You don’t even get to say goodbye to people? How is that fair?”
“For a start, there aren’t many people around today. But don’t worry, we’ll sort something out. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
* * * *
Forty-five minutes, a large mug of coffee and a chocolate chip muffin later, Spencer felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
Bev listened patiently to the retelling of his meeting. Like a good friend, she nodded or shook her head in all the right places. When Spencer explained how Muriel claimed he had foisted himself upon Blake and how she had tried to find a way to get rid of him, Bev finally lost her cool. She insisted he phone the Human Resources department and report her behaviour. He would not though, because, even in the short time since the interview, he knew he had moved on. Besides, he told her, with no record of the meeting, a grievance would come down to Spencer’s word against Muriel’s—and any fool could guess whose side people would take. Ultimately, he wanted to put his time at Blackmore Magazine Group behind him and concentrate on the future.
“Honestly, Bev,” he said, hoping to put her concerns to rest, “Muriel’s constant scrutiny and badgering has worked in my favour to give me the push I needed to move on.”
“I think you should talk to Marshall,” said Bev, her arms crossed.
As though on cue, his ringtone sounded. He pulled the phone from the inside jacket pocket, stared at the display and chuckled.
“Not Marshall,” said Spencer, showing Bev the name on the display. “My mother. I swear she’s psychic.”
He pushed the accept button and thrust the phone to his ear, rolling his eyes at Bev.
“Hello, Mum. Let me guess? You’re checking to see if I’m still coming for Christmas?”
Garrett could never be relied upon to keep a secret, like the one about Spencer bringing a friend—Marshall—home with him and must have spilt the beans.
“Spencer,” said his mother. From the strained tone of her voice, Spencer knew something was wrong. “Garrett’s been in a road accident. Came off that blasted motorcycle of his. I told him not to go out in this weather, but he never did listen to me. The policeman your father spoke to said he hit a patch of black ice somewhere outside Branksome—”
“Oh my God, Mum. Slow down. Is he okay?”
Bev, noticing his anxious tone, reached across and held onto his free hand.
