The Office

Susan Webster sat on her packing boxes, and looked around her now-packed house. She had lived there in a not-so happy marriage with her Husband for the past 20 years. She’s thought they were doing okay. The talking had slowed down, and he had started spending more time at work, but that was normal for a couple that had been together that long. At least, she had thought it had been. She’s resigned from her job to be a housewife. She’d expected that there would be kids, but her husband found there was never really time, or enough money.

It was strange. She didn’t feel anger. She hadn’t really ever felt anger. She’d just felt… a strange feeling of resignation. As usual, or at least, so she gathered from those glossy magazines in the news-agents, she’d found out because he’d been stupid. Knowing that he was away on business for 3 weeks, Susan thought that she’d be the helpful, dutiful wife. She’d opened a letter that had the words “Final Demand” stamped on it. It was an unpaid bill for the “common places” of a flat, addressed to her. At first, she thought it was some sort of mistake, and decided to enquire about it. She wouldn’t normally bother with this sought of thing, because Howard did it all. Balanced the books, paid the bills. Some of them she knew were in her name because it improved their credit rating, or something. She supposed she would now have to learn about that sort of thing. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested, it was simply that Howard didn’t think she should “worry her head about it”.

As Susan began looking into this bill, she found out, after a phone-call to her lawyer, that she did indeed own a flat. It came as a surprise to her lawyer that she didn’t know, especially as she’d signed the deed for it. It seemed that when Howard had wanted to buy the flat, his credit rating wasn’t as good as hers, so he’d put it in her name. Though, as her lawyer, a kindly man called Oscar said, if the two of them must jet around the world on luxury holidays on the wages Howard earned. She agreed with him, said that she agreed it was a stupid idea, and asked, casually, if he could give her the address.

With this new address, Susan went to visit the flat, armed now with documentation, and ID, she managed to get a very confused Building Manager to let her into the flat. A quick glance around it confirmed what she had thought. Howard was having an afair. The Flat was full of pictures of him, and a blond twig-like woman. An afternoon looking around the flat, she found boxes full of old photographs of Howard with many other, barbie-like women, along with a large amount of unpaid credit-card bills, all in his name. That night, on the way home on the train, something snapped.

The following day, Susan set about selling everything that she owned. It turned out, she owned quite a bit. A house, a flat, two cars, and a beach house in Malawi. She put them all up for a quick sale, and had them all soled by the end of the week, as well as most of the content. She even managed to sell an air-ticket that was in her name, apparently for a trip back from Malawi, which she obviously didn’t need, because she wasn’t in Malawi.

One of the things that had occurred to Susan during the week, was that she would need a Job. Sure, the cash was going to be enough to live on for a few years, but that was going to take a few days, perhaps even weeks, before it became hers, plus she was sure Howard would probably want to contest the fact that he owned some of the money. She’d gone out half-way through the week and bought a news-paper. In it she had found a small advert for an Office Manager. In a fit of madness, she’s made the call, and had the second strangest conversation in her very strange week.

“Yes, hello, is that the.. uh.. Office?”
“Yes, yes it is. It’s good to hear you”
“My name is Susan Web…. er DeWit”
“I’m pleased to meet you Susan, how can I help you?”
“I was wondering about the job as the Office Manager?”
“Oh yes… the position if empty because of retirement. When would you like to start?”
“umm… are you offering me the Job?”
“Am I not meant too? You sound nice.”
“Your meant to ask me a few questions.”
“Oh, am I? well, what would you like me to ask?”
“Well, how about, asking what my qualifications are.”
“Okay, so Miss DeWit, what are your qualifications?”
“Well, I worked as a temp secretary when I was in college”
“There you are then.”
“What?” Susan was begining to feel a little out of her depth. She’d not had many job interviews, but she was sure this was not how it was meant to go. The strange thing about it, was that despite the strangeness of it all, she was inclined to believe the voice at the end, despite a newly-found sceptical streak screaming at her that this was not the way she was meant to live her life.
“You have the necessary experience, and we really are in a bind. Your the only applicant we’ve had, and we’ve run the add for nearly two months.” The kindly voice still sounded upbeat, and with a strange, wistful hopefulness about it.
“Oh, why is that?”
“well, I think it’s because it’s not paid very well, and is a little out of the way. It’s in the village of Little Watton… have you ever heard of it?”
“No, I can’t say I have”
“Neither has anyone else. It’s one of those little English villages in the middle of nowhere. So, when would you like to start? I can book you into the little pub across the road….”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Well, we can put you on a trial basis if you like… how long would you like?”
Susan, who was quickly getting the idea why this business, whatever it was, needed a Business Manager. Perhaps she could get by and learn the job as she went.
“A month is usual”
“is it? well, then, a month. When would you like to start?”
In a rash of madness that seemed to be driving her this week, she said “Monday”
“Then we shall see you on Monday.” the man hung up.
Susan stared at the phone. The man hadn’t given her a time. Being as if she phoned back, he’d only ask her what a good time was, she decided on 9 o’clock.

A horn from outside woke her from her thoughts. That’ll be the taxi. She picked up her brown envelope with her old-fashioned tickets in, her handbag, her over-night bag, and a suitcase full of all the things that were definitely hers in the house. Everything else she’d put into storage, and mailed the key to their lawyer. The rest she didn’t want, or didn’t need. The woman stepping out of the front door was a new woman. A new Susan DeWit.

The taxi driver seemed to know where she was going. She wasn’t really in the mood for conversation, but that didn’t seem to matter. The Jamaican was quite happily telling her a story that she couldn’t really follow through his thick accent, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. The taxi pulled up to a train-station in the middle of nowhere, but the style of the station seemed to match the strange ticket that she had, and the young man at the turnstile seemed very pleasant. She didn’t have long to wait on the station before an old steam-train pulled into the station. Still not being sure this was the right train, she got on it, still high on her new-found spirit of adventure, and settled into the seat.

Susan got off at the station for Little Watton, and made her way to the pub. It wasn’t difficult, Little Watton was only one street, with a little shop, a few twee houses, and nothing much else, apart from the pub. As she stepped through the door, she was greeted with the warmth of a roaring fire, and the sound of laughter, and happy voices. The pub was small, but clean, rather like the room that she was shown too. The bathroom was down the corredore, but there was only one guest room, so the bathroom was effectively hers. She got the feeling that this room was her as a form of village favour, but she was too tired to think anything of it. The woman who run the pub was a short rotund woman, with rosy cheeks and hair pulled back into a bun, apart from a single strand of hair that resisted her repeated attempts to tuck it behind her ear. Her name was, predictably, Rosie. Apparently that wasn’t her real name, but it was one that all her regulars called her, and she didn’t mind. She also didn’t mind making Susan something to eat, or fetching her another blanket, or a drink, or indeed, anything at all. Rosie didn’t mind. Hospitality was obviously in her nature. Susan took the offer of the food, and quietly declined the other offers, stating that she was tired. Indeed, by the time she’d eaten the food, it was all she could do to get undressed and climb into bed. It had been a very long week.

The following morning, Susan dragged herself out of bed, and made herself ready for work. A strange experience. She put on her stockings, sensible shoes, and another one of her two-piece tweed suits, with a sensible, and tasteful white blouse. She partook of the simple breakfast of toast offered by Rosie, along with a few other locals who also seemed to be on their way to work, and headed out to the office. Again, it was not difficult to find. It was the only shop-front of it’s type. Long cream venetian blinds in the windows, and a door set into the corner of the building. The only information on the door was the opening times, 9 till 5, Monday to Friday. A fairly sensible opening times. She checked her watch, 8:59am. She paused, and as the clock ticked over to nine, she pushed open the door.