The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1116 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The next morning, after doing my bit towards sorting the children, I went upstairs and had a luxuriant shower, after moussing my hair, depilating my legs and underarms, rubbed in some nice creams, did my hair, then my makeup and dressed in my YSL suit and blouse, to which I added my red court shoes; squirt of perfume, and after being told by my kids, “You look nice, Mummy,” which boosted my ego, I went to the office building where the divisional headquarters of High St Bank was located. It was twelve o’clock and Simon had told me that we’d have lunch a short meeting to discuss the job we were interviewing to fill, and I’d have a chance to suss out Howard Sutcliffe, the man Simon wanted to dump.

Simon insisted that no matter what happened, I wasn’t to disclose we were married, nor was I reveal my own gender history. I was an ecologist who advised the bank and they were looking for someone to assist me in developing policies and implementing them. I couldn’t complain, I wrote the job description.

I parked my car and tottered to the reception desk, then took the lift to the fifth floor. The bank apparently owns this building but only uses the fifth floor, but as the local council were pulling out of the floor below, Henry was considering moving some more of the HQ staff to Portsmouth. Simon was half hoping he might be able to work from there himself with adequate computer support. Besides, he was doing less speculation and more management these days, so theoretically, unless he physically had to go somewhere, he could do much more from Portsmouth than he’d once been able to do. The added incentive of the council offering some relaxation in business rates to businesses moving to Portsmouth also tempted them. I’d be pleased if he didn’t have to go up to town so often.

I was given my visitor’s ID card and escorted to the office we were using as a prelunch venue, then in half an hour we’d have a buffet and do the interviews. I led into the room, “Ah, Cathy, how nice to see you again.” Simon embraced me and it was all I could do not to giggle. “This is Howard Sutcliffe, the third member of our panel.” I shook hands with him and felt my skin crawl. There was something wrong with him, physically–something very wrong. He looked quite well, but the tan was from a sun bed not a natural–outdoors, variety.

“So we’re looking for an assistant for you?” he asked in an unconvinced tone.

“That’s the plan–I’m too busy with my university stuff to do more than advise on environmental issues, so I need someone to implement policies the board agrees upon or are forced on us by government.”

“This a full time or part time post?”

“A full time one,” Simon answered for me. “I might combine it with one or two other bits and pieces.”

“This one of Henry’s ideas?” asked Howard.

“Yep, so let’s not disappoint him and we’ll all keep our jobs.”

“With all due respect to Miss Watts, why do we need an environmental advisor? I shouldn’t think they come too cheaply, do they?”

Before I could say anything Simon answered, “She saved us over a million pounds last year. What we pay her in return, is peanuts.”

“I stand corrected.”

We sat down at the table and over cups of coffee or bottled water, we assessed the three candidates. A man and two women, one of whom was the transgender one.

“I think I’ve seen this one before.” Howard held up the application form from Erica Heath. “If it’s the one I’m thinking of, she’s bad news.”

“Why’s that?” asked Simon as I felt myself growing hot.

“She’s actually a he, one of those transvestite types, wants a sex change.”

“Does it matter? If she can do the job?” I asked, trying not to sound more than a broad-minded liberal.

“Do you want these people representing you? Or the bank?”

“I don’t have a problem with it, do you?” I threw back at him.

“But she’s a bloke in a dress?”

“So, I’m not too worried about that, I’ve dealt with transgendered students before, and they caused no more hassle than ordinary ones.”

“It’s okay for you, Miss Watts. With your looks, you bring a sophisticated elegance to our image, but this one looks like a bloke in a dress,” he pointed at the application form.

“Maybe, with a bit of help, so will she.”

“You haven’t seen him, I have.”

“We have an equal opportunities policy, Howard,” Simon reminded his ex-friend.

“Stuff and nonsense! Why should we employ these freaks?”

“Because our policies say we have to, and so does government.”

“I can’t see what difference gender makes to the job,” I asserted.

“Not for natural men or women, like us–but for those weirdos, how can they deal with the public?”

“I still don’t see the problem.” I felt very vexed with this dimwit, and what was wrong with him? He was on steroids, his face was bit bloated, he was also on other drugs but what for? Retrovirals? Shit–he’s got HIV. Yep, that’s what it is–HIV, so is he a closet gay or just stupid with sex?

“I think we need to move on to the others.” Simon was chairing the meeting. “This chappie, Eldridge Cumberland, now there’s a name to conjure with.”

“A background in sociology and personal grooming–what sort of degree is that?” Howard was off again. Simon had confided that Eldridge was gay, and would mention it during the interview–he was also black and from Trinidad originally.

“Who’s the other one?” I asked.

“Rita von Dieter,” Simon managed to say without laughing. I didn’t say anything, but burst out laughing, as the names nearly rhymed.

“Christ–she did women and gender studies, another waste of time.”

“Are you always this judgemental?” I asked Howard.

“You laughed at her,” he replied defensively.

“I laughed at the way Simon said her name.” I heard him chuckle at that.

There was a knock at the door and in walked two ladies with a trolley and several plates. We withdrew our papers from the table and they proceeded to lay a cloth and plates of salad, cold meats and fish, sandwiches and other cold delicacies, then some cake and desserts, like gateau and fruit salad. There was enough for ten here to be eaten or left by three of us.

“Pity they didn’t invite the candidates for lunch, there’s enough food here for them and us,” I suggested, too late to be of any use–well, I’m an ecologist, we always get there too late.

“Yeah, we could have seen if any of them can use a knife and fork properly,” said Howard, using a knife like a pen, which wasn’t how I was taught to use one. Simon must have seen the astonishment in my face at Howard’s double standards.

Howard, went off to the loo and at last I could speak to Simon, “You know he’s got HIV?”

“You what? You’re joking? You’re not joking? Oh shit–that means I can’t fire him.”

“Isn’t he supposed to tell you if he suffers from any long term condition?”

“People don’t, even though we have loads of ways of hiding it from casual detection.”

“All three are out there,” remarked Howard as he picked up his plate again.

“I’ll get the girls to send them in. We get the chance to have a look at them, and they get a free lunch.” Simon shot off before anyone could object–well before Howard could. “They’ll be in in a moment.”