Jackie Oliver's new colleagues changed her life in ways she could never have imagined

PART 1 OF 8 - INTRODUCTION

There is no sex and no pornography in this story. GSD UK Ltd is a fictitious company.

I’m Jackie Oliver - again.

Jackie Musgrove is gone, finished, history; just like that slimy, self centred, selfish bastard Eddie; just like my parents; just like the Animal.

But, of course, they’re not really gone, are they? They’re all out of sight — but never out of mind. They say that time is a great healer. Anybody got several thousand years to spare?

I was feeling very low after my messy parting from Eddie, a few months previously. I contemplated moving away, but I found an advert in the local paper; Global Synthetic Developments, known to everyone as GSD, was looking for a Marketing Administrator. If I got the job, at least I wouldn’t have to look for accommodation in another town, not that number twenty two, Guildford Road was very salubrious anyway.

I was very surprised to receive a reply to my application, and even more surprised to be invited to an interview. I’d already left my previous job. Either my boss or I had to go; my boss was Eddie Musgrove, my ex-husband and a senior manager, so guess who had to do the walking?

GSD was the town’s biggest employer so finding their Head Office - a ten storey, doughnut-shaped building clad in bronze mirror-glass - wasn’t cerebrally challenging. I tentatively entered reception, but was greeted with a smile. I wondered if the smile wore off as the day wore on.

That must be a first; it always seems that you need to get past a seriously paramilitary-looking security guard, to be interrogated by a grim receptionist, who grants grudging admittance only if you can prove that your lingerie meets the Dress Code.

I drew myself up to my full five feet four (plus heels), smiled back and signed in for my appointment.

The receptionist, whose nametag proclaimed her to be Amy Street, made a brief internal telephone call, smiled again and told me that Mr Latham was on his way down to meet me.

I settled myself in a low-backed chair - just comfortable enough to encourage you to rest from your journey, yet uncomfortable enough to discourage loitering. A couple of minutes later, a suit emerged from a lift. It wasn’t a cheap suit as it looked to have been tailor-made for the very attractive young man who wore it. Interestingly, he didn’t wear a tie. His open-necked shirt gave him a boyish appearance; he wouldn’t have looked out of place in a school sixth-form line-up. Slender, and only slightly taller than I am, he had blonde hair - chaotic on top but longer at the sides, over his ears and down past his collar at the back. He added to the smile epidemic as he approached me and took my hand. Strangely, he maintained eye contact all the time. I’m fairly well-endowed and most male eyes tend to stray downwards.

Eddie’s used to do that, in a past life.

“Hello, I’m Nick Latham. Thank you for arriving so promptly.” His cultured, youthful voice didn’t seem at all out of place considering the slightly-built man that it occupied.

I gratefully got up and followed him. We emerged from the lift at the sixth floor, where we collected drinks from the machine in the lift lobby. It was on free vend so he just asked how I liked my coffee or tea and pushed the right buttons.

On the machine, I mean.

We walked past a row of desks, mostly unoccupied, and eventually arrived at a room with just ‘Marketing’ on the door. At first I thought he’d led me to an employee lounge, but the way he claimed ownership when we entered made me realise that it was his office.

A large oak bookcase filled with impressive titles and lush plants occupied one wall. A filing cabinet stood in the corner and remained anonymous as the drawers hadn’t been labelled. Missing was a conventional desk or computer workstation. Also missing were the usual framed certificates testifying to his numerous qualifications. We sat, on either side of an exquisitely carved coffee table, in chairs suited more to a posh living room. His eyes tracked mine as I surveyed the room.

After a moment he smiled and said, “I’ve always felt that conventional office furniture, fittings and layout can appear intimidating and confrontational; I much prefer this as I think it’s friendlier. We also have team meetings in here, and a desk would get in the way.”

He smiled again.

I couldn’t imagine this sort of approach to business at Carlisle Associates; then I thought These people must all be on something

Nick explained. “I’d like you to take over the administration for me and my team. Anything that doesn’t involve managing and selling would be your responsibility. Are you interested?” He rattled off an extensive list of tasks.

I gulped and nodded enthusiastically. This is bigger than I thought; you just don’t get this level of responsibility in most jobs.

I should be well occupied for the foreseeable future and, hopefully, the memories of Carlisle Associates and Eddie might fade a little. I knew, though, that I’d never completely forget them and no way would I ever forget my childhood; I often woke mentally wrecked, having relived the events of my teenage years. I couldn’t see that changing any time soon.

Nick continued. “My team is very successful, and so the company leaves me very much alone to run things as I see fit. I have what many regard as an unconventional approach to business, preferring that we work as a team of equals. So far, my strategy seems to have paid off. I usually ask rather than tell as I find that people’s motivation is higher that way. And everyone’s skill is valuable; there’s no such thing as ‘only a filing clerk’.” He completed the sentence with appropriate little finger movements.

In response to my question, he told me roughly how business fluctuated during the year, ending with “we all help each other and just get the job done. We’d rather you call for help than get bogged down.”

He then asked me what I knew about the company, about my previous experience and, inevitably, why I left Carlisle Associates.

He seemed easy to talk to and, after talking about the first two subjects for a few minutes, I found myself briefly relating the history of my being spotted by the good-looking manager; promotion from the secretarial pool; the whirlwind romance; the very short time before the rot set into our marriage; the acrimonious parting and the subsequent tearful resignation from work. I didn’t tell him why the marriage hadn’t worked; it was none of his business and I didn’t think he’d want to know anyway.

Hell, I still shuddered at the realisation that my childhood had wrecked yet another relationship, and big time, too. Yep; my parents had a lot to answer for.

Nick gave me a weak smile when I’d finished my severely edited tale of woe. He seemed to put me at ease straight away, and I’d found myself opening up to him much more than I had with any other man.

After a while, he straightened in his chair and absently curled a stray lock of hair behind his ear. It was an odd gesture: I longed to get a pair of clippers and give him a proper haircut. I couldn’t, of course; that’s not my job. I presumed that an attractive young man like Nick Latham had a Significant Other stashed away somewhere. She would, no doubt, either be regularly nagging him to get his hair cut or, more likely, thinking herself lucky that she’d managed to snag such a good-looking bloke, with very nice manners.

“I suppose you’d better drop in to Personnel so that they can test your shorthand and typing. And no doubt they’ll have loads of forms for you to fill in. I presume they’ll write to you and let you know officially the outcome of today. Let me introduce a couple more of the team while you’re here.”

I followed him as he left the office, and we went over to a short man in a blue check shirt and grey trousers. He, like Nick Latham, didn’t wear a tie; he appeared to be in his early forties, was balding and wore spectacles.

Nick greeted the man. “Ben Chapel; Jackie Oliver. Ben is one of my sales team. Jackie has come in to discuss the administrator position.”

We shook hands and Ben’s eyes strayed to the usual place.

Then he turned to the woman at the adjacent desk. “Cathy Hungerford, Jackie Oliver; Jackie has come in to interview for the vacancy.”

Cathy stood and she and and I both did the usual brief summing up that women often do on first meeting; I just knew that I came off worse. Cathy was taller than Nick, had a figure to die for and the clothes to show it off. Nick introduced her as his senior sales executive.

Nick laughed. “No one says “No” to Cathy; she could sell pack ice to a polar bear and persuade him to pay double for it.”

She laughed and offered her hand. “Hello Jackie, I’m sure that you’ll enjoy working with us.”

“I haven’t got the job yet.”

She laughed. “If you hadn’t, you’d be on your way home by now.”

She seemed so certain that my heart beat a little faster. I don’t know why, but I had a good feeling about this place: I thought that maybe I could lay a few ghosts to rest here.

After some further introductions involving a few of his team - “the others are out on business” - we returned to Nick’s office where he made a quick telephone call to Personnel, led me upstairs to the seventh floor, and handed me over to a tall, blonde-haired woman.

”Sally will deal with forms and stuff.” He said. Then he smiled, again looked me in the eye, extended his hand and gently gripped my fingers again, not shaking my hand, I noticed, and thanked me for coming in to see him. He gave me the distinct impression that I was doing him a favour, not the other way around. He turned on his heel and, just before leaving, he glanced back over his shoulder and asked me, “When can you start?”

“W…when you like,” I answered, taken aback by the speed of it all. I still couldn’t believe all that had happened.

“Fine,” he said, “Allow time to get the paperwork sorted. How about the fourth of next month? Monday 3rd is a public holiday.” Then he sniggered. “‘Star Wars’”.

“Pardon?”

“May the Fourth be with you.”

Sally and I joined him as we all laughed at the date.

“Anyway, perhaps a month on both sides?”

I nodded numbly, then said, “Perfect.”

“I’ll leave you in Sally’s capable hands and will see you soon. Goodbye for now,” he said as he left.

I got down to the serious business of filling in forms. Many years ago, in a land far, far away (don’t get me started again), “they” promised a paperless society. We’re still waiting. Now we not only get junk mail on paper, we get electronic junk mail as well.

I did a quick shorthand and typing test, after which Sally asked, “Would you like to join me for lunch? There’s a staff restaurant on the ground floor.”

I nodded gratefully and followed her. It should certainly be healthier than Greaseburger-and-Fries, or any look-alike, that you might find on the high street.

I couldn’t settle to anything over the next few days, neither did I sleep too well. I couldn’t get the thoughts of that office and, dare I say it, Nick Latham, out of my head. I tried all the usual things. I cleaned my room - one small tatty bed-sit with two gas rings, a toilet and a shower just large enough to accommodate an anorexic broom handle. It was on the top floor of a grubby building in Guildford Road. I found the place when I left Carlisle Associates a few months ago, having got the heave-ho from Eddie. I took long walks in the park; I window-shopped and drank a lot of tea, at home, alone.

The marriage break-up had left me with hardly any money, no energy and very few friends. Other than parents who now lived in Portsmouth, and with whom I’d rather cross swords than paths, there was really no-one except my old mate Richard - travel agent, queer as a nine-bob note, but with a heart of gold, and shacked up with Anthony, a chef in a swanky hotel - and Emmy; feisty, scatterbrained, florist, a friend since junior school and heavily into punk rock and body piercing. Richard and I go back so far that I don’t suppose he remembers how we came to be such good friends. I certainly don’t. We probably met in pre-school or some such.

Between the four of us, we laughed a lot and hugged often. I still couldn’t figure out why I was fascinated by Nick Latham; that man was somehow a magnet and I kept telling myself not to be so stupid. Hadn’t I had enough trouble? Why go looking for more? Why even consider it?

The letter arrived a couple of days later; could I please telephone Sally? I had to sit down, my head was spinning.

I called Sally, then Richard and Emmy. “I got the job.”

My friends were highly chuffed and promptly invited themselves out for drinks at my expense.

“I haven’t been paid yet, and funds are a bit scarce,” I moaned.

“I’ll sub you,” Richard promised, not for the first time in our lives. And, like the previous times, he delivered that evening at ‘The Globe’. “What’s he like, then, your new boss?” He asked, earning himself a black look from Emmy on one side, and an elbow in the ribs from Anthony on the other. He’d bought a round of drinks and we all sat down.

“He looks very young but, other than that, it’s difficult to tell,” I answered, gratefully getting my throat around a generous helping of dry cider. “He’s the only bloke I know, present company excepted, who didn’t look at my tits when we first met.”

“Is he gay, then?” Richard asked, and suddenly found his left arm caught in a death grip by Anthony.

“I’ve no idea; I don’t think that the sexual orientation of your prospective boss is a subject that usually crops up at job interviews,” I giggled, and then sank another significant quantity of cider.

Boy; that tasted good.

Four pints later, I was decidedly unsteady. At least I’d had the presence of mind to call Sally before I got smashed. The next day, I took the bus to the office and handed in the relevant paperwork. I didn’t feel inclined to entrust it to the postal service; I wanted the contract of employment to arrive before Nick Latham or Sally Williams could change their minds - or I woke from this lovely dream — whichever came first.

The Fourth of May dawned bright and clear and looked as though it might actually warm up later; I took that as a good omen and rummaged in my wardrobe for a suitably stunning outfit. I didn’t find one but did find a short-sleeved lilac patterned sundress and some white sandals with medium heels. I did the best with my hair and, after fighting for about 20 minutes with the contents of my makeup drawer, decided to call it a day and acknowledge that I would never compete with Ms Hungerford, even on one of her off days — if she had any, which I doubted.

The bus was crowded and stifling. Thank God that I didn’t live outside the town and that my journey was a short one. I eventually dragged my glowing body off the bus and, as I was a little early for the first day “photo for the security pass, this will be your desk, have you everything you need?” I sat on a bench in GSD’s landscaped gardens to cool off.

And who should be walking towards me, looking like she’d just stepped off the cover of Vogue magazine, but Cathy Hungerford. “Jackie,” she enthused in a voice that would certainly be at home reading the BBC news, “I’m so glad that you’re coming to work with us. I just know that we’re going to be great friends.”

I sat there, stunned, mouth open like a goldfish who knew that someone had just chucked in a generous handful of fish food, but had no idea where in the pond it had gone. “Err, yes…err…well, umm, I’ll see you soon then. Err…” My language skills had obviously not deserted me that morning.

With that she smiled, gave a little finger wave and walked off towards the main entrance.

‘Daft cow,’ I irritably told myself off, ‘How about making a good impression on your first day? No way, Jose!’ I stood, shook my head and considered retreat. Not a good idea. That would inevitably have led me back into the bosom of my loving family. Bastards! Even I’m not that desperate; I’d rather sleep on this bench. I walked, in trepidation, in the footsteps of Ms Hungerford.

I reported to Personnel. Having completed all the usual formalities, I was taken to Nick Latham’s office and he came out to meet me.

“Jackie, welcome to the team. I do hope that you will enjoy working with us. If you’d like to come into the playpen, we can go over your part in our plans for world domination.”

I laughed along with him and followed him into his office. He sat down and motioned me into one of the comfy chairs. I noticed that he didn’t flop into the chair but sort-of flowed gracefully into it. He didn’t lounge in the chair but sat upright with his legs crossed at the ankles and with his hands in his lap.

Strange.

He didn’t tell me my duties; he just seemed to invite me to tell him what I could do. I found myself taking on more responsibility than I’d ever dreamed of and was becoming increasingly excited about the future. I ended up feeling like I was the leader of the orchestra and he was the conductor.

Cathy chuckled as I walked out in a daze. “Jackie, apart from the lack of injury and bruising, you look as though you’ve just been hit by a train.”

“I seem to have taken on much more than I ever thought I could,” I said, gratefully accepting the cup of coffee that she offered me.

“Yes, he’s a bit like that, it’s no wonder that the team is so successful; after half an hour with him, you feel that you really could conquer the world.”

I wondered if she was the Significant Other that I thought must be lurking somewhere behind Nick Latham.

Jackie Oliver’s new colleagues changed her life in ways she could never have imagined.

This story is fiction. There is no sex and no pornography, and medical diagnoses are not claimed to be accurate. Any similarity to, or difference from, reality is coincidental. Global Synthetic Developments (UK) Ltd is a fictitious company.

The Boss - 2 of 8 — Occupation

Day followed day as they tend to do. Over the next few weeks, I met all the team. I quickly put faces to names, and names to faces, for whom I booked travel, hotels and appointments; slotted files into drawers and shelves; collected coffees; collected buns - the edible variety, usually sticky and with either fresh cream filling or icing on top and used regularly for birthday and other celebrations; ordered stationery; prepared, proofed and bound presentations and reports; liaised with other departments; provided a first-line computer helpdesk; did basic computer training and acted as a human calendar. I even managed the odd bit of shorthand and typing; there wasn’t much call for it as everyone in the team had their own laptop PC, but it did come in handy at team meetings.

I’d also enlarged my circle of friends, with whom I indulged in lunches, dinners, drinks, shopping, theatre visits and so on and was kept very busy indeed. After a month, I was beginning to wonder just how many people I’d replaced.

My first payslip arrived, and I took great delight in pointing out my job title - Marketing Administrator — to my friends when we met that evening at “The Globe”. They all came along to share in my good fortune. I say all because where Richard is, you can be sure to find Anthony. If they didn’t work in separate places, I’d swear that they were glued at the hip, or somewhere unmentionable.

Then there was Nick Latham. He wasn’t a sociable animal; he seemed - ‘socially distant’ is about the only thing I could come up with. He never, to my knowledge, took work home; he was too good a manager for that, and delegated virtually everything. He wasn’t unfriendly; he just didn’t mix with the rest of the team. I soon came to the conclusion that he was very shy.

The more I got to know her, the more I noticed certain things about Cathy Hungerford that seemed to confirm that she was not the Significant Other in Nick Latham’s life. And it didn’t take me much longer to decide that Nick had no Significant Other. There was something about him that was both intriguing and puzzling. He just didn’t relate to any of us women as had other men that I’d known; he didn’t seem to have any traditional male interests either — you know, beer, sport, cars and women. If he did, he kept them outside the office. He was as different from Eddie as a tomato is from a potato.

The first Saturday of August threatened to break all sunshine and temperature records and one word immediately sprang to mind - BEACH.

Chrissie, one of the sales executives, with whom I’d spent a few evenings over the past month overdosing on rock guitar legends and Chinese food, decided that we ought to ”show the men of Bournemouth what they were missing”. I was still bruised from my disastrous brush with Eddie. Truth be told, I now couldn’t be bothered about relationships; far too much trouble to sort the crap from the rubbish, far too much risk of damage and far too much, too soon, of anything involving putting my feelings in the public arena. Against my better judgement we went to Bournemouth.

Oh well, if push comes to shove, I can always play the stuck up bitch - and I should be safe enough on a day trip, with Chrissie to help me fend off unwanted attention

We chatted amiably while waiting at the rail station. Then, with one minute to go, the talking computer announced that the train was late. As we now had twenty five minutes to wait before the new departure time, I suggested coffee.

You know; it still winds me up that some jumped-up overpaid moron thinks that we’ll settle for a computer apologising for their shortcomings. Imagine; you go to use your microwave or your cooker and get a message like “Bing-bong Hello, I’m having an unscheduled day off; come back tomorrow Bing-bong ”

On our way to the coffee shop, affectionately known by us natives as Slurp Central, I thought I spotted a familiar face. She looked to be in her early-twenties, had blonde hair with a pair of sunglasses perched on top, and curves in all the right places. She was wearing a cerise strappy top and a white, summer skirt with a pattern of cerise roses. A pair of sling-back white sandals, a white shoulder bag and simple but tasteful, and by no means cheap, jewellery completed the look. She was towing a small silver-coloured suitcase on wheels and heading towards the London train.

I spent much of the journey to Bournemouth trying to work out where I might have seen her before.

Chrissie noticed that I was distracted. “You’re not with me, love, are you?” she astutely observed after twenty minutes.

“There was a woman at the station, and I can’t lose the feeling that I’ve seen her before; it’s driving me nuts.” I resolved to put the matter out of my head and just enjoy the day.

Bournemouth seemed to attract more than its fair share of families. We made our way to the beach, and must have walked the best part of half a mile to find an area that wasn’t occupied by most of the population of Dorset. A strategically placed ice-cream stall and our picnic lunches kept us fed and watered for the day and we spent a very pleasant time in and out of the water, alternately swimming and tanning.

It was during the journey home that the resemblance hit me. I had no idea whether or not Nick Latham had a sister but, if he did, Miss Blonde at the train station could easily have been her. The more I thought about it, the more certain I was. But could I ask him? Was it really any of my business? No, on both counts.

“Morning Jackie, good weekend?” chorused the assembled company as I carefully balanced the team’s post and my contribution to the occasional product quality test of the local baker’s shop, and gingerly made my way to my desk.

“Saturday was great,” I replied while receiving approving lip-smacking noises for my choice of elevenses. It was nobody’s birthday but I’d been working there for near enough three months; I decided that a little celebration was in order, so I treated them to a gooey cake each.

The weather was still quite hot, and was I ever glad that Global Synthetic Developments had efficient air-conditioning in their United Kingdom headquarters building. The temperature dropped from an oppressive ‘melt you in an instant’ to a ‘pleasant summer breeze’ the minute you walked through the main entrance.

I fired up my computer and, while the overgrown calculator and its licensed virus - sorry, operating system - decided whether or not they would talk to each other, I glanced towards Nick’s office. There he was in one of the armchairs: legs tucked under him, a clipboard in his lap and surrounded by papers. As Team Administrator I looked upon it as part of my job to ensure that he was well supplied with the plastic coffee that was dispensed by the machine near the lift. There wasn’t a cup on his table so I got up, negotiated with the vending machine and knocked on the open door.

“Morning Nick, coffee?”

“Oh, hello Jackie, thank you very much. Did you manage to take advantage of the glorious weather over the weekend?”

I thought about the mystery woman at the station but settled for “Yes: Chrissie and I went to Bournemouth for the day on Saturday. We spent the day swimming and sunbathing.”

“That’s good, I’m so glad that you are settling in and making friends. I’m impressed with how quickly you’ve become an asset to the team. Would you please take care of a booking for me? I’ve e-mailed you the outline. You’ll find details of the hotel and my usual travel arrangements on file.”

I took that as dismissal and returned to my desk. I still couldn’t get the woman at the station out of my mind but, gradually, over the next few hours, work inevitably got in the way of my thoughts.

On one of my daily trips to the staff restaurant - the food was good, plentiful and cheap - I’d spotted an advertisement for someone to share a house. When things in the department had run down from manic to simply breakneck speed, I keyed the number, introduced myself, and we agreed to lunch the following day.

Judy Miller was about my height, was slim, dark-haired and wore spectacles. She had a lovely smile that showed a couple of rows of perfect white teeth. She wore a white round-neck tee with green lettering which assured me that “I’M LIVING PROOF THAT DREAMS CAN COME TRUE,” grey slightly flared trousers and low-heeled sandals.

“It’s a modern two-bedroom place with a small garden,” she explained, “but the rent is too much for me on my own. Lindsay was with me for a couple of years. She was working towards her doctorate, but decided to throw all that away and marry some stockbroker from Surrey. I ask you!”

I laughed; while thinking that there was no way that I would ever again get myself hooked up with a bloke.

The house sounded like a great improvement on rent-a-dump, so I went that evening to give it the once-over. The result of all this was my giving notice at Guildford Road and moving in with Judy as soon as I could.

Autumn weather was very kind to us. I loved my job, and Judy and I were getting on famously at Winter Road. From a rescue centre, we got a tom-cat called Spook. I was content. Judy was out most evenings with her boyfriend. I spent some time with the gang, but otherwise stayed at home and watched television. When he wasn’t trawling the neighbourhood and seducing the local feline talent, Spook would often leap onto the sofa and favour me as his cushion. I loved it when he chose to stretch out on my lap, his soft white paws tucked neatly underneath him, while I gently stroked his silky black fur. He was the only male I could bear so close to me, other than Richard and Anthony — and they didn’t count.

My mind was in serious relax-mode as, one weekend, Sally, Judy, Chrissy, Richard, Anthony and I all went up to London to see the musical show ‘Mama Mia’. ABBA was definitely not Emmy’s scene; anyway, she was working. We planned to travel by train on the Saturday morning, stay overnight at a posh hotel, and return after a bit of sight-seeing on the Sunday.

We again all met at the train station and made for the London train. Sally, walking closely behind me, bumped into me as I suddenly stopped, sucked in my breath and said to myself, “You again; I wish I knew who you are.”

For there, wearing a red dress and jacket, and heading for the first-class carriage, was Miss Blonde. She’d changed her hair style a bit but it certainly looked like her.

“Oomph! I do wish you’d give me notice next time you stop to admire the scenery.” Sally pointed to a tall, dark-haired man half-way down the platform.

I muttered an apology and picked up my pace. By the time I was halfway along the platform, Miss Blonde was lost in the crowd.

In London, we headed towards the Tate Modern gallery for some serious culture shock. That’d be Anthony’s idea; paintings, pots, bits of twisted metal and weird mechanical things that did a lot and achieved nothing.

Such things left me cold, but Anthony fairly drooled.

The painting was called “Bottle in a Lake”. I couldn’t see a bottle and I think the lake must have dried up years ago. To me, the whole thing just looked like a child’s building brick set that had fallen out of its box.

Anthony, of course, raved about it. If it had been for sale, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see it hanging on their living room wall next time I visited.

Still, it was fairly warm weather and we soon adjourned to a pub by the Thames to eat, drink and become slightly merry as the day progressed. My thoughts kept turning to Miss Blonde; who the hell was she? She bore more than a passing resemblance to Nick and I became more and more certain that I was experiencing irregular sightings of his dear sister. Then I mentally slapped myself. This was stupid; why was I so obsessed with a total stranger? What did it matter anyway? I resolved to forget her.

We eventually arrived at the theatre and took our seats. The unashamedly romantic plot cleverly weaves together nearly two dozen numbers by ABBA, Sweden’s Eurovision song contest winners in 1974.

I watched the young actress on stage as the lights dimmed. A single dim spot softly lit her face and, as the first bars of the chorus started, my eyes teared up. “The winner takes it all; the loser’s standing small….” The song could have been written for me. My previous relationships had been doomed to failure, but I still was an incurable romantic.

What a stupid expression; did I want to be a cured romantic? Sounds like something you do with ham; cured ham is preserved in some way, often by smoking (no, not tobacco). Oh, I give up; look it up in Wikipedia.

Much singing along later, we fell out of the theatre and into our hotel. After a leisurely breakfast, we set off down Piccadilly to Green Park and Buckingham Palace. We had lunch in Mayfair, then made our way back towards Waterloo Station and the train home. It wasn’t a cheap excursion by any means but, what the heck, we needed to party and this was the way to do it.

Those of us Global Syntheticists - is there such a word? — re-hashed the weekend over lunch the following day. We agreed that we’d had a super time and, when funds permitted, we’d do the whole thing again. Well, the weekend, not the same show.

Life went on and all was fine until an incident in late November upset the balance of my simple life.

Chrissie, Maggie and Sue, all from the sales team, together with Emmy, Judy, Sally and I, decided that the place to do Christmas shopping was London. We picked a Saturday in late November — YES, I know, no-one in their right mind shops in London that close to Christmas. We didn’t have a lot of choice. Before then, I had no money; Chrissie, Maggie and Sue had been away on business; Emmy had been busy, and I don’t know what Judy’s or Sally’s excuses were.

Anyway, we all headed for the early train and, amazingly enough, found seven seats together. Girl talk occupied us for the entire journey to London and, when we arrived, thoughts naturally turned to Starbucks, where we would plan the day. Space was tight so Chrissie, Emmy, Sue and I stood in the queue while Judy, Sally and Maggie were sent off to grab a couple of adjacent tables.

We were just working out where to start, have lunch and so on, when I became aware of a conversation at a table near the wall. I recognised the voice and, over the background noise, I caught —

“Where shall we start, Debbie, Oxford Circus?”

“That sounds good to me. We could go to Selfridges for gifts for Mummy and Daddy.”

I shivered as I thought of my parents, and old feelings threatened to re-surface.

The adjacent conversation continued.

“Yes, I suppose that we could.”

“Nikki, I was wondering if…”

They continued talking about their plans for the day. I turned slowly in my seat and was astounded to see two identical Miss Blondes.

The Boss - 3 of 8 — Duplication

My jaw dropped; they appeared to be twins. They both finished their coffee and got up to go. The one who had answered to Debbie gave a little smile and finger wave in our direction before they went.

I turned to Chrissie and said, “Do you know those two?”

She laughed. “Oh yes, that’s Nikki and Debbie; didn’t you know?”

“Nikki and Debbie?”

She laughed. “Nick’s alter ego and his sister.”

The light-bulb finally went on. “Nick, as in Latham?”

“That’s the one.”

That told me a lot. She obviously knew the Misses Blonde; she appeared to be comfortable with the idea of working for a boss who, on the face of it, spent his weekends as someone else, and the other twin knew, and accepted, Nick Latham’s other self.

“I had no idea, although Nick always struck me as a bit effeminate. But…?”

She laughed again. “Effeminate? I suppose you could say that. We’ve known them both for a long time. Nick makes no secret of Nikki, although he doesn’t rub our noses in it, so to speak, and he doesn’t seem to let it interfere with his work. He’s a brilliant manager — even if his hobby is a bit unusual. He treats us like human beings, doesn’t hit on us and talks his team up to the bosses whenever he gets the chance. That makes him okay in my book. And have you ever had a boss who couldn’t keep his hands to himself?”

I nodded in an understanding way. Chrissie, like me, was quite well endowed. I remembered Ben Chapel after my interview for the job; he looked... well, he looked. I suspect that he’d have touched if he could have got away with it.

“Well, Nick can, and does.”

I was completely taken aback; I didn’t know what to say. I again did my goldfish impression until one of the others said, “Come on, time’s a-wasting and we’ve shopping to do.”

We all drained our cups and headed for the door.

I couldn’t keep my mind from straying to what I’d just learned, and then it immediately flashed back to my previous sightings of Miss Blonde; had they been of the sister, Debbie, or of Nick/Nikki? Or was it Nikki and Debbie on different occasions?

We had quite a successful shopping expedition despite the crowds and eventually returned, knackered but satisfied, to catch our train home. Armed with several bags of Christmas gifts each, we struggled to find seats in a packed train whose main occupants seemed to be most of a football team fan club, noisily celebrating a win over their arch-rivals.

I couldn’t get Nick out of my mind; it didn’t appear that senior management had an issue with his hobby, assuming that they knew about it. After all, it’s not something you could keep secret for long. He obviously didn’t let it affect his work and what he got up to outside the office was none of their business — unless it brought the company into disrepute.

Oh yeah, I knew all about that: senior management had closed ranks around Eddie and ‘disrepute’ had been one of the arguments used to force me out of Carlisle Associates. It was all bullshit, but what chance did a mere secretary have?

All too soon, Monday again found me outside Nick’s office. “Hello Nick, coffee” I said brightly after knocking on his office door and entering.

“Good morning, Jackie. Thanks.”

I contented myself with few words and left him to his planning or whatever. He had again been sitting, legs tucked under him, and working on a clipboard. Sheets of paper were strewn all over his coffee table and it looked as though he’d been there for hours. I felt that something had changed between us but wasn’t sure exactly what it was. All I did know was that I couldn’t get them out of my head. Nikki, Debbie, Nikki, Debbie. The names had played over and over all day yesterday and most of the weekend, resulting in a feeling this morning of running on autopilot.

We were in the playpen, as Nick liked to call it. We’d just had a team meeting and everyone else had gone. I was gathering my papers prior to typing the minutes of the meeting, when Nick brought me up short.

“Debbie would like to meet you.”

“Pardon?”

“My sister Debbie would like to meet you.”

I was stunned. “But…why?”

“She knows the rest of the team and you and the gang were in the coffee shop when we were in London.”

“But what about…”

“Yes?” He smiled.

“Does she know all your team?” It wasn’t what I really wanted to ask.

“Yes, Debbie’s the company’s legal expert.”

“Where does she work?”

“She has an office on the first floor, but spends most of her time at her practice in King’s Court.”

I sighed; now I had to mention ‘That other thing’. “And when you were in the coffee shop…”

“Yes?”

This wasn’t going to be easy. “You…You and …Nikki?”

“Nikki. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Er….”

”Many of the staff are members of minorities.”

To give myself time, I asked, “Wh…what do you mean?”

“When John Andrews started the company, he determined that staff who are members of minorities wouldn’t have to go through what he’d suffered when he started work. Now, the company actively recruits members of minorities — assuming, of course, that all other factors are right. You know, can do the job; have a pleasant personality; accept others as they are, and so on.”

“Why did he have a problem?”

“John Andrews is an engineer; he’s also gay. His partner, Billy, is the Chief Designer. When John first started work, after his apprenticeship, his employer wasn’t good with minorities, to say the least; his colleagues sabotaged his machine and nearly killed him. They also managed to have him blamed for things he didn’t do. The company turned a blind eye to the harassment and literally drove him to resign. His family took the company and some of the staff to the legal cleaners.”

“Oh, that’s dreadful!”

Nick continued. “Shortly afterwards, he had his big idea and used the money to start GSD. He vowed that nobody who worked for him would ever suffer the same fate. He’s very focussed as far as that sort of thing is concerned.” He paused. “So will you meet Debbie?”

“I suppose I could.”

“Right then.” He looked very decisive.

“Where and when?” I asked.

“Well, we can either meet in the staff restaurant or you could come to dinner — that is, if you don’t mind Nikki being there. Shall I ask one of the other girls as well? Would you feel more comfortable?”

I said I’d think about it and we both went back to our work. I couldn’t concentrate; I realised I didn’t have much of a problem with meeting in the restaurant — it seemed like neutral ground — but I wasn’t sure about going to dinner; that was a whole new ball game — and I wasn’t sure how I felt about playing on their turf. At least in the restaurant he should be normal.

I presume he must be gay to dress in women’s clothes. Or is he one of those fetish people? You know, does it because it gives him a sexual thrill? Euch! He surely can’t have a partner; I can’t imagine any woman putting up with that sort of thing.

I then shivered at the thought that he might have a male partner; now that I just couldn’t understand. Then again, the Big Cheese has one; so does my mate Richard. I shuddered, and tried to think of something else. I failed.

Nick seemed always to keep himself to himself, he didn’t come on to the women in the office — nearly all of his team were women after all — and he didn’t give the impression of being interested in the other blokes. Was he interested, but didn’t have the confidence? He didn’t look gay, if you know what I mean; all limp wrist and affected speech. I thought of Richard, who was obviously gay, and Anthony, who was gay but wasn’t obvious, and realised that he didn’t seem to behave like either of them. Nick was an enigma.

I walked into the staff restaurant and recognised Debbie straight away. It wasn’t difficult; there was no doubting that they were twins.

Nick greeted me. “Jackie Oliver, meet Debbie Latham, my younger sister.”

We shook hands, and I noticed that she was a little taller than Nick but, otherwise, identical. Then I mentally smacked myself on the head; of course she was taller — she was wearing heels!

“You are a bitch, Nikki! I’m only a few minutes younger than you are, as you well know. Jackie, I’m so pleased to meet you at last; I hear you’re doing great things in marketing. Don’t mind the sibling rivalry; we do it all the time, but we’re best friends really!”

She called him a bitch? And Nikki? I forced a smile. “I’m sure we’d all feel disappointed if I slowed down the runaway train.”

Debbie laughed, and we went to queue for our meals. “Are you happy at GSD? You’ve not been here long, have you?” she asked me, when we’d settled ourselves at a table.

“I love it, and I just love the house that I live in now. It’s only a few minutes from here by bus and so convenient for shops and so on. And I get on really well with Judy, my housemate. I’m certainly glad that I came to work for this company.”

“Are you and Judy…?”

“Just friends and housemates,” I said, hurriedly, not wanting to leave her with the wrong impression.

“I’m sorry, I’m not hinting at anything, just.…”

She seemed to be good at that. I guess it’s the lawyer coming out; ask half a sentence and let the other person hang themselves with the other half.

“You appear to be comfortable with Nick’s, um….?” It was my turn to not finish the sentence, as I waved in Nick’s general direction.

“Nikki’s my sister; of course I’m comfortable with her.”

She called him Nikki again? And her sister?

“Well, it came as something of a surprise. I kept seeing you heading for a train and knew that you reminded me of someone.”

“It wasn’t always me.”

“Er… Oh? You mean, um...? And in the coffee shop in London.…”

“Yes, I can imagine that threw you if you had no idea.”

I changed the subject; I wasn’t too comfortable talking about Nikki and her travels. “Nick said that you wanted to meet me. Why?”

“Well, I’ve met all the others in the team and I thought I’d like to get to know the latest recruit. Sorry it took so long but I’ve been on holiday and then very busy with work. I try to meet everyone in the company as soon as possible after they join us; and we like to think we’re a happy family here. People aren’t taken on unless they give the impression that they would fit in. And as the company legal representative, I am available to the staff for consultation on legal matters. These range from buying a house to problems due to being a member of a minority. I have a brief from the company to look after staff interests. It benefits the company, of course, because everyone just gets on with everyone else.”

“Oh,” I replied, “What problems do minorities bring to you?”

“Well, not exactly problems, more issues. For example we have people who get around on powered scooters; our Premises Manager was a refugee from Uganda; our post room supervisor lost an arm in an industrial accident; there are at least two people who were transsexual; a number of our staff, including the MD, are gay; we have people from a dozen different countries around the world and there are adherents to several faiths and none. Oh, and the Marketing Manager you know about.”

They both grinned.

“What does transsexual mean? Is that like on ‘Jerry Springer’? Very high heels and big hair?” I asked.

“Rarely. It’s a word to describe someone who lives, or needs to live, in the opposite gender role from that which they were assigned at birth. So a woman who appeared to be a male baby is, or was, probably transsexual. It’s not always the case; bear in mind that everyone is different. And don’t forget; it’s not exclusive to females. We have men who were registered as female babies as well, and in most cases you just wouldn’t know.”

“Oh.”

Well, the post room supervisor, and the people with the powered chairs should be obvious, and I presume that the Ugandan woman is black, but what about the others? Surely a gay man should be obvious, shouldn’t he? If he’s like Richard, he would be but, if what if he’s like Anthony? A bloke in a mini-dress and high heels should be obvious as well. But then, Debbie said that Nikki.… And I’ve seen Nick out and about — well I think I have, but then just what have I seen? I’m confused.

I settled for “You seem to have your work cut out.”

“Not really; GSD is one of the friendliest places I’ve seen. Everyone just seems to get on with everyone else. It’s the outsiders that are usually the problem; our people try not to put themselves in the firing line.”

“How long have John and Billy been together?”

“About twenty years.”

“Crikey, that’s longer than many marriages.” I winced as I thought of how short mine had been — and why.

She smiled and nodded, not asking me to explain my facial expression, thank goodness.

We talked for a good hour after we’d finished lunch and I felt a little more comfortable with them both as we left the restaurant. Debbie’s parting shot threw me.

“Would you like to come to dinner one evening?”

I hummed and hawed. Debbie was as good at dropping you in the brown smelly stuff as Nick was; I presumed that it was a twin thing, or maybe one had learned from the other.

“I thought we’d have a little dinner party, just us girls.”

“Us girls?”

“You could bring Judy and we could make up, say, eight.”

I felt a little relieved that it wasn’t a one-to-one occasion but asked, tentatively, “Who did you have in mind? Do I know them?”

“You’ve almost certainly noticed Angela Bradfield, one of our Security Officers; ex-army PTI, very tall and fit, brown hair, used to manage the gym where I go for aerobics and things. Her partner is Suzanne Fletcher, who works in IT.”

Angela’s a lesbian? I never knew. Mind you, she could probably flatten me with one blow. I can imagine her dominating Suzanne, who is a timid, mousy girl with glasses, and who doesn’t say “boo” to a goose. I’d wondered about Cathy Hungerford, though she doesn’t give anything away in the office. Maybe she isn’t - you know…?

“I suppose I could,” I said, not very certain at all. “Who else?”

“Well, how about you and Judy, Angela and Suzanne, Joanna Madeley and Theresa Vernon, Nikki and I?”

Joanna? Theresa? And Nikki?

I looked quizzically at her.

“Joanna is a designer and married to Kevin, the Head Office Building Manager; Theresa is my junior partner. Joanna and I have been friends for years; we went to school together.”

How do I get myself into these situations?

I wasn’t entirely comfortable, and tried to get my thoughts together.

Debbie took my hesitation for acceptance. It looked like a done deal. “Next weekend okay? Friday or Saturday?”

I nodded weakly. “I’ll speak to Judy; she might be out with her boyfriend.”

Judy was dating another Kevin, a tall, well-built auto fitter with large but gentle eyes and huge hands. If the rest of him was in proportion, it was no wonder that Judy walked around most of the day with a smile on her face. They’d been an item for quite a while and if I read the writing on the wall correctly, I’d need either a new housemate or new accommodation in the near future.

But Nikki?

I don’t know what Nikki looks like. On second thoughts, of course I do, Nikki looks like Debbie, and I’ve seen her and heard her speak in the coffee shop, haven’t I? I guess I’m going to find out soon enough if I can cope with Nikki being there. But what do I say to Judy? Does she know about Nick? I suppose there was only one way to find out.

Judy’s Kevin was away on a course for a few days - something about new electronic auto testing equipment. Anyway, that left Judy “up for a little adventure on Friday evening”.

I confirmed with Nick and he said he’d tell Debbie. He looked pleased; I don’t know how I felt. Then there was the inevitable ‘what do I wear?’ Nick said “girls’ night; posh frocks” when I finally plucked up the courage to ask.

It still doesn’t seem quite right, asking your male boss what you should wear to an all-girl dinner party. Well, sort-of....

The Boss Part 4

More stereotypes shot down, more misunderstandings and more about Cathy Hungerford

The Boss - 4 of 8 - Education

Judy and I easily found the house; I suspect that it had a fair number of noughts on the end of the price tag, as it was in a posh part of town. It wasn’t very far from the house in which I grew up. ‘Them to avoid like the plague’, otherwise known as my parents, moved to Portsmouth a few years ago and were now well out of my way, thank goodness. This place looked like it should have staff. Electric gates gave onto a car park that fronted a huge mansion where I was sure you had to have a bath before you got into their bath.

Nikki (or was it Debbie?) greeted us both with a kiss on the cheek, after I’d introduced Judy. My uncertainty over the identity of the twin who opened the door to us was quickly dispelled.

“Hello, you two — perfect timing; come on into the kitchen and help yourselves to a glass of bubbly. The others are in there already. Debbie and Theresa are sorting out the food; dinner is nearly ready.”

When I’d seen Nikki/Debbie heading for a train, I’d been struck by her fabulous figure — whoever she was. I was unnervingly reminded of this as we followed Nikki into the house; I watched her backside wiggling provocatively in her royal blue silk mini-dress and showing all her bodily attributes to perfection. Altogether, a gorgeous figure, with smooth, tanned legs that many women would kill for. My mind wasn’t the fastest thing on earth and it took me a few seconds to react to the vision before me.

Hang on! This is Nikki, who is really Nick, and he has breasts, and a figure like that?

Nikki’s sexy walk was enhanced by impossibly high heeled sandals which I’d have found totally impractical, but with which she appeared to have no problem at all. I felt decidedly inferior in the presence of this stunningly beautiful woman. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain, the question had festered; it chose that moment to raise itself in my consciousness. Just how did Nick transform so easily into Nikki - or was it the other way around?

The kitchen was huge, with modern oak furniture and stainless steel appliances. It led through an archway into a dining room, with a table which could easily seat a dozen people. Debbie smiled a greeting as she, and a dark-haired girl who looked like she’d just entered college, and who she introduced as Theresa, took items from an oven. We were all given little tasks, and Judy and I ended up ferrying dishes of vegetables to the dining room. Nikki served as wine waitress and as we had all been pre-warned to arrive by taxi, we became merrier and more relaxed as the night wore on and the Latham’s wine cellar became more depleted.

After introductions all round, the conversation ranged from our dresses, hair and makeup, via our jobs to our histories. Eventually, inevitably, we were all asked about relationships and Judy, under the influence of half a bottle of wine, revealed more than she’d intended about Kevin’s prowess in the horizontal tango. Joanna, despite the wine, was still a little reticent about her Kevin’s performance; her smile, though, said much more than she put into words.

Angela dwarfed everyone else in the room, and had legs that seemed to go on forever. She and Suzanne, who were both very beautiful women, didn’t say much at all but their intimate glances, and the fact that you’d have been challenged to slide a piece of tissue paper between the two of them all evening, spoke volumes about how they felt about each other. I soon realised that I’d got them totally wrong; they were by no means the typical ‘Dominant/submissive’ couple I’d imagined.

I did my best to surreptitiously deflect the conversation; by and large, I think I succeeded. Nikki occasionally glanced at me but I didn’t feel that the glances were at all suggestive.

I knew that they worked together, but Theresa and Debbie didn’t appear to be an item. I had no idea about their sexual orientation and any partners they might have. They didn’t mention it and I didn’t pry.

All too soon, the evening drew to a close. Nikki and Debbie wouldn’t hear of us helping to clear up and said that they would deal with it. Taxis were called, hugs were shared, cheeks were kissed and we all headed home. All, that is, except Nikki and Debbie, whose house it was.

In the taxi, I tried to make conversation, but struggled to find the words.

Judy helped me out when she said, “Thanks for arranging that; it was fun!”

Back home, I realised that I’d really enjoyed the evening, having met some new people and had a good time. I think that what helped enormously was the fact that there were a number of us; ‘safety in numbers’ sprang to mind. I was sure that I’d have struggled with a smaller group.

In the office the following Monday, I did the usual coffee run and placed a cup in front of Nick. Curled up as usual under a mountain of paper, he smiled a ‘thank you’ at me and asked if we’d enjoyed the dinner.

I settled for “Thank you; we both enjoyed it very much, particularly meeting new people.”

Then he surprised me with “Debbie really likes you.”

Apart from “Oh”, I had no idea what to say. I stood there for ten seconds or so as though struck dumb. Then I mumbled something about ‘work to do’ and escaped. I returned to my desk and sat down, burying my head in my hands.

Cathy Hungerford, of all people, chose that moment to walk past. She hesitated. “Jackie?”

“I think I’ve a headache coming on. You don’t have some Paracetamol by any chance?”

She returned a few moments later and slipped a packet of pain relief tablets into my hand. “You know I’m not supposed to do this — but I didn’t anyway.”

“Thanks ever so much.”

“Sure you’ll be alright?”

“Give me a few minutes — and thanks again for the tablets which you didn’t give me.” I suppose that lightened the mood a little and we exchanged weak smiles before I scooted off to the water cooler in the lift lobby and downed a couple of the pills. I then went to the ladies’ room and locked myself into a cubicle.

Talk about having your life turned upside down. I vowed after Eddie that I’d have nothing more to do with relationships; instead, I appear to have the company lawyer coming on to me. I know they fascinated me when I saw them — well, him… her…one of them - at the station, but this was a different matter entirely. And why didn’t she say anything herself? Don’t tell me she’s shy, I don’t believe it. You don’t get to be a lawyer without having some … Oh, I don’t know.

And what about Nick/Nikki? Did Debbie mention her feelings or did Nikki just pick up on it? And why didn’t I pick up on it? And I still don’t know if Nick’s a she or Nikki is a he - or something.

I used to be uncertain, but now I’m just not sure

I almost laughed at the thoughts which were occupying what Hercule Poirot, Agatha Christie’s fictional Belgian detective, would call my “little grey cells”. I can think of better ways for them to be occupied. Sleep would be good - unlikely, but good. Eventually, I couldn’t hide away anymore — even though I just wanted to go home and lose myself in sleep. I returned to my desk and shuffled papers for a while, to try and get myself back into the swing of things.

Maggie Wood, one of the Sales Executives, asked for some help putting together a presentation for a sales pitch, and so Powerpoint managed to keep me occupied for the rest of the day. I escaped - well, it felt like an escape - at the usual time and headed for the bus stop and home.

Judy must have seen that I was preoccupied all evening because she kept glancing in my direction. It got to the stage where I was looking for something fragile to smash. When I started to look upon the television as a potential target, I said goodnight and retired to my room.

Sleep didn’t come easily, even though I was tired, and kept yawning. I just couldn’t get Debbie, and Nick’s remarks, out of my mind. By two o’clock I was still restless and turned on my little television to look for a movie; I thought it might take my mind off things.

I woke at seven in the morning and realised that I must have fallen asleep at some point. I turned off the television and got out of bed. I could hear Judy moving about, so I found a cotton wrap and headed for the kitchen.

Over breakfast, she asked me what was wrong the previous day. How do I explain? Where do I start? “It’s complicated.”

She rested a hand on mine. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I’d already confided in her that I’d split from Eddie, but not all the gory details. I told her the rest of the story of my brief but disastrous marriage and she winced. Getting up, she came over and hugged me.

“Just give my Kevin the tip and we’ll make sure Eddie loses any interest in fathering children.”

“Don’t be silly; it’s not all his fault, he just didn’t have the patience to deal with it. The serious blame should be with my family, especially my parents.”

“Well, we’ll look after you.”

“Thanks, but you’ll be off with Kevin soon and then I’ll have to make… other arrangements.”

“We haven’t worked anything out yet so there’s plenty of time. And, as I said, we’ll look after you.”

“Thanks.” Then I promptly burst into tears. “It’s more difficult than that.”

“Oh?”

“Nick gave me a message yesterday; Debbie likes me.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“No, you don’t understand. Debbie really likes me.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Yes; Oh.”

“What does that mean?”

“Does she fancy me or what?”

Judy took my hand across the table. ”What do you think of Debbie?”

“I dunno. Alright, I suppose.”

“Do you fancy her?”

“Judy!”

“Well I only asked!”

We cleared the breakfast things, dressed, and headed for the office.

The subject of Debbie didn’t come up again that week, thank goodness. I carefully avoided Nick except where strictly necessary and kept our conversations to the essential minimum.

I was grateful that Nick was on his travels for a few days, and visitors to the department were few and far between. One of the few was Ian Hazelton, the Distribution Manager.

Ian’s department ensured that the warehouses had enough stock to meet the fluctuating demand that seemed to characterise our products. He was a regular visitor to our team, and I would say I was fairly comfortable with him as a colleague. Most men were okay — as long as I was surrounded by friends. Of course, I didn’t count Richard and Anthony in this — they’re special, perhaps because I didn’t view them as a possible threat.

On Friday morning, Ian had a long meeting with Cathy — who ran the department when Nick was away - and stopped at my desk on his way back to the second floor.

“Hello Jackie; so the boy wonder is on his travels?”

“Hello Ian. Nick’s in Ireland.”

“Look, I realise that this is a bit sudden, but would you like to go out for dinner one evening?”

Thunk — right between the eyes

I hope he didn’t notice my shudder, as memories of Eddie courting me flooded my mind. I’d no idea what to say so just came out with “Err… Can I think about it?”

He smiled, sheepishly.

“Of course. But I do find you extremely attractive. Every time I come up here I look out for you especially.”

“Oh.”

He smiled, and then left.

I didn’t know what to think. Ian was alright as a colleague, but could I feel comfortable with him on a date — would you call it a date? I suppose I ought to feel flattered; all I felt was panic. I started to shake and, once more, beat a hasty retreat to that sanctuary of sanctuaries, the ladies room, where I locked myself in a cubicle and dissolved into floods of tears. Cried? I didn’t know that one person could produce quite so much fluid from their tear ducts.

I obviously lingered a bit too long. I heard the main door open and Cathy’s voice ask, “Jackie?”

I calmed down to an occasional mild hiccough and a whimper, sighed and quietly acknowledged her. “In here.”

“Do you want to talk?”

I eventually opened the door of the cubicle and walked over to the wash-basin. My eyes were very red and I was still emotionally near the edge. Cathy smiled gently and held me as I ran down to an occasional snivel.

As I washed my face, dried my hands and did my best to repair my damaged makeup, she gently asked again, “We could go into the playpen, or find some other quiet office where we won’t be disturbed. Only if you want to.”

I sighed again and realised that I’d worked with Cathy for some time, but still knew nothing about her. At one time, I had thought that she was Nick’s significant other. Then I thought she might be a lesbian, but I didn’t see any sign of interest in the other women in the office. Now I was too confused to work out what I thought she was. I nodded, and then followed her to Nick’s office, grabbing a cup of water on the way.

I was very grateful when she lowered the blinds and slid the door sign to ‘Meeting in Progress’, a sure indication to everyone; ‘Do Not Disturb Except in an emergency’.

We sat and she said nothing, just giving me space. I realised that it was up to me to open the conversation. “As you may know, I’m single.”

“I thought you were divorced?”

“No — the marriage was annulled.”

A nod and a gentle smile urged me to go on.

I sighed. “We… didn’t get on; I suppose it was my fault.”

She leaned forward and put a hand on mine. “You don’t have to say any more if it’s painful.”

I smiled weakly. “Somehow, I think it might help to talk about it. But I know nothing about you, other than that Nick thinks you’re indispensable.”

She laughed. “I’m just one of a team; we support each other, and the sum of our strengths makes us the best team in the Company.”

“No wonder we’re so successful.” I faltered, not really knowing what to say, or how much.

She sat upright. “I’m twenty-eight, comfortably single and not really bothered about a relationship, although if it happens, it happens. I’ve loads of friends and lead a full social life. I’m not really bothered that, in ten years or so, my biological clock will be nearing the end of its battery life; in fact, I’m looking forward to it. How’s that for starters?”

Now it’s my turn; I’m still dreading this, despite Cathy’s efforts to put me at ease

I began hesitantly. “Okay. I’m twenty-five, briefly and disastrously married and parted, not sure if I could rake up the courage to embark on another relationship, fascinated beyond all reason by Nick and now have Ian Hazelton trying to date me. Oh, and Debbie Latham really likes me — whatever that may mean.”

“Oh dear; not easy.”

I laughed, mirthlessly. “No. I’d about resigned myself to a lonely single life; now I seem to have more friends than I’ve had hot dinners, and appear to have at least two people of different genders trying to get off with me.”

“How do you feel about Ian?”

“He seems okay as a colleague but I’m scared of him; it may be stupid, but that’s the way it is. He’s very different from Nick, but that’s not surprising, is it? And I don’t know whether he’s different ‘good’ or different ‘bad’. And most men would have me wanting to run a mile if they even smiled at me.”

“And Debbie?”

“I’m scared there, too.”

“Why?”

“Scared I’ll like being with her. She doesn’t seem like a threat — not like… when I was younger.”

“Has Nick shown any interest?”

I suddenly felt sick. “No, of course not; I mean, he’s gay, isn’t he?”

“Not necessarily, and it does seem to matter what you mean by gay. Look; I probably wouldn’t be far out if I guessed, but do you want to talk about it?”

The Boss Part 5

In which we learn about Jackie’s past; someone else gets caught in the backlash, and we understand a little of Nick’s split personality.

Part 5 of 8 - Confession

I started tentatively. Cathy had obviously worked out that I’d had a bad experience. She certainly got that one right.

“This job came out of the blue, and not before time, as I was fast running out of money. I’d already decided that I never wanted to put myself through the trauma of another relationship; I decided that I must grow old alone. I thought my childhood, or rather my Uncle Jack and my parents, well and truly screwed up any chance I ever had of happiness. I still have bad dreams sometimes; I have done for more than ten years.

“Although an only child, I‘d been a reasonably happy-go-lucky one. When I started secondary school, I had a lot of friends and not a care in the world. All that changed one fateful day when I was thirteen. Mum and Dad were away for the weekend and I had to stay with Mum’s sister and brother-in-law, Aunt Mary and her husband, Uncle Jack. All had seemed fine until the Saturday afternoon when Auntie had run out of flour and gone to the shops. I mean; just how long can it take to buy one bag of flour?

“That had left me alone with The Animal — that’s what I called him — and that had happened. I called him The Animal as that was the only way I could deal with it, by trying to make him nameless and faceless — although that leering face, that knew I could never win against it, will haunt me to my dying day.

“I’d always been taught to tell the truth, so I went home and told Mum and Dad. Imagine my horror when they said that it couldn’t have happened, I’d made it all up and I was soundly beaten for being an attention-seeking liar. Mum and Dad spent more and more time away from home and I had to spend even more time with Aunt Mary and The Animal. I’ve often wondered if Auntie knew what was going on, but was too weak to do anything about it.

“I didn’t even think of going to see our family doctor. He was ancient anyway and would very likely have sided with my parents. He’d have probably told them that I’d had underage sex with some boy.

“My schoolwork suffered and I became rebellious. My parents couldn’t or wouldn’t understand why. I started sleeping around, but had great difficulty sustaining any relationship beyond a few days. This wound Mum and Dad up and they kept asking me why I was doing it; I gave up trying to explain. Whenever I got onto the subject of Uncle Jack, I got another telling-off and, sometimes, a beating. They eventually put it down to my being a teenager. I had nobody to talk to; all my so-called friends, apart from Emmy and Richard, had deserted me — and I couldn’t confide in them for some reason. I was so angry with my parents for just ignoring me that I left home as soon as I could, and would rather see them dead than go back to live with them. I got the first job I could find and spent nearly all my wages on the rent for a crummy bed-sit. Maybe if he’d got me pregnant, I’d have something to show for the pain. It might have stopped, or Bastard and Stupid might have listened — although, knowing them, they’d have just called me a tramp and thrown me out anyway.

“When Eddie found me in the typing pool I grabbed at his attention like a lifebelt and threw myself at him. He no doubt was flattered — until it came to my being the domestic goddess. I just couldn’t do it; I couldn’t perform.

“The marriage went downhill fast and my life wasn’t fitted with brakes. I tried to tell Eddie about my past and asked him to be patient with me. He wanted a quick fix and got some fancy lawyer to annul the marriage. So I was out on my ear — from our house, Eddie’s life and my job. That’s about it really.”

Cathy looked increasingly horrified, gasping when I told her what Uncle Jack had done. I didn’t actually mention sexual abuse. I didn’t have to; she’s not stupid. Odd really; she seemed like the big sister I never had, and I opened up to her a lot easier than I’d ever done to anyone, even Emmy, whom I’d known for years.

When I’d finished, I was still in tears. Cathy came round the chair and hugged me through my despair. I was still rather tense; perhaps I thought that she might try to take advantage — but she didn’t. She just held me as I cried and made little soothing noises. She handed me some water. This calmed me a little and I began to get myself under control.

Eventually, I was all cried out, and she suggested that I just go home. Part of me wanted to do just that; yet another part just wanted to keep busy, in the hope that it might take my mind off our conversation.

“Cathy? Do you have a really big job I could do to take my mind off things for a couple of days?”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Then how about making a start on the team results for the last quarter?”

“Perfect.”

We left the office and I went to the ladies room again so I could make myself a bit more presentable. Didn’t want to frighten the horses, did I?

Monday rolled around and Nick was back. I was sure that I would need to spend a lot of time with him, whatever the decision about the expansion plans. I wasn’t wrong; he’d produced a couple of dozen pages of report, flowcharts, budgets, costs, and more and wanted to present them as a slide show to senior management as soon as possible. This suited me as it kept me busy for most of the week, and meant I rarely had to interact with anyone else. Nick made an appointment with his boss for the Friday morning.

Ian Hazelton visited again on the Tuesday afternoon to see Nick and stopped by my desk. “Hello Jackie; have you thought any more about what we discussed last week?”

Discussed? You asked, I panicked

“I…I’m sorry, Ian,” I stammered, “I’m just not ready for anything social.”

“Can I call you in a week or two?”

Is he thick? Can’t he take a hint?

“IAN; CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE IT?”

He visibly flinched from my verbal assault.

Then I realised what I’d been thinking. After all, he was paying me a compliment and he couldn’t know about my disastrous background. “I’m sorry I shouted; relationships are a sensitive subject.”

He shook his head as he walked away, muttering something like “I’ll never understand women”.

I sat with my head in my hands. I glanced up at Cathy and she smiled weakly in sympathy. She got up when Ian had gone, and came over to me.

“Still too raw?”

I nodded.

“It’ll work out.”

But what do I do about…”

“What exactly did Nick say?”

“He said, “Debbie really likes me”.”

“That doesn’t have to mean ‘in a relationship sense’, does it?”

“I suppose not, but what did he mean?”

“You could ask him.”

“God! No!”

She again gave me a little encouraging smile. “It’ll work out,” she said as she returned to her desk.

On the Friday, I was back into a more or less normal routine. Nick spent all day with senior management, and then took most of the next week to visit other department heads, such as production, distribution and premises.

I was pleased to be able to avoid him for several days but, inevitably, we were brought together for a team briefing about his Irish trip. He spent a lot of time outlining the pros and cons and, when the meeting broke up, and I’d gathered my notes, he asked me to stay. He closed the door and we both sat down.

“How would you feel about coming to dinner again, just you, me and Debbie?”

I didn’t know what to say; I felt like someone had just tripped me as I was taking a leisurely Sunday stroll.

“Nick, I…I’m not sure.”

“You’ve no need to be afraid of us; we don’t eat guests,” he said, gently.

It took me several minutes to calm down enough to think. Nick, bless him, said nothing — just smiled reassuringly. For some absurd reason, the expression ‘When in a hole, stop digging’ came to mind. But did that apply to him or to me?

“You’ve had trouble making friends, haven’t you? Girlfriends are usually safe but men can be difficult, especially if you feel threatened in any way.”

Has Cathy blabbed? If he’s just perceptive, then he’s missed his true vocation; he should be a psychiatrist

I nodded and bawled like a baby. Nick magically produced a box of tissues from somewhere and I grabbed a handful of them. “Nick, h…how did you know?”

“I spend a lot of time observing other people. You seem to be vulnerable; Debbie and I both think a lot of you and you’re very important to us, and especially to me.”

Then what he said finally sank into the scrambled mess I called a brain.

Important to him? Personally or as a colleague?

Crap! This is complicated. Oh, I’ve said that before, haven’t I? Well, it is; I never imagined that getting an apparently simple job could involve so much hot water, with me up to my neck in it. I tried coherent thought; I didn’t do it often, hence my abysmal track record. “Nick, I….”

“Sshh; no need to say anything,” he said, gently. “Take your time, there’s no pressure. Take everything at your own pace.”

He hadn’t tried to touch me, but his warm smile seemed to put me at ease. He waited for me to compose myself, then he opened the door and I followed him out of the office.

The next week was like a fairground ride. One minute, I was up in the clouds, happy that someone wanted to spend time with me; then I’d be down in the dumps because I didn’t know what I felt about Nick/Nikki and Debbie wanting to spend time with me. During all this, I’m sure that my work suffered; and I still didn’t know whether Nick was Nikki or Nikki was Nick. Neither did I know how I felt about Nick’s revelation that “Debbie really likes me,” whatever that meant.

The week went by, and Nick hadn’t mentioned the dinner evening; I suppose that the ball was in my court. I didn’t know whether or not I wanted to accept the invitation, nor did I have the courage to make the decision. I know that I hadn’t felt threatened when there’d been eight of us, but I was by no means sure that I’d be comfortable with just the three. Or was it that I felt distinctly inferior in the presence of these two stunningly beautiful women, one of whom was ostensibly my male boss?

Thoughts were bouncing around in my head, which was doing a terrific impression of a demented pinball machine. I had to ask everyone at least twice what they’d said.

I knew that I eventually had to give Nick an answer. A few days later, I hesitated as I delivered his coffee. I’d thought about what I was going to say; that in itself makes a change. “Nick; I…I’ve been thinking about the dinner. You seem quite perceptive; you appear to have worked out that I had a bad experience as a child. I take ages to get to be comfortable with anyone, and don’t find it easy socialising with men or small groups. I’m much more at ease with women than with men, unless I’ve known them a very long time and feel safe with them. I’ve thought about the evening when Judy and I visited and realise that I did enjoy my time with you all. I…I’d like to come to dinner if… it’s still okay, if Nikki’s there and not Nick. I don’t know why, but I don’t think that’s like….”

“Jackie; are you sure that you want to do this? I…we don’t want to hurt you, that’s the last thing we’d want. Please say if you have any doubts.”

“No; this is something that goes right back to my childhood. Cathy knows; I had a bit of a breakdown while you were away and she was very kind to me. I need to deal with this and move on.”

He smiled, encouragingly. “Would Friday evening suit you?”

I nodded.

“I’ll let Debbie know. Smart casual as it’s just us three women.”

In response to a questioning glance, he said, “Nick doesn’t have a social life, and would be extremely uncomfortable being thrust into one. Is that Okay?”

He speaks of Nick in the third person, as someone else; almost as if Nikki is the real person and Nick is just for work. Odd. And he seems to want my approval? Even more odd.

I nodded and he smiled again as he opened the office door.

I almost laughed at his telling me the ‘dress code’ — but held myself in check and, shaking my head, I walked back to my desk. It was much later that the reality of that to which I’d agreed finally and fully sank in.

Breakfast at Winter Road; sounds like a movie title, doesn’t it?

“You’re WHAT?”

I actually sniggered as I repeated what I’d said. “I’m going to dinner with Nikki and Debbie on Friday evening.”

Judy’s coffee cup hit the saucer with enough force to slop most of the remaining contents over the table; Spook shot out of the kitchen and sought refuge behind the settee in the living room. That is still one jumpy moggie; God knows how long it’ll take to calm him down this time. Judy got up, giving me a filthy look. As she went to find a cloth to mop the table, she called, “They want you to go on your own?”

“Well, it’s not as if I’m going on a long expedition to search for some wild carnivorous tribe deep in a rain forest, is it?”

“How can you be so calm about it?”

“I’ve been wondering that myself.”

I’d recently expanded what I’d previously told her. I came home one day and gave her a comprehensive account of the last twelve disastrous years. The aftermath played out like an abbreviated version of that which happened in the office, and Judy again started talking Kevin and violence; only, this time, the list of potential victims grew alarmingly. Somehow, I just couldn’t see her Kevin involved in anything like that; he didn’t appear to have an angry bone in his body. I firmly shook my head.

I felt a little calmer as I worked through the next few days. My tension level increased again, though, as I stood and surveyed my clothing collection and steeled myself for the upcoming ordeal. Okay, it wasn’t really an ordeal, but I certainly had an inferiority complex as I scanned my clothing collection, and looked for something smart casual. Okay, I shouldn’t try to compete with those two glamorous creatures — I couldn’t compete with Cathy Hungerford — but I’m a woman and I have to make an effort, don’t I?

To me, smart casual equals skirt and top, so I settled on an aqua cap-sleeved top with a deep plunge vee-neck; I teamed that with an above-the-knee pleated blue denim skirt with embroidery on the hem. Low-heeled navy sandals begged to go with that outfit so, eventually, I grabbed a jacket, slung my bag over my shoulder, waved goodbye to Judy and walked out to the taxi.

Her parting words rang in my ears; “You’ve got your mobile. Call if things get rough.”

I couldn’t see how a dinner for three in that mansion could get ‘rough’, but then the phrase ‘ménage a trois’ leapt from one side of my brain to the other - quite an achievement considering the darkness of space. I shrugged and got into the taxi.

I made my first mistake when the front door was opened. “Hello… Nikki?”

She laughed. “You might well be uncertain, given how much alike we look, but Nikki is head chef tonight; I’m just the chef’s assistant and gopher; you know, ‘chop this onion, peel this carrot, go for the wine, get the door; that kind of thing’.”

Oops!

She kissed my cheek and said, “I’m so pleased that you could make it. Oh! I love the embroidery on your skirt.”

Debbie wore a cerise cap-sleeved top and a white skirt with a cerise floral design. I was sure that I’d seen them before but couldn’t figure out just when and where. After relieving me of the flowers I’d brought, she led me into the kitchen.

Nikki, her sparkly turquoise top and white miniskirt protected by an apron, stood up from the oven and smiled a welcome. She greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, leaving a lingering fragrance of Estée Lauder, and then presented me with a glass of wine. I wasn’t sure that I was at all comfortable with a kiss on the cheek from Nikki, but it all took place so quickly; she was back to her cooking while my mind was still processing the event.

Debbie showed me into the living room and I was stunned by the sheer size of it. I’d briefly been in the room on my previous visit, but hadn’t fully taken it in. It looked different when there weren’t eight of us.

Three massive settees were positioned around a large low table. On the wall was a huge television, and in each of the four corners of the room was a loudspeaker. Cone-shaped and thigh-high, with two metal disc thingies on top, their quirky design blended well with the modern spaciousness of their surroundings. Completing the audio-visual setup was a DVD player on a stand; I thought that it’d look quite at home on the bridge of the ‘Starship Enterprise’.

“Those are Nikki’s toys; she’s the techno queen. I just press a few buttons on the remote control.”

Whatever. It looked like these siblings weren’t short of money. This was serious stuff; we’re talking tens of thousands of pounds worth of entertainment system. I know, because my father had lusted after something similar “when I’ve made my fortune.”

Yeah, right; he can’t even make a cup of tea

Debbie invited me to sit alongside her; all that space and we were squashed together on a seat built for four. It didn’t take long for her to start talking, and I just sat there while she regaled me with stories of their childhood. It was all about Debbie and Nikki, not Debbie and Nick, and sounded a little rehearsed, almost as though she’d told someone all this on a previous occasion.

I was quite relieved when Nikki announced that dinner was ready; I still felt somewhat overwhelmed by the opulence of the house and by the two very beautiful women whose guest I was. Debbie and I walked back out to the kitchen and asked if there was anything we could do. We were instructed to sit, and Nikki joined us as we ate our starters, a beautifully-presented smoked fish dish.

Nikki brought in the main course, succulent chicken breasts in a white wine sauce. Debbie followed with dishes of rice and vegetables. A bottle of white wine occupied a space in front of us.

Dessert was a simple strawberry mousse, after which Debbie cleared the table, and we all adjourned to the living room for coffee and a chat. I was certainly glad that the meal had been quite light. I was given more space this time and occupied one of the other settees.

Nikki sat down next to Debbie and poured herself some more wine. “Has Debbie been telling all my secrets while I was slaving away in the kitchen?”

“I heard a little about your childhood. The way Debbie put it, Nick existed only when he had to.”

She responded, “That about sums it up. I didn’t expect her to tell you all the gory details before we eat, but I did ask her to start our story.”

I was stunned into near-total silence by their after-dinner revelations. I’m sure my facial expression showed this. “Is it true?”

Nikki sighed. “It’s true.”

In which we learn more about Nikki, and Jackie investigates a change of department.

The Boss - 6 of 8 - Revelation

“What! All of it?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“You are twins then?”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean, twin sisters?”

“Yes and no.”

“But… you know… in the office…?”

Nikki sighed again and snuggled into her sister, who conjured a box of tissues from somewhere and handed a bundle to Nikki, who took full advantage of them.

“As a child, I lived as much as I could as Nikki; I had to revert for school and university, as the name on my birth certificate was Nicholas and I’d have had big problems with my family if I’d gone for reassignment. When I left university, with an MBA and a degree in Marketing, I had trouble getting a job; no one would take me seriously. I’d managed to get my degrees in, what for them, was record time, but it counted against me because I looked a lot like your archetypal teenage blonde bimbo. Then the job at GSD came up and it was Debbie who encouraged me to apply. She wasn’t working there at the time, but I got the job, as a male.

“I enjoyed the fact that I was respected for the knowledge and fresh ideas that I could bring to the job. I quickly found that I could make a difference, and was able to progress through the company. My age and appearance didn’t seem to be relevant to them; although it’s always hurt that I couldn’t be myself. In my early teens, my body took on a more female appearance — I paid for this at school - but I still had male bits. I prefer to present as a female, as that’s what I feel I am; my tailor deals with my unusual body shape when I wear a suit for work. I thought about transitioning; I know that I probably wouldn’t have trouble working, but am scared stiff that clients wouldn’t take me seriously. I’d also get a lot of aggravation from my family.

“I sometimes need to be a bit creative when I travel on business. For example, when I went to Ireland, also on my tour of the North-West of England, I drove as Nicolas, as that’s what’s on my licence and insurance - but in unisex clothing. If I need to be Nick for a meeting, then I dress accordingly; otherwise I’m Nikki. Many people can’t work out what I am and usually take me at face value, although I’m sometimes challenged as I don’t always look my age.

“You reserved me a suite. That was simply so that I had a lounge area where I could entertain potential clients; that saved me hiring meeting rooms.”

“You think of Nick as a separate person?”

“It’s easier; Nikki is the real me. Nick is an act just to get through work and to deal with the family; it’s easier if we keep our identities separate.”

“Well, that explains…”

She nodded and again burst into tears.

I staggered in the door and bumped into Judy.

“JACKIE, WHAT’S HAPPENED?”

“Please don’t shout! I’m okay: I just want to go to bed,” I said as I headed straight to my room, threw my bag into a corner and flung myself onto my bed.

Sleep didn’t come easily. My mind kept replaying all that I’d been told that evening. In addition, I was wondering if I’d misunderstood something. I awoke as dawn was breaking and I realised that I’d made a decision.

I spent the remainder of the weekend in my room, or watching television and cuddling Spook, when he was in the house, and in the mood. I hardly saw Judy, who was mostly out with Kevin. Monday morning saw me in the office early enough to catch Nick on his own.

He smiled thanks as I took him a cup of coffee, but he didn’t mention the dinner.

“Nick, is it possible for me to have a confidential talk with someone in Personnel?”

“Of course; I’ll set something up for you.”

“Thanks. You didn’t ask why.”

“It’s none of my business.”

That wasn’t strictly true, but I didn’t go into detail. I returned to my desk, and just hoped that I could see someone soon.

“Hello; I’m Megan Taylor.”

She waved me over to a small settee and I sat down. She had a cupboard where she kept the ingredients to make tea and coffee, and I sat spellbound as I watched her make drinks for us, and then join me. A simple task for me; I just spooned coffee or plopped a teabag into the cup, but for Megan this took on a whole new significance.

The dog merely confirmed my initial impression; Megan Taylor was blind.

Of medium build, she had shoulder-length auburn hair and an oval face. She appeared to be in her early forties, and wore a pale grey skirt suit with a jade sleeveless top. I noticed that she wore a wedding ring and that her nails were nicely manicured, but with clear polish.

“You would like a confidential chat. Before we go any further, please let me assure you that whatever you tell me is strictly between us two, and will not go outside this office without your permission. And I can vouch for Pippa,” she smiled as she put her hand down to pet the dog, “she’s the soul of discretion. She’s highly intelligent but, I warn you, she has a tongue like sandpaper and likes to wash your hands for you.”

That comment put me at ease and we both chuckled. Pippa merely shifted position so as to take up even more floor space.

Megan seemed easy to talk to; perhaps that was because she couldn’t see my facial expression. I soon found myself pouring out the sordid details of my disastrous marriage. I ended with “I told myself when I came here that I’d never get myself tied up with a relationship again. Now I’ve a man trying to date me; I’m still not certain that I haven’t got another woman interested in me as well.”

An expression that I couldn’t identify flitted across her face, and then quickly cleared. She smiled encouragingly at me; almost willing me to go on, but at my own pace. After a short silence, she said, “Would you like to try and explain what you mean?”

I sighed and began my tale of my life since I joined GSD. When I’d exhausted that subject, I hesitantly told her of my childhood.

Her empathy with me seemed almost tangible: I got the distinct impression that she’d also had a troubled childhood. Finally, after making significant inroads into a box of tissues, and when I was all talked out, she asked what I wanted to do.

“I don’t know; should I try and transfer to another department?”

She extended her hand and I tucked mine under it. “Only you can decide that but, if you really see no other choice, I’ll support you as best I can.” She produced a large sheet of paper, with lots of raised dots; I recognised Braille when I saw it. She quickly ran her fingers over the paper. “There are three administrator vacancies at the moment. You’d be working for Bernadette Obodu, the Premises Manager, Glyn Matthews, the IT Manager, or Erica Wolfe, the Finance Manager, although I know that she’s looking for someone with experience of working in a finance department. It isn’t always possible, but we try to fill vacancies from within, hence the openings. Do you want to think about it for a day or so and then have another talk?”

“Yes please; that sounds like a good idea, although I’m not sure about the IT Manager; I don’t know if I want to work for another man — err….”

I blushed, although of course she couldn’t see it; did she know about Nick? This woman seemed switched on; I suppose you had to be if you were a Personnel person?

“Okay, I’ll make the arrangements, and hold the positions until you decide. My daughter is Assistant HR Manager, so that’s no problem.” She smiled, and then said, “Leave it with me.”

“Thank you ever so much.” As I took my leave, I rather stupidly waved to the dog, then left to return to my desk. I had a lot to think about.

The next morning, I took Nick a cup of coffee.

He asked, “How did the talk go with Megan? I don’t want to know details; just whether or not she could help you.”

“You know her?”

“Yes; we’ve known each other for several years. She’s very good at her job, despite being virtually blind.”

“Yes, I sort of met the dog. M…Megan and I talked for a long time. I’m considering asking for a transfer to another department.”

He looked downcast. “Oh. I’d be sorry to lose you, but I do understand.”

“You do?”

“Yes; you don’t know how to deal with me, and you feel that a move to another department might help you to decide what to do. I don’t want to lose touch with you, and neither does Debbie. We both consider you to be a good friend.”

“”Well, err… I’ll get back to work then.” I walked quickly back to my desk and immediately looked in my computer inbox for something to do.

I went back to see Megan Taylor the next day. “I’ve decided; I’d like to pursue the idea of a move. May I speak with the Premises Manager?”

“I’ll arrange it.”

Megan Taylor first appears in "There's Life in the Old Dog Yet."

Jackie learns more about Nick’s childhood. In the process, all of her preconceived ideas are turned on their head, and her move precipitates a crisis in Nick’s life.

The Boss - 7 of 8 - Desperation

I wasn’t that keen on the idea of working for Glyn Matthews; nothing personal, but he’s a man and… well, you know what I mean. I hope.

Bernadette Obodu’s ‘empire’ was much larger, as it included not only Head Office but also the warehouses and factories. She visited them only occasionally, as the remote sites had their own managers. Factories were located in Southern Scotland, the South Midlands and Northern Ireland; distribution warehouses were sited at the factories and also at a few other locations. Head Office had its own building manager, Kevin Madeley, Joanna’s husband, who reported to Bernadette.

The administrator job was more involved than might be obvious at first glance, covering building and site maintenance, security and utilities. Again, we discussed my working history at GSD and, although the prospect of working for a black woman was a bit disconcerting to begin with, her voice, her accent and her slow, measured way of speaking soon put me at ease. I soon realised that, other than the colour of her skin, and the country in which she was born, Bernadette was just another human being. She’d achieved what she had despite her past — or maybe her past had driven her that little bit harder. By the end of the interview, I was a little uncomfortable; not with Bernadette but with myself. It made me think.

We talked about my duties, and her responsibility being nationwide. Then she surprised me with “You come highly recommended; I’d be delighted to offer you a job; subject of course to the usual one month trial period on both sides.”

I thought, Highly recommended? That must have been Nick.

I then felt quite sorry for him; he’d had to pick up the pieces of my broken life. The new job would clearly be a promotion and I wondered if I would be equal to the task. “Can I think about it for a day or so?”

“Of course.”

I returned to my desk and thought about the interview. Did I want the job in Premises? It wasn’t anything to do with working for Bernadette; I realised that I’d quickly felt comfortable with her, and the challenge of learning a new job, with a higher grade and better pay, was appealing. Of course, it was a bigger job, covering a greater area, and I’d be liaising with people all over the country. What held me back, though, was the feeling that I was running away. I’d run away since my teenage years, I’d been scared of my own shadow and, to be honest, I was fed up with running. There had to be more to life than this. Something inside kept telling me that I could run but I couldn’t hide; if I didn’t turn and face my demons, I’d be looking over my shoulder all my life. That was no life.

When I awoke the next morning, I realised that I’d come to another decision. Wow; two in a week!

I sat opposite Megan, took a deep breath and told her what I’d decided.

”I’ll tell Nick and Bernadette.”

“Yes please; can I try it? Perhaps running from here, haphazardly into the future, may not be a good idea. Moving departments may not solve anything — or maybe it will.”

I took a coffee into Nick’s office and asked if I could speak privately with him.

He nodded and I shut the door. He was obviously expecting me to tell him that I’d accepted another job, because he asked, “Premises?”

“Yes.”

He looked miserable; I felt guilty.

A few days later Nick called me at my desk. “Jackie, could you please come in for a few minutes? There’s something I need to tell you.”

I walked into his office, shut the door and sat down.

“I know that you’re planning to move to Premises but I thought I ought to tell you anyway. I’m telling everyone in the department.” Nick buried his head in his hands and started to softly weep. “This is so hard. I need to tell you... I’m thinking of resigning, leaving GSD.”

I was shocked, and didn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t sleep at all last night and I can’t stand this life any longer; trying to keep Nick and Nikki in separate boxes. It’s driven you away and it’ll drive the others away. It’s not fair to the company, and especially the customers. We’ve a good team here and I’m only a hindrance.”

I was stunned; where was the confident young man who interviewed me all those months ago? I thought it was just a matter of Nick wearing women’s clothes for the thrill of it; now it’s obvious that it’s much different. I added up everything I’d learned about the person that, in the office, was my boss, Nick Latham. I thought of the young woman I’d met at the dinner party, and the relaxed way she naturally fitted into the social group; Nick’s assertion that he didn’t have a male social life; his gentle nature; all the small signs that he didn’t conform to how a man was expected to behave. All I could see before me was someone else who was clearly hurting; I had an idea how that felt, but I hadn’t a clue what I could do to help. I realised with a shock that I did want to help. Eventually, it came to me, so I asked, “May I speak with Debbie?”

“I suppose so, but why?”

“I... I want to understand,” I said, hesitantly.

Still tearful, he pushed a card at me; I picked it up and walked out.

I met Debbie in her office on the first floor of the GSD building. “I’d like to — no, more than that; I need to understand Nick and Nikki; can you explain it in more detail?”

She sighed. “It’s been obvious to us that Mummy and Daddy wanted a son, if just to continue the family name. Nikki had ambiguous genitalia and looked a bit like a boy down below, so she was registered and raised as a boy, despite the feeling that she was female. We spent a lot of time together and Nikki raided my wardrobe as often as we could get away with it. When she was caught, she was beaten and told that boys didn’t do that kind of thing.

“She was sent to all-boys’ public schools and hated every minute; they definitely aren’t suitable for those who are different. She was frequently beaten up for being effeminate, and was raped twice. Our parents did nothing about the abuse; they just said that its part of the price you pay for a good education. She was, amazingly, left alone through university and got her MBA and an Honours Degree in Marketing from Edinburgh. When she left university and started looking for a job, no one would hire her because she was so young and looked younger. Her birth certificate showed her as a male, so she felt that she had little choice but to try to find work as Nicholas. When GSD saw her qualifications, they almost took her hand off. She soon was promoted to Marketing Manager.

“That’s about it, really; she spends every spare minute as Nikki. Other than what’s between her legs — and that’s not much - she is all woman, as you’ve seen. Our parents live near Oxford and we rarely see them, and then only out of a sense of duty. I’m sure they have no idea that Nikki exists; if they did they’d no doubt make her life more of a misery. As far as I’m aware, they don’t know where she works; I sometimes wonder if they even care about their child at all. Nikki told me last night that she intended to resign; she knows that she’s running away, but sees no alternative.”

We sat in silence for a minute or so; perhaps she was just letting me take in all that she’d told me. Then I remembered Nikki saying that my move to Premises had precipitated her decision to resign; I had great trouble thinking of Nick the man, just Nikki the woman, who had been hurt. I don’t know what started me off, but I told Debbie about my childhood and the events leading up to my failed marriage. I also told her how I’d been drawn to Nick’s gentle nature when he interviewed me, and fascinated beyond all reason. When I’d unburdened myself, I felt cleaner than I had for years, almost as though a lot of the pain from the past had largely been washed away.

Debbie got up, came over to me and held me as we both burst into tears.

When I eventually ran down to an occasional sob, I asked her to tell me more about Nick and Nikki. “I was wondering about Nick’s... Nikki’s... how does he... she... Oh Hell! I’m not making any sense here.”

“If you’re wondering if there’s a partner, then the answer’s no, but she’d like there to be one.”

“You’ll think me awfully rude but....”

“Would that partner be male or female?” Debbie asked perceptively. I might just as well have asked her if she knew Nikki’s sexual orientation.

“Y... Yes.”

“Nikki’s never really been interested in anyone. I suppose that her confused gender saw to that but, if pushed on the subject, I’d have to say that she’d be looking for another woman, not a man.”

“Oh.”

Neither of us noticed Nick as he glanced in the glazed panel alongside Debbie’s office door and then, dejectedly, walk away.

Nikki sniffed, grabbing a handful of tissues from her sister.

“I can’t stand this ‘in between’ life any longer, it’s killing me.”

“You’ve decided.”

“Yes.”

Debbie cuddled her sister. “How do you think she’ll react when she comes to terms with it?”

Debbie hugged Nikki tighter.

Nikki said, tearfully, “She’ll be leaving us soon. I’m dreading losing her; it’s like ripping away a part of me. I love her, Debbie.”

“I’ve told her about your history, although most people will think that you’re just a transvestite. They’ll see what you’re doing as a lifestyle choice.”

“Some choice! Life or death.”

“They won’t necessarily see it that way, though, will they? She’s also been badly hurt; she confided in me yesterday.”

“I feel that I want to protect her.”

“And you think that Nikki could do that better than Nick could have done, don’t you?”

“Nick never existed, did he?”

“Only on a piece of paper when you were born. Give Jackie some space, but make sure that she knows you’re there for her, whether or not you’re still at GSD.” Debbie hugged her sister. “GSD is an inclusive employer; they’ll understand your situation.”

“Yes, they probably will, but what about our clients? Would they understand?”

Going to work for Bernadette was one of the best and worst things I’d ever done. Yes, it gave my confidence a much-needed boost and increased my net pay. At the same time, I found all my spare thoughts occupied by my erstwhile colleagues in Marketing — and one in particular. I spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about Nikki and her future.

Things came to a head one day shortly after I’d begun to work for Bernadette. I was just getting to grips with utility bills - gas, electric, water and telephone. A visitor approached my desk and my attention was dragged forcibly back to the present.

“Jackie, can you spare me a few minutes?”

“Hello Cathy. Look, it’s nearly lunchtime; why don’t we grab some sandwiches and find a quiet corner of the restaurant? I can catch up on all the gossip.”

When we were settled, and eating our sandwiches, she sighed. “You know that Nick intends to leave GSD?”

“Yes; she told me; I think it’s such a shame.”

Cathy picked up on that straight away. “She?”

“Cathy; I can’t think of Nick any longer as male. Debbie told me a lot of what Nikki went through as a child and, although what happened to me was different, I have an idea where she’s coming from. I’ve met them both socially and you just wouldn’t know; Nikki doesn’t seem to have a male bone in her body. Even when she’s disguised as Nick, she looks like a woman dressed as a man.”

“It’s a relief to hear you say that.”

“Why?”

“I can cope with simple arithmetic, you know. One plus one has always equalled two; I doubt that it’s changed since I was at school.”

“What do you mean?”

“As I said, I can add up. Look; you up sticks and change departments. Nick is planning to resign. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

I still hadn’t fully caught on to what she was saying. “But why won’t she stay? She’s very good at her job and runs a very successful team. I’m sure that the company will understand.”

She threw her hands up in the air in disgust. “Do I need to spell it out to you?”

Then what Debbie had told me finally sank in.

“OH, SHIT!”

Cathy nodded ruefully.

Suddenly, Cathy’s mobile phone rang. She shouted, “WHAT?” then more quietly, asked, “Does Debbie know?” Then a short pause. “I’m on my way; see you later.”

She told me what Maggie had said; I promptly threw up my lunch into a convenient waste bin. Getting my thoughts together I said, shakily, “I want to go to the hospital.”

Cathy said, firmly, “You’re going nowhere until you’ve settled your stomach and sorted yourself out. I’ll come with you; we don’t need another casualty and we’ve all had a shock. Maggie will look after the office; I’ll call for a taxi.”

I told Bernadette what was happening, and Cathy led me out of the building.

We found Debbie in Accident and Emergency.

“Debbie; what’s happening?”

She said, with tears in her eyes. “Emergency surgery, Nikki’s in theatre; I’m waiting for news.”

We sat for what seemed like hours, getting more and more anxious the longer we waited. Cathy went to get coffees for us all, and I just held Debbie as she quietly sobbed, “I can’t lose her; Oh Jackie, she’s my best friend!”

Suddenly there was a commotion at the nurses’ station.

“Where is Nicholas Latham? Where is my son?”

Finally...

The Boss - Part 8 — Resolution.

The nurses asked her to be quiet and Debbie visibly shrank back as her mother came into the waiting room. “The hospital called me as soon as Nicholas was admitted. What happened?”

Without thinking, Debbie replied, “Maggie said that she complained of stomach pains and then passed out and collapsed in the office. She was brought to A & E and the admitting doctor did a quick scan and whisked her off to theatre.”

Sarah Latham was almost incandescent with rage. “What do you mean; ‘SHE’? Is he still dressing as a girl? I thought we’d beaten that out of him when he was a child. As far as your father and I are concerned, he asked for everything he got, especially parading around at school like some little queer.”

Before Debbie could even work out an answer, a man in theatre scrubs emerged from a corridor. “Deborah Latham?” She nodded, and he said, “I’m Doctor Maxwell. Whoever called for an ambulance might well have saved your sister’s life. I think we caught the problem just in time. But do you know why she was wearing men’s clothes?”

Debbie’s mother raised her voice again. “Will you stop referring to my son as female? Of course he’s wearing men’s’ clothes; he’s a man, for goodness sake! I can’t understand why he ever wanted to be a girl anyway, it’s sick and perverted; it’s unnatural.”

“Are you her mother?”

Sarah was incensed. “Yes, of course I am! I should know my own son! And I keep telling you; he’s a man!”

Debbie said, acidly, “You didn’t know your children at all.”

Doctor Maxwell sighed. “I’ve got news for you; that person is intersexed, but mainly female. She has a full set of female innards, including ovaries. She has just started menstruating but, we suspect, is infertile. Who sewed up her vagina?”

There were a few moments of silence; then Debbie asked, “W… What do you mean?”

“I suspect that the stomach pains were caused by the onset of ovulation. There was nowhere for the womb lining to go as someone had sewn up her vagina. Without prompt medical attention, she might have died.”

Debbie was in shock. “That was her first period?” she asked, barely audibly. Then you could almost see the cogs whirring in her head. She spoke quietly, but everyone heard. “That time she was in hospital when she was a toddler…” She turned on her mother; she spoke quietly, but everyone heard the venom in her voice. “You … butchered her?”

I managed, “My first period started when I was twelve years old.”

Debbie said, “Mine was at about ten, but Nikki’s twenty seven years of age for goodness sake!”

Doctor Maxwell explained. “The human body is a strange and complex machine; there’s a lot that we don’t know. Menstruation can sometimes be delayed, and brought on by a range of factors. Was she suffering from stress?”

“Of course not, he’s a man,” Debbie’s mother insisted, “He doesn’t know what stress is.”

Debbie countered, “Mother, you have no idea how much stress she suffered. You knew that she was raped and bullied at school; I don’t suppose she’s ever forgotten that. If rape isn’t stressful, I don’t know what is.”

Both Debbie and Doctor Maxwell looked at Sarah Latham. Their expressions demanded an explanation.

“A decision was made when Nicholas was born; as he had a penis, the girl bits were sewn up and he was registered as a boy. Perhaps if we’d known that he had ovaries, we’d have had them removed; then we’d not have this problem now, and he would have grown up as the son we want….” Then she realised what she’d said and her face went a bright red, almost as though she’d been caught with her hand in the sweet tin.

Debbie looked at her mother and spat out, “You disgust me! Nikki and I always knew that she was female, and she told you often enough! But you wanted a son, so you had her butchered to try and make her into one! Would you have done the same to me if you thought you could get away with it? All you and Daddy would do was to beat her into submission. You did nothing when she was raped; no wonder she’s never had a relationship and will never trust a man. I think you’d better go before I think up something that will put you in prison. I don’t suppose a charge of attempted manslaughter would stick but, as a lawyer, I’m sure that I could come up with something appropriate. Now get out of my sight!”

The doctor said, “That wasn’t a penis; that was an enlarged clitoris; the fact that her urethra was in the wrong place didn’t change what it was. We’ve had the initial blood test results as well. She has XX chromosomes so, birth anomaly or not, she is female; physically and legally female. No doctor should ever have done anything that could have endangered her life. I’ll find out who it was and they will be investigated by the General Medical Council — if they’re still practicing, they’ll be struck off. And if, as it looks, you colluded in any illegal procedure, you will face prison. Now I’ve another patient to deal with.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

Doctor Maxwell returned to the operating theatre after dropping his bombshells, and left Sarah Latham muttering about someone “turning her perfect son into a woman.”

That was the only time that I ever saw Debbie lose her temper.

“Get out, you...Bitch!” She screamed at her mother, and tried to throw herself across the room at the shocked woman.

It took all of us to restrain her; if we’d let her go, she’d probably have put her mother in hospital — or the mortuary.

“You almost killed my sister!” she flung at her mother. “Get out! I never want to see you again!”

Sarah Latham was escorted from the hospital by two burly security guards, having been told that she’d lost both her children. Another couple of hours went by; finally a nurse appeared, and spoke to Debbie.

“Your sister has been moved to a high dependency unit. If you’re quiet, you can visit for a few minutes when she comes round from the anaesthetic. She’ll be staying in hospital for a few days for observation.”

It was the day after Nikki was rushed into hospital and Debbie and I sat by her hospital bed. Debbie told me that she’d started processing the paperwork for a change of gender. Doctor Maxwell had provided a letter detailing what he’d found, what he’d done and why. Funny that he took so long to deliver and explain it; I didn’t think that Debbie was that slow.

Debbie asked, “Good evening, Miss Nicola Jane Latham; how are you today?”

Nikki smiled weakly as she responded to our question. “That sounds so good after all this time. Anyway, in addition to the fact that I’ve a tube coming from an opening that was in a different place yesterday morning, I’ve an enormous sense of relief that what I’ve felt all these years has a medical basis. Doctor Maxwell told me everything this morning.”

Debbie blushed as she said, “Yes; he’s very kind and helpful.”

I smiled and took Nikki’s hand. I said, tentatively, “Nikki, I’ve been thinking a lot recently. I don’t have the fastest brain on the planet, but you were never very good at hiding your feelings, were you?”

“No, and neither were you,” then she burst out crying.

I squeezed her hand. “You spoke with your boss, Simon, isn’t it?”

She nodded and said, “He told me that “I should think seriously about my future with the company”, whatever that means.”

“Yes, but that was when everyone at GSD thought you were a man. At first, when I found out, I thought you just wore women’s clothes for the thrill of it; it never occurred to me that this was your true self. You’ve turned all my preconceived ideas on their head, and made me realise that much of what I believed was simply something with which to keep the world at bay; to keep me safe, if you like. It’s suddenly dawned on me that we need to decide what we really want out of life, and go for it. Life’s too short to live according to other people’s petty rules and wants. I know I’m a fine one to talk, but ask Debbie and Cathy; I confided in them and feel all the better for it. I’ve spent more than ten years frightened of my own shadow, because of something that happened to me when I was younger. You and I aren’t that much different in some ways. We were both at the mercy of those who were supposed to love us unconditionally — but didn’t; they only loved us on their terms. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all this, it’s that we need to decide what’s important and just go for it. If Simon won’t help, go straight to John Andrews.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?

She was silent for a while, obviously thinking, then she said, “Anyway, assuming that the company accepts me, what would the customers think?”

I sighed. “Look, Nikki; you’re female. You have a female body and maybe the residue of a birth abnormality. You can’t tell me that Simon Hughes, or even John Andrews, can or will discriminate against you because of the way you were born, even if they wanted to? It’s against the law for a start and I don’t think Debbie would allow it. It goes against everything I’ve heard about why John Andrews set up the company in the first place. And I’m sure that the customers would understand. After all, you’re the same person, aren’t you? You’ve lived a lie for years; it’s time now to do something about it. And do you really believe that the customers haven’t worked out that you’re at least androgynous? Some probably think you’re gay.”

Nikki winced.

“You’re not a gay male, are you?”

Debbie supported my argument. “You’re right, Jackie, in more ways than one.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She turned to face me. “What did you tell me in the office when you came to see me?”

I recalled the conversation almost word for word. I quietly offered, “I…I said that was drawn to Nick’s gentle nature when he interviewed me, and was fascinated beyond all reason.”

“And at the first dinner party, were you fascinated beyond all reason by Nikki Latham?” Debbie enquired.

“Y… Yes,” I replied, in a small voice, “I couldn’t get her out of my mind”.

“And Nikki; what did you tell me about Jackie?”

Nikki’s face crumpled and she dissolved into tears. “I love her.”

I was speechless; I just sat with my mouth open.

“What are you going to do about it?” Debbie asked, looking at both of us in turn, and covering our hands with hers. “Are you both going to spend the next however-many-years pussy-footing around and regretting not taking your courage in your hands? Are you going to live a safe, boring life or will you take a chance for happiness? You’ll never know the outcome until you try.”

I looked at Nikki and she looked at me. If my face was the same colour as hers was, then Debbie had her answer.

It was Nikki who spoke first. “Jackie; can we….”

“Yes please,” I answered, smiling; I allowed Debbie to join our hands, and the kiss that Nikki and I shared, although tentative at first, went on for so long that I’m sure it would boil water.

THE END

My sincere thanks go to Angela Rasch and Persephone, both of whom helped with story ideas and gave generously of their knowledge and experience. Also to PS goes my thanks for help and guidance around the technical aspects of BCTS and of posting a serial.