ROBBIE
The day my world turnedupside down...
I’d been so wrapped up in my checklists — not just for what I needed to pack, but for everything I had to do once I arrived.For months, I’d been part of the team organising the company’s annual Global Procurement Achievement Awards.It wasn’t my first time arranging the event, but this year was bittersweet.For the first time ever, I was up for an award.And I was being sidelined by my line manager.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.Let me back up.
Ever since I started at the company, I’d watched others in my department lead the coordination of the Awards, never once including me.Then came the layoffs.The head office team shrank to just three: me, my boss Mark, and Sue.Suddenly, the entire task of arranging nominations, judging, and ordering trophies fell to me.Finally, I had the chance to prove I was capable of more than just admin support.That I was worthy of being here, and not an imposter.
Then things changed again.The leadership team reshuffled; the department grew, and a new manager took over my supervision.She had her own ideas — and even though the awards were now part of my job description, she reclassified them as an “extension learning” task.I was shoved back into a supporting role while a newbie from another department took the lead.
I was so mad I could’ve spat sparks.But what could I do?Complain to the very person who’d done this to me?She was also the one who marked me down on my Personal Development Review, claiming I hadn’t completed my awards objective.I hated PDRs at the best of times, but that year?Fuck me.It was a slap in the face.
So, there I was, playing second fiddle on my own project, watching them fumble through it while all those old feelings of being an outsider came roaring back.Still, I had the event itself to look forward to.This time, I’d be accepting an award — not just handing them out.
Or so I thought.
I was on the tube heading into Hammersmith, West London, relieved that I hadn’t got lost.I didn’t travel into the city often, and when I did, it was usually to work from the company’s senior office — the one where the CEO hid himself away in his ivory tower next to St James’ Park.
The journey was straightforward: train to Waterloo, then two stops on the Tube.Even I couldn’t mess that up.Not that it eased my anxiety about navigating the network.
That afternoon at the hotel, I checked into my room, pressed my shirt with the iron I found in the wardrobe, and laid out my tuxedo, inspecting it for creases.My hair also behaved and didn’t look like I had been dragged through a hedge backwards.Everything was ready for my big moment.
We were just going over the final arrangements for the ballroom, making sure the trophies and certificates were in order next to the stage, when my mobile rang.My older brother’s name flashed up.Not unusual — he often called to moan about his day or overdramatise something trivial.But he knew I’d be busy.I barely held back an eye-roll before answering.
Only he wasn’t calling about his shit day, his useless boss, or being sent to the wrong delivery location.
He was telling me to get my arse home.To deal with the police.And the ambulance service.
Our father had collapsed a few hours after his hospital treatment for cancer.Dave had given him CPR while waiting for paramedics — only for them to say they couldn’t save him.
Not that Dave explained all that.Nope.After demanding my presence, he handed the phone off to one of our parents’ neighbours, who gave me the gory details.
I stood with my back pressed to the wall, eyes burning, throat tight, legs weak.I lost the fight to hold back tears and searched the room for Sue’s face, willing her to look at me.When our eyes met, she blanched.Her gaze locked on mine as my legs gave out and I slid to the floor.
Just that morning, I’d felt on top of the world — excited to finally be recognised, to feel worthy, validated.
Instead, time slowed.And I was certain of only two things: I’d never be at another awards event.And I’d never see my father again.
I barely registered Sue rushing to me, or being helped from the floor, or gathering my things in my room, shoving them into my bag, not worrying about the creases.Then, I was pushed into a waiting taxi and driven home.Where I left my bag in the hall, grabbed my car keys, and drove the five miles to my parents’ house on autopilot.
I felt numb.Like reality had been replaced with a nightmare.
The house was ablaze with lights, surrounded by cars.I saw my aunt’s little Corsa, my old school friend’s car, then the police car and ambulance.The blue flashing lights shattered any hope that Dave had overreacted.
I parked and walked through the open front door.Everyone was gathered in the sitting room, talking over each other — mostly about the weather.How very British of us.
Then the waiting began.A police officer explained they were waiting for the private ambulance to arrive before they could leave, taking my father’s body with them.
I’ve never drunk so much tea in my life as I did over the next few days.And the kitchen had never been so clean.I scrubbed every surface by hand; the simple task quieting the disquiet in my head.
In the sitting room, my mother sat with a list of funeral arrangements.I’ve been to plenty of funerals.But I’d never had to help plan one.
Dad was one of the youngest in a family of six.He married Mum when they were both in their mid-twenties.They’d grown up in the 1980s, a time with big hair, day-glow fashion, and pop music.That explained Mum’s obsession with Wham, and Dad’s love of Queen, Pet Shop Boys, and Level 42.
They were an odd couple.Mum’s family was rich.Dad grew up poor after his own father died.Back then, it was hard to make ends meet.Dad didn’t believe in spending money for spending’s sake.He was a “mend and make do” kind of man.He worked hard to give me and Dave the childhood he never had.
We weren’t spoiled.We were taught the value of money — mainly, that you didn’t live outside your means.A lesson I took to heart.Dave?Not so much.Dad had to bail him out more than once.
