‘Morning Sam,’ said Henry. ‘What’s happening? I’ve not handed in the Lester file yet. It’s here in my briefcase.’
Henry could picture in his head the moment he had slotted the Lester file between Gregson’s claim and Johnson’s completed forms. It had fitted in nicely, like a perfect sized glove. It most certainly wasn’t in a brown folder.
Sam glanced at him and nodded over to a desk in the corner.
‘Tim, over there, will help with any queries. Just give a shout.’
‘Okay thanks,’ said the man named Matt, who sported a five o’clock shadow at 9am. Henry never understood why it was called a five o’clock shadow. Why not a seven or eight o’clock? Henry decided to look it up on Google later.
‘I don’t think I know Matt,’ said Henry nervously. Sam ignored him and Henry felt anger surge within him.
‘Where are my photo and my plant?’ Henry asked crossly.
The desk didn’t even look like his any more. There was nothing familiar on it and it was a terrible mess with folders and papers everywhere. Henry would never let his desk get into such a muddle. Where was the photo of Imogen and the chilli plant he had been growing? Where were all his folders? Someone might have told him they were moving things around.
‘Sam,’ he said. ‘Where’s my desk?’
Sam turned as Helen walked in. Henry felt angry enough now to demand cups for the water dispenser but something in her tone stopped him.
‘Here’s the card,’ she said. ‘Can you get everyone to sign it? It can then go with the flowers.’
She lowered her eyes as she spoke, and Sam nodded solemnly. Henry sighed and said, ‘Helen, where has my desk been moved to?’
By now Henry wasn’t in the least surprised when Helen ignored him. He rubbed anxiously at his jaw before yelling, ‘Can anyone see me?’
No one turned.
‘What’s happening?’ he said, more to himself than anyone else.
The card was passed around the desks and Henry curiously followed it. People’s expressions changed when they saw it. Their faces clouded over. Henry did not want to see it, but he knew he had to. Finally, he was able to lean over someone’s shoulder and look.
To Imogen, our thoughts are with you at this sad time.
‘I can’t get over it,’ said Sam handing the card back to Helen. ‘I mean, Henry of all people.’
‘I keep expecting him to walk through the door,’ said Helen, her eyes growing watery.
‘I know,’ nodded Sam.
Henry took a sharp breath. This is madness, he told himself. Absolute madness and any minute you will wake up. He picked up his briefcase and followed Sam out of the office and into the gents toilets. He needed to get to his doctor. He would know what to do. On the other hand, he could go home and back to bed? Maybe that was the best thing. But it was so hot there. He thought comfortingly of home and his bed and pictured the bedroom in his mind. It was then, with a churn of his stomach that he remembered. He had knocked the shirt off the hanger. But wasn’t he wearing it? It couldn’t be on him and on the hanger. Henry stared at his reflection in the mirror. Beside him, Sam studied a pimple on his cheek and then checked his hair, parting it different ways before seeming satisfied.
‘Looking good,’ said Henry facetiously.
Sam stroked his chin and then smiled at his reflection. Henry studied Sam closely. He had never had the opportunity to do so before. Sam fancied himself as a bit of a ladies’ man. He was over confident, Henry thought but conceded that from a women’s perspective he was probably very appealing. That pimple must be causing him some despair and despite his worries, Henry couldn’t help smiling. Sam was an arse licker. If Henry had been an arse licker, too, he would no doubt be the manager now, instead of Sam. The job should have been his. Everyone knew he was qualified enough. Ageism that’s what it was. All these young upstarts from university, thinking they knew everything. They were the ones taking over. Using phrases like ‘thinking outside of the box’ or ‘it's on my radar’. Changing things, that was what they were doing.
‘Technology is the future,’ they had said, hinting Henry wasn’t quite up to the new cyber world.
You couldn’t trust technology. He told them so, too. All that online stuff was iffy. You would never get him on Facebook. What was the point?
Sam was young, keen, and willing to lick anyone’s arse to climb the ladder. He was always asking Henry for advice. Henry often considered giving him the wrong advice. That would teach him, Henry thought, but of course, he never did. It wasn’t Henry’s way. He turned his attention to his own reflection. The bright fluorescent light revealed the shirt in all its glory. Crisp white and proud. Surely if you were dead, you couldn’t see yourself, thought Henry, and felt slightly reassured. Something was wrong, but sure as eggs were eggs, he wasn’t dead, and his doctor would tell him so.
Henry left Linley and Webster’s feeling confused and upset. The day had been completely thrown out. Henry didn’t like changes to his routine. The sympathy card incident had quite shaken him up. He took a few minutes to compose himself at the entrance but hurrying commuters, late for work, shoved past him, hurrying to get a quick coffee before marching into their offices. He joined the throng and began walking along the street with no clear idea of where he was going. A frown etched deep across his forehead. Not to worry, he told himself. Tomorrow, everything would be back to normal. His body, feeling the strain of the oddness that had befallen him, felt heavy and weak. He dragged it unwillingly across the road. Perhaps, he thought optimistically, in his delirious state he had gone to the wrong desk. Maybe that’s what had happened. However, that didn’t explain the sympathy card with its silver lettering and mournful flowers. He’d seen it with his own eyes. Where was Imogen? Did she know what was happening? He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket for his iPhone and then stared in disbelief at the empty contacts list.
‘What?’ he muttered, shaking his head, denying that such a thing was possible.
His messages had all disappeared too. Not that Henry sent many messages. He much preferred speaking to people. There were no misunderstandings that way. He looked again at the contact list. Had he accidentally deleted them? It was possible. He never had got the hang of the phone. He turned it off and then on again but still the contact list was empty.
‘What?’ he repeated, feeling his throat turning dry.
