Page 82 of Someone Else's Shoes
‘And you stole them!’
‘That’s it.’
‘That’s what?’
‘You’re fired.’
The room falls silent.
‘What?’
‘You’re fired.’ He lifts his voice slightly, as if to make sure everyone in the room can hear his decision. ‘With immediate effect. We can’t have a thief in the office. You’re repeatedly bringing Uberprint into disrepute. You’ve had plenty of warnings and this is it. Get your things and go.’
He visibly puffs up, glances to his side as if waiting for signs of approval from the people watching. Nisha feels a vague sense of dismay – she hates guys like him – but the woman has brought it on herself.
‘Simon. Mate.’ A man with dreadlocks has stepped forward. ‘You can’t fire Sam for a simple mix-up. She told us in the van when we picked her up that she had the wrong bag but we –’
‘Not interested,’ says Simon, his mouth pressed into a thin line of disapproval and barely suppressed pleasure. ‘Not. Interested. This lady here has been quite clear about what actually happened. And this is not the kind of behaviour I’m prepared to tolerate. I’ve had enough problems with Sam these past weeks and this is the final straw.’
‘But –’
‘We’re done here. Everyone go back to work. The show’s over. Sam, gather your belongings and I’ll get security to escort you out. HR will sort out your P45.’
Even Nisha is a little taken aback by this. There is a low murmur of unease among the other workers. They hesitate and exchange glances but nobody seems willing to challenge the man’s authority and eventually, uncomfortably, they melt away. The dreadlocked man is the last to leave. He murmurs something into the woman’s ear but she barely registers it. She looks grey with shock, starts dumbly gathering her things. Nisha will not let her discomfort colour what has just happened. She is in the right! She was not the person who stole someone’s belongings. All she has done is try to get her things back.
‘I’ll be waiting outside,’ Nisha says, when the man finally leaves, flanked by several other men in cheap suits. ‘I’ll need my shoes and bag too.Sam.’
Sam collects her framed pictures and puts them into a box that Marina brings over, her fingers slipping so that she drops one on the floor with a clatter that seems to echo around the office. Marina mutters, ‘I’m so sorry,’ as she puts the cardboard box on the desk but the accusation of ‘thief’ has clearly done something to the atmosphere and Marina gives her a slightly wary, confused look as she leaves. The cubicles of her co-workers are completely silent around her. Sam cannot bear to look up: she knows Simon and his mates will be watching from his office, muttering to each other, imagines the whispered conversations between her workmates. She is mortified, her ears ringing with that woman’s words. She gathers up the last of her things, and Lewis, the security officer from downstairs, appears. He rubs the backof his head and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, as if he is not sure what to do. She glances at him and he pulls an awkward, slightly embarrassed face, then gestures towards the corridor.
It is only when the doors open, when she feels the cold air hit her face and sees the American woman standing there, stubbing out a cigarette that it hits home:I’ve lost my job. I have actually lost my job. And she puts the box on the ground and picks up her phone to call the only person she can think will be able to get her through this.
‘Andrea?’
Sam has no car and she does not want to be stuck in a taxi with this crazy woman, who is giving off scary, aggressive vibes. So she begins to walk, the woman maintaining a tail exactly two steps behind her. She is wearing her Chanel jacket, checking the sleeves ostentatiously for signs of dirt or damage.
‘I’m not going anywhere, lady. Just so you know.’
‘I know,’ says Sam, staring straight ahead. ‘I’m just walking home.’
Sam puts one foot in front of the other, her head still ringing with Simon’s words, the sight of her workmates’ faces as everything they thought they knew about her began to slip away. She should have made more of an effort to return the shoes. She should have made it a priority. And now she has lost everything.
‘And my stuff had better be at your house.’
‘It is at my house. Look, I did try to return your bag. The gym was closed until further notice.’
‘I’m not interested.’
‘Okay. Well, I’m just telling you. I’m not a thief.’
‘Says the woman with my Chanel jacket slung over the back of her chair.’
Sam spins around, tears in her eyes. ‘I had an important meeting today, okay? I had a meeting with someone I was trying to impress and I thought it wouldn’t hurt if I just wore it once. I’m sorry.’
‘Yeah, okay. So you’re Mother Teresa. Whatever.’
‘What?’
‘Just get me my shoes. I don’t care what you are. I just go on the evidence.’
