The Grey Man

CHAPTER EIGHT

Kevin gazed out of the bank's window at tall grey buildings with thick grey clouds pressing down on them. Not much going on out there. He looked back to the computer screen — also grey — and wondered how he would get through the next six hours.

Symington had given him the cleaning bill for his suit and stuck him on the counter as Margaret was sick, but he'd been there for an hour and so far only two customers had come in. It wasn't his job to cover now that he'd been promoted. Gary and Alice were supposed to do that, but Symington put Kevin back at the counter whenever he could. It was one of his ways of keeping Kevin in his place. As always, Kevin smiled and got on with the job.

Gary and Alice were behind him now, sitting at the main desk checking paperwork. They occasionally looked up from their print-outs to share a joke. Kevin tapped his pencil on the counter as if to magic a queue of people into the bank, but still no one came.

Kevin could see Symington by the fax machine. A piece of paper was jammed in it — his boss was hopping from one foot to the other, opening and closing the lid.

Now was Kevin's chance. He leaped up and dashed over. 'Something jammed, Mr Symington? Need a hand?'

'Stupid machine isn't working. Every time I press start, three red lights flash on but nothing happens.'

'Let's have a look.' Kevin lifted the lid and wiggled the piece of paper that was trapped inside. It came out easily. He reset the start button, inserted the fax and hit send. The machine started to dial.

'Glad to see you've got a talent for something.'

It was now or never. He'd promised Linda. 'Mr Symington, could I ask you something if you have a moment?'

'You've got until this fax goes through or until we have a customer.'

'I wondered if I could take this Friday off.' Symington's eyebrows rose an inch. 'You see, it's my wedding anniversary on Saturday and—'

Symington's hand went to his moustache and started to twirl. He enjoyed having Kevin on a hook. 'A bit late to ask for a day off, isn't it? I always demand five working days' notice if this bank is to function properly. You should have asked me before the weekend.'

'I know, but it's still four days' notice and it's been so quiet lately.'

'Ah, that's the nature of banking, Kevin. One moment it's quiet, and the next it's all hands on deck. You just never know what's going to happen.' He waved his arm across the silent room.

'Well, Margaret said she'd be back on Friday. I've checked with Gary and Alice and they're happy to cover for me, but I really don't think it will be that busy.'

As soon as he said it, he knew he'd made a mistake. 'You don't think it'll be busy. And who are you? The Mystic Meg of banking? You're not paid to think, Kevin. You're paid to do. I'll do the thinking around here, and I think it may be busy. Sorry, Kevin, but rules are rules. Give me five days' notice in future, and I'll see what I can do.'

'But—'

'No buts, Kevin. I'm sorry, we'll need you here on Friday.'

Kevin wanted to say more, but he couldn't think of anything. He couldn't ask for next Monday off as Linda was on a training day. Fed up, he plodded back to his stool and sat down. A wave of misery washed through him. Why couldn't he stand up to Symington for once in his life?

The next two and a half hours dragged. Three people came in. Two to make deposits and an old lady who thought she was in the Halifax next door. He filled in the time by double-checking the safe-deposit records on the computer. He stopped for a sandwich. Then there were another two and a half hours of boredom to get through. Dull. Dull. Dull.