Corduroy Mansions

58. Dee Makes Tea for Jenny

For Jenny, Monday was the first day of her new job as assistant to William in his wine shop. The shock of her dismissal by Oedipus Snark had dominated her weekend and had left her with that curious numb feeling that we feel when we encounter a real setback. Of course she knew that she did not deserve to lose her job - and certainly did not deserve to be dismissed as Oedipus had done, by text message - but this knowledge could not protect her from the smarting sense of rejection that the dismissal brought with it. She had worked hard in her job; she had done everything Oedipus had asked of her, including the constant sending of made-up excuses when he broke his word to do one thing or another. I colluded in his lies, she thought, and I am ashamed.

On Sunday, lying in bed in her flat in Corduroy Mansions, she had been too dispirited to get up and had instead lain there rehearsing all the possible reasons for her dismissal. She could think of nothing, other than that Oedipus had simply grown tired of her and wanted a change. And when Dee had knocked at her door to see if she was all right, she had simply burst into tears, unable for a few minutes to say anything cogent. Nice, patient Dee; they had held hands, with Dee sitting at the edge of the bed comforting her as best she could.

‘He what?’ asked Dee. ‘He sacked you? Snark did?’

‘Yes. He sacked me. I’ve lost my job.’

‘But that’s ridiculous! You must be the most efficient assistant or whatever that there is. We all know that. Are you sure?’

Jenny nodded miserably. ‘Look, here’s the text.’

She reached for her mobile phone and brought up the text message she had received from Oedipus the previous day:

SORRY. JOB OVER. ☹ WILL PAY ONE WEEK’S SALARY IN LIEU. ☺ THANKS FOR EVERYTHING. OEDIPUS.

Dee read the message, her astonishment giving way to outrage. ‘Is he serious?’ she said. ‘How can anyone . . . ?’

‘It’s the sort of thing he does,’ said Jenny, taking the phone from her friend. ‘He’s horrible. He doesn’t care about anybody. He doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t care about the leader of his party, about the constituents, about the people who work for him in his constituency office. Nobody. We’re just disposable.’

‘But why would he sack you? What’s he got to gain?’

Jenny shrugged. ‘He’s bored with me, I imagine. He thinks . . . well, I don’t like to say this, but he thinks that I show him up. He thinks that he knows everything and then he discovers that I’ve read books he’s never even heard of. Some men can’t take that.’

Dee nodded. ‘I knew somebody like that. He couldn’t bear the thought that a woman could have her own ideas and that these ideas could be better than his. There are a lot of men like that. We make them feel insecure if we show signs of knowing more than they do.’ She paused. ‘Did he ever . . . did he ever make any moves? You know . . .’

Jenny frowned. ‘Moves?’

Dee explained further. ‘Did he ever make a pass at you?’

Jenny looked up at the ceiling. She could not recall Oedipus ever doing anything like that; he had shown no interest in her, she thought, as a woman. She had assumed that this was because he had that girlfriend of his, Barbara Ragg, but it could equally well have been because he was so narcissistic that he could only think of making a pass at himself. What had somebody said of him in a newspaper column somewhere? ‘If Snark were to be found covered in love bites they would surely be self-inflicted.’

She told Dee about this and they both laughed. Then she explained about her temporary job with William, starting the next day.

‘Mr French upstairs?’ asked Dee. ‘But he’s lovely, Jenny. He’s the nicest man there is. You’ll be far happier with him.’

Dee went off to make them both a cup of tea and when she came back she discovered that Jenny was sitting up in bed and although her face was still puffy around the eyes from her tears, she was looking more cheerful.

‘So, let’s not talk about him any more,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ll get my own back some day.’

‘Great,’ said Dee. ‘And I’ll help you. Any ideas?’

‘I’ll think.’

They drifted into pleasant, companionable conversation. Jenny was going to buy a new blouse that she had seen in a shop off Oxford Street. Dee approved. Jenny was going to book a holiday to Tunisia online, for about three months’ time. Dee approved of that too.

‘And you?’ asked Jenny. ‘What about you, Dee?’

Dee looked at her watch. It was already half past eleven and there was no sign of Martin. They had agreed on eleven o’clock and everything was ready for the colonic irrigation session but he had simply not arrived.

‘I was going to do colonic irrigation for somebody,’ she said. ‘But he hasn’t turned up. He promised. It’s my assistant at the vitamin shop, Martin. You met him when you came in that day. Remember? That rather nice-looking boy.’

Jenny sipped at her tea and looked at her flatmate. ‘You were going to give Martin colonic irrigation?’

Dee nodded. ‘Yes. You see, when I looked at his eyes I saw flecks, which indicated toxins. You can always tell. He needs it.’

Jenny grimaced. ‘But . . . but do you think it’s a good idea to give colonic irrigation to somebody you work with? Especially if he’s a young man and you’re . . . well, you’re you. Don’t you think that . . . ?’

‘I don’t see what the problem is,’ Dee retorted. ‘You know, people treat colonic irrigation with such suspicion - as if it were open heart surgery or something. It really isn’t. It’s simple, you know, you just—’

Jenny raised a hand. ‘I really don’t want to hear about it, Dee. Frankly, I don’t think it’s the sort of thing you should talk about. Vitamins, OK. Echinacea, OK. But colonic irrigation, that’s another thing altogether.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘No, you obviously don’t. But think of it from the point of view of that poor young man. Here’s his boss - his boss, remember, even if it’s you - saying to him that she wants to take down his trousers and—’

‘It’s not like that at all,’ Dee said. ‘Colonic irrigation is not like that at all.’

‘Well, he’s not here, is he?’ snapped Jenny. ‘You’ve scared the poor boy, haven’t you? And who can blame him?’

‘He’ll be grateful,’ said Dee. ‘You’ll see. He just needs a bit of time, that’s all.’