Mummy tat

[lanfykins.livejournal.com]

This is entirely castorlion's fault.

"Miss Mackenzie?"

The office was empty again. Andrea pursed her lips at the pile of neatly completed paperwork, closed the door, and went hunting.

She finally tracked down the VP of Outreach in one of the little counselling rooms, where she was sitting crosslegged on the floor, listening intently to the discussion between one of their clients and one of the staff counsellors.

She tapped on the window, and Miss Mackenzie glanced quickly across, then smiled and lifted a hand to indicate patience.

Andrea sighed, and hovered. A few minutes later, her boss slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

"Sorry," she said. "I promised Gavin I'd find time to listen in today. What is it?"

"Jackie in Finance wants to see you before she goes home. She didn't say what for."

"Finance?" Her boss's face took on a slightly hunted look. Andrea pretended not to see. She'd been a secretary for twenty years, which was long enough to know better than to wonder about the strange cash-in-hand salary arrangement that Jackie had confided to her over bagels, or to put it together with Fran-from-HR's intelligence about the lack of home address on their books, at least during work hours. Down the pub on a Friday evening she would happily speculate with the others about what kind of tax dodge Miss Mackenzie was pulling, or why Mr Fletcher had given a management role to such a young and inexperienced woman. Was it grief he'd been prostrated with when Max died, or guilt, they would ask themselves with delighted horror.

Andrea had worked for both the VP and the CEO for long enough to know that it was definitely grief.

"OK. Thanks. Um... it's almost five. Why don't you go home?"

"If you're sure." This little scene was played out every Friday; Andrea was fairly sure her boss was trying to ensure the secrecy of her little fiddle. Since it meant missing rush hour, however, she was nothing loath. Jackie would tell her anything interesting on Monday, anyway.

Rehema had the familiar feeling of drowning again. She was just about getting the hang of the administrative details and the maths, but Andrea's face kept telling her that she wasn't acting like a manager. She couldn't even manage to dress like a manager; tights went into ladders even before they were properly on, and suits were hot and itchy and she couldn't move in them. And she was fairly sure that there were little nuances of office culture she just kept missing.

And then there was Finance.

"Jackie?" she asked, poking her head into the little office.

"Ah, Miss Mackenzie." Jackie rummaged in a desk drawer, then brought out a thickly bulging brown paper envelope. "I was starting to wonder whether you were going to call in for it!"

Rehema stared at the envelope for a moment, then walked in and took it in both hands, gently feeling its thickness. "There's more in here than usual," she stated unhappily.

Jackie stared at her. "You've been working overtime," she pointed out, as if to an imbecile.

"I don't get overtime. I'm salaried."

Jackie shrugged. "Mr Fletcher thinks you deserve it."

Looked at objectively, it was true. She did deserve it. There was no earthly reason why this money should bother her. Except for the sneaking suspicion that this was yet more charity, dressed up so that she couldn't refuse it. And except for the sickening fear that she got even thinking about these sums of money.

Ten pounds, she understood. With ten pounds you could eat for a week, and still have enough left over for a cheap bottle of something to take away the taste. Ten pounds was a lot of money. And each of these envelopes contained a hundred times ten pounds; more money than she'd ever seen in her life, handed to her each month. And for reasons she couldn't put into words, it scared her. She just didn't trust herself to spend it right.

She'd tried to talk to Daniel about it.

"You deserve it."

"I don't want it!"

"Then give it to charity."

"OK! I'll give it to Dignity! And wouldn't it have been simpler just to keep it in the first place and cut out the middle man?"

He hadn't understood. She wasn't sure she did herself.

She took out a couple of notes and handed the envelope back.

Jackie blinked. "Err... what would you like me to do with this?"

"It's a donation."

"That's almost your entire salary!"

"I know. I don't need it."

"Are you... feeling all right?" Jackie sniffed the air surreptitiously, but the faint sour smell of whisky that had clung to Rehema for the first few weeks was long gone. Though that was another good reason not to take the money, and one she preferred not to admit to.

"I'm fine. I just really do think the money is better where it is."

Jackie's face showed clearly that this was not something she wanted to be dealing with last thing on a Friday.

"It's OK," Rehema continued, trying to project earnest reassurance. "I won't come in on Monday asking for it again, and if Da... Mr Fletcher says anything about it, just send him to me and I'll take total responsibility. OK?"

"If you say so," Jackie said dubiously, but took the envelope back and started entering the contents into the database.

"Thankyou," Rehema told her with genuine gratitude, and walked out of the office with a lighter heart. She was starting to get the hang of this.