Hemingway’s Chair

wasn’t an international crime for God’s sake.
    ‘One
day perhaps,’ he shouted.
    ‘Bloody
marvellous game!’ Rawlings called back, before turning, reluctantly, to his two
teenage sons who climbed sulkily out of the Volvo. ‘Come on!’ There was much
slamming of car doors, and Martin Watched them walk towards the court.
    ‘I
feel really ill, Dad,’ said one of his sons.
    ‘You’re
pathetic,’ said the other.
    The
voices trailed away. Marshall, fully suited now, towelled his face vigorously
and finally pushed his car door shut.
    ‘Martin,
I’m sorry about Parr. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen like that again. I
promise.’
    He
got into his car and had it going pretty quickly. He raised a hand, but it was
against the sun and Martin couldn’t tell if he was waving farewell or adjusting
the mirror. Marshall turned the car briskly and scrunched down the gravel
drive, heaving his seat-belt on as he went. Martin’s eyes followed him down to
the gate, where he turned left and headed away from the town.
     
    As
it happened life was only lightly disrupted at the post office. Nick Marshall
put in longer hours at the counter and was concerned to keep the staff happy. A
new part-timer called Mary Perrick was recruited to help in the run-up to
Christmas. She was in her late fifties, a large, maternal ex-teacher. It was
the busiest time of year and no one had much time for regrets except on green
giro day when John Parr came in to collect his dole money.
    But
something had changed. The lazy coffee breaks and gossipy lunch hours of
Padge’s day were replaced by a more formal and businesslike routine. Marshall
could barely conceal his impatience for what he called ‘non-productive’ time.
He made it clear that a ten-minute break was a ten-minute break and a rota had
been posted on the staff-room wall with twenty-four-hour timings attached. But
without John Parr there was no one prepared to laugh at the absurdity of the
Individualised Leisure Rota with its terse, inhospitable injunction: ‘M.
Sproale. Afternoon Period November 9th-17th. Break commencement: 15.20 hours,
conclusion: 15.30 hours.’
    Then,
one morning in early December, before the office opened, Marshall called them
all together. He was wearing a sweater in preference to his usual suit. His
hair was freshly cut and he looked like a schoolboy. He stretched his hands
tightly together. ‘Good news,’ he began. ‘I’ve had a promise from HQ that the
P50 Advance system will be installed first thing after Christmas.’ He smiled
and looked around him expectantly.
    ‘What
does that mean to a simpleton like me?’ asked Arthur Gillis.
    ‘It
means that as from 27th December all Theston cashiers will have their own
on-counter computer terminal.’
    Arthur
Gillis glanced at Martin and raised his eyes heavenwards.
    ‘All
computerised transactions are connected to a modem — you get the information
faster, the customer spends half as much time hanging around, and balancing up
takes ten minutes instead of two hours. It’s standard issue in Crown offices
now.’
    ‘Are
these things easy to work?’
    ‘Well,
I’m not expecting you to learn it between eight thirty and nine, Arthur.’
    ‘Thank
God for that.’
    ‘They’re
delivering a couple of them at the end of the week and I’m proposing that we
have a session together after closing time on Saturday to iron out any
Problems.’ He caught Arthur Gillis’s eye. ‘Don’t look like that, Arthur.
They’re not monsters.’
    ‘No,
but my wife is and there’ll be hell to pay when I tell her I’m working Saturday
afternoon. It’s only two weeks till Christmas.’
    A
curious expression appeared on Marshall’s face, a quick puckering of the
corners of the mouth as if he’d swallowed something unpleasant. ‘I’ll tell you
what, Arthur, why don’t I bring someone in on Saturday to cover for you, and
you can have all the morning for your shopping?’
    Gillis
looked unexpectedly grateful. ‘Well... Well, if you could do that, Nick. I’d
very much appreciate it.’
    Elaine
raised a hand. ‘Excuse me, Nick, but who comes in instead?’
    Marshall
looked up at the rota on the wall. ‘Well, let me see now.’
    He
nodded thoughtfully before turning to her. ‘Have you done your Christmas
shopping?’
    Elaine
shook her head emphatically. ‘ I 'm not coming in. It’s my first Saturday
off in a month. You must be joking.’
    Arthur
Gillis intervened. ‘Look, forget it. I’ll ask Pat to do the