Hemingway’s Chair

lunch for yet more important meetings and said he would not be
back that day.
    The
tiny, claustrophobic area of storage space known as the staff room was woefully
inadequate for a meeting. Martin pushed the door open, hitting Shirley Barker a
sharp crack on the knee. He flushed, apologised, looked around and was about to
welcome them all when he stopped abruptly.
    ‘Where’s
Elaine?’ he asked.
    Geraldine
took an upturned mug and rinsed it under the tap.
    ‘I
think she had to buy something before the shops closed. She said it was
urgent.’ She smiled unconvincingly as she said it and the others had stopped
talking and were watching Martin out of the corners of their eyes, is she
coming back, d’you know?’
    ‘She
said to carry on without her.’
    ‘Well,’
said Martin, feeling in his pocket for a handkerchief, ‘some of you might
already have noticed that there is a campaign to stop the Post Office from
selling off our old premises in North Square.’
    ‘What
on earth for?’ asked Shirley Barker. ‘The Post Office’ll do what they want.
That building we were in was a death-trap, so I heard.’
    ‘That’s
nonsense,’ said Martin. ‘That was a story put about by people who want to make
sure we never come back. Now I don’t know about you but as far as I’m concerned
North Square was a one-hundred-percent better place to work in. There was space
and light and room to move and above all, it was a centre for this community.
There was none of this Customer’s Charter rubbish about single queues and
flashing lights and minimum counter times. We treated our customers well
because we wanted to, not because we were told to. This — ’ he nodded
contemptuously towards the door to the office, ‘this is a cage, and if we let
them have their way we’ll all end up like bloody rats.’
    There
was silence. Shirley Barker affected shock, Mary Perrick looked embarrassed.
Geraldine watched Martin from above her mug of tea.
    ‘What
I propose is that, as it is in all our interests, we try and help the STOP
campaign.’ He reached in his briefcase and drew out a bundle of slips of paper
secured with rubber bands.
    ‘What
I’m asking you to do is quite simple.’
    He
pulled one of the slips out and held it up.
    ‘Each
of these pieces of paper contains the name of the campaign, the aim of the
campaign and an address and telephone number. And all you have to do is slip
one into every pension book, post office savings book, family allowance docket
and anything else that gets passed over the counter. Obviously it’s best not to
do it when Marshall’s around because he’s... well he’s management really, it would
be an embarrassment for him.’
    He
looked around and began to slip the rubber bands off the bundles of paper.
    ‘I’d
like us to start tomorrow, if we can.’
    Shirley
Barker stood up. As she spoke, she gathered her handbag, coat and scarf
together. ‘Martin, I value my job and I find it very useful and I want to keep
it. I don’t honestly mind where I work.’
    ‘With
respect, Shirley,’ said Martin, ‘You are part-time. You spend a lot less of
your life here than I do.’
    Shirley
pointed at the others. ‘We’re all part-timers here apart from you. Mary’s a
part-timer. Geraldine’s a part-timer. And they’re here because you got rid of
John Parr and Arthur Gillis. Remember? Maybe you’d be better off starting a
campaign to bring them back, rather than having a go at us.’ She fastened
her floral pattern headscarf, pursing and unpursing her narrow lips nervously.
‘Arthur was a fine and decent man with years of working life ahead of him. Save
the Post Office came a bit too late for him.’
    She
picked up her bag and reached for the door. When she went out it slammed shut
behind her.
    Martin
stared at the door. Mary Perrick stood up. She was a softer, rounder,
infinitely warmer sort than Shirley Barker, but the message was the same. ‘I’d
rather not get involved either, Martin. I need this job too. It doesn’t pay
much, but I’m thankful for whatever.’
    She
stood for a moment and spread her hands wide, then, with nothing else to say,
nodded, smiled a quick, embarrassed smile, opened the door and went out.
    Geraldine
cradled the mug of tea in her hands and made no move.
    Martin
frowned. He thrust his lower lip forward. He slowly replaced the rubber bands
on the slips of paper and returned them to his briefcase. Geraldine stood up
and took her mug over to the wash-basin. Martin