The Caretaker.

Richard slammed the filing cabinet draw shut. The metallic crash echoed around the empty office.
“Where’s that damned file ?” he cursed out loud to the empty walls.
It was nine thirty in the evening and everyone had long since gone home.
Everyone that is, who wasn’t trying to impress the area manager with their dedication and efficiency.
Five years ago, Ernest Wilson, temporary, deputy understudy area manager for sales and merchandise, (North West Division) had occasion to call into the office.
He needed an elastic band for the broken knob on the second hand radio in his Company Ford 1.3, cream, no extras, not to be used for personal business.
During this unremarkable visit, he stopped at the desk of seventeen year old Richard as he was straightening paper clips for re-use. The young office junior was a spotty, callow youth, so wet behind the ears, he could have grown water lilies.
“Very efficient.” slimed Ernest Wilson, as he surreptitiously stuck his chewing gum beneath the lip of Richard’s desk.
“I’ll have to keep an eye on you. You’ll have my job soon.” The remark was forgotten as soon as the gum was deposited. But not by Richard.
To an impressionable youngster, keen to move on from paper clips, this was high praise indeed.
The work ethic had been eulogised. A seed had been planted. Probably a water lily.

That evening, Richard had gone home to his mother and proudly told her he’d been picked out for promotion by a senior member of management. Mother peeled another potato and gave her budding executive extra chips.
While Richard was forcing down his last mouthful, Ernest Wilson was in a dingy B&B massaging the feet of an ugly escort girl with smudged mascara, calling herself Becky Jane.
He wouldn’t have remembered Richard even if he’d burst through the door, wearing a paper clip bikini, singing, ‘I’m In The Mood for Love,’ and waving a typed memo in triplicate. (Copies to all depts.)

Now, five years after the seed planting ceremony, and the gastronomic reward, Richard was the office drudge. Any overtime, any extra workload, anything that nobody else wanted, (which was plenty.) Richard was your man.
In the early days, he volunteered himself. Then others volunteered him.
Then they didn’t even ask. Then it just was.
Nobody can now remember how they arrived at this system. What’s more, nobody cared. It just became one of those vague office rituals.
Any work, Rik’s your man. Somewhere in the dark depths of Richards mind, Ernest Wilson’s phoney words of praise still oiled the cogs that turned his wheels.

Six months ago, Richard had married Megan from the stores department in the basement. He’d had to go down there to ask the stores manager, a budding poet, to stop writing rude limericks on the invoices. While there, he’d helped Megan to put a box of grommets onto a high shelf. It was love at first sight for both of them, but three months passed before Megan grew tired of Richard tripping over his tongue. She was from Wales and she wasn’t used to English men being so slow. At first she thought he was trying to speak Welsh, until she realised he’d never asked a girl out before. Eventually, she asked him out. Now they lived with her parents while they saved enough money for a place of their own. Despite their poor finances and less than ideal living arrangements, the only thing they ever argued about was the amount of time Richard spent at the office. “I never see you.” was Megan’s daily complaint.
“You think more of that job than you do of me.” was another regular refrain.

Today would bring sharper comments than usual. Today was Megan’s birthday and Richard had promised to be home before seven.
That was before Mr Davies, the office manager, had gone home early with a headache and asked Richard to be a sport and finish off the filing.
It never occurred to Richard that Thelma from sales always offered to drive Mr Davies home during his ever more frequent illnesses. But right now, the last thing on Richards mind was the boss’ headache. Or Megan’s birthday.
Right now, all he was thinking of was the missing file.
“Grommets. Rubber. Nine centimetres. Order forms. Where was it ?”
He rubbed his tired eyes and pulled his regulation navy blue tie down another inch. It was a hot, muggy night in mid August and the heat was becoming stifling. He would have turned on the fan, if Mr Davies hadn’t locked it in his office to save electricity.

Grommets & Co had occupied this old redbrick building since 1927. Long before the luxury days of fancy air conditioning. Richard went to the window and tried to pull it open. He wasn’t really surprised when it wouldn’t budge. He thumped the glass in frustration with the side of his fist.
“Probably hasn’t opened since before I was born.” he thought.
He leaned on the ancient ribbed radiator to look out of the window.
Instantly, the heat against his hands made him flinch and pull his hands away.
“What on earth is that caretaker playing at ? The hottest summer for years and he’s got the heating on full.” Richard tried to close the valve.
It wouldn’t budge. It was the final straw. Something inside the placid office dogsbody went snap. He picked up an old wooden chair and smashed it with all his strength into the radiator. Pieces of chair flew in all directions, leaving Richard holding a scrap of wood that for the past fifty years had been a back rest.
“Damned radiator. Damned building. Damned job.”
Each curse was emphasised by beating the offending radiator with the deceased back rest.

“Can I be of assistance ?” said a voice.
A mixture of surprise and fright caused Richard to yell and jump backwards as he pirouetted in mid air, to face the voice.
An old man in a boiler suit and flat tweed cap stood calmly, watching Richard punish the radiator.
“Who are you ? How did you get here ?”
“I’m George. The caretaker. You seem to be having trouble.”
“You’re not the caretaker. Where’s Charlie ?” asked Richard, still holding the ex backrest above his head in shock.
“He’s resting. I’m the evening help.”
“Well you could help by turning this radiator off.”
George walked silently to the radiator. He bent down and patted the valve as though it were a pet dog. Then he gently turned it off.
The radiator gurgled as the flow stopped.
“But……….. “ Richard began, as he finally threw away the chair remains.
“This one was always temperamental.” Interrupted George.
“You’ve worked here before then ?” asked Richard, finally regaining his composure.
“Would you like this window open too ?” said George, ignoring Richard’s question.
“It’s stuck. Hasn’t opened in decades.” Richard told him.
George silently took the handles of the bottom sash and smoothly raised the window.
“Used to be a lovely view from here.” said George, looking at the flyover that ran level with their third floor. Before they stuck that thing there.”
“The flyover ? But that’s been there for, well, for as long as I can remember.” Richard sounded puzzled.
“Blink of an eye lad. Blink of an eye.”

George bent down and began picking up the pieces of broken chair.
“I’m sorry about the chair.” said Richard guiltily. “I just lost my temper.”
“I know lad. I know. Why don’t you leave this to me and get yourself home.”
“I can’t. I haven’t finished. I can’t find one of the files.”
“Do you think anyone will notice. Or even care ?” George spoke without looking up from his task. “Does it matter if it’s done tonight or in the morning ?”
“But I promised Mr Davies that that I’d do it.”
“You did that lad. And where is Mr Davies right now ? I’ll tell you where. He’s wrapped around Thelma from sales. And where are you ?
You’re stuck in the office doing his work,”
At long last, a tiny glimmer of flickering candlelight came on in Richard’s innocent head and he realised what George was trying to tell him.
“Is that so ? He told me he had a headache.” But then, the light went out again and Ernest Wilson’s lily seed flowered once more.
“But I must find that file. I can’t tell Mr Davies it’s lost.”
“It’s not lost lad. It’s right there on your desk.”
“No. I’ve looked there a dozen times.” said Richard firmly.
“Well look again.” said George. Richard looked, and sure enough, there was the file, sitting on his desk like a big, winking elephant.
“I don’t believe it. I looked there a dozen times. It wasn’t there.”
“Tired eyes can play tricks like that. Now, you’ve got the file. Get yourself home.”
“I can’t. I really must get finished. I’ll only be another hour.”
George stood up slowly. “ONLY another hour ?” he sounded angry.
“Don’t you realise how valuable that hour is ? Don’t you realise that when it’s gone, you’ll never have it back again ? Think of all the things you could do with that hour. Yet you spend it here, filing tuppenny halfpenny invoices. Sit down.”
“I can’t. I’ve smashed my chair.” said Richard timidly.
“It’s right there behind you.”
Richard looked around. Sure enough, there was his chair.
He sat down very carefully, fully expecting the chair to fall apart beneath him.

“Let me tell you something.” said George. “One hour. An hour that you’re throwing away so easily, cost me everything I had. Everything I ever really wanted.” Richard tried to interrupt. “Look, I really must……..”
George ignored him. “A long time ago, when I was your age, I was in a dead end office job, just like this. I realised I was everybody’s dogsbody, so I got out and started my own business. I worked all hours under the sun and moon. Building it up from scratch. At first my wife was all for it. After all, I was doing it for her as much as myself. A better life for both of us. Weeks of long hours turned into months of longer hours. The months turned into years until it became like a drug. Just one more deal. Just one more job. Just one more late night. Just one more. That’s what my wife used to call me. Mr Just One More.
The good life was always just around the next corner.
We had some terrible rows. She said she didn’t marry a husband, she married an empty house. Then one day, I promised to be home early.
It was her birthday. I had one last appointment. When I got there, the client had left a message to say he’d been delayed and could I wait, one hour.”
Richard interrupted. “Let me guess. You remembered your promise, said no and went home. So for the sake of an hour you lost the deal.”
“If only I had.” George sadly shook his head.
“I said yes and waited. As a result, I got the deal. Then I went home like a dog with two tails. When I got there my wife had gone. Packed and left.
She’d had enough of watching the clock tick round. Enough of cancelled restaurant bookings Enough of sleeping in a cold, empty bed. They say you never realise what you’ve got until it’s gone. Never was a truer word spoken.
When I realised what I’d lost, I went to pieces. The business fell apart and I ended up with nothing. No business, no wife, no home. Nothing.
All because I was an hour late one time too many. I was on skid row for years. A deadbeat.
Then one day, to my shame, I bumped into an old client. He took pity on me and got me a job as a caretaker. And that’s how I came to be here.”

George stopped talking and looked expectantly at Richard.
Richard didn’t know what to say and was embarrassed by the silence.
“Haven’t you forgotten something ?” George asked.
Richard was puzzled. He wandered if he should say thank you.
George gave him a hint. “Birthday ?”
There was a pause before the penny dropped.
Richard shot off his chair as though he’d been electrocuted. “Megan. It’s her birthday. I promised to be home early. She’ll kill me.”
Richard grabbed his coat from the back of the door.
“What about your file ?” asked George mischievously.
“Blow the file. I’ve got to get home. I don’t want to end up like ……..”
“Like me.” George finished the sentence.
Richard looked shamefaced. George let him off the hook. “It’s alright. Go on. I’ll lock up.”
“Thanks George.” said Richard as he pulled on his coat. “Will I see you again ?”
“Sort of.” said George.
But Richard was already going out the door.
“See you tomorrow then.”
“Maybe.” said George to himself.
And Richard was gone. It never occurred to him to ask how George knew about Megan’s birthday.

When he got home, as expected, Richard did indeed get the sharp end of his wife’s tongue. All the usual complaints plus some new one’s were hurled at him with extra vigour. Richard didn’t argue his case as he normally would have. Instead, he spent the evening being contrite and tip toeing very carefully around every sharp word and black look.
He eventually went to bed feeling like a puppy that had just been severely housetrained. But that wasn’t the reason why he didn’t sleep.
In the dark of the night, with only an angry iceberg for company, Ernest Wilson’s carelessly planted seed flowered with a vengeance.
“What if Mr Davies wants the file first thing ? What if I can’t find it again in the morning ? What if head office need an invoice ?”
Richard lay awake, going through two dozen,‘what ifs.’

The following morning saw him arrive at work an hour early. He’d managed to slip away without waking the unthawed iceberg. The office doors were unlocked at seven thirty to let in the cleaning ladies. When Richard got to his desk at seven thirty one, Charlie, the regular caretaker was doing his rounds.
“Morning Charlie.” said Richard as he looked for the nine centimetre grommet file that he’d left on his desk last night.
“Don’t you ‘mornin’ me.” said Charlie grumpily.
“You left this place wide open last night. You could have got me shot if we’d been burgled.”
Richard looked up. “But George said he’d do it.”
“Who the ‘ell’s George ? And how did you get that window open ? That hasn’t budged for over twenty years.”
“George opened it. And he fixed the radiator.”
“Who’s this George ?” asked Charlie, getting more irritated.
“The stand in caretaker. He was here last night.”
“There isn’t a stand in caretaker. I’ve been asking them for one for years but they wont part with the money. So pull the other one. And next time you work late, lock up after you.” Before Richard could reply, Charlie stormed off along the corridor. Richard sat at his desk and tried to replay the previous evening in his head. Surely he hadn’t imagined it all ?

“George you said his name was ?” Richard looked up. Charlie had returned and was stood in the doorway looking suspiciously at Richard.
“Yes. I’m positive.”
“Fixed that radiator did he ?”
“Yes. Honest. Try it.”
Charlie went over to the radiator and tried the valve. It worked perfectly.
“That valve has been rusted solid for years.” said Charlie.
He smelled a rat and laid a trap.
“So tell me then. Did this George free the valve with a hammer or force it with a wrench ?”
“Neither. He just sort of patted it. He said it had always been temperamental. Then he tried it and it turned.” Charlie looked badly shaken. The trap he’d set had snapped on his own fingers.
“Alright. Very funny. This is a wind up isn’t it ? Who’ve you been talking to ?”
“Nobody. I was on my own last night. Richard protested. Why ?”
“Because old George was the only person who could ever make these old radiators work properly. He always used to pat them like they were his pets.”
“There you are then. said a relieved Richard. You do know him.” He was here last night and he promised to lock up.”
“I doubt that very much.” said Charlie.
“Why don’t you believe me ? You just said you know him.” Richard was starting to get irritated by Charlie’s refusal to believe him.
“What did this George look like then ?” asked Charlie.
Richard threw the grommet file onto the table with a loud smack and an exasperated huff.
“He was sixtyish. About my height but tubby. He had a grey moustache and he wore a blue boiler suit. He looked a bit ‘old fashioned.’”
Charlie didn’t answer. He was dumbstruck.
“Well are you convinced now ?”
Charlie laid one last trap. “What about his hair ? Was he bald, grey, ginger, wavy, or what ?”
“I don’t know. I never saw his hair. He wore an old tweed flat cap.”
Charlie felt his legs turn to wet string. He sat down on Richard’s chair.
“Oh yes. And he fixed that chair.”
Charlie shot to his feet and looked at the chair as though it had just bitten him.
He gingerly picked it up and turned it upside down. Burnt into the underside of the wooden seat was the name, George. Underneath that was burnt the date 1965 and the word Boiler-room.
“That was the first job he gave me when I started working here.” said Charlie, more to himself than to Richard.
“You did that ?” Richard was getting more confused.
“Yes. This was George’s chair. He bought it with him when he came to work here. Sentimental value. It was the only thing he’d managed to salvage from his home when he was evicted.”
Richard recalled how George had appeared the night before just as he had smashed the chair to pieces.
“Alright. I’m sorry.” said Charlie as he gently replaced the chair.
“Sorry ?” asked Richard. Still puzzling over the resurrected chair.
“George was here last night. I believe you, But I wish I didn’t.
“Why not ?”
“Let me show you something.” Charlie went over to the open window.
“See these.” he said. Pointing to three large screw threads protruding from the bottom of the sash window.
“That’s why this window wouldn’t open. I put these screws in twenty years ago.
On the 14th June 1969 to be exact.”
“That’s the day I was born.” smiled Richard, amused by the coincidence.
Charlie looked at him in disbelief. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and continued.

“The reason I remember the exact date, is because that’s the day I got promoted.”
“That’s when George left ?” queried Richard, ever more confused.
“You could say that. He left through this window.” Richards mouth dropped open. Charlie continued.
“After standing on that chair.” he gestured to George's chair. “After telling me he was coming up here to fix that radiator.” he gestured to the radiator.” Richard’s heart was beating hard against his chest. He felt like he was standing on a railway line with a train approaching fast. But, like a voyeur to an accident, he had to know the outcome.
“You mean George fell out and had to retire ?" Charlie’s response was unyielding. “He jumped and died instantly. He’d been depressed for years, ever since his wife left him.”
Richard looked out of the window at the concrete far below.
“His name wasn’t really George either. We just called him that because nobody was ever sure what his real name was. When we got his belongings back, there was a photograph of him with his wife. She’d written on the back; ‘To my darling Richard. Love Megan.’ His wife died a couple of years later on a visit to Wales. Stepped in front of a car. Apparently, she’d always blamed herself for what happened. All because he was late home or something silly.

Charlie was still talking as Richard threw the grommet file into the bin. He walked down the corridor on legs of jelly, with Charlie’s words going round and round inside his head.
“Morning.” chirped Thelma from sales, as she arrived late for work. Richard didn’t see her, or the love bites on her neck.
“Morning Richard.” crooned Mr Davies, arriving a discreet distance behind.
Richard didn’t answer. Mr Davies didn’t notice.
Richard reached the stores downstairs just as Megan came out of the locker room.
“I’m not speaking to you.” she said angrily, before noticing the tears overflowing in Richard’s eyes.
“Richard ?” was all she managed to say before he reached her, put his arms around her and kissed her like never before.
“I’ve missed you so much.” he said when their lips parted.

END.