Miss Alice Richardson, meet Amelia, our new hire. Shell be joining your department.
Alice looked up from her computer and saw a young woman, barely twenty, standing awkwardly at the door. Her light brown hair was tied neatly back, her face open and a little shy. Amelia shifted from foot to foot, clutching a slim folder to her chest.
Lovely to meet you, she said, dipping her head. Im so grateful for the opportunity. I promise, Ill do my very best.
Mr. Gregory Clark, the manager, had already half-turned to leave, but paused at the door.
Alice, youve been with us in logistics for twenty years. Show Amelia the ropes, would you? Everything: the software, planning routes, dealing with the couriers. In a month, she should be able to handle a section herself.
Alice nodded, sizing up the newcomer. Twenty-threecould easily be her own daughter, if such a thing had ever entered her life. At fifty-five, Alice had long since made peace with the fact that family remained an unrealised dream. She had work, a flat with a geranium on the window sill, and Max, her British shorthair cat.
Take a seat, Alice indicated the spare desk. Lets get started, shall we?
Amelia spent the first week muddling up courier codes and forgetting to enter data into the database. Alice quietly corrected, re-explained, drew diagrams on loose bits of paper.
See here? You put Birmingham but the shipments meant for Brighton. Theres a fair distance between those.
Amelia flushed to the roots of her hair, apologised, fixed itthen made a similar muddle elsewhere.
By the second week, though, things improved. Amelia caught on quickly, scribbling every word Alice said into a battered notebook with cartoon cats on the cover.
Miss Richardson, why dont we use this courier? Their rates are so cheap.
Because theyve missed deadlines twice. Reputations worth more than a discount. Remember that.
Amelia nodded, jotting down notes, then suddenly asked, Did you bake those pasties yourself? Your lunch smells heavenly.
Alice chuckled. Next day, she brought in a larger container of cheese and onion pasties. Amelia devoured them at lunch with the glee of someone sampling the culinary wonders of Paris.
My gran used to bake like this. Amelia carefully collected up the crumbs. She passed two years ago. I miss her terribly.
On impulse, Alice laid her hand over Amelias. The younger woman didnt pull away. In fact, she offered a grateful smile.
Then came apple crumble, then scones, then a honey sponge cake Amelia called the best shed ever tasted. Alice caught herself baking extra, just in case. A curious, long-forgotten warmth settled in her chest.
Miss Richardson, can I ask your advice? Not about work.
Shoot.
My boyfriend proposed. Weve only been going out six months. Do you think its too soon?
Alice set her papers aside and looked at Amelias anxious face.
If youre unsure, its too soon. When its the right person, you wont have to ask.
Amelia sighed, visibly relieved, as though Alice had just lifted a heavy bag from her shoulders.
By the end of week three, she was handling calls with couriers, checking routes, even spotting others mistakes. Alice watched with quiet pridesuccess. Shed done it.
Youre like a mum to me, Amelia said one day, sheepish. Only better. My real mum just criticises.
Alice blinked and turned to look out of the window.
Dont be silly. Theres work to do.
But she grinned to herself for the rest of the day.
Amelia positively bloomed. She chatted confidently with couriers, raced through tasks, breezed through the database as if shed designed it. Alice thought her protégé had exceeded all expectations.
At Fridays meeting, Mr. Clark looked gloomier than a January morning. Sitting at the end of the table, fiddling with a pencil, he was uncharacteristically silent before starting.
Heres the thing, he said at last, sweeping his eyes around the group. Business is down. Three of our major clients have gone to the competition. Head office says its time to streamline staff.
Alice exchanged looks with her colleagues. Everyone understood that streamline meant cuts.
Each department will be reviewed over the next month, Mr. Clark went on. But until further notice, business as usual.
Back at her desk, Alice sneaked a glance at Amelia, who stared at her screen, fingers motionless above the keyboard.
Fifty-five. Alice knew her times tables. Hers was one of the highest salaries in the team. All those years of servicenice, healthy severance package. If you were an accountant, shed be your favourite to send off. Bitter, yes, but survivable. She was nearly eligible for a pension, had savings, paid off her mortgage years ago.
But Amelia… The girl was no longer chirpy at lunch, never asked for seconds of crumble, looked past Alice as if she was already fading out of the office.
Amelia, you alright? Alice perched on the edge of her desk. Worried about the layoffs?
Amelia jumped, forced a smile. No, Im fine. Just tired, thats all.
But Alice didnt believe it for a second. Poor girl. Barely got settled and now this. It wasnt right.
Two weeks of pins and needles followed. Colleagues whispered in corners, speculating whod be first to go. Amelia kept her head down, working silently. Alice noticed her catching her eye with a strange look, but chalked it up to nerves.
On Thursday afternoon, a ping from the internal email: Miss Richardson, please see the manager.
Alice stood, straightened her blazer. Well, this was it. Twenty years in one firm and nowgoodbye. She braced herself and pushed open the office door.
Amelia sat opposite Mr. Clark. Back straight, folder on her knees, face unreadable.
Come in, take a seat, he said, gesturing to an empty chair. We need to discuss something important.
Alice sat, eyes darting from the manager to Amelia, who avoided looking at her.
Amelias worked very hard, Mr. Clark opened a file. And shes found some serious errorsin your work, Alice.
Alices lungs stalled. Brain fizzed: Amelia, her kitten notebook, the words serious errors. The same Amelia who gobbled her pasties and asked advice about marriage.
Ive analysed the data for the past eight months, Amelia finally spoke, eyes on Mr. Clark, as if Alice were invisible. Ive found eleven significant inconsistencies. Incorrect route codes, mismatched invoices, confusion over shipment dates.
She fanned out the pagesspreadsheet highlights, Alices handwriting in the margins.
I believe I can manage this section better, said Amelia, her voice all business, like she was reading out a meeting agenda. Miss Richardson is, of course, experienced, but lets face it, time catches up. The company is better off keeping melower wages, higher efficiency. Its just maths.
Mr. Clark leaned back, drumming his fingers.
Well, Alice, any comment?
Slowly, Alice got up, picked up the papers, skimmed the highlighted bits. Mistakes, but not mistakes.
Im not here to make excuses, she said, putting the file back. After twenty years, I can tell youwith this job, perfection at every step is impossible. What matters is the outcome. Freight arrives on time, clients are happy, moneys in the account.
But mistakes like these could ruin us! Amelia leant forward, an unfamiliar urgency in her voice. I did this for the company! I want to help!
Mr. Clark gave a weary smilethe kind you get when youve seen every possible combination of disaster.
You know, Amelia, theres only one kind of employee we really dont needthe type thatll throw a colleague under the bus for a leg-up.
Amelia paled.
Im very familiar with these so-called errors, Mr. Clark said. Theyre not mistakes. Theyre the product of two decades experience. Alice knows how to tip-toe through bureaucracy, how to skip a step when the systems jammed. On paper, maybe it isnt always by-the-book. In reality: it gets the job done. Youre simply too green to know the difference.
Amelia gripped her chair arms.
Two weeks notice. Write your resignation and pop it on my desk. Today.
I beg you, Amelias voice shook, tears sliding down her cheeks. I never meant… I need this job, Ive got a mortgage, Ive only just started…
Shouldve thought of that before. Off you go.
Amelia stood, folder slipping from her hands, papers scattering. She snatched them up, hiding her face.
The door closed with a soft, final click.
Well, Alice, Mr. Clark sighed. Almost had you there, that one. You warmed a snake on your hearth.
Alice said nothing. Her chest felt hollowin a kind of echoey, empty way.
Youll be here till the very last bell. We dont let talent walk. Are we clear?
She nodded and left the room.
Amelia sat at her desk, staring at her monitor. As Alice walked past, the girl shot her a sharp, resentful glance from underneath tear-smudged lashes.
Alice didnt look back. She retook her seat, opened the logistics programme.
The pasties waiting in their Tupperware by the window remained untouched until the office emptied out, long after sunset.
