Mrs. Parker, may I introduce you to someone? This is Emily, our new team member. Shell be joining your department.
Mrs. Parker lifted her gaze from the computer to see a young woman, barely out of university, with light-brown hair tied back in a ponytail and a shy, open smile. Emily shifted her weight nervously, hugging a slender folder of documents as if it were a life jacket.
Lovely to meet you! Emily bobbed her head. Im so grateful for this opportunity. I promise, Ill give it my all.
The manager, Mr. Harris, had one foot out the office door but paused for emphasis.
Mrs. Parker, youve been with us in logistics for two decades now. Show Emily the ropes, please. Systems, routes, dealing with shippersthe full song and dance. In a month, I want her handling her area solo.
Mrs. Parker nodded and sized up the new girl. Twenty-three, wasnt she? The sort that could have been her daughter, if shed ever had children. But at fifty-five, Mrs. Parker had long made peace with a life composed of her job, a flat with a geranium on the sill, and a tabby cat named Smokey.
Come on, sit here, she indicated the neighbouring desk. Lets get cracking.
Emily spent her first week mixing up shipper codes and utterly forgetting to update the logbook. Mrs. Parker stayed patient, explaining things three times over and sketching flows on scrap paper.
Look here, love, youve got Birmingham, but the shipments going to Brighton. Thats a bit of a detour, wouldnt you say?
Emily would flush beetroot red, apologise, fix itand then bungle something else. But at least it was somewhere new every time.
By the second week, it was getting better. Emily caught on fast, scribbling Mrs. Parkers every muttering into a battered notebook covered with cartoon cats.
Mrs. Parker, why dont we work with this haulier? Their rates are fantastic.
Because, darling, they missed two deadlines. Reputation comes before pennies. Never forget it.
Emily nodded solemnly and made careful notes. Then, out of the blue:
Do you bake your own sausage rolls? It always smells delicious around your container.
Mrs. Parker chuckled. The next day, she brought twice the usual amount of cabbage pasties. Emily scarfed them at lunch with wide-eyed appreciation, as if tasting something otherworldly.
My gran used to bake like this, Emily picked up the crumbs with care. She passed away two years ago. I still miss her dreadfully.
Something made Mrs. Parker reach out, resting her hand over Emilys. Emily didnt pull away; on the contrary, she managed a grateful smile.
There followed apple crumble, shortbread, ginger cakeeach time declared the best Ive ever had! Mrs. Parker found herself baking extra, just for the company. A strange, long-missed warmth crept into her routine.
Mrs. Parker, can I ask something? Not work-related.
Fire away.
My boyfriends asked me to marry him. But weve only been together six months. Is it too soon, do you think?
Mrs. Parker put her paperwork aside and watched Emilys anxious face.
If you have to ask, love, its probably too soon. When its right, you wont be asking questions.
Emily gave a relieved sigh, as if Mrs. Parker had lifted a burden from her shoulders.
By the end of week three, Emily was handling haulier calls solo, sifting routes, spotting others mistakes before tea break. Mrs. Parker watched, quietly pleasedher protégé was thriving.
Youre like a mum to me, you know, Emily confessed one day. Except nicer. Mines always criticising, but youre just kind.
Mrs. Parker blinked, then turned to the window.
Oh, get on with your work, she said, but couldnt stop smiling till hometime.
Emily blossomed over the month. Mrs. Parker noted how professionally she spoke to shippers, how swiftly she processed requests, how easily she navigated emails. The student had surpassed expectations.
Fridays meeting saw Mr. Harris gloomier than a rainy bank holiday. He sat at the tables head, turning a pencil over in his hands, long silent before announcing:
Not ideal news. The markets tanked, three major clients have jumped ship. Head office wants to optimise staff.
Mrs. Parker exchanged glances with her colleagues. Everyone knew what optimise meant: redundancies.
Decisions will be made for each department over the next month, Mr. Harris went on. For now, business as usual.
Back at her desk, Mrs. Parker glanced at Emily, who was staring at her screen with both hands frozen above the keyboard.
Fifty-five years old. Mrs. Parker knew how it worked. Her salaryone of the highest. Years in, so payout wouldnt be stingy. Textbook redundancy case, really. She could take it. Pension soon, savings tucked away, the mortgage long gone.
But Emily The girl had changed lately. No lunchtime chat, no asking for seconds of apple crumble, hardly looked at Mrs. Parker even when asked something.
Emily, you alright? Mrs. Parker perched on her desk. You worried about the layoffs?
Emily flinched and offered a strained smile.
Oh, Im fine. Just a bit tired, really.
But Mrs. Parker knew fine meant anything but. Poor thing, she thought. Only just found her feet, and now this. Lifes not fair.
Two more weeks dragged by in fraught limbo. Colleagues whispered in corners, laying odds on whod get the boot first. Emily worked, silent and focused, now and then giving Mrs. Parker odd looks that she chalked up to general nerves.
Then, after lunch on Thursday, the companys internal messenger pinged: Mrs. Parker, please report to Mr. Harriss office.
She stood, straightened her jacket, braced herself. Twenty years at the company and now, the tumbleweed moment. She entered expecting the axe.
She froze at the threshold.
Emily sat opposite Mr. Harris, spine ramrod straight, folder in lap, face unreadable.
Come in and take a seat, Mr. Harris gestured to the spare chair. Theres a serious matter to discuss.
Mrs. Parker sat, glancing between her boss and Emily. The latter refused to meet her eye.
Emilys been working exceptionally hard, announced Mr. Harris, opening some papers. Shes found a number of major errors. In your work, Mrs. Parker.
Mrs. Parker stopped breathing. Brain failing to process. Emily, the cat-notebook girl, the one who loved her pasties and asked advice about weddings. Errors?
Ive examined the past eight months of records, Emily finally spoke, but only addressed Mr. Harris, as if Mrs. Parker were a coatrack. I discovered eleven significant discrepancies: incorrect route codes, waybill inconsistencies, shipment dates jumbled.
She flipped open her folder, displaying highlighted spreadsheets. Mrs. Parker recognised her own handwriting in the margins of one of the files.
Im confident I could manage this section better, Emily said, all businesslike, reading from some internal script. Mrs. Parkers very experienced, but, well, time catches up with us all. Im more cost-effective, more efficient. Just being honestits simple maths.
Mr. Harris leaned back, drumming his fingers.
Mrs. Parker? Any comment?
Mrs. Parker stood and leafed through the highlighted pages. The so-called errors werent even real mistakes.
I wont make excuses, she said calmly, setting the papers down. What Ive learned in twenty years: no ones perfect from start to finish. The point is resultsshipments land on time, clients are happy, moneys on the books.
But this kind of thing could be disastrous! Emily piped up, suddenly animated. Im only thinking of whats good for the company!
Mr. Harris gave a tired, lopsided smilethe sort you see on someone whos seen too much of everything.
Let me tell you, Emily, the one thing this firm doesnt need: staff wholl throw a colleague under the bus to get ahead.
Emily went white.
I know about these so-called mistakes, Mr. Harris went on. Theyre not errors. Theyre the product of years of experience. Mrs. Parker knows every shortcut to dodge red tape and how to keep things moving when the system seizes up. On paper, maybe it bends protocol. In reality, its expertise. You just havent lived long enough to see the difference.
Emilys hands clenched around her chair.
Youll work two more weeks, then youre done, Mr. Harris closed the folder. I want your resignation on my desk by end of day.
Please, Emilys voice cracked, I didnt mean I need this job; Ive a mortgage, Ive just started
Shouldve thought of that sooner. Off you go.
Emily stood. Her folder slipped; papers fanned out across the carpet. She dropped to gather them, head down, trying to hide her tear-stained face.
The door closed softly behind her.
There you have it, Mrs. Parker, Mr. Harris shook his head. She almost replaced you, that one. A viper you warmed at your hearth.
Mrs. Parker said nothing. For a moment, her chest felt hollow, echoing.
Youll be working here till the lights go out for good, he added quietly. We dont let talent like yours slip away. Got it?
She nodded and left.
Emily was at her desk, eyes locked to her screen. As Mrs. Parker passed, Emily looked upa sharp, wounded glare beneath damp eyelashes.
Mrs. Parker did not look back. She sat, reopened her work programme.
The pasties in the container on the windowsill remained untouched until dusk.
