The Boss

It was official: I hated my job.  To be more accurate, I hated my boss, Tammy.  And, more to the point, she hated me.  I was a Brand Manager working for a pharmaceutical company in Sydney and she hadn’t been with the company long.  She’d transferred from our London office and had disliked me from the beginning.  My old boss, Becca, had decided to move to the country and ‘do craft’ as she put it.  Her husband was a lot older than she was and he’d taken early retirement from the law firm where he was Managing Partner.  No kids and a very healthy bank balance afforded them the opportunity to do whatever they wanted, so ‘Craft in Bowral’ it was!

Because Tammy already worked for us it was easy for us to do some digging and find out what she was like.  The source of most of the knowledge was Martin, who had worked in the Sydney office but had transferred to London a few years ago.  We were all very relieved when he reported back that she could be a bit tough at times but was good fun.  She was originally from Canberra but was moving back to Australia having been overseas for 20 or so years.  She was divorced – a messy divorce, apparently, a few years ago – and was coming home to spend time closer to her parents.

She’d been arranging meetings with everyone on the team and I was the last.  Everyone had reported back that she was very friendly and chatty and we were all thankful that Becca’s replacement seemed to be fitting in. At the allotted time I went to her office.  The door was open and, looking up and seeing me, she indicated for me to take a seat while she finished her phone call.

“Sorry about that, Sara” she apologised.  “It was just someone from finance wanting to understand a couple of things.”

“That’s OK” I said.  “So how are you settling in?” I asked her.

“It’s great to be back” she admitted.  “I’d never planned on being away for so long but then you just get on with your life and suddenly ten years have passed.  And then another ten” she quipped.

I nodded, knowing the feeling.  I’d only planned to go to London for a couple of years myself – the classic ‘rite of passage’ seemingly required of all Australians in their early to mid-twenties.  I ended up staying for seven.  Armed with a UK passport courtesy of my dear old Dad, I didn’t have to bother with visas and only returned after the break-up of a relationship.  It had really been more of a fling than a relationship.  It had ended really badly and I’d also realised that I was only staying for him so handed in my notice, booked a flight and landed back in Sydney six weeks later.  That was five years ago and now, at the age of 34, I was living in the best city in the world, had just bought my first apartment in Drummoyne and was doing a job I loved.

What could go wrong?  Well, a lot as it turns out.  Tammy was asking me about one of the campaigns I was working on.  I was mid-way through telling her about the theme when she interrupted me with “I’ve been meaning to ask you.  I think you know my husband. Well, my ex-husband, Greg.”

I looked a bit perplexed. Her last name was Jamieson and I didn’t know a Greg Jamieson.  I knew a couple of other Gregs but they were all a lot younger than her.  “No, I don’t think so.  I don’t know anyone called Greg Jamieson” I replied.

She shook her head. “Jamieson’s my maiden name.  Though I wasn’t Tammy Jamieson when I was married.  Tammy’s my middle name.  I was Gemma Wilson.  But you do know a Greg Wilson, don’t you?” she continued.

My blood ran cold and she could see the aghast look on my face.  “So,” she said, a malicious tone to her voice. And then, triumphantly, “You do know him!”

I nodded.  There really was no point in denying it.  You see, her ex-husband…  Well, he was the guy I had the fling with just before I came back home.  We’d met in a bar in Covent Garden and, hand on heart, I hadn’t realised he was married.  We kissed the first night and then he called me the week after and a couple of weeks after that we spent the night together for the first time at my flat.  He was Canadian, worked at an investment bank and did quite a lot of travel to Eastern Europe.  We didn’t see each other that much.  Maybe once or twice a fortnight or so but we always had a great time and the sex was mind-blowing.  But six months in, it ended as quickly as it had begun.  I’d called him one Saturday to arrange to see him and, on the second ring, the phone was answered.  But instead of his deep Canadian drawl, it was a woman yelling “Don’t you bloody call him again, you slag.  He’s a married man!”  Shaking, I put down the phone and then immediately called my best friend Julia to tell her all about it.  Julia arrived about twenty minutes later with a bottle of vodka and a six pack of tonic and, throughout the rest of the afternoon we dissected every aspect of Greg and my relationship.  Hindsight is an amazing thing and as we talked, and drank, it became clear that, whilst subtle, all the little signs were there of him having a double life.  Sometimes he’d excuse himself from the table to take a call.  He rarely stayed the night.  The promised weekends away never materialised.  The fact I’d only been to his house once and even then it was only for five minutes while he picked something up and he made me stay in the hall.  It all made total sense.

“Oh God”, I wailed to Julia.  “I’m such a loser”.

“You’re not a loser.  You’ve just been tricked in the same way thousands of women have been tricked before and thousands of women will be tricked again” she said.

She had a point but it didn’t really make me feel any better.  We continued drinking and I woke up next day to a monumental hangover.  I padded through to the kitchen, rummaged around in a drawer for some paracetamol and swallowed them down with some apple juice straight from the carton.

The doorbell startled me and, looking at the clock, I could see it was only just after 9am.  “Who could that be?” I wondered through haze in my aching head.  Passing the mirror in the hall I could see I looked ghastly and ran my fingers through my hair in an attempt to flatten down my curls.

I opened the door and it was Greg.  Anger bubbled to the surface.  “What the hell do you want?’ I said.  “I need to explain” he replied.  “Nothing really to explain.  You’re married and conveniently forgot to tell me.  Is there anything else?” I continued.

He at least had the decency to look a bit sheepish.  “I’m a walking cliché”, he admitted.  “Bored Married Man meets Pretty Girl.  Married Man likes Pretty Girl but thinks Pretty Girl wouldn’t have anything to do with him if she knew he was married so doesn’t tell her.  Convinced wife will never find out but she did.  I’m just really sorry, Sara” he claimed.

“Jesus – you’re so pathetic.  What are you even doing here?  Did she chuck you out or something?” I shouted.

“Yes” he admitted.  “Gemma’s asked me to leave and I’m staying with a friend from work.  I did just want to see you and try and explain” he continued.

“Seriously Greg!  What is there to explain?  Nothing.  Precisely nothing.  Look, I’m not feeling the best – had a big night last night – and I’m going back to bed.  I appreciate you coming around – I really do – but there’s nothing you can say to make this better.  I think it’s best we just call it a day.  Bye, Greg.” And with that I closed the door.

And now, nightmare of all nightmares, his then wife is my new boss.  I just wanted to get up out of my chair and run but knew that I had to tough it out.

What was I going to say? Opting for the truth I opened with “Honestly, Tammy.  I didn’t know he was married.  I never would have…”

“Save it”, she interrupted.  “Do you honestly expect me to believe that?  That’s crap and you know it.”

“It’s not. I swear.  He never said he was married.  I never knew” I replied.

“But surely you must have guessed?” she continued.

“Seriously I didn’t.  Well, not at the time.  It was only afterwards when I started looking back on things that it became a bit more obvious” I admitted.

I looked at her to see if she believed me but the only emotion on her face was hatred.

“You know I took him back?” she said wistfully.  “Yes.  Like an idiot I gave him a second chance.   But it was on the proviso he told me everything about you.  Everything.  I needed to know so I could process it and forgive him.  But it just made it worse.  Before he told me about you, you were nothing but a faceless little slag, a home wrecker.  But then he gave you a name and a personality and a job and you became real.  I just couldn’t deal with it so we split up six months later and he moved to Canada.  Haven’t seen him since.  I’ve got no idea where he is and I frankly couldn’t care.  Isn’t it a small world though?” she said.

I nodded in agreement.  Yes it was.  And it was also a world I really didn’t want to be in.

“Tammy, I really am sorry.  I’d never have started seeing him if I knew.  That’s just not me.  You can ask anyone.  Look, why don’t I arrange another time to go through my projects?” I offered.

The look on her face seemed to have softened but there was no masking her pain.  I expect her seeing me had brought everything back – the hurt, the betrayal – which is why I was keen to make as swift an exit as I could.

She nodded and muttered something about closing the door behind me and I hurried back to my desk.

“How did you go?  Isn’t she lovely?” enquired Kath, who sits opposite me.

“What?  Oh yes.  That.  Yes. It was fine.  Look I need to nip out for a bit.  Won’t be long.”  And with that I grabbed my handbag and jacket and headed for the lift.

Ten minutes later I was sitting in the coffee shop round the corner from my office cradling a caramel latte.  I needed something hot, sweet and soothing.  What I really needed was something clear, in a shot glass and 40 percent alcohol but it was only 10am.  I closed my eyes and savoured the hot liquid.  What was I going to do?  This woman hated me to her very core.  She clearly didn’t believe me yet I was just as innocent in the whole sordid mess as she was.  I groaned inwardly.  What a mess!

I realised that hiding in a coffee shop wasn’t going to help so I finished my drink and went back to the office.  Tammy’s door was still closed and it remained closed for the rest of the day.  True to my word, I sent her an invitation for another meeting to discuss my work and spent the rest of the afternoon intermittently checking to see if she had accepted it.  Her acceptance came through at 5.30 just before I left for the day.  There were a few people going out for drinks but I wasn’t in the mood.  I just wanted to go home and forget that this day had ever happened.

Forty five minutes later I let myself into the flat.  Looking at the clock I could see it would be 7.30am in London.  Taking a deep breath I picked up the phone and dialled.  “Hi gorgeous.  How was your day?” and, at the sound of his voice, I burst into tears.

“Oh Greg.  You’ll never guess what.  It’s Gemma.  Your ex.  She’s here.  In Sydney.  She’s my new boss” I wailed.

“What are you talking about?  I thought your new boss was Tammy someone or other.” He replied.

“It is.  Well that’s her name now.  Tammy’s apparently her middle name.  Fucking hell, Greg.  She’s my boss.  She absolutely hates me.  You should see the way she looked at me.” I cried.

What I hadn’t told Tammy, clearly, was that Greg now lived in Sydney.  And, not only that, he lived with me.  He had indeed gone to Canada after they had split up but was very shortly afterwards transferred to Sydney.  I was living in Manly at the time and one evening, on the jetcat going back to Manly,  he’d just sat right down next to me and said Hi.  I was dumbstruck.  He was probably the last person I’d expected to see.  He’d only been in Australia for a month or so and, as he didn’t know that many people, I’d invited him to a party the following weekend.   One thing led to another and soon we were dating and then three years ago we moved in together.  We’d just bought a flat together and, whilst we’d never talked of marriage, we’d been thinking of starting a family.  Over the years Gemma/Tammy would come up in conversation but the last thing either of us had expected was she’d loom so large in our lives.

Not surprisingly, I’d been reluctant to date him after everything that had.  He’d lied to me for six months and I’d probably never have found out but for Gemma/Tammy seeing a text message exchange between the two of us.  It was pretty explicit and he knew there was no point in lying so he told her the truth.  After I left for Sydney she had suggested counselling but his heart wasn’t in it and, added to that, she just couldn’t forgive him.  So they went their separate ways and never saw each other again.  When we met again in Sydney he’d explained what his marriage had been like – it sounded awful.  They barely spoke.  They often slept in separate rooms.  They had nothing in common.  She was twelve years his senior and he wanted to go out drinking, go to cellar jazz bars and listen to up and coming acts (jazz was his passion) but she just wanted to stay at home and read or play chess.  He hadn’t been looking for an affair when he met me.  He knew he should have told me but the longer he didn’t the harder it became to bring up.  So it remained a secret until he was caught.

“I wish you were here”, I moaned.  He had been working in London for the last couple of weeks.  He hardly ever travelled these days and it was typical he was 17,000 kilometres away now.   “I’ll be back at the weekend though,” he reminded me.  Whilst true, that seemed ages away – but in reality it was only three days.  But two of those days were work days and that meant I would have to face Tammy.

We spoke for a few more minutes and he reassured me everything would work out well.  I couldn’t possibly see how but, not wanting to end the call on a sour note, agreed with him that he was probably right.  We agreed we’d talk about how to handle things when he got back.  I put the phone down and sat there for a while thinking about Greg and the life we now had and smiled.  Despite our very shaky start, we were blissfully happy and I couldn’t help but worry that the appearance of his ex-wife was going to affect us – and not in a good way.

Next day I arrived at the office slightly on edge.  I grabbed a flat white from the café downstairs and was sitting at my desk at 8.30.  I could see that Tammy was already in and her office door was slightly ajar.  I was just waiting for my laptop to start when she called me over. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed a notepad and pen and walked over to her office.  Indicating I should take a seat, she looked straight at me.

“I was thinking about our current situation.  It’s hardly ideal but we’re going to have to get on with each other.  I’m told you’re good at your job and I don’t want to lose good people.  So I think the best thing to do is to forget what’s happened and not mention it again.  I’d also prefer that no-one knows about this.  Does that sound fair to you?” she said.

Oh God.  I was going to have to tell her about Greg now.  I couldn’t keep this from her.  She was bound to find out eventually so I might as well get it over and done with.

“That makes sense and I’m happy do that.  But you probably need to know everything.  The thing is, well, it’s Greg.  He’s not in Canada any more.  He’s here in Sydney.  And, well, we live together.” I said, flatly.

As I’d been speaking I hadn’t been able to raise my eyes to meet hers but now I caught sight of the look of horror on her face.

“He’s here? In Sydney? Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?  Why?” she exclaimed.

Quietly I told her that it hadn’t seemed like the right time and I had still been in a state of shock about what she had revealed.  The woman was unravelling in front of my eyes.  Less than five minutes ago she’d been calm and controlled.  Now she had such a pained look on her face and it seemed like she could burst into tears at any moment.

“Can I get you anything? Glass of water maybe?” I asked.

She shook her head, closed her eyes and started massaging her temples.

What was I supposed to do?  Just sit there?  I was just about to get up and leave when she opened her eyes and once again looked at me.

“OK, I think what I said earlier stands.  This has obviously been a huge shock, but we do have to work with each other.  Now, as far as I’m concerned no one can know about Greg and me.  Absolutely no-one. It would be far too embarrassing for me. Is that clear?” she said.

I nodded.  Most people knew that Greg and I had dated in London but no one at work knew the specifics.  Some of my close friends knew he’d been married but it’s not something we publicised.  “Yes, that’s fine.  I’ll tell Greg when he’s back. He’s in London just now.  He’s back Saturday morning” I replied.

“And one other thing, I think the three of us should meet for a drink.  We need to ‘clear the air’ so to speak.  I don’t want to meet him for the first time when everyone else is there.  It’d be too awkward.  So maybe when he’s back, perhaps one day next week, we could all have a drink?  Somewhere away from the office, though” she suggested.

That sounded like absolute hell on earth and I knew Greg would feel the same as I did but I found myself agreeing to her suggestion.  I made my excuses and left her office.  I was positive I could feel her eyes follow me out of the room and back to my desk.  I threw myself into my to-do list and, thankfully the rest of the week passed quickly.  Soon it was Friday night and I was walking out the door on the way to the pub to meet some friends.  After the week I’d had I wasn’t really in the mood for the usual hijinks which would often see us finishing the evening at The Town Hall in Balmain.  I made my excuses around 8pm and was back at home by 8.30.  I’d picked up a Pad Thai on the way and spent the rest of the night watching a rom com.  I was in bed by 11 and fast asleep by ten past.

I was awoken by Greg sliding into bed beside me at quarter past seven.  The QANTAS plane lands just after six and he was through immigration and customs in record time.  It was so good to have him home and we spent the rest of the weekend lazily pottering around the house, only venturing outside to go to my Mum and Dad’s for the regular monthly Sunday lunch.

I’d told him about Tammy’s invitation.  As I expected he wasn’t particularly enamoured of the idea but did see some merit in at least getting the first meeting over and done with.  He’d suggested we meet at The Glenmore in the Rocks.  The Rocks is an area generally frequented by tourists and it would be highly unlikely we’d be seen by anyone from work.  I emailed Tammy on Monday suggesting we meet later that week.  She replied instantly confirming Thursday suited her and she’d meet us there.

Thursday evening soon came around.  Tammy left around five and I saw her furtively glance in my direction.  We weren’t meeting until six and I’d arranged to meet Greg in the foyer of his office in George Street.  Neither of us wanted to arrive alone and have to subject ourselves to small talk with Tammy until the other arrived.   We approached the bar and he held the door open for me.  I could see Tammy sitting at a table in the corner – a glass of white wine in front of her.  We approached her table.  “Hi Gemma” I heard Greg say.   I still couldn’t get used to her being Gemma but there was no reason for him to think of her as anything else.  She stood up.  “Greg. Sara”, she said perfunctorily and with no hint of warmth in her voice.  Geeze, this was going to be fun!  “I’ll get the drinks in then”, proposed Greg, trying to lift the mood.  Looking straight at me “The usual?” I nodded.  “Gemma.  You want another or are you all good?” he said.  “No, I’m fine” she replied.

Tammy and I sat down and we were silent until I asked her how her day had been. She quickly recapped her day but I really wasn’t listening – I just didn’t want there to be an awkward silence between us.  Luckily the bar was quiet, and Greg was back within a couple of minutes. “Cheers” he said as he sat down and we all clinked glasses and took a sip of our drinks.  Mine was very clearly a double – obviously Greg thought I was going to need it!

“Well, this is a bit odd, isn’t it?” Greg said.

I shifted awkwardly in my chair while Tammy just glared at him.  Bloody Hell.  She was the one who’d suggested this nightmare of an event and it didn’t even look like she was going to make the slightest effort.  Well, if she wasn’t then it looks like it was going to be down to me.

“Have you decided where you’re going to live yet?” I asked her.  I knew she was living with her brother but that was just a temporary measure until she found somewhere more permanent.

“I haven’t really decided yet.  I do like Bondi – it’s busy and it’s not too far from Mum and Dad so I think I’ll end up somewhere over that way.  They both say Hi by the way, Greg” she replied.

They spent the next five or so minutes updating each other on their families and people they’d known when they were together.  I knew from Greg than when he left London he’d lost contact with most of their mutual friends.  He hadn’t known her family very well – they’d only met a handful of times.  Greg’s parents had both died in a car accident when he was in his teens and he only had his brother and sister, who both still lived in his hometown of Toronto.  Tammy appeared to be warming up and had drained her glass announcing it was her round therefore her choice.  She came back a few minutes later with three glasses filled half way with an amber coloured liquid.

“What on earth is that?” I said.

“I know exactly what it is. It’s Mount Gay Rum, isn’t it?” he said and then went onto explain that they’d discovered it on a holiday to Barbados years before.

“Looks like a very generous measure!” I observed.

She downed her drink in one and told me it was a triple.  I took a sip.  It was incredibly strong.  She asked if I wanted another – I shook my head as I doubted I’d even be able to finish the one I had.  Greg too declined and she returned a couple of minutes later with another drink in hand.  The alcohol had made her loosen up and soon I was actually enjoying myself.  She was quite entertaining and soon she was quizzing me on the office gossip and we were exchanging tales about holidays we’d taken.  Even Greg looked like he had relaxed a bit.  I’d barely touched my drink, though, and I asked Tammy if she wanted to finish mine.  She’d nearly finished her second one and reached across the table and poured the contents of my glass into hers.  Greg was still nursing his run so I went to the bar and returned soon after with another gin and tonic – though this time a single measure.

Tammy was, by now, beginning to slur her words which wasn’t surprising given she’d had seven or eight units of alcohol in just over an hour.  She also looked like she was settling in for the night.  Around quarter past seven she excused herself to go to the toilet.  I watched her walk to the bathroom and could see she was far from steady on her feet.  I mentioned this to Greg and suggested we should call it a night.  “Fine by me!” he said.  “I’d forgotten how much she can drink!” he added.

Five minutes later and she still hadn’t returned.  “Can you go and check she hasn’t fallen asleep in the toilet?  It wouldn’t be the first time?’ he joked. “I’ll check outside.  Sometimes when she’s had a skinful she has a sneaky cigarette.”   I made my way to the toilet but she wasn’t there.  A middle aged woman was peering into the mirror applying lipstick.  I asked her if she’d seen a tall redhead and described what Tammy was wearing.  She shook her head.  I asked at the bar and the two barmen hadn’t seen her either.  I turned round and couldn’t see Greg at the table – I assumed he was still outside looking for her.  Not wanting to leave my bag unattended for too much longer, I grabbed it and headed outside.

It wasn’t the warmest evening and there were only a few occupied tables.  Greg and Tammy were nowehere to be seen.  Where were they?  Suddenly I heard a scream and then a thud.  I spun round and lying on the footpath, five feet in front of where I was standing, her body grotesquely contorted, was Tammy.  People were screaming; someone else called Triple 0.  She was clearly dead, her lifeless eyes wide open and staring at me, a look of horror on her face.  Everyone was staring at her.  Everyone that is, except me.  I was looking up to the private function terrace above The Glenmore.  Staring at Greg.  Greg who had disappeared to try and find her.  Greg whose cold-hearted eyes now stared right at me.

I started to scream…