Miss Sophia Allen, please meet our newest colleague. This is Emily, shell be joining your team.
I remember how I looked up from my computer all those years ago and caught sight of hera slip of a girl, perhaps just past twenty, mouse-brown hair pulled into a neat ponytail, an eager but shy smile flickering across her face. Emily shifted from foot to foot, hugging a thin folder to her chest as though it might shield her from the world.
Pleased to meet you, she managed, with a little bob of the head. Im so grateful for the opportunity. Ill try my very best.
Our managerMr. Paul Richardshad already turned to leave, but paused in the doorway.
Miss Allen, youve been with us for twenty years now. Please show Emily the ropes, wont you? Teach her how we handle the system, routes, the carriers. In a month, she should be able to manage on her own.
I nodded, taking her in with a measured gaze. She was twenty-three, just the age a daughter of mine might have been, had my life taken a different turn. But fifty-five saw me long reconciled to spinsterhood: no family, just a modest London flat, a pot of geraniums at the window, and old Marmalade, my ginger cat.
Take a seat, I said, indicating the desk beside mine. Well get started in a moment.
Emily faltered at first that week, mixing up the hauliers codes, forgetting to update the registry. I corrected her gently, showing her the proper way, sketching little diagrams on the backs of envelopes.
See here? Youve got the shipment going to Manchester instead of Newcastle. Almost two hundred miles the wrong wayget it?
Emily blushed, mortified, apologised again and again, quickly sorting the error, only to falter elsewhere the next day.
By the middle of the second week, though, shed found her feet. She absorbed every word I said, jotting down notes into a battered notebook with little kittens on the cover.
Miss Allen, why dont we use this haulier? Their quotes look rather good.
Because theyve missed deadlines twice. Reputation counts for more than a savingdont forget.
Emily nodded, dutifully making a note. Then suddenly, as though emboldened by the humdrum companionship of our days, she asked,Do you bake your own pies? The smell from your lunchbox is just heavenly.
I chuckled and, the next day, brought in a larger tin filled with cabbage pasties. Emily devoured them at lunch, beaming as though Id given her a crown.
My gran used to bake like this, she said, collecting the last crumbs. She passed away two years ago. I still miss her.
An odd warmth crept over me then. I set my hand lightly atop her fingers. She didnt pull away, just smileda small, grateful thing.
After that it was apple crumble, scones with jam, and ginger cakewhich Emily declared the finest shed ever tasted. I caught myself baking more than I needed, so Id have something to bring. A forgotten sort of contentment found its way into my chest.
Miss Allen, can I ask your advice? Not work-related.
Go on.
My boyfriends proposed, but weve only been together half a year. Is it too soon, do you think?
I set aside my papers, considering her worried eyes.
If theres any doubt, then yesits too soon. When its the right man, you wont need to ask.
Emily sighed, as though Id taken a burden from her shoulders.
By the end of her third week, she was handling hauliers herself, checking routes, catching someone elses slips now and then. I watched with quiet prideId succeeded. Raised her up.
Youre like a mum to me, Emily said once. Well, better, really. Mine just scolds me all the time, but you help.
I blinked, turned to the window.
All right now, back to work, I said, but the smile stayed with me the rest of the evening.
In that month, Emily blossomed. I noticed the assurance in her dealings with the hauliers, the swift ease she scanned through orders, the confidence in her eyes. She exceeded every expectation.
Then, that grey Friday during the team meeting, Mr Richards looked gloomier than Id ever seen him. He drummed his fingers on the table, silent for a spell before speaking.
Its a trying situation. The markets shrunk, and three of our biggest clients have gone over to our rivals. The heads upstairs are cutting coststherell be redundancies.
Exchanging glances around the table, we all understood what that meant.
Well be reviewing each department over the next month, Mr Richards continued. For now, carry on as before.
Back at my desk, I snuck a glance at Emily, sitting rigid before her screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Fifty-five years old. I knew the maths. My salary was substantial for the team, my years of service meant a generous severance. On paper, I was the perfect target for a cut. It stung, yes, and burned a little, but Id cope. Retirement wasnt far; the house was paid off, and I had some savings tucked away.
But Emily The girl had changed lately. She no longer chatted during lunch, never asked for a second slice of apple crumble, and barely met my eye.
Emily, are you worrying about the redundancies? I perched on the edge of her desk.
She started, forcing a thin smile.
No, its nothing. Im just tired, thats all.
But it wasnt all, and I could see the strain in her posture. Poor thingonly just found her footing, and now this. Lifes never fair.
The two weeks that followed were tense, filled with whispered speculations and nervous energy. Emily kept her head down, working with fierce concentration. Now and then, I caught her throwing a strange, furtive look my way, but put it down to the general anxiety.
On Thursday afternoon, an email pinged in my inbox: Miss Allen, please come to the managers office.
I stood, straightened my jacket, ready. Twenty years at the firm, and now, it seemed, it was time. I told myself I was prepared.
I tapped at his door and found, to my surprise, Emily already there in the chair opposite Mr Richards, posture stiff and folder clasped tight.
Come in, have a seat, Mr Richards gestured. We need to discuss something important.
I took the vacant chair, my gaze moving from him to Emily. She refused to look at me.
Emily has worked hard this month, Mr Richards opened a file before him, and uncoveredsome significant errorsin your work, Miss Allen.
I felt my breath leave me. I stared at Emily and her kitten folder and the word errors didnt quite fit into my head. This was the girl whod eaten my pasties, asked my advice about getting married
I analysed the past eight months of data, Emily said at last, eyes only on Mr Richards as if I werent even present. There are eleven major discrepancies: wrong route codes, mismatched orders, dates all jumbled.
She opened her folder and handed out highlighted printouts. I recognised my own notes in the margins.
I believe I can handle the role better, Emily continued, steady and impersonal as a lecture. Miss Allen is experienced, but times change, and salary efficiency counts. My wage is lower; my numbers are stronger. Its simple mathematics.
Mr Richards steepled his fingers, sounding bored and tired.
Miss Allen, your response?
I stood, leafed through the reports, then set them down.
Im not going to defend myself, I replied. In twenty years, if Ive learned anything, its that no job can be perfect at every turn. What counts is that deliveries arrive on time, clients are happy, and the books are settled.
But such mistakes could be the undoing of us! Emily interrupted, voice sharpening for the first time. Im only trying to help the company!
Mr Richards gave a weary kind of smile.
Do you know, Emily, the one sort of employee we absolutely cant use? The kind whod betray a colleague for a step up.
Emily went pale.
Im well aware of these so-called errors, he went on. Theyre not mistakes. Theyre the little shortcuts and adjustments that experience teaches youways to navigate around red tape, hurry things along when the system stumbles. It might look like a breach on paper. But in reality? Thats expertise. You simply dont yet know the difference.
Emilys hands clenched the armrests.
Youll finish your two weeks and then be done, Mr Richards said, snapping the folder shut. Please leave your resignation letter by close of play.
I I didnt mean Emily stammered, her voice cracked with panic. I need this job. Ive just got my own mortgageI
You should have thought of that sooner. You may go.
She rose, folder slipping from her fingers and scattering papers everywhere. She knelt swiftly to gather them, head down, tears staining her cheeks.
The door clicked quietly behind her.
Close call, Miss Allen, Mr Richards said with a rueful shake of the head. She nearly ousted you, that one. Careful who you take under your wing.
I didnt reply. My chest felt empty, echoing.
Youll be with us until the doors finally close, he added. We cant afford to lose people like you. Understood?
I nodded and left.
Emily was at her desk, staring blankly at her monitor. As I passed, she looked upeyes red, furious, resentful. I didnt look back. I took my seat, opened the days orders. The pasties in my tin on the windowsill sat untouched until evening.
