Oh, Sylvia, come here a sec! Meet our new team member, this is Grace, my boss, Richard, waved me over one Monday morning. Shes starting in your department today. Youll show her the ropes.
I looked up from my computer. There stood a young woman, probably about twenty-two, with light brown hair pulled back neatly and a shy but genuine smile. Grace fidgeted a bit and clutched a slim folder to her chest.
Lovely to meet you, she said with a small nod. Im honestly so grateful to be here, really looking forward to it. I promise Ill put the effort in.
Richard, already halfway towards the door, paused before heading out. Sylvia, youve been in logistics with us for what, two decades? Please get Grace up to speedsystems, routes, dealing with hauliers. She needs to pick things up quickly, be ready to run her section by herself in a month.
I nodded, sizing Grace up. She was twenty-threejust the age my daughter would have been, if Id ever had any. At fifty-five, Id resigned myself long ago to pouring everything into my job, my flat with a windowsill full of geraniums, and my cat, Mr. Buttons.
Right then, have a seat. I pointed to the desk next to mine. Lets get started.
The first week was interesting. Grace kept mixing up the carrier codes, always forgetting something in the registry. I corrected her gently, explained things twice, sometimes three times, even resorted to little doodles and notes.
See, youve written Leeds here, but the shipments meant for Leicester. Thats a fair old stretch of miles out!
Grace flushed bright red, stammered out apologies, and fixed itonly to trip up somewhere else next day.
By the second week, though, she was flying along. She scribbled every word I said into a battered notebook covered in silly cats.
Sylvia, why dont we ever use this haulier? Their rates look brilliant.
Because theyve failed us twice on delivery times. Reputation matters more than a bargainnever forget that, love.
She nodded and made a note. Then, somewhat out of the blue, she asked, Do you bake your own pies? That smell coming from your lunchbox is amazing.
I grinned. Next day, I brought in an extra container of cheese and onion pasties. Grace tucked in at lunchtime, wolfing them down like they were something out of The Great British Bake Off.
My nan used to make them just like this she said, carefully gathering the crumbs. She passed two years ago. Miss her so much.
On impulse, I rested my hand over hers. She didnt pull away; just gave me a grateful smile.
After that, I brought in apple crumble, scones, a proper Victoria spongeGrace sang their praises to the skies. I even caught myself baking in double batches, just to have enough to share with her. That old, familiar warmth crept back into my chest.
One afternoon, she sat down next to me. Sylvia, can I ask you a personal question?
Fire away.
My boyfriends asked me to marry him. But its only been six months. Dyou reckon its too soon?
I put down my paperwork, studied her a momenther anxious gaze, waiting for reassurance.
If you have to ask, it probably is. When you know, you just know. It wont be a question.
She actually sighed with relief, as though a heavy coat had fallen from her shoulders.
By the third week, Grace handled everything herselfnegotiated with hauliers, routed shipments, caught other peoples slip-ups. I watchedquietly proud. She took to it like a duck to water.
You feel like a mum to me, she blurted out one day. Only a nice one. Mine just nags, but youre always in my corner.
I blinked and turned to the window. Ello there, get back to work, you! I joked, but I wore a secret smile all evening.
Grace blossomed that monthshe was so confident now, talking to drivers, whizzing through paperwork and picking up new skills fast. She was learning so quickeven I was surprised.
Then one Friday, our usual team meeting took a turn. Richard, looking grim as a rainy day, twisted a pen between his fingers, silent for an age.
Right, here it is, he finally said. Business is rough. Weve lost three key clients to competitors. HQ wants staffing numbers cut down.
We all knew what that meantredundancies.
Decisions over the next month for every department. For now, carry on as usual.
Back at my desk, I cut a sideways glance at Grace. She stared blankly at her screen, fingers motionless above the keys.
Fifty-five years oldI knew the arithmetic. My salary was among the highest in the department. With my years, the redundancy payout would be pretty generous. By the books, I was the best bet for letting go. Bitter pill, but Id manage. Nearly pension age, savings behind me, mortgage paid.
But Grace shed changed lately. No more chatting at lunch, barely touched her share of apple crumble, looked clean through me when I asked her anything.
Grace, are you alright? I asked, perched on the edge of her desk. Worried about redundancies?
She flinched and forced out a smile. No, Im finejust a bit drained.
But she wasnt. Poor kid. Just got on her feet, now this. Lifes never fair, is it?
The next fortnight crawled by. People whispered at the kettle and speculated whod be out. Grace worked quietly, focused, but sometimes shot me odd, tense looks, which I put down to nerves.
Thursday afternoon, a message popped up: Sylvia, please see me in the directors office.
Here we go, I thought. After all these years, time to go. I straightened my jacket and braced myself as I walked in.
And found Grace sitting across from Richard, folder in her lap, back stiff, face unreadable.
Take a seat, Sylvia, Richard gestured. We have a serious matter to discuss.
I sat, glancing between them. Grace wouldnt make eye contact.
Grace has worked hard, said Richard, sifting through paperwork, and shes uncovered several major mistakesin your files, Sylvia.
I swear, I forgot to breathe. Grace, folder with cats, mention of mistakesit didnt add up. The same Grace who devoured my pasties and asked me about marriage.
Ive analysed the past eight months, Grace spoke, but only to Richard, as if I wasnt even in the room. I counted eleven major discrepancies: incorrect route codes, mismatched invoices, wrong shipping dates.
She fanned out sheets with highlighter marks all over them. I recognised my own scribbling in the margins.
I believe I can handle this section better, she went on, voice level and business-like. Sylvias got experience, but the reality is, shes getting on. For the company, it makes sense to keep melower salary, higher efficiency. Its just sensible.
Richard leaned back, drumming his fingers on the desk.
What do you say, Sylvia?
I stood, picked up the sheets. Looked at the marked lines. Things that barely even counted as slip-ups.
Ive nothing to defend, I said, handing them back. After twenty years, I know nobody does every little thing by the book. What matters is the job gets donedeliveries arrive, clients are happy, the accounts are healthy.
But mistakes like these could ruin us! Grace suddenly blurted, an edge in her voice. Im just trying to help the company.
Richard gave her a weary smile. You know, Grace, do you know what we really dont need? Someone willing to toss a colleague aside to save their own skin.
Grace went white.
Im quite aware of these so-called errors, he went on. Its not carelessness; its experience. Sylvia knows how to dodge bureaucratic traffic jams, speed things up where systems stall. Yes, on paper, maybe its not textbook. But in practice, its skill. Youre just too green to spot the difference.
Grace gripped the armrests hard.
Youll finish your two weeks notice, then youre done, Richard closed the folder. Put your notice on my desk by end of day.
Please, her voice cracked. I need this job, I just got that flat, Im only starting
You shouldve thought sooner. Thats all.
She stood, but papers tumbled all over the floor. She scrambled to scoop them up, head ducked, tears dripping. She left so quietly you couldve missed it.
Richard sighed. Nearly did you in, that girl. You took her under your wing, and she tried to do you over.
I said nothing. My chest felt hollow.
Youll stay as long as the company lasts, he added. People like you are irreplaceable, you get me?
I nodded, left his office.
Grace sat at her desk, staring at the screen. As I passed, she looked up, eyes red and angry. I didnt stop or turn. Just went back to mine, opened up my software.
The pasties in my lunchbox on the windowsill were still there at teatime, untouched and cold.
