Can I come in, Mrs Thompson? One of her deputy managers stands hesitantly in the doorway of the factory directors office.
Yes, of course, John. Do come in, Mrs Thompson nods briskly. Well then, how are things today?
Things? Where, exactly?
On the floor.
Oh, in the plant. Alls well on the plant floor. Why do you ask?
Well now, I doubt youve popped in just for a chat. Surely youve something you want to discuss?
Well, yes, I do have a request, actually, John says with a rather grim expression. In fact, I came to ask for something.
Ask for something? Mrs Thompson fixes him with a sharp, appraising glance, shaking her head. Oh, John, I must say, lately Im not sure what to make of you.
Lately?
Yes. Youve seemed gloomy for a while now. Like theres some great tragedy at home. Is everything alright with your family?
Well, if Im honest, in a little while, things will go very badly for my familyunless you give me just one letter.
Letter? Mrs Thompson looks alarmed. Youve lost me, John. What sort of letter?
Well, I know it sounds odd, but Johns face takes on a tragic look. Theres no other way. I need a signed statement from you. For my wife.
What? Mrs Thompsons eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. A letter? For your wife? In what sense?
A letter stating that there isand never has beenanything between you and me.
Anything? What do you mean?
Personal relations John goes scarlet. That we arent, you know, involved. Romantically.
Have you gone mad? Mrs Thompsons face blanches. Or are you trying to wind me up?
I wish it were otherwise, but the future of my marriage is hanging on a slip of paper with your signature and the company seal. My wifes convinced were having an affair.
Mrs Thompson sits frozen for a moment, mouth agape, then asks cautiously, Is your wife quite alright in the head? To ask her husband for written proof that Ive honestly never heard such a thing. Not even in a soap opera.
I know! John exclaims plaintively. But what am I to do? I cant fix it! Weve got kids together. She says if you wont write this letter to confirm theres nothing between usand that Im just your deputyshell file for divorce. Then shell take the children to her mothers in Newcastle. You know thats the end of the earth for me. So please, I beg you, just write this silly letter.
Listen, John, Mrs Thompson tries to digest that this surreal conversation is genuinely taking place, Why on earth did your wife come up with this fantasy idea that somethings going on between us? Weve barely even crossed paths! Ive never left lipstick on your shirt. Wheres she getting these ideas?
From here. John fishes in his blazer, brings out his phone, scrolls quickly and shows her a picture. My wife saw this photo and lost the plot completely.
So? Mrs Thompson examines the image: the management team from their factory, all standing together. Ive got this photo, too! We were all given certificates of appreciation from the council.
Yes, John says, his smile faint and unhappy, But Im next to you, and Ive got my hand on your shoulder.
Because we were packed in like sardines, trying to fit everyone into the shot!
True. But look at your head. Linda says only a woman besotted with a man would lay her head on his chest like that.
What?! Mrs Thompsons eyes blaze with outrage. What complete rubbish! Hasnt your wife got eyes in her head? I was leaning over because I was worried Sylvia was going to block my face with her bouquet!
I tried explaining all that to Linda, too, for ages But the more I denied it, the more convinced she became. So now, I really need your letter. No joke.
But thats ridiculous! Mrs Thompson exclaims again. Are you honestly so hen-pecked that youre terrified of your own wife?
Yes, I am, John replies quietly, just loud enough to be heard. Because of my children. I simply couldnt live without them.
This is absurd. Mrs Thompson grumbles, grabbing a blank sheet from her pile of paper. Oh, fine. If its a letter you need Lets get it over with. Dictate, then.
Right John mumbles. Write: I, Catherine Thompson, hereby confirm that I can barely tolerate my deputy, John Smith
Mrs Thompson looks up at him in surprise, but John calms her with a gesture. Yes, just write it. Barely tolerate him. And add Actually, I cant stand the man.
Cant stand you?! Mrs Thompson protests. How can I work with a deputy I supposedly cant stand?
Then just write you cant stand me as a man. That you wouldnt sleep with me for all the money in England. Even for a million pounds. Now sign it and stamp it, proper and official.
The company stamp is with accounts, Mrs Thompson says automatically. She rereads his dictated letter and is appalled.
This is utter nonsense! This simply isnt done! she declares, folds the page in half, then tears it sharplyonce, twice, then again.
What are you doing? John asks in alarm. That was the document I need!
Listen, John Mrs Thompson says, with a rather odd smile. Ill tell you what. Best get a divorce from your Linda before things get any worse.
What?! Johns voice trembles. I cant! Shell take the children. She will, you know.
No, she wont, Mrs Thompson smiles. I know an excellent solicitorvery experienced. Hell see to it that you get to keep the children through the courts.
But I
And if needed, she cuts him off, Ill personally help with childcare.
You? Youll help? Personally?
Of course! I think very highly of you as a deputy. So Ill find you a wonderful nanny. Youll be well looked after.
And Linda?
Let her go off to Newcastle to her mum, if she must. Or she can come in and talk to me, woman to woman. Thatll do far more good than some ridiculous letter with an official stamp.John lets out a long, shuddering breath. He stares at the shredded pieces on the desk, as if hoping they might reassemble themselves into an answera perfect paper shield for his tangled life. But when he looks up, Mrs Thompson is watching him with something like kindness in her eyes, the severity in her manner softened.
For a moment, a silence pulses between them: heavy with exhaustion, anxiety, andsomehowa hint of hope. Finally, John gives a tiny laugh, bitter and relieved all at once. I never thought this would be my Monday morning, he murmurs.
Nor I, Mrs Thompson replies. Do yourself a kindness, John. Dont build your life around someone elses fantasy. Love your children, stand up for yourself, and next time a problem looks as mad as thistry talking before you try paperwork.
John rubs his face, feeling an odd weight lift from his shoulders. Thank you, Catherine, he saysnot Mrs Thompson now, but Catherine. I think I think I might actually take your advice.
She nods. And if Linda needs convincing, she can hear it directly from me: I have absolutely no desire to run away with her husband. Now, if youll excuse me, I think Ill make myself a cup of tea and ring my solicitor acquaintance anyway. Just in case.
John cannot help but smile. Something like hope flickers to life in his chest. For once, he feels capablenot of fixing everything, but of surviving it. He straightens his tie, stands, and turns to leave.
As he opens the door, Mrs Thompson calls after him, And John? Next time, if someone asks you to do the impossible, just remember: the boss hates paperwork too.
He grins, relief finally settling into his bones. Duly noted. Thank you, Catherine.
He steps out into the bustle of the plants corridorinto noise, into uncertainty, but also, for the first time in a long while, into the possibility of a life not lived in fear, but in honesty.
And somewhere behind him, Mrs Thompson is already dialing a number, smiling to herself: not every day is ordinary. But every day is, at least, a little less ridiculous when faced together.
