Back from sick leave, and her desk in the accounts department had been taken over by her husbands sister.
Michael, you left the tap on again! The whole basin is a rustcoloured river! Gwendolyn shouted, standing in the bathroom and staring at the orange streaks on the white porcelain.
I wasnt even in the house this morning, love! Michaels voice crackled from the kitchen, irritated. Maybe you forgot yourself?
Ive been on sick leave for a month. Do you think I was bored enough to turn the tap on for fun?
Michael popped his head into the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel.
Maybe it broke on its own. We could call a plumber.
Gwendolyn waved him off. Arguing was pointless; after the operation she was still weak, every movement felt like a chore. She shuffled into the kitchen, eased herself onto a chair, and Michael placed a bowl of porridge in front of her.
Eat up. The doctor said you need proper nutrition.
I know, she mumbled, chewing slowly. The porridge was bland, but she swallowed it anyway. Her body was mending at a glacial pace.
It had been almost a month since the ambulance whisked her away for an inflamed appendix that had required surgery, a subsequent infection, two weeks in hospital and another two at home. She had lost weight, gone pale, and looked as if she were sixty, though she was only fortyfive.
Mike, hows work? Who did you call? she asked between spoonfuls.
I rang Arthur Penrose. He told me to take it easy, not to rush.
And thats it?
Yes, thats it. Anything else?
Gwendolyn frowned. Something in Michaels tone felt off. She watched him more closely; he avoided her eyes and began scrubbing a pan with a fierce vigor.
Mike, youre holding something back.
No, everythings fine. Dont make things up!
Im not making things up. I can feel it.
Michael sighed, set the sponge down and turned to her.
Listen, something did happen, but you dont need to worry, okay? No point in getting worked up.
Gwendolyns heart thumped.
What happened?
Well Christine has started at your office. Temporarily, while youre on sick leave.
Silence fell. Gwendolyn stared at him, unable to believe her ears.
Christine? Your sister? In accounts?
Yes. She was looking for a job, remember? Arthur Penrose had a vacancy and hired her as a standin.
My place, Gwendolyn whispered hoarsely.
Technically, yes. But its only temporary! Youll be back and everything will be as it was.
She pushed the porridge away; her appetite vanished. ChristineMichaels twentytwoyearold sisterwas a striking girl with long legs, a dazzling smile, and ambitions the size of a skyscraper.
Gwendolyn had never liked her. From the moment Michael introduced them, she felt a chill. Christine looked down on Gwendolyn as if she were unworthy of her brother. After the wedding she made a habit of voicing her contempt.
Mike married an accountant, shed say to her friends, and Gwendolyn would hear it. Can you imagine? An accountant! How boring!
Yet Michael adored Gwendolynor at least pretended to. Theyd been together fifteen years, and Christine had always kept a polite distance, showing up only for holidays with a token gift before disappearing back into her own life.
Now she had taken Gwendolyns spot.
Why didnt you tell me? Gwendolyn asked, trying not to let her voice tremble.
I didnt want to upset you. You were ill.
When did this happen?
About two weeks ago.
Two weeks! And you kept quiet?
Gwen, calm down! Its not permanent. Youll recover, youll go back, and Christine will move on.
Christinealways Christine, Gwendolyn snapped, bitterness bubbling.
She rose and drifted to the bedroom, while Michael lingered in the kitchen, muttering under his breath.
Later, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, she imagined Christine sitting at her desk, chatting with Arthur Penrose, flashing that same perfect smile.
She remembered starting at the same firm twenty years earlier, a bright-eyed junior, working her way up to senior accountant, knowing every ledger inside out. And now a relativestill a relative, but a strangeroccupied her chair.
She spent another week on sick leave; the doctor extended it, insisting she wasnt ready yet. But Gwendolyn was eager to return, to kick Christine out as one would a trespasser.
Michael tried to persuade her.
Stay a bit longer. Health comes before anything else.
She sensed he was hiding something. He arrived home later than usual, answered questions evasively, and spent evenings glued to his phone, smiling at messages.
Who are you talking to? she asked one night.
Its Christine. Shes asking about work, Im explaining.
Why doesnt she ask me?
Probably doesnt want to bother you.
Gwendolyn fell silent.
Finally, the sick leave ended. The doctor signed her fit to work. She dressed carefullybest suit, modest makeup, hair tucked neatlyonly to see a pale, slightly older version of herself in the mirror. She forced a smile.
Off to work, she told Michael over breakfast.
Maybe you should rest a bit longer, he suggested, worry in his voice. Youre still a bit weak.
Im fine. Sick leave is over. Time to get back.
Michael walked her to the door, planted a quick kiss on her cheek, and said, Good luck.
She rode the city bus to the office, nerves buzzing. What would the staff say? How would Arthur Penrose react? And, most importantly, what would Christine do?
The office was in a gray, earlyVictorian building in central London. She lifted the lift to the third floor, pushed open the familiar door, and was greeted by the receptionist, Sally.
Gwendolyn! Welcome back! How are you?
Fine, thanks. Wheres Arthur?
Hes in his office. Come in.
She passed the accounts department, peeking around the corner. There, at her old desk, sat Christine in a formfitting dress, hair loose, laughing with Marjorie, a colleague.
Gwendolyn turned away, walked on, and knocked on the managers door.
Come in!
Arthur Penrose looked up from a stack of papers, stood, and smiled warmly.
Gwendolyn, good to see you. How are you feeling?
Fine. Heres my fit note. She handed him the document.
Arthur scanned it quickly.
Excellent. So youre back as of today?
Yes.
He hesitated, placed the note on his desk, and said, Gwendolyn, may I have a word? Please, have a seat.
She sat, heart thudding.
You know, while you were away I brought in ChristineMichaels as a temporary replacement. Shes your sisterinlaw, remember?
My sisterinlaw, Gwendolyn repeated, stunned.
Yes. Shes done well, picked up things quickly, clients are happy.
And?
Arthur leaned back, folded his hands. Given your age and recent illness, perhaps youd consider a lighter role? I can offer you a position in HR. Same salary, less pressure.
Gwendolyns mind raced.
Youre firing me?
No, nojust a transfer. Christine will stay in accounts.
Exactly what I thought, she said, voice sharp. Ive been here twenty years without a single complaint. And youre replacing me because of a girl?
Calm down, Gwendolyn. Its a business decision, nothing personal.
Nothing personal? Youre taking my seat!
Arthur shrugged. Think about it. Its your choice.
She left the office, eyes brimming, and walked back to the accounts team. Christine swivelled on her chair, her smile widening.
Gwen! Hi! Feeling better?
What are you doing here? Gwendolyn asked coolly.
I was offered the role, so I accepted. Isnt that fine?
Yes, perfectly fine, Gwendolyn replied, sarcasm dripping.
Christines smile hardened. Its just business, love. No hard feelings.
The usual line, Gwendolyn muttered. Youve rehearsed it with Arthur, havent you?
Christine shrugged and turned back to her computer.
ColleaguesMarjorie, Sally, Tomcast nervous glances, avoiding the scene.
Is everyone okay with this? Gwendolyn asked the empty air.
Silence.
She turned and walked out, down the stairs, and sat on a bench outside the building, dialing Michael.
Mike, hows it going? Back at work?
Theyve demoted me. Your sisters taken my desk. Did you know?
There was a pause.
Christine told me Arthurs happy with her
You knew? Gwendolyn snapped. You all conspired!
Not exactly we just I thought itd be temporary.
Temporary? Two weeks is not a holiday, Michael!
He tried to calm her. Gwen, lets not jump to conclusions.
She slammed the phone. Passersby hurried by, oblivious.
She reflected on how shed met Michael: both thirty, a bit weary, both looking for steadiness. He was an engineer, she an accountant. Theyd met at a mutual friends birthday, exchanged numbers, dated, married after six months, bought a flat in Shoreditch, lived quietly. No childrenher health had made that impossiblebut Michael never blamed her.
Christine had turned up at the wedding, the younger, pretty sister, and had given Michael a sly look that said, Good luck, dear.
All those years Christine kept her distance, hopping from job to job, occasionally asking Michael for a bit of cash. Hed helped, Gwendolyn had kept silent.
Now that sister had bitten off a chunk of Gwendolyns life.
She returned home that evening. Michael was in the kitchen, attempting dinner.
Gwen, can we talk? he said, wiping his hands.
Not now.
Please. I didnt want it to end like this.
How could you want it? So Id hand my desk to your sister?
I thought it was only until you recovered!
Arthur had offered her a HR assistant role. Assistant! She felt it was a slap.
Ill speak to her. Ask her to leave.
Its too late. Shes settled, Arthurs pleased, everyones quiet. Im alone against a whole office.
Im not alone! Michael insisted. Im with you.
Gwendolyn laughed bitterly. You, who knew and stayed silent? Who let your sister move in?
I didnt allow it! I found out after the fact!
And you kept quiet for two weeks.
Michael fell silent; there was nothing to say.
She went to bed, stared at the ceiling, and felt an empty, icy void.
The next day she returned to the office, this time to HR.
I accept the transfer, she told Arthur.
He nodded, pleased. Wise decision. Well get the paperwork sorted.
She settled into the new role, filing personnel records, completing formsnothing like the numbers shed loved.
Christine strutted around the accounts floor like a peacock in a designer dress, flashing that perfect smile to Gwendolyn each time they passed.
Colleagues whispered sympathy; Marjorie leaned over and said, Its unfair, Gwen. Youve done so much for them.
No one stepped up.
A week later, her old friend Lucy called.
Gwen, I heard about the drama. Is it true?
They moved me, Lucy.
What? How?
Gwen recounted everything.
Sounds like a rotten plot, Gwendolyn. Your sisterinlaw, a favoured newcomer you cant just roll over.
I’m tired of fighting, love. I just want peace.
I get that, but youre a fighter. Dont let her win.
They met at a café the following day. Lucy, a lively teacher, sipped her tea and said, I think theres something off. Arthur wouldnt replace a veteran for a rookie without a reason.
Maybe he likes her, Gwendolyn muttered.
Or maybe theres something else.
She started watching. Christine often lingered in Arthurs office, emerging with a smug grin. Their chats seemed unusually friendly.
She asked Marjorie, Do you think theyre close?
Marjorie shrugged, uneasy. They meet a lot. I dont know what they talk about.
The promotion she asked for? Gwendolyn pressed. Did he promise her something?
Marjorie hesitated. She hinted at a raise, but Im scared to say anything.
Gwendolyn began arriving early, staying late, eavesdropping on any conversation she could catch. One afternoon she overheard through the slightly ajar door:
Christine, youll handle the big client next month, as we discussed.
Yes, the promotion you promised. Thanks, Arthur.
Gwendolyns blood ran cold. A promotion meant a permanent seat.
Back at her HR desk she rifled through Christines recent files and discovered a miscalculated tax figure in a clients returna small but glaring error. If HMRC spotted it, the firm could face a hefty fine.
She printed the document and marched to Arthurs office.
Arthur, look at this. She placed the paper on his desk, pointing out the mistake.
He frowned, scanning the numbers. Youre right. Thats a slip.
If its audited, we could be in trouble.
Arthur sighed. Ill ask Christine to correct it.
Gwendolyn waited, hoping for a reprimand. Instead, he simply said, Thanks, Gwendolyn. Carry on.
She left, disappointment settling in. She dug deeper, finding three more minor errors in Christines work. She compiled them into a folder and returned.
Arthur, more issues. Five in a month.
He looked up, eyebrows raised. Are you spying on a colleague now?
Im just doing my job.
He leaned back, sighing. Gwendolyn, the decision stands. Christine stays. You either stay in HR or look elsewhere.
She felt the floor drop. Youre firing me?
No, just you might want to think about your future.
She stood, clutching the folder, and walked out. Back in the hallway, she felt the weight of twenty years of loyalty evaporating.
That evening she told Michael, Im resigning.
He dropped his TV remote. What? Why?
Ive been told Im not wanted. Im done fighting.
Michael reached for her hand. Im sorry, Gwen. Its my fault.
It isnt just you. I didnt protect myself.
She handed in her notice the next day, worked out her twoweek notice, and left the building for the last time, a cardboard box of personal items in hand. Colleagues gathered, Marjorie even shed a tear.
Gwen, you were the heart of the accounts team.
Thanks, Gwendolyn replied, smiling faintly.
Christine offered a perfunctory, Good luck, Gwen.
Thanks, Gwendolyn said, and walked out into the damp London evening, a sigh of relief escaping her.
Back home, she dumped the box in a corner, turned on the TV, and began scrolling through job listings. Plenty of openings for an experienced accountant. She applied, got a few interviews, and within a week secured a role at a small, forwardthinking firm that valued experience and paid a bit more.
She started there, loved the fresh atmosphere, friendly colleagues, and a boss who actually listened.
A month later, Lucy called again.
Gwen, you wont believe itChristines been sacked! She made a big error, a client complained, Arthur was furious and let her go. Theyre hunting for a new accountant.
Gwendolyn laughed. Well, thats poetic.
Do you want to go back? Lucy asked.
No, Im happy here.
Really sure?
Absolutely.
She hung up, feeling a lightness she hadnt felt in years. Christine had arrived like a gust of wind, taken her place, and vanished just as quickly. Gwendolyn, meanwhile, had found a new, better spot.
Life went on, and sometimes losing something is just the universe nudging you toward a brighter horizon.
