Emily, may I introduce you to our newest colleague? This is Grace. Shell be working in your department, said Mr. Patrick, the manager, as he led a young woman toward Emilys desk.
Emily looked up from her computer and took in the newcomera woman in her early twenties, hair tied in a tidy ponytail, her face opened by a gentle, slightly shy smile. Grace shifted awkwardly, clutching a slim file to her chest.
Pleased to meet you, Grace said, dipping her head politely. Im so happy to have this opportunity. Ill really try my best.
Mr. Patrick, already halfway out the door, turned back briefly. Emily, youve been with us in logistics for twenty years. Please show Grace the ropesour systems, routes, working with couriers. In a month, she should be able to handle her area on her own.
Emily nodded, gazing at the newcomer. Twenty-three. The same age her own daughter would have been, had she ever had children. At fifty-five, Emily had long accepted that her life was work, a small flat with a window box of geraniums, and a portly black cat named Oliver.
Take a seat, Emily said, pointing to the desk next to hers. Lets get started.
The first week was rough. Grace confused courier codes and forgot to enter data into the register. Patiently, Emily corrected her, explained everything again, and drew little diagrams on scraps of paper.
See here? You entered Plymouth. But the parcels bound for Portsmouth. Thats over two hundred miles difference. Got it?
Grace blushed crimson and apologised, scrambling to fix her mistakes, only to make a different one the next time.
Midway through the second week, things improved. Grace was picking things up quickly, jotting notes into a battered notepad adorned with cartoon cats.
Emily, why dont we use this courier? Their pricing seems great, Grace asked one day.
Because they let us down twice already. Reputation matters more than a bargain, remember?
Grace nodded, scribbling down the advice. Then she asked, Are those homemade sausage rolls? They smell wonderful in your lunch box.
Emily chuckled. The next day, she brought in extra sausage rolls with golden pastry. Grace devoured them at lunch as if they were the finest treat shed ever tasted.
My grandma used to bake like this, Grace said, carefully sweeping up crumbs. She passed away two years ago. I miss her so much.
On an impulse, Emily placed her hand on top of Graces. Instead of pulling away, Grace gave her a grateful smile.
Soon there were apple crumbles, scones, and a rich honey cake that Grace declared the best shed ever tasted. Emily caught herself baking specifically to have extra to share. A gentle warmth rekindled within hersomething she hadnt felt for a long while.
Emily, may I ask your advice? Not about work.
Of course. Go ahead.
My boyfriends proposed. Weve only been together six months. Do you think its too soon?
Emily put aside her paperwork and looked thoughtfully at Grace, reading worry in her eyes.
If youre not sure, then its too soon. If its the right person, you wont need to ask.
Grace sighed with relief, as if Emily had lifted a weight from her shoulders.
By the end of the third week, Grace was handling courier calls on her own, checking routes, and spotting errors. Quiet pride washed over Emilyshed made a difference.
Youre like a mum to me, Grace said one afternoon. Only better. Mine only criticises, but youre always patient.
Emily blinked and turned towards the window.
Get on with your work now, she said, though the smile lingered for the rest of the day.
Over the month, Grace blossomed. Emily watched her speak confidently to couriers, process orders swiftly, and expertly navigate the database. Her pupil had surpassed expectations.
Then, at Fridays staff meeting, Mr. Patrick appeared grimmer than usual. He sat at the head of the table, twirling a pencil between his fingers for a long moment before finally speaking.
Were in a tough spot, he surveyed the room. The markets down; three major clients have switched to competitors. Head office wants us to cut costs.
Emily exchanged glances with her colleagues. Everyone knew what cut costs meantredundancies.
Over the next month, well review all departments, Mr. Patrick continued. Business as usual, for now.
Back at her desk, Emily shot a furtive look at Grace, who was staring at her screen, motionless fingers hovering over the keys.
Fifty-five years old. Emily did the maths. Her salary was one of the highest in the department; her long service meant a larger redundancy pay. From the companys perspective, she was the logical choice. It stung, but shed be all righther pension was near and the mortgage long settled.
But Grace Grace had changed so much. Shed stopped chatting at lunch, didnt ask for seconds of crumble, and seemed to look right through Emily when she spoke.
You okay, Grace? Emily perched on the corner of her desk. Worried about the redundancies?
Grace gave a strained smile. No, Im fine. Just tired, I suppose.
Emily saw through the reply. Poor girlshes only just landed on her feet, and now this. Life just isnt fair sometimes.
The next two weeks dragged. Colleagues whispered in corners, speculating about who would be let go first. Grace worked in silence, her focus unwavering. Occasionally, Emily would catch her giving peculiar, unreadable glances, but put it down to shared nerves.
On Thursday afternoon, an internal message flashed up: Emily, please come to the directors office.
Emily stood, smoothed her jacket. So, the moment had come. Two decades with the firm, now ready to say goodbye. She prepared herself and entered the office.
Opposite Mr. Patricks desk sat Grace, spine straight, clutching her file, face set in stone.
Take a seat, Mr. Patrick gestured to a chair. We have an important matter to discuss.
Emily sat, glancing between her boss and Grace, who avoided her gaze.
Grace has shown great diligence, Mr. Patrick began, spreading out some papers. Shes found some concerning errors in your work, Emily.
Emilys breath caught. Her mind could barely connect the dotsGrace, her notepad with kittens, the word errors. The same Grace who ate her sausage rolls, who asked for advice about marriage.
Ive reviewed the records from the past eight months, Grace spoke, eyes fixed on Mr. Patrick as if Emily werent even in the room. I found eleven significant discrepanciesincorrect route codes, mismatched documents, confusion over dispatch dates.
She opened her file, sliding out sheets highlighted in yellow. Emily recognised her own handwriting in the margins.
I believe I can manage this section more effectively, Grace continued with a steady, business-like tone. Emily is experienced, but age is taking its toll. The company benefits from keeping melower salary, higher efficiency. Its just basic arithmetic.
Mr. Patrick leaned back, drumming his fingers on the desk.
Emily, any response?
Emily stood slowly, took the papers, and scanned the highlighted rows. These mistakes were barely mistakes at all.
I wont make excuses, Emily said, placing them back. In twenty years Ive learnedno job is perfect every single time. What matters is the result. Deliveries are on time, clients are happy, accounts are healthy.
But such errors could ruin us! Grace leaned forward, her composure finally cracking. Im just looking out for the company!
Mr. Patrick gave a tired smile. You know, Grace, the sort of staff we really cant use? The kind who throw colleagues under a bus for personal gain.
Grace paled.
I was aware of those supposed errors, he went on. Theyre not mistakes. Theyre seasoned workaroundsways Emily has learned to get things done despite red tape. On paper, perhaps it looks improper, but really, its craftsmanship. Youre simply too inexperienced to see the difference.
Grace gripped her chair as if it might anchor her in place.
Youll finish the fortnight and then go, Mr. Patrick said, shutting the file. Resignation letter on my desk by close of play.
Please, Graces voice broke, thick with emotion. I didnt mean I need this job, Ive just got a mortgage, I
You should have thought of that sooner. Thats all, thank you.
She stood, her file slipping and papers spreading like leaves across the floor. Grace scrambled to gather them, head bowed, tears dripping unheeded. The door clicked shut behind her with barely a sound.
That was close, Emily, Mr. Patrick said, shaking his head. She almost stuck the knife in. Hissing in your bosom, that one.
Emily remained silent. Her chest felt emptier than ever.
Youll be with us until the ship finally sinks, he added. We cant spare staff like you. Understood?
She nodded and left.
Grace sat at her desk, eyes glued to the screen. As Emily walked past, Grace glanced upa sharp, bitter stare from beneath wet lashes. Emily didnt look back. She sat, logged into her computer program.
The sausage rolls in her lunch box on the window sill remained untouched for the rest of the evening.
Sometimes the truest measure of a person comes under pressurenot in how they rise, but in how they treat others on the way up. The warmth we share may return, or it may not, but kindness is never wasted. In the end, integrity is what remains, long after the rest has fallen away.
