Dumped, Actually(88)

Erica puts her arm across me and gently pulls me back. ‘Ollie, it’s okay.’

‘No, it isn’t!’ I protest.

‘Honestly, it is. I can go in there on my own, don’t worry.’

I gasp in frustration. ‘But I don’t want you to be alone!’

Erica rummages in her jacket pocket and pulls out her mobile phone. ‘Call me.’

‘What?’

‘Call me on my phone. You might not be able to come in, but you can at least listen to what goes on in there.’

We both look at the receptionist to see if he has any problem with that. He returns the gaze for a moment, before shrugging his shoulders. ‘He never said anything to me about phones.’

‘Right. It’s better than nothing, I suppose,’ I say, pulling out my own phone and dialling Erica’s number.

She gives my arm a squeeze and smiles briefly, before walking past the receptionist’s desk and towards those smoked-glass double doors.

I immediately go and sit on a chair beside the receptionist’s desk and hold my phone up to my ear. I stare out at the semi-full office floor as I do this. Most of the staff at ForeTech are getting on with their work, but a few keep throwing glances over at me and the boardroom. They know something of importance is happening in there today. It’s probably testament to the way Benedict Montifore runs things that most of them look scared to death. I want to go over and tell them not to worry – it’s not their jobs that hang in the balance today . . . it’s mine.

‘Good afternoon, gentlemen!’ I hear Erica say through the phone. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late.’ The sarcasm in her voice is palpable. God knows what shade of red her hair has gone.

‘Delighted to have you here!’ the voice of an old man says. I have to assume this is Alan Prendergast. He sounds genuinely pleased that Erica has made it.

‘Glad you could join us,’ Benedict Montifore says. There’s no mistaking the venom in his voice. ‘I was just explaining to the board how you and your lackey, Mr Sweet, have lied to all of us.’

I sit bolt upright in the chair.

‘Lied to you?’ Erica exclaims.

‘Oh yes, Erica. I was just telling our esteemed board members how you and Mr Sweet have been fabricating subscriber numbers and website hits for that “Dumped Actually” thing of his. It’s all very sad and very shameful, Erica.’

I jump out of the chair and start to pace up and down angrily.

‘We have done no such thing!’ Erica says, probably speaking directly to the other board members. ‘The success of “Dumped Actually” is there for all to see!’

‘Ha!’ Benedict interrupts. ‘Fine words, Erica, but these gentlemen are not going to be hoodwinked by your falsehoods.’ I suppose Benedict is now addressing the board members as well.

Argh! This is so frustrating! I need to be in there with her, not out here, wearing a hole in the bloody carpet!

Benedict then starts a speech that is designed to paint Erica and me in the worst light possible. He talks about how we’ve consistently falsified the popularity of ‘Dumped Actually’. He tells the board members that we’ve faked all of the emails that have been coming in, and that all the things I’ve been doing for the feature have been completely made up.

He even produces some pieces of paper as evidence. These have no doubt been cooked up somewhere by one of his lackeys, to back up the accusations he’s throwing at us.

Benedict tells the board that we’ve conducted all this deceitful activity just to save our own jobs; never mind the damage this might do to the reputation of Actual Life, and – more importantly – the parent company, ForeTech.

He has absolutely no real proof of any of this, of course – but my God does he sound convincing.

Benedict has not a shred of proper evidence for any of his claims, but he obviously believes he doesn’t need it. He thinks he can just bluff his way through to a vote on the continued existence of Actual Life with his speech and a few bits of paper, knowing that the board will probably acquiesce to his wishes.

I have a horrible feeling he might be bloody right. I’m half convinced he’s telling the truth from out here, and I’m the one whose reputation he’s destroying.

Erica is trying as hard as she can to argue against Benedict, but I don’t think it’s working. She was caught wrong-footed by him today and has had no time to prepare a defence. Benedict has probably been planning this for weeks, and knows precisely what to say, and how to say it. He’s appealing to the reputations of the men sat around that table – going right to the heart of what makes them tick.

Do they want to be associated with liars and charlatans? That’s his plan of attack. Make them think that associating with us will lead to their own reputations being irrevocably tarred.

Of course, the irony here is that he’s the biggest liar of all!

I clench my phone so hard in my hand that I’m in danger of breaking the screen.

How is this fair? How is this allowed to happen? How can one man – more full of shit than a sewage works – be allowed to destroy Actual Life, with nothing more than words and falsified documents?

But that’s clearly the way this is going to go. I can tell that, even though I can only hear what’s going on. Erica is losing this fight. Her words sound like they are falling on deaf ears. These old farts are quite prepared to accept Benedict’s version of the story, given that he’s managed to terrify them with the prospect of being connected to such deceitful bastards as Erica and I are being made out to be. The vote will go ahead, we will lose . . . and I will have to stand out here and listen as my life is taken away from me.