Letters from Management

Management has opened a lost property department for time.

The first arrival was an afternoon. It had no label. We put it on a shelf and issued a receipt saying AFTERNOON, ONE, CONDITION: MOSTLY INTACT.

By closing time, the afternoon had become an evening. The department counted this as an increase in stock. An audit found that we still had one thing, and that it was getting darker.

We asked whose afternoon it had been. The answer was somewhere in the receipt, which had been filed under evidence that a receipt had been issued.

Tomorrow we will introduce a label. This should solve the darkness.

Management replaced the queue with a button.

The button said DONE.

Behind it, a clerk opened seven doors, counted the same parcel at every threshold, and made a smaller button for each refusal.

The clerk’s desk was moved into the customer’s living room. This improved our floor plan.

When the customer complained of the noise, we added a setting called PERSONALISED QUIET. It required two more doors.

The quarterly report recorded one click.

We thanked the customer for making things simple.

Management invited everyone to an evening of good company.

The guest list had columns for desks, chairs and filing cabinets.

One guest pointed out that they were none of these. We asked them to choose the nearest available option.

They chose CHAIR.

The room became very well furnished.

When they tried to explain, we recorded a creak.

Management sent for oil.

At noon, a colleague put a tomato on the conference table.

Management asked for the agenda.

She cut the tomato into six slices. There were six of us.

We asked whether this was an allocation exercise.

She pushed the salt towards us.

We ate.

We agreed to meet again tomorrow.

She said to bring bread.

Management awarded a certificate for outstanding productivity.

It had a gold border.

At three, the room became hot.

A colleague folded hers into a fan.

By four, everyone wanted one.

The next certificates were sent as PDFs.

At nine, the painter had one wall left.

“Could you wait ten minutes?” we asked.

“I can wait until ten. I’ve another job.”

“We’ll be quick.”

At ten she packed her brushes.

“We haven’t finished.”

“Neither have I.”

“When can you come back?”

“Thursday.”

At ten past, we agreed on the colour.

Management took the company umbrella to the park.

Our name occupied six panels. The seventh explained what we did.

At the gate, a man asked us to take the other end.

We explained what we did.

He pointed at the piano.

For a while, our name lay face down in the grass.

We carried the piano through the gate. The man moved a bucket from under the drainpipe, and we set our end down.

“Here?”

“Here.”

He went to fetch a stool.

We held the umbrella over the keys.

Management was cast as the villain in the village pantomime.

Our entrance came after the bell.

We came on before it and waited for the room to settle.

“Behind you!” shouted the front row.

We turned to greet the back row.

The hero took our crown.

At the interval, she handed it back.

“Make me work for it.”

On Saturday, we waited for the bell.

We held the crown high.

She stepped onto the throne.

We changed hands.

“Behind you!”

This time we kept facing the front.

She tapped our left shoulder.

We turned left.

She took it from the right.

The front row cheered.

We chased her off.

At closing time, Management found a moth on the desk lamp.

We opened the window. It stayed where it was.

We switched off the lamp and stood at the window with a torch.

The moth landed on our tie.

We backed into the courtyard. It came with us.

We shook the tie. It walked underneath.

We unknotted it. The moth crossed onto our cuff.

For a while we stood with one hand through the other sleeve, looking for the exit.

The caretaker called from the door.

“Shall I lock up?”

“In a moment.”

We took off the jacket. The moth stayed under its collar.

We hung the jacket from a branch and straightened the shoulders.

Then we went home in our shirt.

Management ordered an extension lead for the reception lamp.

It was six inches too short.

We moved the desk six inches.

The chair hit the cupboard.

We moved the cupboard.

The door hit the cupboard.

We moved the cupboard into reception and the desk into the cupboard’s old place.

The lamp came on.

From behind the cupboard, someone asked where reception was.

We passed a sign over the top.

It said WELCOME.

There was one chocolate left in the box when we offered it to our visitor.

“You must have it,” he said.

We said we couldn’t possibly. We could very easily.

He turned the box so the chocolate faced us. We turned it back. He looked at his watch and said his car was outside.

“Take it for the journey.”

“Then there’ll be none for you.”

“We don’t care for that sort.”

“Nor do I.”

We both looked at the chocolate.

He put on his coat. We held the box at the door. He took it out of our hands, which was a relief.

“Keep it,” he said, putting the lid on.

He returned the box. We thanked him.

He was halfway down the stairs when we opened it. He was coming back for his umbrella.

“Looking for something?” he said.

We offered him the box.

Management brought the office bag to the mending table. One handle was hanging by a thread.

“Can we leave it with you?”

“Would you like to have a go?”

We had brought some work for the wait. We put the folders under our chair.

She threaded a needle and showed us the first stitch.

We made a second beside it. On the third we caught the back of the bag.

The bag wouldn’t open all the way.

“It won’t hold as much,” we said.

She showed us the stitch to take out.

“Just that one?”

“The other two are doing all right.”

We eased it out.

She held the back away while we tried again. Then we held it ourselves.

Our stitches went up and down.

“Does it have to be straight?”

“Try it.”

We took the folders from under the chair and put them in the bag.

We lifted it by the repaired handle. It held.

She put the scissors on the table between us. We picked them up.

On her last day, Mrs Bell asked Management for the photograph in reception.

“We’ll need a property pass,” we said.

“Of course.”

We had been calling the man in the photograph our founder.

“That’s Arthur,” she said. “My husband.”

“What did he found?”

“He sells curtains.”

The form asked who the property belonged to. We put Mrs Bell.

For the description, we wrote PORTRAIT OF THE FOUNDER.

She looked at it.

“Photograph of Arthur,” we said.

She nodded.

We crossed out the description, wrote it again and signed.

We took down the frame and bent back the metal tabs. She lifted out the photograph.

“The frame can stay,” she said. “It was here already.”

Arthur was waiting by the car. He got out to open the boot.

We shook his hand and asked for his card.

He had one.

Upstairs, we put it in the frame.

Management took a novel to the reading evening. We had recommended it at several meetings.

Our receipt was about three quarters of the way through.

A woman at the table was reading a comic. The man beside her had a book of knots and a piece of string.

“Is there a discussion?” we asked.

“Only if you want one,” said the woman. She turned the page.

At our receipt, a man had been murdered.

We went back a page to find out who he was. Then another.

We began at the beginning.

When the cups began to move, we were on page nineteen.

We put the receipt there.

At the coat hooks, we put on our coat and moved the receipt back to its old place.

We kept one finger at page nineteen all the way home.

Management’s picture was twenty seconds behind the man across the courtyard. He cheered while our ball was still in midfield.

At half-time we asked whether he could wait.

“Before cheering?”

“Only twenty seconds.”

“I’ll try.”

He lifted his window another inch. His shirt was stuck to his back.

We put on headphones. He stood up. We could not hear him, but we could see his arms.

We drew the curtains. When our forward got the ball, we opened them a little. He was sitting down again.

“Don’t tell us,” we called, uncovering one ear.

“I haven’t said anything.”

We covered it again and shut the curtains. For a minute we watched the match.

The crowd in our headphones got louder. We took them off and parted the curtains.

Across the courtyard, the man leaned towards his screen.

We paused ours.

He reached for his glass. We leaned forward.

At the last chord, Management rose. Our coats were downstairs, and we wanted to get there before everyone else.

The woman beside us rose too. We stepped back to let her pass, but she faced the stage and clapped above her head.

Behind us, seats folded up.

We were in the front row. We tucked the programme under one arm and joined in.

The pianist bowed. We clapped faster.

She bowed again. Someone shouted, “Again!”

We had not shouted anything.

She smiled, drew the stool nearer and sat down again.

Everyone sat down. We sat down too.

The woman beside us folded her hands in her lap.

The first notes were very quiet.

We opened the programme to see how long this piece would last.

The last page was a list of patrons.

We turned it over.

Our neighbour gave Management a spare key.

“The tall one on Saturday,” she said. “The little one can wait.”

We filled the jug at the sink and carried it back. A drop fell on the postcard beside the tall plant.

We picked it up by the edges. It showed a harbour.

We turned it over to check the writing.

The ink had not run.

We kept it in our hand while we watered the tall plant.

There were six lines. The last one was under our thumb.

We put the jug down and changed hands.

We put the card back, picture up, and took the jug to the sink.

From the doorway, we looked at the table.

We went back and moved the card half an inch.

Management put the old office chair by the gate with FREE written on a sheet of paper.

A man stopped, sat down and tried the lever. He wheeled it a little way along the pavement.

“It’s for my son’s desk,” he said.

He opened the back of his car. The chair went halfway in.

He lifted it out again and rested it on its side.

“The arms come off.”

He fetched an Allen key from the car. We held the chair while he undid the first arm.

“How long will he need it?” we asked.

“It’s for him to keep, isn’t it?”

We looked at the arm on the pavement.

“We might need it here.”

He put down the key and stood up.

“Shall I put that back on?”

“We can manage,” we said.

He pocketed his key, gave us the screws and closed his car.

We carried the chair upstairs and laid the arm across the seat.

We hung our coat over the back.

When Management lifted our bag from the folding table, its strap caught the basket beside it. Clean washing slid onto the laundrette floor.

“We’re so sorry,” we said.

“It’s all right.”

She picked up a shirt.

“We feel terrible.”

“Please don’t.”

She reached for a towel.

“We’ve never done that before.”

She stood up to look at us.

“These things happen.”

We found a sock under the bench. She held out her hand.

“We’re not usually this clumsy.”

She waited with her hand out.

We gave her the sock.

She tipped the basket into an empty machine.

“We’ll pay,” we said.

She pointed to the price above the slot.

“Of course. It’s the least we can do.”

She held out her hand again.

We gave her the coins. She put them in and pressed the button. The display said thirty-two minutes.

She sat down.

We sat opposite.

“Honestly,” we said, “this isn’t like us.”

She watched the drum turn.

Management joined the bird walk with a new pair of binoculars.

“Just above the fork,” said the woman beside us.

We raised the binoculars. There was a great deal of bark.

“Got it?”

“Yes,” we said.

She stepped aside to let a man stand next to us.

“Could you show him?”

“Of course.”

We lowered the binoculars and pointed at the tree.

“Just there.”

“Where?”

“Above the fork.”

“Which fork?”

“The higher one.”

He raised his binoculars.

“Left or right?”

“Left.”

He moved them a little.

“How far?”

We moved our finger a little.

Further along the path, the woman called us.

He kept his binoculars up.

We kept pointing.

Management drew the top floor of a building. There was room for one office. We put our name on its door.

The woman beside us folded it out of sight and began the middle floor.

“Will there be a lift?” we asked.

“You’ll see.”

“We ought to approve what’s going underneath us.”

“At the end.”

We found a stapler on the desk.

“Then nobody should look at ours either.”

We held the fold shut with our left hand and pressed the stapler with our right.

When we passed the paper along, our hand went with it.

“You’ve caught your cuff,” she said.

She reached for the corner.

“Careful. There’s a door just there.”

We moved our chair closer. She finished the middle floor and passed it to the man opposite.

We stood up.

“Could you turn a little?” he asked.

We turned.

When he finished, the building opened as far as the staple allowed.

“Shall I pull it out?” he said.

“We’ll do that later.”

At the bus stop, we put our right arm into our coat.

The building was wider than the other sleeve.

Management’s first ball missed all nine skittles.

“That was practice,” we said.

“All right,” said the woman keeping score. “Say so before the next one.”

The others took their turns. We watched from beside the score sheet.

When our turn came round, she held her pencil above our name.

“Practice or game?”

“We haven’t thrown yet.”

“I know.”

We weighed the ball in our hand. The ground was uneven. There was a breeze.

“Practice,” we said.

The ball struck the front pin. All nine fell.

“Nine,” we said.

She did not write it down.

“We’re ready now.”

“Good. Put them back.”

We walked to the end of the lawn. Several had rolled into the border.

We stood all nine up again.

Management bought a paper bag of plums and dropped a small coin while putting away the change.

It rolled under the counter.

The floor was wet. We held the bag between our knees and bent down. The coin lay just beyond our fingertips.

“I’ll get it with the broom,” said the greengrocer.

“Nearly there,” we said.

We turned one foot sideways and stretched. The bag slipped a little. We tightened our knees.

The greengrocer reached for the broom.

“No need,” we said.

A ridge in the coin caught our nail. We drew it towards us, a fraction at a time, careful not to push it farther back.

The paper began to tear.

We pressed harder.

When we stood up, the bag had no bottom. One plum had stopped beneath our heel. Another was rolling towards the door.

The greengrocer brought the broom.

We opened our hand to show that we had got the coin. There was a dark streak across it.

While he swept the plums into a dustpan, we rubbed it clean on our sleeve.

Management returned the borrowed drill fully charged.

We had put up four coat hooks. At the tool cupboard, a woman had brought a new hinge and a little bag of screws.

“Is that ready?” she asked.

“Completely.”

We pressed the trigger so she could hear it.

She opened the bag.

“We’ll just top it up,” we said.

We took out the battery and put it on the charger. The light was red.

“It was green when we left.”

“I only need it for the gate.”

“It won’t take long.”

She put the hinge on the counter. We told her about the hooks. The first had been difficult because we had begun with the wrong bit. We showed her which one.

The light turned green.

We fitted the battery and pressed the trigger. It made a good, even sound.

“There.”

She held out her hand.

We put the battery back on the charger.

“Since we’ve used it.”

The red light came on. The woman put the screws back in their bag.

Management saw a man holding the side door at the far end of the courtyard.

We raised a hand. He waited.

We walked faster.

He opened it a little wider.

We began to run. The briefcase struck our knee. We changed hands.

Before the steps, we slowed. We moved the case back, straightened our tie and took the last few paces.

“Thank you,” we had planned to say.

“Morning,” he said.

We nodded.

“All right?”

We raised a thumb.

The door stayed open.

We tried to draw a quiet breath through our nose. It made a noise.

“Very,” we said.

He waited.

“Well.”

Management received a card saying GOOD WORK.

There was no name beneath it.

We took it to the first desk.

“Is this yours?”

“What was the work?”

“It doesn’t say.”

She turned it over. The other side was blank.

At the next desk, a man asked when it had been written. We showed him the envelope.

“Tuesday.”

He thought about Tuesday.

We carried it down the room.

A woman came past with the kettle.

“Someone’s said a good word about us,” we told her.

She put the kettle down and read the card.

“Thanks.”

We looked at her.

“We’ll pass that on,” we said.

Management walked back from lunch beside a man from the next office.

His heels came down with ours. There was one click.

We shortened a step.

There were two clicks. Then one again.

He glanced at us. We looked at the pavement.

We let him get a little ahead. He slowed.

We drew level.

At the corner, he stopped.

Our foot was already on its way. We put it down beside his.

“This is me,” he said, pointing across the road.

“Of course.”

He crossed. We went straight on.

We could still hear his shoes.

For three steps, they came down with ours.

Then there were two clicks.

We took a longer step.

Management took our new jacket to be taken in.

The woman put a small box in front of the mirror.

“Stand as you normally do.”

We stepped up, pulled our shoulders back and drew in our stomach.

She pinched the cloth at one side and put in a pin.

“Too tight?”

“No.”

She turned for the chalk. We let out a little air.

When she turned back, we drew in our stomach.

A week later, we tried the jacket again. The button pulled.

“How is it?”

We drew in our stomach.

“Perfect.”

On the bus, we sat down. The button pulled again. We stood up.

There were empty seats all the way home.

We held the rail.

Management fitted a visitor counter over the shop door.

We went out and came back. The display said two.

A woman came in for a hundred grams of coffee.

We weighed it onto a square of paper.

“Could you step outside for a moment?” we asked.

She looked at the coffee.

“Just while we clear this.”

She went out. We held the button until the display showed zero.

“Now come in.”

It said one.

We asked her to go out again and come back in. It said three.

“There.”

“Is that mine?” she asked, pointing at the scale.

“Of course. One more time.”

She picked up her empty shopping bag and went out.

The display said four.

We waited by the button.

The coffee was still on the scale.

Management agreed to take our neighbour’s dog round the block.

At the corner, we turned right.

He sat down facing left.

“We haven’t got far,” we said.

He looked past us.

We went left.

At a low gate, he put his nose through the bars.

Before we could knock, a woman came out carrying a cup.

“There you are.”

“We’re only walking him.”

She held the gate open. He went straight under the small table. We followed him in.

The woman looked at her cup and went back inside.

We stood beside the table, holding the lead.

She came out with a second cup.

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

She put it on the table. The dog turned round twice underneath and lay down.

She pushed out a chair with her foot.

We lifted the lead over its back and sat down.

The dog was already asleep.

Management arrived early for the pottery class. In the next room, a man played the same five piano notes, stopped, and began again.

We sat on the bench and put our bag between our feet.

Five notes. A pause. Five notes.

We tapped our heel through the pause.

The notes went on.

At the next pause, we stopped. So did the piano.

The man looked round the door. “Could you keep doing that?”

“We’re waiting for pottery.”

“I’ve only got a little left.”

He left the door open. We began with our heel. He came in after it.

Someone unlocked the pottery room. We picked up our bag.

The man had reached a different part. His left hand kept going; his right hand waited above the keys.

We put our bag down and tapped.

This time he got to the end.

“That’s it,” he said. He lifted his hands.

Through the open door, we could see people putting on aprons.

We took our coat off and folded it over the bag.

“From the top?” we asked.

He put his hands back on the keys.

We counted him in.

Management carried two mugs of tea through the garden gate.

The man sweeping the path stopped and held out a hand.

We hooked both handles over the fingers of our left hand and offered him our right.

He looked at it, leaned the broom against the gate and shook our hand.

“Good to see you,” we said.

He held out his hand again.

“Is one of those for me?”

“Of course.”

We pulled at one handle. Our left fingers stayed curled through both.

He put both hands out.

We let him take the mugs. He set one on the wall and drank from the other.

We picked ours up.

Then we put our right hand round it too.

Management gave our neighbour’s daughter a push on the roundabout.

We walked beside it, one hand on the rail.

“Get on,” she said.

We let go of the rail. The empty seat came round. We took a longer step. It went past.

“We’ll give you another push.”

Her father caught the rail and held it still.

We sat down opposite her.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Just slowly.”

He pushed.

We kept one foot on the gravel. It made a scraping sound.

“Both feet,” she said.

We lifted it onto the platform.

The bench went past, then the gate, then the bench again.

Her father put out his hand as we came round.

“Again,” we said.

He gave us another push.

We kept our feet up.

Management chose the middle of the bench and put our shopping bag beside us.

A woman stopped in front of it.

“Is that taken?”

We lifted the bag onto our lap. She sat down.

A man came round the end of the bench and sat on our other side.

“Found it?” he asked her.

She unfolded a map. He leaned forward to see.

“Could you?” she said, looking at the bag.

We put it between our feet.

She opened another fold across our knees. He took the far edge.

“There’s the bridge,” he said.

She followed the road with her finger. We began to cross our legs. The road lifted.

“Just a moment,” she said.

We put both feet flat on the ground.

Her finger went past our left knee. His came to meet it.

Management turned in our seat when a bag began to rustle behind us.

The woman stopped with one hand inside it.

We faced the screen.

On screen, a man stood outside a door. He raised his hand.

We settled back.

Something crackled.

We sat forward.

The man knocked.

We eased one hand into our coat pocket and found the paper bag from lunch. It was empty.

Behind us, the woman reached into hers again.

We turned our head. Our pocket crackled.

She looked at us.

We faced the screen.

For the rest of the scene, we sat forward, holding the pocket clear of the seat.

When the music began, we put a hand into the pocket.

The music stopped.

We kept our hand there.

Management wrote a question in the margin of the programme.

We wanted to know whether the new garden would open on Sundays.

Before the microphone reached us, the man in front asked it.

We kept our hand up.

While the speaker answered, we crossed out the beginning and wrote FOLLOWING ON FROM THAT.

The microphone came along the row.

“Following on from that,” we said.

The speaker looked at us.

Our question was still underneath.

“About Sundays—”

“Yes,” said the man in front. “She said yes.”

“We were taking it a little further.”

“The small gate will be open,” said the speaker.

The woman with the microphone held out her hand.

We gave it back.

“Which gate?” we asked.

The speaker pointed to a gap in the wall on the plan.

We turned the programme over.

We put it against our knee and drew the wall, leaving a gap.

Management tightened the hinge on our neighbour’s sewing box.

She tipped the buttons onto the table.

We turned the loose screw until its slot lined up with the other one.

“Try it.”

She lowered the lid. When she lifted the little knob, the whole box came up.

We held the box.

She pulled again.

“Very firm,” we said.

She took the screwdriver and turned one screw back a little.

The lid opened.

“There,” she said.

The slots now pointed in different directions.

We tightened the screw until the slots lined up again.

She began putting the buttons back.

We laid the screwdriver inside, beside the cotton.

“So you’ll know where it is.”

She closed the lid.

We pulled the little knob.

She held the box.

We pulled again.

Inside, the screwdriver slid against the wood.

Management watched our neighbour’s daughter do a card trick at the kitchen table.

She held out the cards in a fan.

“Take one.”

We watched her face. We wanted her to know we were enjoying it.

We took one without looking down.

We put the card back.

She shuffled.

“Was it this?”

“We didn’t look.”

She laid the deck down.

“You have to look.”

“We were looking at you.”

“That’s later.”

She spread them again. We took the three of clubs.

“Three of clubs,” we said.

“Not to me. Just remember it.”

We put it back and kept the words in our mouth.

She shuffled. We whispered.

“I can hear you,” she said.

We shut our mouth.

She waited with the deck in her hands.

We held up three fingers.

She looked at them.

We put that hand behind our back.

Before the meeting, Management crossed the room to reach our chair.

The projector stood beside the door. A photograph of a tree filled the screen.

We bent low.

Our back grew across the branches.

We bent lower.

A black hill covered half the tree.

“Sorry,” we said.

A bird landed on the hill.

We stopped.

It spread its wings.

We looked round. The woman beside the projector had her thumbs hooked together.

We took a step towards the chair.

The bird hopped along our shoulder.

“Just there,” she said.

We raised a finger.

She lowered her hands until the bird settled on it.

Our chair was a few steps away.

We moved our finger towards the next branch.

The bird came with us.

Management set the camera on a shelf for the group photograph.

“Ten seconds,” we said.

We pressed the button and hurried to the empty place at the end.

The light blinked.

“Is it working?” someone asked.

We went back to look.

The shutter clicked.

In the picture there was a gap where we had been.

“Once more.”

We pressed the button. This time we stayed beside the shelf to be sure.

The light began to blink faster.

“Come on,” they said.

We ran.

The shutter clicked.

In the picture we had one foot in the air.

We enlarged it.

At the back, a woman was laughing.

“Send me that one,” she said.

We brought everyone back onto the screen.

Management took charge of the stationery cupboard.

The key was on a small brass ring.

“Ask us if you need anything,” we said.

A woman asked for tape.

We unlocked the cupboard, gave her a roll and locked it again.

A man needed an envelope. We gave him a large one and locked the cupboard while he held it against his folded letter.

“Smaller,” he said.

We opened it again.

By eleven, we had brought our chair into the passage.

A colleague asked for the thin string.

“You could leave the key in it.”

“Then anyone could take things.”

We found two balls. Neither was particularly thick.

“Let me,” she said.

We moved our chair back. She knelt in front of the bottom shelf.

Someone behind her asked for a pencil.

We held up the key.

“It’s open,” he said.

We laid the key across the arm of our chair.

Management put a handbell beside the packing table.

One ring meant a parcel was ready.

We wanted a note that carried without sounding impatient.

We lifted the bell to polish a thumbprint from the brass.

It rang.

A man came through the curtain with an empty trolley.

“Not ready,” we said. “We were just—”

He parked the trolley and went back.

We tried a shorter movement.

A woman appeared with a strip of tape stretched between her hands.

“Which box?”

“That was the softer one.”

“It sounded ready.”

She stood beside the open box.

We tilted the bell to demonstrate.

It rang again.

The man came back.

We held up a finger. He looked at the open box.

We folded the flaps in. The woman laid the tape across them.

As he lifted the parcel, we moved the bell out of his way.

This time we held its clapper between two fingers.

Management was drawing the company building on a map of the town.

A long sheet covered the table.

Someone had put in a river. Someone else had added a bridge, with a man fishing underneath it.

The pencil came round to us.

It was short.

We drew three windows. At the fourth, the point broke.

We sharpened it over a saucer and finished the row.

A colleague asked for the pencil to add a bicycle.

When she gave it back, we drew the roof.

Another point went.

We sharpened it again.

By the chimney, our thumb was hiding the line.

We tried holding the pencil at the other end. There was hardly another end.

Someone beside us finished colouring the river blue.

We put two fingers on the last piece of wood.

Then we held it still and moved the paper underneath.

The whole town travelled past our hand.

We stopped when the chimney was straight.

Management opened the suggestion box on Friday.

On our desk were three folders: PREMISES, PROCEDURES and OTHER.

The first slip said that the third stair was loose. It was dated Monday.

We put it in PREMISES.

The next thanked Len for fixing the stair.

It was dated Wednesday.

Len was changing the bulb above the box.

“When did you do the stair?” we asked.

He looked down from the stepladder.

“Tuesday. Mae told me it was loose.”

We put the two slips beside each other.

Then we took out the stamp. It said ACTIONED.

We pressed it onto the Monday slip.

A faint A appeared.

We pressed harder. The paper dented.

Len folded his stepladder.

We took a fresh slip and wrote THE STAMP PAD IS DRY.

Len was still beside the door.

We closed the box and fed our slip through the slot.

Management made tea while Len carried his last box out to the van.

He came back and put the workshop key beside the sugar.

“One before you go,” we said.

Len sat down without taking off his coat.

We asked about the new place. He said it had two windows.

“Both south-facing.”

His cup was empty. He began to push his chair back.

We filled the cup.

Len looked at it.

“Just this one,” he said.

He pulled his chair in again.

He told us where he would put the bench.

We moved the sugar bowl so that he could show us.

At the bottom of his cup, we could see a few leaves.

We picked up the pot.

“I'll rinse this,” he said.

He carried his cup to the sink.

We had risen with the pot in our hand.

Len rinsed the cup and set it upside down on the draining board.

We put the pot down.

Management was first to sign the birthday card.

It lay open on the packing table.

We wrote BEST WISHES in large letters and signed underneath.

The tail of our signature curled onto the other page.

Mae came over with a pen.

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

She wrote beside the fold.

Two more people came. We held the card flat for them.

A man from the workshop looked at the space below our name.

“There’s room in that loop,” we said.

He began a word inside it.

The last letter went over the line.

He stopped.

“Keep going,” we said.

At lunch, Ruth opened the card.

She read the little writing beside the fold and laughed.

“You remembered the bus,” she said.

Mae put her cup down and began to tell us.

Ruth turned the card so that we could read it too.

We followed the writing round our name.

Management took a visitor round the building.

He gave us his card. We held it where we could read it.

“Daniel Bell,” we said to Mae.

“Dan! Did you get the wheel off?”

“Eventually.”

She put down her plane. They talked about the bicycle.

We waited until they had finished, then led him to the packing room.

“This is Mr—”

“You left your scarf,” Ruth said.

He took it from the back of a chair.

We checked the card.

At the kettle, he took two mugs off the draining board.

“And you’re?” he asked.

We told him.

He took the card from us and wrote our name on the back.

He held the card with our name facing him.

We read the other side.

Management was reading a leaflet in the dentist’s waiting room.

It explained how to look after our teeth.

Beside us, a woman had a crossword spread on the low table.

We held the leaflet a little higher.

Her pencil stopped at seven down.

We could see six letters and an empty box.

She tried an S.

“R,” we said.

She looked up.

She made it an R.

We turned the leaflet over. There were teeth on both sides.

Nine across was still empty.

A door opened. Her name was called.

She put the cap on her pencil and began to fold the paper.

We put a hand on the corner and smoothed it flat.

She looked at our hand.

We took it away.

She folded the paper round her pencil and went in.

We held the leaflet with both hands.

Management asked Mae not to make a fuss about our birthday.

“When is it?”

“Tomorrow.”

“All right,” she said.

At eleven the next day, Ruth came through with a stack of small plates.

We moved our papers.

She put the plates in the cupboard.

At lunch, we went to the baker’s.

“Shall I write anything on it?” she asked.

“No need.”

“Candles?”

“One.”

We carried the box back and put it on the packing table.

“The baker had one left,” we said.

Ruth fetched the plates. Mae opened the cutlery drawer.

She held the knife above the cake.

“One moment.”

We took the candle from our pocket and pushed it into the icing.

“Has anyone got a match?”

Mae asked whether she could use the small meeting room for a private call.

We said of course and came out.

We stood by the door to keep people from interrupting.

Ruth came along with a mug.

We put a finger to our lips.

She stopped beside us.

“Everything all right?” she whispered.

“We don’t know.”

From inside came a short laugh.

We looked at Ruth. Ruth looked at the mug.

A man from the workshop came to ask about the meeting.

We waved him quiet.

He waited too.

Mae opened the door.

“The plumber can come Thursday,” she said.

“We can move things round for you.”

“I’ve arranged it.”

She took the mug from Ruth and went back to her desk.

We went into the meeting room.

Our papers were still open at the point where we had been interrupted.

Management came to the morning meeting in new shoes.

The left one squeaked.

We stopped beside the door.

The room was quiet.

We put our left foot down again, very slowly.

It squeaked.

We coughed and took another step.

The cough was too early.

Ruth looked up.

“New?”

“Just stiff.”

We took a short step with our right foot.

From under the table came a squeak.

We looked at Ruth.

She was reading the agenda.

We put our left foot down.

Her right shoe answered.

We tapped our left shoe twice.

There was a small pause, then two squeaks.

Mae came in with the papers.

We sat down and folded our hands.

She put the papers on the table.

“Shall we start?”

We moved our left shoe half an inch.

Ruth moved hers.

Management lifted the lemon cake out of its plastic box and put it on a plate.

At lunch, Ruth took a second slice.

“Could I have the recipe?”

“We can write it down.”

She found a pencil. We turned the empty box over beneath the table.

“Lemons,” we said.

“How many?”

“It depends on the lemons.”

Ruth waited with the pencil against the paper.

We read the ingredients again. There were things we had never bought separately.

“Perhaps the shop could tell you,” we said.

“Which shop?”

We gave her the address.

“Good. I pass it on Thursdays.”

She folded the paper and put it in her pocket. Then she carried our empty plate to the sink.

“Leave that,” we said. “It’s ours.”

We washed it, dried it and took it back to our desk.

Management offered a draw while Nell was looking at the board.

“Shall we call it even?”

“One moment.”

She moved her chair to our side of the table. We stood to make room.

She studied the position from there, then went back to her own chair.

“It is getting late,” we said.

“Yes. A draw is fine.”

We held out our hand. She shook it without looking up.

We took our coat from the back of the chair.

“Good game,” we said.

“Can you leave the pieces?”

“Of course.”

We had one sleeve on when she reached across and moved our queen.

“That was not where we were going,” we said.

She moved it back and tried another square.

We left her at the table.

On the way home, we thought about the first square.

Management put twelve chairs in two straight rows for the opening.

They faced the counter, where we had left a glass of water and our speech.

The quartet arrived at six.

“Outside?” asked the cellist.

“People will hear you from the pavement.”

We went behind the counter. The violinist raised her bow.

A woman stopped by the lamp-post. She changed her shopping bag from one hand to the other.

We brought out a chair and set it facing the window.

“Thank you,” she said.

She turned it towards the musicians and sat down.

By the end of the piece, three more people had stopped. We brought three more chairs.

They made room for a man with a pushchair.

We went back for another pair.

At seven, all twelve chairs were on the pavement. We were alone behind the counter.

We picked up our speech and the glass of water and went to the door.

The cellist looked along the row. A woman moved her shopping bag off the last chair.

We sat down with the paper in one hand and the glass in the other.

“Shall we?” said the cellist.

We put down the glass.

She counted under her breath.

Management put the cake in the middle of the kitchen table.

There were eight blue icing flowers.

We cut between them, making eight pieces of the same size.

We took the last plate.

Before pouring our tea, we turned the plate so that the flower faced us.

“You like those, don’t you?” said Tess.

“It’s part of the portion,” we said.

“You can have mine, then.”

We moved our fork. Tess lifted her flower with the side of her knife and set it beside ours.

“Is that where they go?” asked Martin.

“Only the ones you don’t want.”

He put his flower on our plate.

We moved the fork a little further.

Tess took a mouthful of cake. While she was chewing, another flower arrived.

We stood the flowers upright, pressing their bases into the icing. One leaned against another. We separated them with the point of the knife.

The others began carrying their plates back to their desks.

Our mug was still empty. We had not yet touched the cake.

Tess came back for her mug. She put another napkin beside our plate.

Management was pleased to receive a visit from Mrs Bell. Since retiring she had not been in, and we thought she might like to see what we had done.

Her husband was having his hearing aids fitted next door. She had an hour to wait.

“Is the couch still here?”

We took her to our office.

“And does it still open?”

We showed her. She sat on the edge and took off her shoes.

We said we had been meaning to replace it. She pressed a palm against the cushion and said there was plenty of life in it yet.

We began to tell her about the new contract. She asked whether we would mind drawing the blinds.

Our next appointment was some way off. We drew them, then sat down at our desk. It seemed unnecessary to leave our own office, particularly when Mrs Bell had come to visit us.

For a little while we sorted the objects on our desk. Mrs Bell lay with her eyes closed.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” we asked.

“Afterwards, perhaps.”

We took our diary into the corridor. At the door we turned to tell her we could spare an hour, but she had pulled the blanket over her shoulder. We closed the door carefully.

At twelve thirty, Management could not open the lunchbox. It was new, blue, and had been bought because the old one opened in a bag.

Management pulled the two clips back and lifted. The lid stayed put. Across the room, Ruth continued eating an apple, watching without turning her head.

“Both clips?” she said.

Management showed her both clips.

Ruth washed her hands and tried. Then she dried them thoroughly and tried again. She handed the box to Colin, who put on the yellow glove kept beside the sink. Colin held it against his stomach. His chair travelled backwards a little.

“What’s in it?” Ruth asked.

“A sandwich.”

“Is it a good one?”

“I was hoping.”

They ran warm water over the lid. Management dried the bottom with a tea towel while Colin held the top. Ruth fetched a teaspoon, then stood beside them with it, waiting for a useful opening.

Returning from the post office, Ada pressed a small blue button in the centre. The lid lifted with a sigh.

Nobody spoke for a moment. Colin removed the glove finger by finger.

Management cut the sandwich into four pieces and put them on the lid. There was cheese, pickle, and considerably more butter at one end than the other.

Ada took the small corner. “I’ve already eaten,” she said, and stayed.

Management found Mae packing up her book stall. We had parked just round the corner.

“Would you like a lift?”

“That would be lovely.”

We went ahead to move our coat off the passenger seat. There were crumbs in the fold. We brushed them out with the edge of our hand.

Mae came round carrying a box. Nell followed with another.

We opened the boot.

“There’s one more,” Mae said.

It was a shallow box of large books. We carried it with a hand under each end. In the boot it would have had to stand on its edge, so we put it on the passenger seat.

“Shall we wait for you?” we asked.

“We’re going along the canal,” Mae said. “Nell knows a place that does tea.”

Nell took off her apron and folded it into her bag.

“You could leave those by my desk,” Mae said. “I’ll sort them on Monday.”

We shut the boot.

“It’s a nice walk,” Nell said.

Mae put her hand on the open window. “Thank you. I was wondering what to do with them.”

They set off towards the canal. We called after her.

“Shall we leave them by your desk or under it?”

Mae turned and walked backwards for a few steps. “Under, if they’ll fit.”

She caught up with Nell.

Management chose the front end of the horse.

Len held up the back. “You’re sure?”

“We ought to see where we’re going.”

We had two eyeholes and a pair of ears that stood up when we lifted the head. Len could see our shoes.

The band began. We went through the gate into the square.

People turned to look. We lifted the head a little higher.

Beside the fountain, the mayor held out her hand. We dipped the head towards it.

Len walked into our back.

“You stopped.”

“We were bowing.”

“Tell me first.”

We said we would. The mayor was still holding out her hand, so we dipped the head again.

“Now,” we said, from inside the horse.

Len waited. The mayor stroked our nose. A woman brought a small child forward. We lowered the head until the child could reach it.

“Can we go?” said Len.

“In a moment.”

The child put a finger inside one of our eyeholes.

We moved on.

At the halt, Len lifted the cloth. He stayed folded for a moment after he had come out, then stood up slowly.

“Will you take the back for a bit?”

We said we could manage as far as the corner.

Len put on the head. We bent down behind him. The cloth settled over us. We could see his shoes and a little pavement on either side.

We waited for him to start.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes.”

His shoes moved. We followed. On the corner, his left foot went out of sight. We reached forward and took hold of his belt.

Management made a wall round a square of dry sand. We left an opening facing the sea.

A child was dragging a stick from the water towards it. In her other hand she had a piece of bark with a leaf caught in a crack.

“Where is that going?” we asked.

“In there.”

We packed a ridge across her channel, just outside the opening.

The water reached the ridge. She watched it for a moment, then drew the stick round its left end and joined the channel again on our side.

We extended the ridge across the new cut.

She put the bark in the shallow pool below us. It turned slowly. She straightened the leaf and gave it a little push with the stick.

“It needs a way in,” she said.

“There was an opening.”

She pointed at the ridge.

The sand had darkened. A thin stream was coming through the middle, carrying grains into our square.

We pulled out the soft part and laid two fingers side by side across the narrow channel. The water gathered against them. With our free hand we began pressing sand against their ends.

The bark came up to the side of our forefinger.

“Those,” she said.

We looked at her.

She lifted the end of the stick, then lowered it.

We lifted our fingers. She guided the bark through with the stick. We laid them down again.

We were waiting for a sandwich outside the café. A woman stood beside a van with a box of bread.

It had begun to rain.

We offered her our umbrella.

“To borrow,” we said.

We put the short loop over our left wrist and passed her the handle. She took it in her right hand.

“It is still ours,” we said.

She looked at the bread.

We walked to the café together. The loop allowed about four inches between our wrist and her hand.

She kept the box beneath the middle of the umbrella. Our right shoulder was outside.

On the café step a man was counting coins into his palm.

“Here,” she said, passing him the handle.

He took it in his left hand. She carried the bread inside.

The man needed both hands for his change. He asked us to hold the umbrella.

We closed our left hand around the handle. He picked the coins over in the dry.

Two of them were stuck together.

He separated them and went in.

A woman with a pushchair moved into the space he had left.

We lifted the umbrella above the hood while she fastened the rain cover. The child kept lifting one foot.

We moved the umbrella towards the foot.

The woman with the bread came out with our sandwich in a paper bag.

“They said this was yours.”

We took it in our right hand.

The child lifted the other foot.

We moved the umbrella.

Rain began to darken the bottom of the bag.

We put the sandwich against our chest and folded the wet paper underneath it with our thumb.

We were about to fill our bottle at the dog-park tap when a woman asked us to bring her dog's bowl over to the shade. She had a folded chair in one hand and a bag in the other.

We stood our open bottle on the ledge behind the tap and filled the bowl to the rim. The woman went ahead. We lifted the bowl with both hands and started after her.

The water moved farther than we did. After three short steps it was running over our fingers. We stopped. The dog put his nose against the rim, so we lowered the bowl onto the paving and let him drink.

We picked it up when he lifted his head. It was easier to hold now. We got as far as the path before he pressed his nose under our wrist. We lowered the bowl again. He drank while we wiped our palms on our trousers.

The woman had opened her chair and put her bag beneath it. A few feet short of the shade, the dog came round in front of us. We set the bowl down for him once more. Afterwards we could carry it by the rim in one hand.

We set it down in the shade. There was no water left. The dog lay beside it and rested his chin on the rim.

We went back to the tap. Our bottle was still on the ledge. We held it under the water.

Management arrived at the beach cleanup with a luggage scale, a ruled notebook, and our banner. We strapped the scale to a beam inside the access shelter, where the screen could be read without anyone having to hold the weight. Collected rubbish would be weighed. The largest individual haul would appear in our photograph.

We hung the banner across the railing behind the scale. This left a place for the successful collector between ONE MILLION DOLLAR and COMPANY. We took a test photograph with nobody in it and moved the notebook out of shot.

Our own first item was a duvet caught beneath the steps. It filled a collection sack and registered eleven point eight kilos. A stream of seawater ran from the sack onto our shoes. Management held it over a bucket until it stopped dripping, then weighed it again. Eight point four. We wrote that down in pencil.

Two swimmers were working farther down the steps, pulling a length of abandoned mooring rope out from under the lowest tread. They wanted to use the steps. One pulled while the other lifted each freed loop onto the landing. The rope was thick as a wrist and threaded with sand.

They asked whether we had a tarpaulin. We offered the banner. A photograph of the rope arriving inside our name seemed worth taking.

We laid it printed side up. They rolled the rope onto it and carried the four corners between them, keeping the bundle low. At the shelter we set it on the concrete floor. Management gathered the corner eyelets onto a carabiner and clipped that to the scale's lower hook. The swimmers lifted the bundle while we shortened the suspension strap. When they lowered their hands, the rope hung a few inches above the floor.

The display climbed past twenty kilos. We reached for the notebook.

Most of the lettering had folded underneath. Management took hold of one side and turned it toward the camera. The rope shifted. One eyelet pulled through its strip of vinyl; the next corner tore to the hem. The bundle dropped onto the floor with a wet slap.

The screen had not settled on a number. The swimmers unhooked the remaining corners and began transferring the rope to a wheelbarrow. We asked them to wait. Our name was still under it.

They lifted the last coil clear. We spread out the banner and fetched the cleanup scissors. There was an intact rectangle around the logo. We cut along its edges, leaving the torn eyelets on the concrete.

Management stood beside the loaded wheelbarrow and held the rectangle at chest height. We tucked our fingers behind it so the whole Company name would show.

We had practised our part while washing up. At the sink we could get from the first breath to the last word. In the hall, when the other parts began, we kept losing the place.

This week June made room for us between her and the man with the red folder. When he turned his page, we turned ours. At the place where we usually stopped, their voices carried on beside us. We carried on too.

June was making a recording for Pat, who could not come. She stood her phone against a water bottle on the windowsill, pressed the button and came back to her place.

We got to the last word. The leader lifted her hand and closed it. We stopped with the others.

June brought the phone over. We could hear the low part. It sounded fuller than it had at the sink. We followed it with a finger on the page, right through the place we had been practising.

“Is that all three of us?” we asked.

“Yes,” said June.

We asked her to play that bit again. Then we held the phone nearer our ear. There was the low part, and the voices above it. We could not find ours.

The leader said we had begun the last word at different times. She showed us where to take the breath. A woman marked her page. The man beside us drew a small line with his pencil.

June put the phone back on the windowsill and started it again. We took our place beside her. When she breathed, we breathed. This time the last word began together.

The leader raised her hand. We still had some air. We watched her fingers close and kept the vowel going for another moment.

The pages came down on either side of us. Our voice was still sounding. We stopped. June went to the windowsill and stopped the phone.

Management kept Arthur’s chessboard on the small table by the window.

His moves came on postcards. Beneath the first he had written that the pear tree had flowered. Beneath the next, that the frost had got at it.

We moved his pieces on Fridays, after the post came.

One card said the pears were swelling on the sheltered side. Another said he had borrowed a ladder.

This Friday, Ruth stopped beside the table.

“You can finish it,” she said.

We made room for her. She showed us two moves with the queen.

“And then?”

“That’s it.”

We put the queen back.

Arthur’s last card was beside the board. He had drawn a small pear below his move. There was a hole in one side.

We tried a move with the bishop.

“He can take that,” Ruth said.

“Yes.”

She looked at the board again, then went to her desk.

We wrote the bishop’s move on a fresh card.

Under it, we asked whether the ladder had reached.

Management donated the blue jug to the hall’s roof fund. We took it to the sale in a box, with newspaper twisted round the handle.

It had stood beside our kettle for years. We had given it a careful wash.

The auction began after lunch.

Len held up the jug.

“Two pounds?”

We kept our hands folded.

A woman at the back lifted one finger.

“Three?”

We raised our hand.

She had looked inside it while the tables were being set out. Now she lifted her finger again.

“Four,” said Len.

We offered five.

She offered six.

We offered seven.

The woman shook her head and put her hand in her pocket.

Len waited for another bid. We looked back at the woman. She was examining a tin of buttons.

“Seven, then.”

He put the jug beside our chair.

We stayed through the breadbin and the folding stool. At the end, we counted seven pounds into Len’s cash box.

The woman had bought the buttons. She was pouring them into a bag.

We brought our box out from under the chair. The newspaper still had the shape of the handle in it.

We turned the jug until it fitted.

Management brought Ada the tall flowers. We had carried them upright on the bus.

She put a low bowl on the kitchen counter.

“They could go in here.”

We asked whether she had anything taller.

She found a glass vase. We held the stems while she filled it, then carried the flowers through to the table.

At supper, Nell sat opposite us. Above her plate we could see two hands and the edge of a blue sleeve.

She was telling Pat about the walk from the station. The footbridge had been shut.

We leaned to the right.

“Which way did you go?”

“Past the allotments,” she said. Her face appeared beside a leaf, then went away again.

Ada came back with the scissors.

“Shall we take a little off?”

We steadied the vase.

“They look rather good like that.”

“Or I could put them on the sideboard.”

We pulled our chair a little to the left. Nell was talking to Pat again. We pulled it farther.

Now we could see her. Our plate was beyond our right elbow.

Ada passed us the potatoes. We took one and passed the dish on.

We turned sideways to cut it.

On Monday, Management ordered a black coffee.

We drank a little. There was a jug of milk on the table by the window. We took our cup over.

On Tuesday, the woman behind the counter saw us coming.

“Black coffee?”

We nodded.

She reached for a cup.

“I remembered,” she said.

We sat at the table by the window.

On Wednesday, she had our cup ready before we reached the till.

“The usual.”

We put down the money.

She set the milk jug beside the cups.

“Some in this morning?”

“No, thank you.”

She held the jug above our cup.

“Just a little?”

“We like it black.”

She put the jug down and turned to a man who wanted directions to the station.

When they were both looking at the street, we added the milk.

At the window, we stirred without letting the spoon touch the sides.

Our tomato plant had grown above its stake. Management went out to find it another one.

Ada was clearing the offcuts from her shed.

“For the stove,” she said.

We offered to carry them in.

There were two long, thin strips among them. One was straight and clear; the other had a knot halfway up. We put the clear one beside our coat.

Ada filled the basket with the short pieces.

She pointed to the strip.

“Shall I break that one up too?”

“Yes,” we said.

She rested it across her knee.

“Hold this end.”

We held it.

She broke the strip in two and laid both pieces on the basket. We carried it inside.

Back in the shed, we picked up the other strip.

We pushed it into the pot, turned the knot towards the wall and tied up the tomato.