The Mince Pie Mix-Up. Jennifer Joyce

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       Chapter Two: Frostie the Snowman Forgot

      Perry was fuming. Calvin had never seen a face quite so puce as his boss stalked up and down the office, firing off expletive after expletive, practically foaming at the mouth as his rage spilled forth. His head was going to explode, which wouldn’t be such a bad thing apart from the mess it would create on the walls of B&R Marketing. Maybe Calvin would get splattered and then he’d have to listen to Judy go on at him about the stains on his shirt. At least he wasn’t wearing his favourite grey tie, Calvin supposed. He didn’t mind if the horrible lime green one was ruined with his boss’s brain matter.

      ‘Are you all frankincense stupid or something?’

      Perry hadn’t really used the word frankincense, but Calvin was passing the time by replacing the swear words with those associated with Christmas. It made the experience a tad more pleasant – as long as you ignored the spittle flying across the office as Perry went about his business of giving his employees an almighty ticking off.

      ‘What kind of idiots do I have working for me? You’re all a bunch of figgy pudding chestnuts. I should fire the whole baubles lot of you, you incompetent donkeys.’ ‘Donkeys’ could have been an actual insult for Perry to use, but the one Calvin had replaced was marginally more insulting. ‘Whose job was it to book the photo shoot?’ Perry’s eyes shone as they ran across each employee, seeking out the weakest member of his team. The one who had well and truly dropped the ball on this project. ‘Which advent am I going to sack?’

      ‘Sack?’ Everyone in the office had been silent up until this point (they’d long ago figured this was the best way to deal with Perry’s rages) but now a voice squeaked from the back of the office. ‘But it’s December.’

      It was Sarah who had spoken out. She was relatively new to the B&R Marketing office and wasn’t familiar with all the rules yet. You didn’t take stationery from the cupboard without permission from Perry first (which was sometimes only granted after a full-on grovelling session. Pens were precious in the B&R office, according to their tight-fisted boss). You didn’t take the last biscuit out of the tin in the kitchen unless you wanted an ear-chewing from Overlord Perry and you never, ever spoke out during one of his tirades. To do so would only put you in the firing line and prolong the agony for everybody else.

      Poor Sarah.

      ‘I don’t give a flying fa la la la la what month of the year it is.’ Perry gave a hoot. ‘Are you referring to Christmas? Do you actually think I give a rat’s antlers about Christmas?’ Perry marched towards the back of the office, where Sarah was quivering in her chair. ‘Christmas means more business. Profits!’ Spit flew through the air, landing on Sarah’s cheek. She didn’t dare move to wipe it away. ‘It doesn’t mean I’ll turn into a soft Tiny Tim just because you lot stick up a bit of tinsel.’ ‘Tinsel’ was Perry’s own word this time. He flailed his arms around to indicate the sparkly stuff attempting to add cheer to the grim office. ‘Don’t think I won’t sack the lot of you at Christmas because I will if I have to. You French-henned this project up and I want to know why and, more importantly, who.’

      He glared at his employees, turning full circle so that nobody was left out. His nostrils were flared as he attempted to sniff out the weak link.

      ‘Well?’ The fact that he had failed to sniff out the culprit was making a vein throb in his temple. It grew larger as he turned to examine his staff yet again and the offender remained hidden. ‘May I remind you how much work we’ve got on over the next few weeks? Francesco Benvenuti is coming into this office next week. Francesco. Benvenuti. Do you realise how much money that dude will bring to this company? I cannot allow any of you to fairy lights this campaign up!’

      Perry stormed out of the office, his fury continuing for the remainder of the day, though thankfully he took it into the solitude of his own office once it became clear that nobody was actually going to be man enough to own up to messing up the campaign. Although he’d threatened to sack the lot of them, it wasn’t really plausible, so he’d stormed into his office to seethe and plot for the rest of the day.

      ‘Perry should expect the arrival of three ghosts this Christmas,’ Sarah said as they packed up at the end of the day. Perry had moments earlier popped his head through the door to tell them they should all ‘frost off home’ and ‘thank themselves festive lucky that they still had their Father Christmas jobs’. Calvin was running out of Christmas-themed F words.

      ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’ Sarah paused by Calvin’s desk and lowered her voice. ‘And thanks for not landing me in it. I thought I’d booked that photo shoot weeks ago.’

      ‘Don’t worry about it. It was a mistake.’ Calvin thought of the blackened mince pies from that morning. ‘We all make them.’

      With his computer shut down for the evening, Calvin made his way down to the car park and climbed into his car. He had an hour’s commute from B&R Marketing’s city centre office to his home in Hartfield Hill. He knew how much Judy loved the village but it was a pain in the artificial Christmas tree (Calvin must stop doing that now) getting to and from work during rush hour. It was half past six by the time he pulled up outside the house, the evening already well and truly underway. Judy and the children would have already eaten, meaning he’d have to sit in the kitchen by himself yet again. Calvin opened the oven but it was empty. Probably punishment for the mince pies, which were still sitting accusingly on the side – he was evidently not out of the doghouse then. Never mind. He wasn’t that hungry anyway. He’d grab something later.

      ‘Where have you been?’ Judy was sitting on the bed when Calvin went upstairs to change, her face twisted and strangely resembling that of Perry’s earlier. Great. Just what Calvin needed. He’d already had a bollocking from his boss – he didn’t need another from his wife.

      ‘I’ve been at work. Where do you think?’ Calvin opened the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of jeans and a hooded top.

      ‘You’re late.’

      ‘I know.’ It was all right for Judy. She only worked a few streets away. If she ran, she could be home from work in two minutes. Not everybody had it so easy. ‘Traffic was terrible. It always is at this time of year.’

      ‘And you really couldn’t have got here any earlier?’

      Calvin held in a sigh. No, he really couldn’t have unless he had the ability to sprout wings and fly home. Which he didn’t. ‘Is this about the mince pies? I said sorry.’

      ‘You didn’t, actually,’ Judy muttered. Calvin chose not to hear and instead changed out of his work clothes (which Judy snatched off the floor where they fell before dumping them forcefully into the laundry basket) and into more comfortable attire. Sometimes it felt like he was wearing a noose to work instead of a tie.

      ‘I’m sorry, okay? About the mince pies and being late and everything.’ Over the years, Calvin had come to the realisation that it was easier to apologise, even for the things out of his control. ‘I’ll see you later. I won’t be late.’ He stooped to kiss Judy goodbye but she put out a hand to stop him.

      ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

      ‘To the pub.’ It was Friday. He СКАЧАТЬ