Purchase Links
UK - https://www.amazon.co.uk/Road-Cromer-Pier-Martin-Gore-ebook/dp/B0982HW7CG
US - https://www.amazon.com/Road-Cromer-Pier-Martin-Gore-ebook/dp/B0982HW7CG
Excerpt
Tom is a brand-new character in the second
book. Suddenly made redundant at 58 from his own firm, he faces a full stop in
his career, on top of being recently widowed. Now I was nowhere as successful
in my career as Tom, but I faced the same issue when I took redundancy
following the privatisation of the probation service.
Work is important to me as I need to feel that
I make some sort of a difference in this life. Like Tom I worked stupid hours
at times, and all too often work dominated my life to an unhealthy extent. In
the end I worked retirement out, balancing some work as a Non-Executive
Director with my creative writing work and travel, and I’m very happy with how
it turned out, eventually, but the transition wasn’t easy.
In Tom’s case the loss of his wife, Maggie,
makes things so much more difficult, and the telephone call out of the blue
from bank manager Peter Hodson is simply fate. I’d originally planned Tom’s
story to be a book in itself, called Last Hurrah, but realised that he
could be a leading character in The Road from Cromer Pier.
In this excerpt Tom is attending his
leaving presentation, and not lookng forward to his unplanned retirement...
Excerpt
Meanwhile, in the opulent boardroom of
Schwarz, Stevens & Stanley in central London, Elena Schwarz was speaking in
her cultured New England accent, relating eloquent anecdotes sourced from the
personnel file of one of the partners, Tom Stanley. Anecdotes doubtless augmented
by Jane Clark, his long-standing PA, who seemed embarrassed, trying to hide
away at the back nearest the door. She was leaving too, in a few weeks’ time.
Corporate restructuring, they called it.
Tom Stanley was standing next to Ms
Schwarz, and the gathering included a large contingent of his staff. Tom sensed
that Elena was finishing up, thank goodness, by wishing him a long and happy
retirement.
But I’m only 58, Tom thought. What
should he say? He was tempted to tell Elena exactly what he thought, but one
didn’t do that, did one? One thanked people. People he’d work with a long time.
Some he cared for, others less so.
There were gifts on the table in front
of him, wrapped in glossy paper. One was obviously a bottle of champagne. There
were flowers, too. Lilies, judging by their fragrance. He hated lilies. His
late wife Maggie had loved them.
Tom did not feel inclined to celebrate,
even though the payoff was extraordinary. The fewer partners there were, the
more money each one made. Money was seemingly their only motivation.
He hadn’t had long to plan his
retirement do, so he’d pulled together a handful of his closest work colleagues
for an early supper after work. Nothing too posh. Tom Stanley didn’t really do
posh. Then he’d splashed out on tickets for Les Misérables for them all. It
suited his melancholy mood. The song of an angry man, his hopes and dreams
dashed.
He realised that some might have seen
his situation in an altogether more positive light. He was now extremely
solvent, and in good health as far as he knew, so he felt he had a lot left to
give. But that was the point, really. It was all too soon.
The obligatory card and presents were
handed over to warm applause. He kept his remarks and words of thanks brief.
Tom was no great orator. He had a dry Yorkshire wit, not often understood by
his southern colleagues, and certainly not appreciated by the Americans. So
much of his working life had been spent with troubled organisations, and he
relied on his instincts about people and relationships. He’d made his career in
turning round failing businesses, but it was their people who had mattered to
Tom.
But after the US partners had taken his
company over, things had changed. Increasingly, he found their sausage-machine
approach to insolvency distasteful, given that companies that might have been
saved were not given the opportunity. Looking back, he realised he’d been
naive.
He shook Elena’s hand, whilst deftly
escaping her hug and the peck on the cheek. He moved on to the others swiftly,
then escaped the boardroom with its expensive hardwood furniture and
contemporary soft furnishings. He had cleared his desk yesterday, and had the
box sent home by company courier. One more expense that they could stand. He
simply had to return to his office, put the unopened presents and card in his
briefcase and he was good to go.
Jane appeared in the doorway. ‘You
forgot the flowers, Tom,’ she said knowingly.
Tom looked at her reprovingly, as a
teacher might look at an errant pupil.
‘If I want a second career as a florist,
I’ll take a college course. You have them.’
Jane smiled. ‘All set then?’
‘Seems like it. At least Elena kept it
fairly brief. Rather shorter than her usual death by PowerPoint.’
Jane shook her head and grinned as she
placed a mug of tea in front of him. She sat down opposite him, and then
produced a sandwich box from a plastic bag on the side table.
‘The last supper, albeit at lunchtime?’
she said, as she placed the box in front of him.
He smiled. ‘Orlando’s hot pork and
stuffing? You’re an absolute star.’
She took out her own less calorific
lunch and they ate in silence for a while.
‘I’ll miss Orlando’s,’ he said, as he
licked his fingers, and extracted the obligatory crackling.
‘As will I,’ Jane said.
They fell silent again. Two work
colleagues, and sort-of friends. Jane was 15 years younger and lived in Notting
Hill. He had the elegant flat on the river near Canary Wharf. They had worked
together for ten years, and knew that, after the theatre this evening, this was
probably goodbye. Tom sat back for a moment and sipped his tea.
‘So, what’s next for you, Jane?’
He saw her thin smile. ‘Interview
tomorrow. Can’t say I’m looking forward to it. Haven’t had an interview in
years.’
‘You’ll be great. You are great.’
‘Thanks, Tom. I’ll get fixed up. Plenty
of jobs about. I’ll just miss this place.’
‘And me, of course?’ he asked, looking
at her over the rim of his spectacles.
‘Even you, sarcastic old sod that you
are.’
Tom laughed. ‘Less of the old. I’m not
ready for this. Too young to retire.’
He saw her pause for a moment, as if
picking her words carefully.
‘It is too soon, especially after
Maggie.’
He nodded sadly. ‘Yes, it is. Less than
12 months.’
He still couldn’t really talk about it.
He was pleased when she broke the silence.
‘So, what will you do now? Have you had
time to think?’
‘Not really. I need more time to
assimilate it all. They call it decompression, or so that outplacement
consultant called it. Return to real life. I got Elena to pay for my
professional indemnity insurance for three years, just to keep my options
open.’
He noticed that she was toying with her
earring, as she was apt to do when she was thinking. ‘That won’t be easy for
you after all those 60-hour weeks.’
‘No. It won’t.’
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