An Unexpected Offer

Norbert

13

An Unexpected Offer

We sit on opposite sides of the table and gnaw our way through rump steak and chips. It’s a bit noisy as four porters sitting across the aisle are engaged in a heated argument over laundry trolley capacity.

Normally I have a baked potato or cheese on toast for my lunch (described on the menu as: “A bread-based dish flamed to golden perfection and regaled with bubbling fromage.”). That is as far as my pocket money stretches. Rump steak is an absolutely smashing treat.

Mr Foote-Wharmer leans forward and whispers: ‘This mustn’t go beyond these four walls.’

I look round the packed dining room. ‘Sir, you’re speaking so quietly I don’t think it will even reach the walls.’

‘There is a vacancy for a basic grade technician in Haematology at city hospital coming up soon. I’d like you to apply for it.’

‘But, sir, I…’

He holds up his knife (to silence me, not in threat). ‘Hear me out. There will be a senior post up for grabs within a year. Ruben Steele-Mills is retiring to breed racing swallows.’

‘Err, don’t you mean pigeons?’

‘No, swallows.’

‘But sir, pigeons home, swallows migrate to Africa. It’s kind of instinctive.’

‘Rube has never been one to shy away from a challenge. I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.’

The motion of him chewing on a lump of meat stretches his side whiskers and wobbles his bushy moustache. His face looks like an Etch-a-Sketch done by someone on LSD.

‘Let me finish,’ he says. ‘The only suitable internal candidate is Manuel Forth-Gere. Have you heard of him?’

‘No sir.’

‘He’s a slapdash womanizer who takes too many shortcuts, and a bit of a bully to boot. Not a pleasant cove.’

‘You could advertise the post externally in the Journal for People not as Important as Doctors.’

‘I’ve learnt over the years never to trust references. In my experience, a glowing reference means the candidate is an idiot and they can’t wait to get shut of them.’ He chews on a mushroom. ‘Every employer tries to hang on to their best people. It’s only natural. Most trusts nowadays prefer to appoint from within.’

‘Better the devil you know?’

‘Exactly. But in the case of Forth-Gere we need competition, and you, Rockhampton-Smythe, are the man for the job.’

‘I am honoured, sir, I don’t know what to say.’

‘You say yes, of course.’

‘I will have to discuss it with my guardians and…’

One of the porters falls off his chair and writhes in the aisle, foaming at the mouth and with his pupils rolled up behind the lids. The others take not a blind bit of notice.

‘Sir, would it be too forward to ask for some sticky toffee pudding and custard?’

‘Ermm, if I’m not mistaken that porter is about to pass into a diabetic coma. Shouldn’t we perhaps save his life before thinking about a sweet?’

‘You know, sir, you are remarkable. Anyone who didn’t know Aloysius would assume he is epileptic. Yet you have diagnosed him as a diabetic just from one look.’

Mr Foote-Wharmer wafts his fingers in front of his face. ‘You’re forgetting my special talent. Microscopic aerosols get trapped in my moustache, enabling me to synthesize and extrapolate the odour of ketone, even from this distance. It’s a gift.’

‘Remarkable.’

I get up from the table, fiddle in Aloysius’s smock pocket and find the syringe. I pull the cap off and squirt a bit out to remove any air bubbles. I then bend down and pull the shirt out of his trousers, pinch a lump of belly skin and inject the insulin. I place the hypodermic on his table and retake my seat.

‘They usually leave it to me because I’m used to needles. That’s why I chose this table. I could see he was twitching from the moment we walked in. I knew it would only be a matter of time before he went hyper.’

‘What happens when you’re not around?’

‘They get a doctor to do it, but those greedy grannyticklers won’t get out their chair for less than a tenner.’

Aloysius comes round and clambers unsteadily to his feet, shakes his head and looks round. He sees the hypodermic on the table and turns.

‘Cheers, Norbert, you’re a good un, saved my life yet again. That’s definitely the last time I forget, I promise.’

‘You always forget.’

He smiles. ‘I know, but you’re always here to save me, aren’t you?’

I look across at Mr Foote-Wharmer. ‘Not for much longer, I’m afraid. Not for much longer.’