The Secret Santa Project

Chapter 1

1 December

Diane knew she should feel lucky to live and work in London, especially during the festive season, with its sparkling lights, magical displays and historic monuments lit up like Christmas trees. But Diane didn’t feel lucky. Especially not today, on the first day of December, as she headed into work across Westminster Bridge, the wind biting her frozen cheeks, red double-decker buses splashing the previous night’s rain over her ankles, and a million stressful thoughts in her head as to how the hell she was going to pull off Christmas this year. There was just so much to do between now and the big day. Shopping lists, food lists, card lists, visits lists, lists lists … bloody lists! When had Christmas become just one massive list of stuff to do on top of all the other massive lists of stuff to do? As she pushed open the century-old oak doors to the Bermondsey Council building and walked past the pathetically decorated tree in the foyer, she made a mental note to add to a list somewhere to book her supermarket Christmas food delivery slot and to make sure her husband could pick up their daughter from university.

But first and foremost, coffee – essential to get through any day working in the Accounts Department at Bermondsey Council. She strode down the corridor to the alcove containing the recently installed coffee machine, scrabbled around in her pocket for her coffee card and slotted it into the hole.

Then Diane kicked the coffee machine very hard.

‘For crying out loud, what does a woman have to do to get a crappy coffee out of this crappy machine, for goodness’ sake!’

‘Are you sure you have enough credits on your card?’ came a voice from behind her.

She turned round and saw Kevin from HR, smiling with his head on one side, talking to her as though she was an elderly relative, despite the fact she was only just old enough to be his mother – possibly.

‘Why can’t we just have a kettle like we used to?’ she asked him.

‘Something to do with taxable benefits,’ he said. ‘And Facilities management didn’t have a code for maintenance, and the cleaners came to us up in arms because they were sick of washing up dirty coffee mugs, despite the fact they’d put twenty-five signs up in the kitchen telling everyone they would be murdered if they didn’t wash their own. But the straw that really broke the camel’s back was when Tim from downstairs punched Matt from Security because he caught him nicking some of his milk out the shared fridge. At the resulting tribunal Tim said bringing his own milk into the office was causing him significant anxiety through fear of other people taking it, which had led to his aggressive behaviour. He’s currently off sick with stress.’

Diane snorted. She didn’t have time for this. ‘So, because of all that pathetic behaviour, the kettle has been taken away and now we have rubbish coffee that costs a fortune, with crappy dried milk in plastic cups!’ She looked at Kevin. ‘I’m going to buy a kettle and put one in my office.’

‘No, no, can’t do that,’ said Kevin, shaking his head.

‘Why not?’

‘Only insured for kitchen equipment in the kitchen.’

‘I’ll bring my own kettle in then, and put it in the kitchen.’

‘No, can’t do that, I’m afraid. The recommendation from the tribunal with Tim was that kettles should no longer be allowed in the building.’

‘Bloody hell!’ exclaimed Diane. ‘How am I supposed to work without coffee!’

‘Why don’t you have one of my credits and you can give me one back another time?’ He took her defective card out of the machine and replaced it with his own. ‘How do you want it?’

‘From a kettle?’

Kevin did not reply.

‘Black, no sugar,’ she said eventually. ‘Thank you.’

He handed over the coffee. ‘So I’ll be up with Jolene at about half past nine, after I’ve done the basic induction.’

Diane stared back at him. ‘Jolene?’ she said, shaking her head.

‘Your new graduate trainee. Starts today. I did email you.’

Diane continued to stare blankly. She took her phone out of her suit pocket and did a quick search. Kevin did the same. They stood opposite each other frantically tapping at their phones.

‘You did,’ breathed Diane.

‘In October,’ muttered Kevin, ‘and last week.’

Diane shook her head. ‘Bollocks,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Why did you give it a subject title of “Graduate Training Scheme”? I just thought it was one of those hideous, covering-your-arse-type emails that had nothing useful in it.’

She looked up at Kevin, who was smiling in a weird way at her.

‘Look, Diane,’ he said, touching her arm lightly. She stared at his hand. Was this some weird new HR ritual? ‘Diane,’ he repeated softly. ‘I know that you celebrated a big birthday last year and, well—’

‘Do you mean my fiftieth?’

‘Well, yes.’ He looked around awkwardly, as though he didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation.

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Well, it’s just that, well – how do I put it? – well, they sent me on a menopause-awareness course—’

‘They sent you on one? Why you? Why not me? You are unlikely to experience it, are you not?’

‘It was about awareness in the workplace. You know, about being sympathetic to women who may be suffering and what symptoms to look out for, and I just want you to know that your outbursts of anger and rage, alongside signs of forgetfulness, well, if there is anything I can do to support you, I’m here. That’s all I’m saying.’ He squeezed her arm. She pulled it away sharply and drew herself up to her near five foot ten inches in patent leather heels. She tapped her immaculate platinum-blond updo and then smoothed down the pencil skirt of her perfectly fitted black suit.

‘My outbursts of anger and rage, as you call them, are not due to me going through the menopause. My anger and rage are entirely caused by the idiots I work with and not my own biology. My anger and rage are down to the fact that my colleagues have decreed that I’m not allowed to have my own bloody stupid kettle. And as for forgetfulness, I cannot read all the twenty thousand emails your department churns out needlessly every five minutes, so when it’s important you had better start making sure they stand out. How dare you blame the biological make-up of a woman rather than your own incompetence?’

Kevin quivered. He took a step back and swallowed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

‘So you should be,’ Diane hissed back. ‘Bring her to my office at ten o’clock. We’ll do our best to have something organised for her by then.’

‘OK.’

‘What’s her name again?’

‘Jolene.’

‘Jolene?’

‘Jolene.’

‘Jolene.’

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ muttered Diane, and stalked off, grabbing the coffee out of Kevin’s hand as she went. ‘That’s all I need.’

‘The mayor is chasing you,’ was the news that greeted Diane when she finally got to the Accounts Department office, lukewarm coffee in hand. ‘He’s rung four times already this morning,’ Jerry told her as she hung up her coat.

It was a long oblong office off the main corridor in the crumbling building that housed the vast majority of the inmates at Bermondsey Council, which looked after around twenty square miles of the city of London. They had windows, which was a plus. There were four desks and a meeting table scattered around the room, and a long line of filing cabinets standing against the back wall. Quite what was in them nobody really knew, since no one had used a filing cabinet since 2012 and now all documents were stored in the sky somewhere. However, opening them would require someone to decide what to do with their contents and nobody really knew whose decision that was. Consequently they remained closed, like graves to a bygone era of accounting.

‘What did he want?’ Diane asked Jerry, pausing outside the door to her own office, which occupied one end of the oblong.

‘He wants to know if we have anything in the budget left to be able to throw a Christmas party for some kids in the area,’ replied Jerry. ‘Of course, he doesn’t actually mean a party. What he means is, he wants a photo op, given we are heading towards elections. A few pictures of him with grateful children splashed over the front of the Gazette wouldn’t do him any harm, would it? Especially after being photographed dropping his kids off at private school in a Range Rover.’

Jerry – highly dependable, if opinionated – was Diane’s number two in the department. She didn’t know what she would do without him.

‘Did you tell him about the Cost of Christmas project?’ she asked.

‘I did,’ replied Jerry. ‘I told him that we were about to review if we can even afford fairy lights on the tree in the park next year. So it didn’t seem likely there would be any money to throw a community party.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said you can’t place a value on putting smiles on young people’s faces during the festive period.’

‘It’s bugger all to do with putting smiles on children’s faces and everything to do with putting a smile on his face when he gets re-elected.’

‘I said you’d call him back,’ Jerry said. ‘Sorry. You know he won’t listen to me.’

‘No, no, that’s fine. I’ll call him. See where he thinks we can conjure up this mythical money. Maybe he has something in his budget he can sacrifice. Print me off his accounts and let’s see if we can find something.’

‘Sure,’ said Jerry. He paused then asked her an unusual question. ‘So, what are you up to this weekend?’

Diane looked up at him in surprise. She and Jerry didn’t often exchange personal life pleasantries, despite the fact they’d worked together for over five years. She knew the basics, of course. Born in Missouri, USA, he’d moved to London in his late twenties for the culture and because he thought it would be easier to come out as gay. Owner of a UK passport due to his British mum, he’d done evening classes in accountancy and had worked at several councils across the city. He had amazing knowledge of the processes within local government, making him a very valuable member of Diane’s team. Also, single men were very handy to have in the department as they didn’t mind working late or coming in early. That is, so far as she knew he was single. He didn’t talk much in the office about his private life, which is why she was so startled by the question.

‘Oh, the usual,’ she replied. ‘Housework, food shopping, trying to get my teenage daughter to communicate with me whilst she lives it up at uni. You?’

‘Nothing much,’ replied Jerry. ‘Might try and take in a play and there’s a new exhibition I must see at the Tate. Sunday I’ll probably treat myself to brunch at Borough Market seeing as I’ve finished my Christmas shopping.’

‘What!’ exclaimed Diane. ‘Seriously? How do you do that?’ She put her head in her hands. She really didn’t need to hear that someone had finished their Christmas shopping.

‘It’s easy,’ said Jerry. ‘It’s called having only one sibling, only one parent still alive and not being in a relationship. Simplifies Christmas no end.’

Diane looked up at him. He looked as distressed about the smallness of his Christmas as she felt about the magnitude of hers. Time to get off Christmas and back to work.

‘Now, I have to go to a meeting,’ she told Jerry, ‘but Kevin will be arriving shortly with our new graduate trainee—’

‘New graduate trainee! Since when?’

‘Since Kevin decided to half-tell me in emails buried by a landslide of emails covering personal injury liability and working hours directives. Anyway, can you look after her this morning? Conjure up some reading material. Organise a laptop for her. Stuff like that. Or get Yang to do it.’

Diane looked over at Yang, who had been sitting opposite Jerry the whole time. He had headphones on and was staring at a spreadsheet on his computer as he bobbed his head rhythmically up and down. Yang was nearly twenty years younger than Jerry and pretty much his exact opposite. Yang was wearing a yellow checked shirt covered by a navy V-necked sweater that stretched over his slightly rotund belly. His wire-rimmed glasses completed the look of a young man trying and failing to be fashionable. This contrasted heavily with Jerry’s suit trousers, slim-fit collared shirt, ironed to perfection, and the shiniest leather brogues Diane had ever seen.

‘I’ve got Yang looking at the autumn statements, which will take him all day, so I’ll sort the trainee,’ said Jerry. ‘Where is she going to sit?’

‘Barney’s not in today, so she can sit at his desk for now. Call Facilities and ask them if they have a desk they can bring up.’

‘Sure,’ nodded Jerry. ‘What’s her name, by the way?’ He picked up a pen ready to write it down.

‘Jolene,’ said Diane.

‘Jolene?’ he asked, looking up.

‘Jolene,’ replied Diane, nodding.

‘Joleeeeeeeene,’ sang out Jerry, unable to help himself.

‘I’m sure she’s never heard that before,’ said Diane, raising her eyebrows. ‘God, I hope she’s not some basket case. We’ve got enough to do without having to babysit some twenty-something who thinks that the world of work owes her a good time rather than being the thankless tedious grind that it actually is. Speaking of which, I’ll see you after the Sanitation Board Meeting.’