A Shock to the System Read Online Free PDF

simply incompetent.
    â€˜Fact is, I’ll be making some changes when I take over,’ Robert Benham confided, after George had nipped out to the Gents for the second time in an hour’s drinking. Really, the old man seemed to be falling apart.
    â€˜For a start, Graham, I’m going to see that everyone works a lot harder. Hell of a lot of slackness has crept into the Department while George has been in charge.’
    He hastened to qualify this. ‘Not you, of course, Graham. Always had great respect for your application and sheer bloody graft.’
    Patronising, almost like a school report. Makes the most of his limited abilities. Again, Graham knew he had said the same to candidates he had beaten in previous contests.
    â€˜But what I want to do is get a new attitude going, really shake people up a bit. Stop them thinking they’re on to a cushy number and can just wind down to retirement. Get some concept of productivity into the Department.’
    â€˜Yes. Sure,’ Graham agreed enthusiastically. Just as enthusiastically as he had endorsed George’s plans in the past.
    Robert reached into his pocket for a box of small cigars and proffered them. Graham refused. Robert took one and replaced the box. Instinctively Graham found the gold lighter in his hand, cocked and ready. God, so quickly he was slipping into a subservient role to his new boss. He hated himself for it.
    â€˜Won’t necessarily be popular, what I’m suggesting, Graham, so I’m going to need a lot of support. And advice. Lots of areas of the company I know nothing about, so I’m going to be relying on your experience, consulting you a lot.’ A pause. ‘If I may, Graham.’
    So ingenuous. So magnanimous. So humble.
    Just as he would have been, if he had got the job.
    â€˜Of course,’ said Graham. ‘Anything I can do to help, Robert.’
    The drinking session went on for a long time and it was half past eleven when Graham lurched off the Tube at Hammersmith.
    He was, he realised, very drunk. Fiercely he clutched his umbrella’s ridged handle. His briefcase had been left in the office. Graham had been intending to take some work home that evening, but it was too late for that. Anyway, what was the point of doing extra work now he wasn’t going to become Head of Department?
    What was the point of anything?
    The injustice of Robert Benham’s appointment rose like vomit in his throat as he went through the barrier, with a reflex flick of his season to the ticket-collector.
    There were few people about. It was chilly. Rain fell outside the station. He crossed automatically to the subway that led to Hammersmith Bridge and Boileau Avenue.
    Rain had trickled down the steps, forming wide puddles, which he sidestepped with the rigid concentration of the very drunk.
    The old man was slumped against the tiled wall at the foot of the steps leading up to the pavement.
    Graham Marshall hardly noticed the shapeless figure. There were often down-and-outs in the subway. His own thoughts were too turbulent for him to be aware of anything else.
    As Graham drew alongside, the old man straightened up.
    â€˜Spare us a quid, guv.’
    Graham caught a sour whiff of stained clothes on unwashed flesh as he continued on his way up the steps. He felt the rain as he emerged, but did not put up his umbrella. The handle remained clenched rigidly in his hand.
    He was some way along Hammersmith Bridge Road before he realised the old man was following him. There was a peculiar slap-slap of feet in ill-fitting shoes on the wet pavement.
    Graham lengthened his stride. Headlights of the occasional car crossing the bridge laid ribbons of white on the shining black road. Traffic hummed and swished on the flyover above, eliminating the slapping sound of the feet.
    â€˜Hey! Guv!’
    He strode on, unaware of the rain or his legs automatically tracing their daily route home. In spite of its fierce tension, his body