Southend U3A

October 2023

The Key - Pete Norman

Jeremy was different. He was certainly different to the rest of them in this place. All they ever seemed to think about was booze, girls, loud music, girls, West Ham, girls, recreational drugs and . . . and immature pranks . . . although not necessarily in that order.

Jeremy thought about none of the above . . . well, not necessarily all of them but he knew from experience that there was no point in thinking about things which were never likely to happen.

Jeremy had been at the company for two years now but most of the others had been here for quite a bit longer and, to the relative new boy, they formed a boisterous, narrow-minded, impenetrable clique.

However, Jeremy was quite happy with this situation; he had always enjoyed his own company; he could fill his mind with far more interesting and worthwhile thoughts and he had no desire, whatsoever, to be like them. It had taken a very long time for them to tire of ridiculing his unusual name, his lack of interest in joining with them in their hedonistic lifestyle and his ridiculous desire to work hard. It was, therefore, not unexpected that, when Mr Simpkins called him into the office, the herd bayed in derision – there was only ever one reason for being dragged into the office and it would make their day if he had been summoned for some kind of roasting.

When the door was closed, Mr Simkins asked Jeremy to be seated – something quite unheard of – and beyond the glass panel separating them from the office, all eyes were focussed on the back of Jeremy’s head; every ear was straining to hear anything interesting, punitive or salacious but the office had been carefully designed to protect confidentiality and, to their intense disappointment, nothing of interest escaped from the room.

Inside, however, was a completely different situation.

Mr Simpkins attempted a smile – a rare experience for the man. He leaned forward in his seat. ‘Now, Jeremy, you have been with us for a while, haven’t you . . .’

‘Two years, three months and eight days, sir.’

Mr Simpkins’ eyes opened wide. ‘Well, I never. Is your extraordinary accuracy an indication of pleasure or discontentment?’

Jeremy was still mentally chastising himself for his stupid comment and he had to struggle back to reality to answer the question safely. ‘Well, sir, you see, I had to look it up the other day for something and it just sort of stuck.’

Mr Simpkins was not completely satisfied with the answer but he brushed aside the trivia and cut to the chase. ‘Well, young man, I keep a close eye on my staff and it is obvious to me that you are far more dedicated in your work than the rest of them put together and the standard of your work is consistently high.’ He paused for some comment, any response at all but Jeremy was wary about where this unusual conversation was going.

Mr Simpkins leant forwards and steepled his fingers. ‘Now, you might not know it but I have been the keyholder for this company for more years than I care to remember and I have reached the point where I think it would be prudent for me to pass the responsibility on to someone else, someone keen and hardworking . . . someone . . . a bit younger . . . and I believe that you might be just the person to perform this vital task.’

Jeremy hesitated for a moment. The suggestion had come completely out of the blue and he had absolutely no idea how he should answer it.

Mr Simpkins had anticipated the uncertainty and added, ‘And, of course, there would be a remuneration suitable to the additional inconvenience and responsibility.’

Jeremy was thrown completely; on the one hand it meant he would have more money in his pocket but on the other hand it was a big responsibility and . . . and might it also be a little bit dangerous?

Mr Simpkins took in the blank face and he could almost hear the cog-wheels revolving in his brain. A little careful persuasion might be prudent. ‘Do you know that I have been the keyholder for at least . . . what, twenty years and I have never once experienced anything dangerous – if that is what you are concerned about. The police are usually here long before the keyholder arrives.’

Jeremy’s face was still blank so Mr Simpkins had one last try. ‘You can have a couple of days to think about it, if you require it.’

Jeremy shook his head. ‘No, sir, that won’t be necessary. When do you want me to start?’

Mr Simpkins reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a substantial bunch of keys. He smiled warmly – ie. with considerable relief – ‘It is all yours, young man.’

As Jeremy walked back to his desk, a dozen pairs of eyes were closely following his every footstep, every facial expression, anything at all that might give some clue as to what had just happened in the office – but Jeremy was keeping his face quite neutral and when he reached his desk and began to work again, they were disappointed – they had expected something far more dramatic.

After work he had stayed behind for a quick tutorial, then a walk around outside the premises and the location of all the cameras and alarm triggers. It all looked straightforward enough and now, on his ride home, he was beginning to feel less concerned about his new responsibility.

The happiness, however, lasted just about long enough for him to carry his dinner from the kitchen through to the table.

The phone rang.

It was the police.

The alarm was ringing.

He grabbed the keys and his bicycle and rode as if the hounds of hell were behind him. His heart was thundering with the effort and a myriad of thoughts that were overwhelming his brain. Outside the gate was an impressive police car. Inside the car was a totally unimpressed police officer. Reluctantly, he opened the car door and climbed out. The officer looked Jeremy up and down. ‘You’re new. Where’s the old boy?’

Jeremy was scanning the premises for intruders and was somewhat taken aback by the officer’s complete lack of urgency. He was also a little concerned at the comment.

‘Mr Simpkins has handed over the keyholder duties to me now. Is there a problem?’

The officer laughed. ‘Poisoned chalice this one is, mate. Well, as you’re here we might as well have a look around.

Jeremy turned off the alarm and then walked around the building, carefully checking every window and door, with a disinterested police officer trailing along dutifully behind him. When they arrived back at the front of the building again the officer said, ‘You can tell your boss that we are taking away our response to your alarms from now on – this is getting far too frequent.’ Jeremy asked, ‘Have they all been false alarms?’

The officer nodded. ‘Goes off quite regular, like but never anything for us to get our teeth into.’

Jeremy watched the car drive away and decided to have a more thorough look around on his own – after all, if this ‘poisoned chalice’ was now his own responsibility, then it all started right here and now. However, no matter how hard he looked, the building was still totally secure. The only thing that he could see that was in any way significant was outside the canteen doors: beside the black bin was a large cardboard box which looked as if it contained kitchen waste, which had overflowed in an untidy heap onto the ground. He looked inside the black bin, which was completely full and then he looked back to the box . . .

Mid-morning on the following day he walked down to the canteen, which was deserted – they must all be in the kitchens, he thought, busy preparing lunch. He stepped behind the counter just as one of the staff came out. She looked him in the eye and then immediately dropped her gaze. ‘I’m sorry but no one is allowed in the kitchens – Health & Safety.’ Every day she served at the counter, she was the youngest of the lot by far and always attracted a lot of unwelcome attention from his idiot office colleagues . . . however, if he could have handpicked someone to talk to about the bins, then she would have been right there at the top of his list.

As Mandy listened patiently, he explained about his new keyholder role and what he had seen the night before with the scattered food waste. She pointed out that they only ever had to use an extra box when they had a particularly busy day, like yesterday. He nodded in agreement but said, ‘The trouble is that if some animal is out scavenging, then the smell of the food is going to attract them and I think that’s what keeps setting off the alarm.’

She thought for a moment. ‘But you don’t know for certain that it is an animal.’

‘No, you’re right, that’s why I am going to keep a watch tonight, round the back, to see if it is.’

She smiled. ‘Isn’t that going to be a little bit lonely, out there in the dark, all on your own?’

‘No,’ he said, with an air of confidence he didn’t really feel, ‘I’m sure I can manage to . . .’

It took a few seconds for his conscious brain to make sense of what his subconscious was screaming at him – about what she had actually said.

He coughed nervously, ‘But I’m sure a little company would make it so much nicer . . .’

They met at the gates just before dusk and then walked over to where Jeremy had left two chairs – far enough away but just close enough to be able to see the kitchen doors and the box. They sat in relative silence for some time before they were finally rewarded by a slight movement. A sleek brown shape sneaked around the end of the building and ran quickly to the canteen doors. As the fox buried her head in the box, three small cubs ran to join her.

A few minutes later Jeremy’s mobile rang. The caller was polite but firm. ‘Your alarm is ringing but I’m afraid we now have a nil-response protocol with your premises.

A few minutes later the alarm bell itself cut in and the foxes ran for safety.

Mandy laughed. ‘I think we can take that as a ‘yes’ then, can’t we.’

After they had reset the alarm and walked out, Jeremy said, quietly, ‘I think we’ve earned a drink, don’t you . . . ?’