Terms & Conditions by Robert Glancy

blissfully unaware. It wasn’t until he started to reek that they realised the poor bugger was dead.’
    Everyone tutted and made incredulous noises and someone said to everyone, ‘That’s the most tragic story ever. Can you fucking believe that could happen?’*
    * Yes, I can believe it. It didn’t surprise me in the least. It could happen right here, in fact, it could happen to me. If I don’t do something fast, one day it
will
happen to me.
    Everyone said, ‘It’s unreal,’ and someone said, as if to protect us from the terrible story, ‘Shit like that wouldn’t happen here, though.’
    I listen, tuning out of the actual words people are saying and into the gaps between them where a war rages. Anger fills the spaces, disappointment boils between the words, so many banal office insecurities, bored people, ambitious people, people who feel they’re long overdue pay increases or promotions, a single meeting contains so many silent victories and defeats. Turning away from a failed joke denotes the losers, while laughter is the trophy the winners campaign for. I remembered, a few days after the white door had been revealed to me, that Oscar didn’t specifically talk about our new nefarious weapons client. Even he was wise enough to realise that we couldn’t have too many people knowing that we’re working for them. But he did say at the end of this meeting, ‘And, folks, we’ve a new company opening down the corridor, really great bunch of chaps, so make them feel at home.’
    This seemed far too casual for me. I wouldn’t even have mentioned them if I was Oscar, as I was sure there were a number of my colleagues who would have similar ethical problems about the new client as I did. But that was Oscar. He had no issue about mentioning them, he didn’t think people would ask or be interested, he didn’t believe there were ever any consequences to his actions. He was one of those guys – and I hated to admit he was probably right – who thought he would always get away with everything.*
    * There are two types of people. The Oscars of the world, who assume, through no actual proof, that they naturally know more than everyone else, and therefore will always get away with murder. Then there’s me, the type that assumes everyone knows more than I know and I’ll always be caught.
    Our meetings have a ritualistic quality. We begin and end with a joke. We always begin with the joke about me being Terms and Conditions Man. And always end with a joke delivered by Oscar: ‘That’s it for this month, folks. My door is always open so you’re all welcome to walk through it any time – although I’m almost never in so you can bugger off if you think I’m hanging around waiting to listen to you all moaning and complaining. Now go get on with your jobs!’
    Oh, how we laughed.

TERMS & CONDITIONS OF REMEMBERING & REGRETTING
    Regret is the seed from which bitterness flowers.
    I turned away from the window, away from my pale reflection, away from Shaw&Sons, and looked at Doug’s bookshelf, which was filled with books whose titles alone could cure insomnia:
Understanding Actuarial Practice
;
Risk is Opportunity and Vice Versa
;
Executive X
;
Advanced Maths and Applied Maths Made Simple
. . .
    Executive X.
    There it was again. I took it out and looked at the author picture of Alice.
    Because so far Old Frank’s memory lane was littered with hatred, confusion and anger, I needed something happy to hold on to. I focused my energy on thinking about my wife, hoping to strike a memory well of love and joy.*
    * Turned out the well had run dry.

CLAUSE 2.1
    ALICE
    TERMS & CONDITIONS OF LOVE
    Falling into it’s easy.
    Staying in it – that’s the tricky part.

TERMS & CONDITIONS OF LOVE
    True love is conditional.
    Not the most romantic notion but bear with me, I’m a lawyer, not a poet.
    Marriage Ts &