The Thing on the Shore by Tom Fletcher Page B

do with this year’s company targets. No,
last
year’s company targets. Artemis snarled and ripped one of them down.
    The room was the closest thing the workplace had to a boardroom, in that it was quite spacious and contained a long table, but it also seemed to serve as something of a storage area. Three or four flipcharts—devoid of actual paper—leaned against one wall, and there was an ancient acetate projector gathering dust in the corner. Boxes full of old posters were stacked up on the windowsill. Artemis screwed up the poster from the wall and shoved it intoone of the boxes, not being able to see a bin anywhere in the room. He then pulled out one of the older posters. It was advertising some employee incentive, something about collecting cash from customers, and it looked as if the incentive had been themed around a contemporary blockbuster film release. Artemis wondered, idly, if Outsourcing Unlimited had paid to use the copyrighted logos, images and slogans. He doubted it. Interext never did. He looked out of the window, which faced out to the front of the building. There was a young girl sitting, smoking, on the steps leading up to the entrance. You weren’t supposed to smoke down there. He thought about knocking on the window and making threatening gestures at her, but decided against it because he could see right down her top from where he stood.
    There was a loud bang behind him as the door of the room flew open and smashed against the wall.
    â€œOops,” said Bracket, stepping through. “Sorry. I always do that.”
    â€œLearn to move more gracefully,” said Artemis, without turning around. “Please.”
    â€œAm I the first?” asked Bracket.
    â€œWork it out,” said Artemis, finally turning around. “There’s nobody else here. You look tired.”
    â€œI always look like this,” Bracket said, as he sat down and started playing with his tie. He thought about telling Artemis to stop being so fucking rude, but instead kept his mouth shut.
    â€œWhere are all of the others?” Artemis said.
    â€œOn their way, probably,” said Bracket.
    â€œShould get here early,” said Artemis. “Managers should at least be able to manage their own time.” He turned to look out of the window again.
    Behind Artemis’s back, Bracket shook his head and rolled his eyes.
    Once all of the team managers had arrived and were seated around the table, Artemis turned away from the window to face them.
    â€œAs you are all probably aware,” he said, “my name is Artemis Black. Interext have taken over the management of this operation at the behest of Northern Water, and they have made me responsible for it.” He thought about explaining that Interext had always owned Northern Water anyway, but didn’t. They might be easily confused. “There are going to be some radical changes, both in the way we serve our customers, and the way this place is managed. To be frank, I get the impression that bad habits have been allowed to flourish here, while good practice has been allowed to slide, simply because it’s so fucking remote.”
    â€œI don’t know if—” started Sally, a relatively new team manager with long straight blond hair, large skittish brown eyes, and a small pointed chin.
    â€œI don’t care what you don’t know,” said Artemis, “and it probably doesn’t matter. You know what ‘I don’t know’ did? Pissed the bed and blamed the blanket, that’s what.”
    â€œI thought that was ‘thought,’” Bracket said.
    â€œIs that a joke?” Artemis snapped. He placed his fists on the table and glared at Bracket.
    â€œNo,” said Bracket, “I just mean … that’s what Mom used to say.”
    â€œThis is exactly the kind of bollocks that I’m talking about,” Artemis replied. “‘That’s what Mom used to say,’ for