Bradley Stoke

A couple of years ago, I had to spend a few days at Bradley Stoke, just outside Bristol, to attend an IT development conference with a couple of other guys from my company. Someone way up high at head office in London had thought it might be a good idea to have a few people go along to it, just to see if anything significant might be said in any of the talks, and my name - somehow - was chosen to be one of them.

"Chances are, it'll be a waste of time," I remember saying to Michael Adams, one of the other people to have been volunteered as an attendee.

He smiled and shrugged. "Maybe. But it'll be a few days away from the same old same old... that's gotta be good..."

I was going to whinge a little more but reminded myself that Michael was, while in a totally different department to me, quite a few rungs of the ladder my superior. I thought it best, at least for the time being, to be more guarded and so I just smiled back and nodded. Like it was no big deal.

He went on, "I must say I don't much like losing a couple of evenings out of my week, but... you never know... the three of us guys might have a laugh together..."

"Yeah, I was meaning to ask about that - who's the third person?" I hoped it might be someone I knew.

"Wesley Simmons from sales..."

I shook my head. "Don't think I know him..."

Michael nodded. "He's pretty new, actually. Just out of school..."

"How'd he end up having to go out on a residential so soon?" I asked. Normally office juniors, which I assumed he must be since he was so young, wouldn't be expected to attend conferences.

Michael shrugged. "For some reason, he volunteered himself... he's kind of, ah..." He searched for the right word. "Keen..."

"Oh." Already he sounded irritating.

Michael smiled a little, perhaps covertly sharing my aversion to promising young go-getters, and went on, "You've probably seen him around... he's a guy who likes to..." Again he tried to think of a favourable way to put it. "Knock on doors."

I was a little confused. "Knock on doors?"

"Yeah..." Michael's smile was becoming broader. "He's a career guy - on some fast-track programme or something - trying to work his way to the top. So he knocks on doors and introduces himself to people. Tries to get his name remembered."

He didn't just sound irritating. He sounded repellent.

I didn't tell Michael how I felt, although I'm sure my face expressed it for me, because, like I said, the guy was a lot closer to management than I was. He seemed okay but you don't get to be so high up in finance without playing the game a little.

So I thought I ought to play it too.

I said, neutrally, "No... I don't know him..."

Michael grinned mischievously. "You soon will... intimately..."

I guess I must have stared at him, looking puzzled.

He continued, "The three of us are sharing a room..." He saw my expression turn to shock and his turned to surprise. He said, "You knew that, didn't you?"

"No."

"It's some cost-cutting thing. An economy drive. Everyone had a memo about it last year..."

"Last year?"

"Yeah... all same-sex groups on residentials are expected to share rooms. You don't have to, of course, but... well... everyone's doing it, right up to the MD..."

I shrugged. "Yeah... okay... whatever... I just hadn't heard..." I hadn't been reading my memos more like.

Michael smiled and said, "Like I said... it'll be a laugh... I've been on a couple of courses and stuff, sharing rooms with other guys, and it's usually okay..."

I smiled back. "Yeah... I've no problem with it..." And, on the surface of it, I didn't have a problem with it. I'd shared rooms with other guys - many of whom I hadn't known - countless times, in youth hostels up and down the country, for the sake of rugby. Both as a player and a spectator. So sharing a room wasn't an issue.

I was just surprised at the prospect of having to do it in a work-related context. If you get back late and vomit over the floor in a youth hostel with a crowd of other rugby fans, it's kind of okay. Well - actually - it's pretty much expected of you! But anything embarrassing that happened among workmates I hardly knew could have long-term consequences.

I'd just have to be on my best behaviour for a couple of days. I suppose it was the prospect of that which was shocking to me.

Anyway, I didn't see Michael again until he picked me up to give me a lift up to Bristol. Wesley was with him, refusing to budge from the front seat of the car, and I saw, pretty instantly, that the dislike of him - which I'd tried to forget about until I'd had the chance to meet the lad properly - had been well-founded. He was only eighteen or nineteen but gave off this air of self-assuredness that I don't think I'll ever be able to master no matter what age I reach. He fawned over Michael like the guy was some all-seeing all-knowing company guru, but virtually ignored me.

A mere menial like me, some middle-ranking nonentity from HR, couldn't offer him promotion. But Michael could. And that seemed to make Michael a demi-god.

Wesley laughed at just about everything Michael said, regardless of any humour content to it, and went on about how wonderful Michael's suit was, his car was, his liking of Thai food was... you get the picture.

I was sitting in the back thinking how patently transparent Wesley was being - all this hollow praise for a guy he'd hardly met but who could, as it happened, influence his career. Michael, on the other hand, seemed to lap it up. He acted like Wesley was being genuinely complimentary; that any ulterior motives were so cleverly and subtly concealed as to be unnoticeable. I figured he must either be being especially polite or else was so used to this kind of thing from ambitious young office juniors that it just washed over him.

At one point, midway through Wesley being gushingly impressed by descriptions of Michael's Mexican furniture, Wesley's mobile phone rang. He looked at the display and said, "Oh, it can wait. It's Paula..."

Michael asked, "Paula?"

Wesley shrugged. "My girlfriend... she can wait..."

Michael chuckled, "Answer it... go on..."

Wesley switched the phone off. "No. I'll get it later..."

Michael grinned over at him, momentarily taking his eyes from the motorway. "You want a bit more privacy when you chat to Paula, huh?"

Wesley smiled and said, "You've worked me out, Michael. Time and a place and all that..."

I grinned, staring out of the window at the fields and farms we were passing, thinking, "Oh, very convincing, Wesley mate. So, even your girlfriend comes second to your career, does she?"

That evening, after we'd signed in as members of the conference and found our lodgings, we went out for a meal. I considered ducking out and leaving Wesley to have Michael all to himself, but I was hungry and the place we were staying seemed to be in the middle of an industrial park. So I thought I better tag along.

Wesley led the conversation at all times, guiding it this way and that to cover all things relating to Michael, while I just sat there feeling like a lemon. I found myself staring at Wesley and thinking, after most of the fawning things he came out with, "For Christ's sake..." or "You little wanker..." But occasionally he'd come out with something so ridiculously and patently sycophantic that I'd be too stunned to even respond mentally.

One example of this was when Michael asked Wesley about his plans with Paula.

Wesley smiled warmly at the thought of her and for a second looked almost human. But then he came out with, "We're getting a place together. Maybe you and your wife could come over one evening and we'll throw a Thai dinner party... I'm sure Paula would get on really well with your wife..."

I just peered at him, eyes wide like a goldfish.

Michael smiled and, after a few seconds stalling, moved the conversation on.

It was about ten thirty, still in the restaurant and on our fourth bottle of wine, when Michael asked Wesley, "How would you feel about a transfer to London? I heard there's a space coming up in the regional admin section..."

Wesley looked orgasmic for a second before managing to recompose himself.

He gapsed, "What position?"

Michael shrugged. "I dunno exactly... I just know that the guy leaving is a couple of grades above you..."

Wesley looked very pensive for a few moments and then said, with a rather silly sounding giggle, "Sounds interesting..."

Michael said, "Would it be worth me putting your name forward?"

Wesley feigned a look of surprise. "You'd do that?"

Michael nodded. "You seem the right kind of guy for the position. Dynamic... astute... forthright..."

I nearly choked on my wine, assuming that Michael must be winding us both up, but then realised he was being serious. I managed to stifle my outburst to a few quiet coughs, thinking that Wesley must have had a more convincing effect on him than he'd had on me.

Wesley ignored my splutterings and kept peering at Michael. He giggled again, "Wow... thanks..."

Michael went on, a little uncomfortably, "Of course... I could always put in a formal recommendation... that would carry a lot more clout..."

Wesley stared at him, nodding slightly. "Yeah...?"

Michael nodded. "An interview would, in that case, be just a formality. The position would be virtually guaranteed..."

There was silence for a few seconds and then Wesley asked, "And would you do that?"

Michael considered the possibility. He looked like he was deep in thought. It seemed unlikely to me that he would be thinking about whether or not to recommend Wesley for the London job - after all, he'd only known the lad for a few hours. I wondered whether there was more to his ponderings than that.