The Thing on the Shore Read Online Free

workspace.
    â€œBut
we’re
not getting sacked?” asked Diane again.
    â€œNo,” said Bracket. He put the document down and clapped his hands together. “Now. Before everybody rushes off to their desks—and I know you’re all desperate to get back to work—don’t forget our company values! Just because we’re going to be working for somebody else doesn’t mean we can’t stick to the same values we work to at the moment:
faith, positivity, loyalty
and
team
!”
    Nobody said anything. Heavy rain suddenly swept pastthe window, battering the glass. All around them the call center continued to vibrate.
    â€œTeam isn’t a value,” said Arthur. “A team is a thing. It’s not a value. Just a thing.”
    â€œDon’t be smart.”
    â€œI’m not,” said Arthur. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
    â€œLook,” said Bracket, pointing at Arthur. He opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. Instead his shoulders sagged and he lowered his arm. “You get the idea, anyway,” he sighed. “Now go on, all of you.”
    The team dispersed, drifting away from the sofas, everybody but Arthur weaving their way in amongst the maze of desks. Arthur gravitated toward the window. He still held his briefing note in his hand. Everybody else had left theirs on the sofas. Diane had left her chewing gum there as well.
    â€œHey!” said Bracket, but not loudly, because you shouldn’t speak or shout too loudly in case of disrupting phone calls. “Come back and get your briefing notes!”
    Nobody heard him or, if they did, they pretended not to. He turned to Arthur. “Honestly,” said Bracket, “this is big news. This is important. And it’s as if they really don’t give a shit.”
    Arthur studied him silently. Why was Bracket saying this to him? Did Bracket think that he, Arthur, gave a shit either? He looked down at the briefing note in his hand.
    â€œWe need more people like you here,” said Bracket, slowly moving around and picking up all of the discarded notes.“Properly committed. Less kids just after their drinking money.”
    â€œRight,” said Arthur, thinking “fewer, not less.” “Well, I’m going to go now.”
    â€œYeah,” said Bracket. “Get yourself home.”
    Arthur jogged down the steps leading to the foyer. Sometimes he would take a pack of printer paper from the stock of boxes that were, for some reason, stored beneath the staircase. Not for himself, for Bony. But this time the security guard was not too busy to notice him, so he left it.
    It had stopped raining, but the clouds were still heavy and full-looking. The air was like some sort of glass: everything looked crystal clear and all the colors were sharp and intense. He turned around and looked up at the massive white bulk of the call center. The revolving doors were like a vertical mouth. Like some strange, intricate sea-creature mouth, both beaky and mechanical. He shook his head, took a few steps backward, then turned and walked down North Shore Road toward the town’s harbor. The wind was still strong. The air smelled salty.
    On the left-hand side of the road was a huge supermarket with the obligatory car park. Beyond was the small train station. To the right was a new redbrick, barn-like building which had a small-scale replica of a ship’s prow mounted above its giant doors, together with the words “ WHITEHAVEN SHIPYARD ” spelled out in silver lettering. The ship’s prow was made of cast-iron and it looked like atrophy—like the head of something that had been hunted down and killed.
    Due to the bad weather, the harbor was not as busy as usual. Even the geese were huddled together against the buildings, instead of marauding thuggishly around like they did when the sun was out. Arthur turned right off the road, by the sculpture representing a shoal of fish