Figures

Numbers, figures, equations. The arithmetic and the maths fascinate him. Teachers say he is a natural. At the employment fair in Sixth Form, he is told to ‘look me up when you are finished with university and there is a job for you’.

And there is.

A month after he graduated, he is employed. For the first three months they insisted he shadows a whole range of co-workers, from the work-space cleaner up to the chief executive who had talent spotted him in school. He collects and sorts the daily post; he cleans the kitchen and office areas and toilets; he makes travel arrangements; he organises the staff social; he joins international calls and sits in on senior manager planning meetings. There are times during those early months when he wonders if he made the right choice.

And he has.

After his ‘induction’, he is mentored by the chief accountant. He feels on a constant high. Building his reputation as the go-to for financial information and support. Advising all branches of the firm from New York to Cape Town and Beijing. ‘Got a problem? Ask Jon.’ His life is the firm. He can’t imagine doing anything else.

And yet he does.

He knows when the change begins. The school reunion. He receives invitations every year. Ten years have passed. This is the first one he accepts. He does not keep up with the friendships he made back then. Not deliberately.  He does not give it much thought. His last online grocery order is delivered by an ex-pupil. ‘Hello Jon, long time no see.’ He cannot place the balding man with the food trays. ‘Hope to see you at the re-union’. After re-stocking the freezer, he picks the invitation out of the waste bin and emails his attendance. He works on the evening of the event and thinks it’s too late to attend.

And he goes.

He feels awkward to begin with. There are about fifty people in the room. Sitting in small groups around half-empty glasses. At the bar. Helping themselves to the buffet. Everyone wearing a name badge. The memories slowly return as the shadow of a former self emerges from an older, fuller, yet still young face. Another ten years he thinks, and he will have difficulty recognising anyone. The evening passes. He admits that he is enjoying himself. The talk gets louder as it gets later. Then it happens. The balding man is standing next to him. ‘You’ve done well, mate. We all thought that you would end up in prison like your old man. Tuck-shop-snatcher is what we used to call you. Every time something went missing from school, we knew who it was.’ And they whoop. And they laugh. ‘Snatcher, snatcher, snatcher.’

And he leaves.

He pretends to laugh. Places his near-full glass on the bar and walks to the exit. Hears the calls, ‘see you next year’. No looking back. Takes the long way home in the heavy rain. Past memories flooding his brain. ‘Go get your dad. Dinner is ready’. He is nine. His mother in the kitchen. He yells, knocks, then tries the bedroom door. It only opens a few inches. Something soft blocks it on the other side. She keeps the truth from him. It is soon all over school. Suicide. Stealing from his job in the bank. Each telling puts the figure higher. Money is taken from the school tuck shop. The fingers point at him. ‘Snatcher, snatcher.’ And the stories and names follow him into secondary school.

And he is home.

The following day, and the day after that, and the days beyond that one, all seemed the same. They were not. He was the same reliable, friendly, trustworthy Jon. But he was not. In his head he repeats endlessly the words from that one night. They eat into his soul. He realises how easy it is to pretend, to keep up appearances, to deceive. ‘Like father like son.’ Over the next year he plans the ways in which he is going to steal from the company.

And he looks forward to the next reunion.