Moving the plot on, slightly ... And shifting the POV to Naz's perspective... normal service resumes asap ...

Well, we got the money, what with Dave's friend doing her weird shit with the Chinese woman from the States, and we were in business. And, yeah, we were in business ... Dave had obviously given Debs the job of running the place day to day - she was so clearly better at it than him, had really been doing it right from the beginning, that he'd have been nuts to do anything else. But he also offered me the job of taking over the IT side full time, and offered me some sort of joke salary ... about three times what I'd been on before and with the promise that I'd never have to reset some prat's network password ever again.

So Deb and I wasted no time at all in e-mailing PCW with our resignations. Natch, she got invited out to lunch and had a fairly hard time, apparently, convincing them she actually wanted to go. Even then, they told her she had to work out three months notice ... though she stayed seconded to Hertford Square, so none of us really understood what that was about. I, meanwhile, had to spend a few hours trying to track down anyone who remembered that I still technically worked for them ... and then just got told that they'd send my tax stuff over to the new office and not to bother returning my pass as it had been cancelled. I left the personal stuff I had in the helpdesk office where it was, intending to get my mate Seffi or someone else vaguely human there to pick it up at some point: No way was I going to deal with all the shit they'd pull if I tried to actually get back into the building ...

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Next few days, the office got weirder, in some ways ... Dave - with a lot of help from Deb - finished the stuff 'we' were doing for CareSpan (who were so pleased that they offered to throw a party for us) and the two of them put together a business plan which equally pleased both the shits at PCW and the people in the States. I was busy with the code conversion - no worries but, surprise, surprise, a much bigger job than Dave had thought it would be - and wasn't taking too much notice. Apparently, however, this involved us keeping the code free but selling specific analytical models (and the know-how to use it), directly at first and then via external consultants - who would apparently pay us for the privilege. Sounded bollocks to me, but apparently the suits felt it could make shed loads of money and Deb - oh, and Dave - were happy that it could all be done "ethically". Like I said, I was busy with the code. Didn't think much of it.
 
Nor did I take any particular interest in all of the discussions about new recruits. Well, Dave asked me to work out what I'd need in the short term to get the "product" up and running and to talk to Deb about longer term structures, but they were talking about getting in finance people - currently all the payroll stuff was being done by the accountants downstairs, with PCW doing the rest - and someone to deal with contracts and all that good stuff. I, however, was wondering why Dave had used the toolkits he had when wrote the original version of CastList ... a much more interesting topic, naturally.

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We started getting a lot more visitors and you could see Debs getting a bit flustered about keeping the place together and - almost her favourite word, these days - "appropriate". You had to admit she had a point - even I would admit to being chaotically untidy, and Dave - well, I was never sure what Dave actually did but ... he was clearly used to doing it from home. I think it was his habit of writing notes to himself on post-its and sticking them all over the walls ... and sometimes the floor ... that annoyed her most. Not that it ever got fraught - I'd wondered more than once when they were finally going to get it together - but immovable objects and irresistible forces were coming together. Albeit, politely, amicably and with a lot of jokes.

So it was still a pretty relaxed place to work, albeit a temporary one: One thing that had been agreed was that we'd be moving out of London - none of us had ties to the place and might as well shift the operation somewhere prettier (or more economical as Debs always put it to the suits) while we had the chance. I favoured somewhere up North and Dave was keen on anywhere involving mountains but it was Deb who got delegated to research the topic, which meant talking to the EntRel people at PCW. I thought this was surprisingly cutting, for her, but it turned out she meant not entrail people but Enterprise Relocation ... a department presumably better at moving businesses around than thinking up good abbreviations. Or probably just lacking a sense of humour: Deb was always a picture of corporate responsibility when she went to see them.
 
And while Deb was spending most of her time back at PCW, Dave started doing the rounds of The City, "bigging up the product" - and he got the suit out, too. This meant I was in the office on my own a lot, which was great - at least until the guys downstairs pointed out that if I wanted to get paid it would be better if they could hear themselves think. Oh, and the architects upstairs complained about the effect that the vibrations were having on their plotters ... so I bought a pair of decent headphones, brought in a decent CD and amp, got sorted, really. Except that I hit a complete block on one bit of the code ... didn't look at all like Dave's stuff - it was compact and efficient, for one thing - and it was helpfully annotated in German. So probably not his at all.

Finally tracked the boss man down one afternoon and as expected he was no use at all - well, not directly: Promised to get me an e-mail address for the people who'd written it, but not before the next morning. Well, OK, I thought ... get on with other stuff. Except that I kept coming back to the conundrum. Despite myself, I needed to know how it worked, what I was missing. And I needed to know soon.

I thought it was about time for a break, anyway, so I wandered over to the gardens in the square for a quick smoke ... and remembered Seffi, possibly the only person in PCW IT who I'd got on with ... and who was German. Not a programmer, unfortunately - she was the IT support services manager - but she should be able to translate the comments nonetheless. I called her as soon as I got back into the office. No, she couldn't give me five minutes at the moment, nor could she get away from work for a bit - I'd forgotten the culture at PCW was a little different from the one I'd got used to recently - but if I wanted help I could buy her a drink about 6pm in a bar she named. I agreed, of course, and hung up, went back to work. Or tried to. I kept wondering whether that had been a note of reproach in her voice. After all, I hadn't talked to her at all since I'd been hoisted out of her world and deposited in here, and now I'd only called her because I wanted something from her.

I didn't get any work done, rest of the day. I kept thinking about Seff, how she'd kept us all sane with her odd jokes and appalling puns, how she'd always been ready with a kind word and a smile when the clients were giving us even more shit than normal. I ended up feeling really guilty, and finally chucked in the office at about four, wandering around for a while before getting to the bar an hour or so early. And bought a soft drink, possibly to chastise myself. Perversely, I hadn't brought a print of the code I was obsessing on: I could always e-mail her it, if she was willing to help. For now, I thought I'd have a go at rebuilding the bridges that I'd forgotten had been there.

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Seff was actually about half an hour late - been having the hide torn off her by some senior exec whose laptop had not been instantly repairable, she said. Which was par for the course, I knew, but didn't mean she was in the best of moods. In fact, she was seething and didn't really say much until half way through the large vodka and something she'd asked for. She looked tired, too - short black hair spiked aggressively, a new stud in her nose, I noticed - and the suit she was wearing somehow made her look very small as she slumped on the bar stool beside me. I waited in what I hoped was sympathetic silence.

"So then, Naz," she said, eventually, "How's life in the big time? Word has it back in the real world that you're now earning stupid amounts of money and shacking up with that nice Ms Jensen from Corporate Development - Christ, didn't someone tell me that she'd left the firm to be with you?"

I sort of laughed at this, unsure as to how to take it, explained that I was indeed working with Ms Jensen - it was a long time since I'd thought of her as anything but Debbie, I realised - and that, yes, I was being paid OK for my time. As far as I could see, though, said Ms Jensen's body language and stuff suggested an interest in only one person in the office and it wasn't me. And anyway, I said, tall, neat, respectable blondes weren't my type.

This got me a look but she just drained her glass and indicated that I might get her another, so I did. The bar was still quiet, no problem getting served. Second drink in front of her, Seff visibly pulled herself together, asked me what caused my sudden interest in her after all this time - its been about a month, I thought, or maybe two - and so I explained about the German code. She asked to see it, see if it made any sense to a non techy.

"Umm, I didn't bring it with me - no, I didn't forget, I just ... well, I just thought that it would be nice to see you, you know, as yourself, without that sort of thing getting in the way."

That went down well. "Oh, OK - so you ask me down here to help with this incredibly urgent problem - that's how you described it on the phone - and now its not urgent at all?" She stopped. Decided not to be angry - I could see her deciding not be angry - and patted my knee instead. "God knows, Naz - you've always had my number, you could have phoned any time, you didn't need a bloody excuse."

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We had a nice evening, I guess you could say ... mostly talking about mutual acquaintances and stuff from PCW, occasionally straying into more contentious stuff, such as the weather, that sort of thing. Throughout, Seff was necking drinks at a hell of a rate, making me wonder just how happy she was with life. But, no, actually ... I knew how happy she was ... I'd been in there, working in exactly the same office, remember? So I knew it was no fun, knew that she could do better. Told her so.

"Great," she said "... anything going in your particular paradise?"

I think it might have been a joke ... I was a bit under the weather myself by this point, but I responded as best I could. "Dunno, really - I do the IT stuff - as I think I might have said - and we definitely need programmers, possibly a server monkey, if you're interested ... maybe other things ... I know Deb wants a hand keeping the office sorted ..."
I would have gone further, but Seff suddenly looked really unwell and sort of fell of the stool. I was surprised, really, but also a bit confused. Basically, I was now in possession of a near comatose woman ... and had no very clear idea where she lived.

Oh, well ... as far as I could see, I had two options. Leave her here - and the bar staff were looking less than friendly by this point - or I could try and get her home. My home, I mean ... I thought I could possibly drag her that far if I couldn't find a taxi ...

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Next morning, Seffi was not a happy woman. When I got up, she was curled up on the sofa I'd finally got her to go to sleep on, the duvet I'd covered her with lying on the floor beside her. She looked, frankly, terrible ... and it took two cups of my special strong coffee to achieve intelligent conversation. Not that it was all that intelligent ... she asked the time, made vague 'got to get to work' type noises, collapsed again and accepted a third coffee. I found her some paracetamol, sat on the floor beside her and stroked her hair for a while. She still looked terrible.

In the end, I got her to phone in sick - I had to dial the number for her - called in to say I'd be late myself (OK, left a voice mail ... there was no-one in Hertford Square) and finally got her upright. Found some clothes that an ex girlfriend had left around - which were more of less the right size and at least didn't smell of alcohol - and decided that fresh air would do her the world of good. It did, to an extent.

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

Actually, by the time we'd walked through Camden, had a brief diversion through Regents Park and found ourselves in Bloomsbury, she'd recovered enough to be pretty much standing up on her own ... though she kept an arm around my waist, for reasons, I assumed, of her own. She also regained enough intellectual capacity to remember the conversation we'd had about the German code the day before. I suggested that we should drop into Hertford Square, given that it was on the way to the station for her train back to South London ... and have a look at the code.

I picked up the post from reception with no more than the usual friendly greeting, then let myself in to the office itself assuming that no-one would be there, Seff following in a sort of daze. Well, enough of a daze that when I stopped suddenly ... as you would ... she didn't. And thus collided with me, causing me to trip over ... something ... and fall flat on my face.

Dave and Deb, standing suddenly ... had I really seen them ... quite so close? - OK - sitting on the same chair, so to speak? Whatever. I got myself to my feet, got Seff up on to hers. Debs, of course, recovered well, but still threw me totally when she smiled warmly, and said, "Seffi, isn't it ... nice of you to drop in."

Threw Seff, too ... "Oh ... Ms Jensen," she stammered - Dave guffawed at the formality -... "I wasn't .."

"Oh, for gods sake ... this isn't PCW and I'm no longer one of the people who make your life hell. What brings you, here, though - aside from Naz, I mean?"

I cut in, given that I thought a direct question might be beyond Seffi at the moment. "Its the German code I was talking to you about, Dave - Seff here speaks German ... like a native, really ... I was going to ask her to translate the annotations ..."

"Oh, yeah ... Well, thanks in advance," Dave said, nodding to Seff. "Incidentally, these are the people who wrote the stuff - don't know much about them, except they took an interest in CastList in the early days ... they're called Rainer and Beate, from Bremen - I've e-mailed you their contact details, you might want to talk to them ... they certainly know the GNU side of things."

I nodded at this - meant nothing to me, but I was happy to talk to anyone if it got the job done. Then it dawned on me that Bremen was Seffi's home town and was on the point of asking her whether she knew them ... until I remembered that it was quite a big place and shut up. At which point, of course, Seff piped up with a comment that a friend of hers at University had been called Beate, married a guy called Rainer - both of them heavily into ... well computing, ran their own software firm in the city.

Significant looks were exchanged. Dave looked like he was going to burst out laughing, while Deb had one carefully tinted eyebrow raised in a perfect arch. I just looked at Seffi, who was oblivious to the general reaction, seemingly lost in recollections ... or maybe nostalgia for her home town, old friends. Deb - ever the business like one - broke the moment, and with a subtle glance at Dave, began to muse to herself, "So ... Seffi ... you're a native German speaker and - I know from PCW - a competent manager." She looked at Dave. "You said that the Germans were showing the most interest to date?" He nodded. "Which would make having a bilingual person on the staff useful, yes?" Another nod. "And, she finished, still apparently thinking out loud, "I also know from PCW that you hardly have the most pleasant of working lives there ..."

Dave was still grinning as he interrupted to talk to Seff directly "I think what my colleague is getting at is that we might suddenly have a vacancy - hitherto unexpected - in the office management side of things. You know, ordering the paper clips, working with Debbie and me on getting the place organised, keeping Naz vaguely upright in his chair when we have visitors, that sort of thing ..."

He tailed off as Seff was looking at him with a stunned look, her gaze flicking to Debs every now and then. She got herself together, though - heroically, considering the state I knew she was in - and offered CVs, references, all that sort of stuff. This time Debbie interjected.
 
" A CV would be nice, and management qualifications would be useful - hell, we'll probably take up references for the hell of it - but I'd suggest that a good place start would be to have a chat with Naz, get a feel for what we're trying to do here, how we work, then think about what you have to offer us, how you would fit in best ... we'll sort something out. And in the interim, if you can help out at all with our current code issues, that would be great. You might even like to talk to the Bremen people directly ... I for one am dying to find out if they really are the same people you know ..."

"And, " Dave added, glancing at Debbie and me, "at some point we really must have a chat about Equal Opportunities recruitment but as we haven't yet ... well, that sounds OK to me. In the meantime, however, someone has to pay the bills around here - aside from Carla, I mean - so Debbie and I need to be away ... we have business to do."

And with that, they both swept out of the office, leaving me with Seff still looking dumbfounded. I went and got a coffee for both of us, came back and sat down opposite her.

"Was that for real?", she asked, eventually.

"Oh, yeah", I said. "Get used to it. I think you just joined the team."

ooo+++ooo+++ooo+++ooo

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