The firm next door

Erin called with two messages for Barry. Firstly she’d decided that she and Barry would finally go on that much needed date – she’d already booked tickets for them to hear the Metropolitan Police Male Voice Choir at the Barbican. Erin’s second message was that she had sent a huge bunch of flowers to Mrs Tams in Barry’s name.

A delighted Jeffrey Drum boomed across to Barry’s desk that morning. “You’ve sent Mrs Tams flowers, Abacus! Why didn’t you say so? She’s over the moon!”

It was a grim tra-la-ing that rang through the corridors on my fourth day at CTT & Co.

“I am the very model of a partner managerial
Spreading dread among the personnel as if by plague bacterial;
I indulge in peculation in a manner that’s most venial
And I’ve table manners which, I think, are deeply uncongenial.”

Jeffrey Drum, the owner of the voice and the managing partner of the firm, was an avid Gilbert and Sullivan fan. It was not the least of his failings.

The day after his altercation with burger van entrepreneur Charlie Tams, Barry Abacus asked to see me. Tams had stormed in, threatening to take his business to the firm across the road. Like the blood-drained heroine waving goodnight to Dracula, Barry wasn’t certain whether he was relieved to see him go or not.

I walked around while Barry settled and decided to get straight to the point. “Were you drinking on the way home, or did you get home and go out later?”, I asked.

“Yes”, he said obtusely.

The team’s debrief focused on praising the stupendous effort everyone made over the weekend to file 90 last minute self assessments, as well as brainstorming for the next deadline. Practice manager Barry Abacus oversaw the meeting, which was attended by Cressida Lilywhite and Silas Horne.

“Congratulations team”, began Barry. There was a silence you could have cut with a piano wire. They must all have been afflicted with the February gloom that seemed to have gripped Barry during our last coaching session.

The office resembled the scene of a particularly untidy tornado following a triumphant weekend-long slog that involved the whole team to file 90 final SA returns.

There was detritus everywhere - scattered papers, pizza, Starbucks trodden into carpet; heartburn pills and paracetamol, plus enough Pampers to last an infant into middle age. The Pampers, like the hot-water bottle and shaver lying on the floor, belonged to Barry Abacus, the practice manager, who slumbered quietly at his desk.