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Authors: Jane Costello
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claim. Apparently, when someone other than the policyholder is at fault, they will seek to reclaim the cost of the damage from the insurance company of the person who did cause it.
The problem is, your insurance firm are saying they have not been notified of an accident and are struggling to contact you. Consequently, Joan is on the verge of a nervous breakdown – and I am about to follow her if she doesn’t stop phoning me. Both she and I would be very grateful if you could give your insurance company a shout.
In the meantime, I hope you’ve reconsidered a return to the running club. I was only joking about the vomiting. It happens all the time.
Tom
My face blanches. The insurance company have left scores of messages and I just haven’t had time to return them. I glance at my watch and quickly hit Reply.
Dear Tom
I will by all means get on the case regarding the insurance, so you can tell Joan that she’ll be able to sort this matter well before she goes off to devote the rest of her life to little Lucy or whatever her name is.
Though may I add that this in no way means I am admitting liability. As I’ve already said, that’s for our insurance companies to decide – and if it puts Joan in The Priory by the end of next week, then I’m very sorry, but it can’t be helped.
And, no, I haven’t changed my mind about the running club. Some people aren’t cut out for that level of physical exertion and I’m one of them. You’ll all be a lot better off without me. Plus, I know you’re lying about the puke.
Abby
By the time I meet Heidi, I’m so frazzled that the ends of my hair are almost singed. I’ve spent the day racing between meetings, unable to pause long enough to breathe properly, never mind answer all calls (including another from the insurance company – arrgh!).
I must confess, I use the word ‘race’ loosely. The movement is more like a frantic limp – an expeditious hobble, if you will. I suspect after my foray into running, it may be three weeks before I’m capable of putting on socks without a winch.
When I arrive at the café, Heidi is in the corner nursing a herbal tea. She didn’t mention being off sick in her email, as Priya told me, but it strikes me the second I see her that she does look peaky. That’s at least better than the alternative – her buggering off to work for someone else.
‘Hey, Heidi,’ I say, switching my phone on silent. ‘Are you feeling okay?’
Heidi looks up and nods, then pauses as if to tell me something . . . but says nothing.
‘So,’ I say awkwardly, ‘did you get caught in the rain? Priya looked half-drowned when she came in. This sort of weather should be against the law in July.’
‘Um, no,’ she manages.
I wait, giving her the opportunity to say what she’s dragged me here to say. It’d be suspenseful if there weren’t a million other things going through my mind. The looming deadline for an NHS tender; the new Spring website; the four more outstanding invoices I’ve remembered since my chat with Egor.
‘What was it you wanted to discuss, Heidi?’
I notice the redness around her eyes and it hits me. She is about to quit. Bloody hell, I’m about to lose my first employee!
In the split second before she speaks, I feel a strange combination of defensiveness – why wouldn’t she want to work for me any more? – and defiance – see if I care!
‘I’m ill,’ she says simply.
‘Oh. Well, yes – Priya said you’d phoned in sick. What is it?’ I suddenly wonder whether there’s some obscure European legislation that prevents me, as her employer, from prying into such matters. ‘If you don’t mind telling me.’
‘Do you know what, Abby? I hate getting even a cold,’ she says with a strange, gravelly laugh. ‘I only have to sneeze and it irritates me. I’ve got better things to do than be sick, Abs – do you know what I mean?’
‘Absolutely.’ I’m with Heidi 100 per cent on this, and it’s no surprise that
The problem is, your insurance firm are saying they have not been notified of an accident and are struggling to contact you. Consequently, Joan is on the verge of a nervous breakdown – and I am about to follow her if she doesn’t stop phoning me. Both she and I would be very grateful if you could give your insurance company a shout.
In the meantime, I hope you’ve reconsidered a return to the running club. I was only joking about the vomiting. It happens all the time.
Tom
My face blanches. The insurance company have left scores of messages and I just haven’t had time to return them. I glance at my watch and quickly hit Reply.
Dear Tom
I will by all means get on the case regarding the insurance, so you can tell Joan that she’ll be able to sort this matter well before she goes off to devote the rest of her life to little Lucy or whatever her name is.
Though may I add that this in no way means I am admitting liability. As I’ve already said, that’s for our insurance companies to decide – and if it puts Joan in The Priory by the end of next week, then I’m very sorry, but it can’t be helped.
And, no, I haven’t changed my mind about the running club. Some people aren’t cut out for that level of physical exertion and I’m one of them. You’ll all be a lot better off without me. Plus, I know you’re lying about the puke.
Abby
By the time I meet Heidi, I’m so frazzled that the ends of my hair are almost singed. I’ve spent the day racing between meetings, unable to pause long enough to breathe properly, never mind answer all calls (including another from the insurance company – arrgh!).
I must confess, I use the word ‘race’ loosely. The movement is more like a frantic limp – an expeditious hobble, if you will. I suspect after my foray into running, it may be three weeks before I’m capable of putting on socks without a winch.
When I arrive at the café, Heidi is in the corner nursing a herbal tea. She didn’t mention being off sick in her email, as Priya told me, but it strikes me the second I see her that she does look peaky. That’s at least better than the alternative – her buggering off to work for someone else.
‘Hey, Heidi,’ I say, switching my phone on silent. ‘Are you feeling okay?’
Heidi looks up and nods, then pauses as if to tell me something . . . but says nothing.
‘So,’ I say awkwardly, ‘did you get caught in the rain? Priya looked half-drowned when she came in. This sort of weather should be against the law in July.’
‘Um, no,’ she manages.
I wait, giving her the opportunity to say what she’s dragged me here to say. It’d be suspenseful if there weren’t a million other things going through my mind. The looming deadline for an NHS tender; the new Spring website; the four more outstanding invoices I’ve remembered since my chat with Egor.
‘What was it you wanted to discuss, Heidi?’
I notice the redness around her eyes and it hits me. She is about to quit. Bloody hell, I’m about to lose my first employee!
In the split second before she speaks, I feel a strange combination of defensiveness – why wouldn’t she want to work for me any more? – and defiance – see if I care!
‘I’m ill,’ she says simply.
‘Oh. Well, yes – Priya said you’d phoned in sick. What is it?’ I suddenly wonder whether there’s some obscure European legislation that prevents me, as her employer, from prying into such matters. ‘If you don’t mind telling me.’
‘Do you know what, Abby? I hate getting even a cold,’ she says with a strange, gravelly laugh. ‘I only have to sneeze and it irritates me. I’ve got better things to do than be sick, Abs – do you know what I mean?’
‘Absolutely.’ I’m with Heidi 100 per cent on this, and it’s no surprise that
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