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Chapter 19.
I got back to Smokey's five minutes late for the start of the evening shift. Something had changed and at first I couldn't put my finger on it. Then I realized that there was a new barman behind the bar and he was wearing my uniform.
With my heart somewhere in my shoes I trudged round to see Ron who is checking the stock in the back.
"Hi," I said. "You've got a new barman!"
"Yes, I know."
"He's wearing my uniform."
"That's because you don't need it any more."
"You mean he's replacing me."
"Yes."
"Do I get a reason why?"
"Your mind is not on your job. You're against Gerda doing the floor routine that will give her enough money to pay me back the rent she owes. You're moping around permanently like a sick bull on heat and you rather spend the time talking to the customers than serving them."
"Nothing major then," I said hopefully.
"Added to that, you're late on shift again."
"But if I'm not needed..."
"But you didn't know that before you got here."
"But where will I stay? My room went with the job... didn't it?"
"I got Gerda to clear your room so that Gavin the new barman to move in. You'll find your things at the back of the store room."
I looked at Ron and wondered whether I should tell him all the things that I had ever thought about him. I could end it all with a nice punch on his nose. But it had been a shitty day and a lot of what he said was true. So I mentally forgave him for the moment but reserved my right to change my mind.
"When will I get my paid my wages?"
"I'll arrange for it to be paid into your bank account as usual."
"Can I leave my stuff here while I try to find somewhere to stay for the night?"
"If you want somewhere to stay, I might be able to help you," said Ron casually.
Typical of the tight skinflint, I thought, he dumps me with one hand and tries to make money out of me with the other. However, since I was on the streets, and I hadn't yet punched him on the nose, what had I to lose?
"I'm going to see one of my properties in a few minutes. Gavin can cope in the bar for an hour. Do you want to come?"
"With my stuff, or without my stuff?"
"You'd better bring it."
Ron's transport turned out to be a removal van. He leapt up into the driver's seat and I gingerly joined him. It felt very high off the ground and my suitcase and few belongings easily stowed in the cabin behind the seats. Rod looked perfectly at home as he engaged the gears.
The journey took about fifteen minutes. The sign said 'Swiss Cottage'. We turned down that looked as if it had seen much better years. The houses were typically tenanted and of old Victorian stock, the sort of places that had high ceilings, round pillars by the front door, peeling paint and rising damp. It was just the sort of place that Ron would buy cheaply knowing he didn't have to live there.
Ron parked the van and leapt out to open the front door of a particularly down at heel large terraced house.
It was on three floors and the roof looked as if it had got tired of stopping the rain coming in years ago. I followed Ron inside.
"It's on a bit of a split level," said Ron. "I thought you would like to look out onto the garden."
Great, I thought to myself, he's going to put me in a cellar.
We trudged down the bare wooden stairs to the strong smell of damp. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a door that opened up into a flat that looked as if it had just been refurbished. It was practically a four-bedroom house but without an upstairs. The rooms were large and there was a new kitchen and bathroom.
I wondered if Ron had lost his way or his mind and was showing me his new town pad.
French Windows opened onto a garden that must have been at least 100m long and 50m wide.
There were no carpets and the walls had been finished in an uninspiring magnolia. Although it was below the road level at the front, at the back the accommodation was level with the garden.
The design was quite clever. The kitchen and bathroom and what looked like store rooms had been put in the front, leaving the living rooms and bedrooms looking out on the South facing garden.
I hated to admit it but the apartment had a friendly feel to it.
"Which room where you thinking of for me," I asked, knowing he was going to say the storeroom.
"I thought that the rooms at the front of the house other than those being used for the bathroom and kitchen could hold the computers. They almost form a separate suite and with no windows, there would be good security."
I moved to my face into regulation-mystified mode.
"Computers?"
"Yes, I said computers. You'll need a file server and at least two terminals, network hubs, a scanner and a couple of printers. The telephone lines are being installed tomorrow."
By now I had decided that Ron had completely flipped.
"But which room is mine?"
"What you mean? All of the rooms are yours! The whole place is yours; the garden, the bedrooms, the kitchen and bathroom. They are all yours if you want the job. You used to be a good website designer didn't you?"
He led me by the arm, very gently because I was obviously in a state of shock, into the room where the French Windows led to the garden. He opened the French Windows and relaxed into a plastic chair. Smokey's had the same type outside for the pavement trade.
I joined him. The sun was shining down and I could hear birds singing in the many trees. It was, for London, an idyllic setting.
"You're not sacking me?"
"Much as you deserve it, no I am not sacking you. I am putting you to better use, if you want the job."
"What job?"
"Smokey's new web site! I want it to have everything; chat, humor, interactive content - the works. I want it updated daily and I wanted to have the best search engine positioning that good programming can avoid me having to pay for. I want you working on it full-time and as the site grows, I shall expect you to employ staff to assist you. In return, you have this apartment for as long as you're employed by me, stock options on the web site side of the business and a 50% increase in salary."
My mind was instantly churning with ideas and possibilities. I looked at Ron aghast. He just sat there with a twinkle in his eye. He'd strung me along, making me think I was done for, when all the time he had to this beautiful ace up his sleeve. I would be using my qualifications and skills and wouldn't be working for a faceless corporation.
I looked around and imagined it as a combined office and home humming with interesting people producing exciting creative work in a relaxed atmosphere. It was an opportunity that would enable me to achieve my greatest ambitions. I held out my hand to Ron and we shook on it.
We carried in the computing equipment and other furniture he'd bought from the removal van and then Ron said that he had to get back to Smokey's to check on the new barman.
It was only after he'd left that I realized that he'd got a senior web site designer and manager basically for a barman's wages plus a bit. But I didn't feel cross. He'd opened the door to a new life for me and there was so much to play for.
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