Corporate Bodies Read Free Page B

amenable, keen to show off his forklifting skills and demonstrating a lively interest in the camera that was being used for the filming (‘Like, a bit of a hobby of mine, video, like . . .’
    In fact, he had been perfectly docile until he discovered what Charles’s role was to be in the proceedings. From that moment, he had made as much trouble as he could. And was clearly not about to change his behaviour.
    â€˜It didn’t bloody look fine!’ he protested. ‘Listen, I’ve done the tricky bit on the truck, haven’t I? I actually brought the pallet down from the shelves, didn’t I?’
    â€˜Yes,’ Griff Merricks conceded soothingly. ‘But when we filmed that, we did it in longshot. What we’re doing now is cuffing to Charles in close-up to say the lines. All we need to see from him on the truck is the final turn of the steering wheel.’
    â€˜But what I’m saying is that the people watching this video’s going to think that he and me’re the same person.’
    â€˜Yes, that’s the idea.’
    â€˜That’s why you’ve put us in these bleeding overalls, isn’t it?’
    Trevor pulled disparagingly at the pristine blue fabric. Charles looked down at his overalls, thinking of all the wasted effort he’d put into matching Trevor’s usual costume. He caught the eye of Will Parton, who was clearly thinking the same thing. The writer smugly preened in his neat suit and tie. Charles looked abruptly away. If he started giggling now, the aggrieved Trevor was quite likely to assume the laughter was at his expense and become even more belligerent.
    â€˜Well, it’s partly that, Trevor,’ Griff Merricks was agreeing tactfully, ‘– so that you and Charles look alike – but it’s also because the overalls have got the Delmoleen logo on them, and throughout the film Ken’s very keen to build up the corporate identity, so that whenever we see one of the workers – I mean, a Delmoleen employee other than a management executive – we see them wearing these overalls.’
    â€˜But nobody in the company actually does wear them.’
    â€˜No, Trevor, but for the video they do.’
    â€˜Huh. Right load of cobblers this video’s going to be then, isn’t it?’
    â€˜We-ell . . .’
    Charles’s gaze wandered round the warehouse. It was a massive space, divided into sections by high walls of shelving loaded with pallets of Delmoleen products. Other yellow forklift trucks lay idle in the narrow aisles. The shutters of the loading bays along one wall were open, showing the maws of empty lorries. At one end of the space were offices, two prefabricated structures, stacked on top of each other like shoe boxes against the wall.
    It felt strange to be working there. Not that Charles hadn’t worked in stranger settings, but that had always been for drama, when all the resources of the location had been dedicated to the production. In this case, the priorities were different, and the film crew was clearly a positive hindrance to the main business of the warehouse.
    Still, Trevor seemed impervious to the resentment of his work-mates and was in no mood to expedite the morning’s shoot. ‘Point I’m making is, if you have him’ – a contemptuous finger was jerked towards Charles – ‘turning the wheel of the truck like a wanker, people who see it’re going to think I’m a wanker, aren’t they?’
    â€˜It’s a point of view . . .’ Griff Merricks looked nonplussed. Maybe conciliation wasn’t going to be enough in this particular case; unfortunately it was the only weapon his armoury contained.
    Charles stepped into the breach. ‘Look, Trevor, perhaps you could show me again how to do it,’ he humbly suggested, vacating the driver’s seat. ‘You do it so well, and I know I’m making a real pig’s breakfast of