‘I’m sorry,’ said James. ‘What was that?’
‘The policy commitment on densities – are you sure that these are okay for the report?’
‘Oh yes, yes – this isn’t a problem. We’re comfortably over the target on the other sites in any case.’
‘Okay,’ said Alex. ‘Because you know, we don’t want to get this wrong.’
‘Well, we won’t,’ said James.
‘Good,’ said Alex. ‘Because, as I said, we don’t want to get it wrong.’
James sunk back down in his chair and ate another biscuit. In as much as this meeting was going anywhere, it was moving on to other matters – something to do with the community engagement initiative or a new online discussion forum. This morning, he didn’t really care. Maybe that was another sign of progress? He had spent far too much of his adult life caring about such things.
No, he had to face facts: Alice was never going to boast about her glamorous ex-boyfriend who worked as a town planner and sat in meetings discussing community engagement. It wasn’t just that planning was difficult, it wasn’t even important any more. He’d been born two generations too late. The Second World War – now that was the time to be in public administration. And afterwards it had got even better: rebuilding East London, designing the welfare state, running airports and coalmines. Those had been the heroic days – mainly because there hadn’t been any heroes. There hadn’t been any internationally famous architects or Asian billionaire property developers. Instead, there had been committees with long titles and opaque processes, and men in dark suits who had sat in chilly wood-panelled rooms in town halls and been respected by the working classes.
But at least there were other options now, even for town planners. No one these days was expected to do the same thing all their life. Felix was right: he worked in the property sector, it was just a matter of positioning and presentation. He had valuable skills and knowledge, he just hadn’t realised it before. All he needed was the contacts to make the most of them.
‘James?’
He looked up with a start. God – had he managed to drift off again? Yes, he had a hangover, but really, this was inexcusable. He’d never done this before. Thank God he worked in the public sector.
‘I’m sorry. Could you just repeat that?’
‘I just did,’ said Lionel. ‘But again: James could you tell us whether the key-worker targets are going to apply to all of the sectors?’
‘This is important,’ said Alex. ‘Lionel, the Strategy Delivery Assessment is going to publication next month, and I need your team to be on top of this.’
James stiffened and Lionel looked hurt, his pink, crustacean face retreating, his plump body shifting. The Director of Planning hurt by Alex fucking Coleman, who was nothing more than a twenty-eight-year-old junior public affairs officer with a degree in media studies.
‘Yes, I’m sorry about this,’ said Lionel. ‘James could you briefly talk us all through it – I know you’ve got the details.’
James couldn’t stand Alex Coleman. It wasn’t just that Alex worked in Communications, the eternal foe of the Planning Directorate. It was even worse than that – he believed in Communications. It was quite possibly all he did believe in. Post-ideological and post-literate, it had been his ambition to work in advertising, but he had graduated at a time of great expansion in the public sector, and never found a way to get back out. It didn’t help that by local authority standards he was unusually good-looking – he had a well-crafted, modern face with sceptical lips and metallic blue eyes. At last year’s office Christmas party Rachel had given him a handjob in the stationary room.
‘Sorry, I’ll explain,’ said James. ‘All of the priority key sectors outlined in the draft strategy are subject to our overarching targets, but it allows for a certain degree of flexibility across different sites – I can give you the exact figures if needed – and also includes, for new developments only, dedicated, sector-specific housing. This means that, once the new nursing sites open in 2014, we should be able to manage the allocations so that all of the other targets are met.’
There was a wary silence. There was no getting away from this but, even wounded, he was good at his job, far better than Jane the web editor and, more importantly, than Alex, who was unlikely to have understood more than a fraction of what James had just said.
‘Okay,’ said Alex. ‘I’ll probably follow up with you by email, but I guess that will have to do for now.’