Chapter Five

'To what pleasure do I owe this phone call, Jan Levenson-Gould?'

'Hello, Michael –'

'Gouldilocks –'

'Michael, please –'

'And the three bears.'

A short silence.

'Sorry, you were saying?' prompted Michael.

'I'm actually calling to inform you of some extremely sensitive news. Tom Peets, from your accounting department? Last night, Tom's neighbour heard a gunfire and when she opened his front door she saw that he – he'd shot himself.'

Michael gaped at the phone.

'Oh my God, that's – Oh, God, is he OK?'

'Michael, he's dead. It was a suicide. Tom had been fighting depression, he was recently divorced, and I know his psychiatrist had been concerned for some time … so all you can do is let your employees know what's happened and we can send in a grief counsellor later if necessary.'

Michael said goodbye and covered his face with both hands in shock. He walked slowly out of his office.

'Is everything OK?' asked Pam, as Michael passed her desk on his way to the accounting department.

Michael didn't answer her, but instead turned to the room at large.

'Could I have everyone's attention please?' He took a deep breath and said slowly, 'Tom … will not be coming in today. Or any other day, for that matter.'

'Is he alright –?' began Pam.

'He had been fighting depression,' Michael continued, 'he was recently divorced, and his psychiologist … anyway, Tom had decided that the time had come to end his life. The neighbour heard the gunshot and ...'

The office fell into a stunned silence. Kelly gasped and covered her mouth, and the accounting department exchanged looks of dumb shock.

'Whose fingerprints were on the gun?' asked Dwight.

'I don't know.'

'This neighbour of his, does she have easy access to Tom's house, is she in possession of firearms?'

'You know what, Dwight, now's really not the time,' muttered Jim.

'Actually, Jim, my duties as a sheriff –'

'Volunteer sheriff –'

'– involve investigating such events. If Tom was murdered and the tracks were covered up, it would save this company a lot of paperwork –'

There were general groans from the rest of the office. Michael, agitated as he was, left reception and moved around to the accounting department.

'You guys knew Tom best, right?' he said quietly, crouching next to Oscar. 'Did he seem – Did you know he was in a depression?'

Angela and Oscar nodded solemnly; Kevin shook his head.

'I just, I can't understand how anyone could be depressed working here, you know? This is the last place on earth that someone should be depressed. Did you guys make him laugh and tell jokes and stuff? Cause I can't always be around to do that –'

'We're not paid to make people laugh –' began Angela.

'I just feel like you guys – I mean we – could've done more to stop this, y'know, we could've nipped this in the buddy earlier –'

'Michael, it's not your fault, it's not our fault, it's not anyone's fault,' said Oscar gently. 'Depression isn't caused by just one thing, I know he had a lot of problems at home and in his personal life. You shouldn't put any blame on yourself.'

Michael sighed. He stared at the empty chair next to Kevin, wondering.

'We should do something for him,' he said. 'For Tom. Something to honour his memory.'

'What did you have in mind?' said Oscar.

'We should have a minute's silence.'

'Good idea.'

'Then a minute's applause.'

'Er – OK.'

'And then another minute's silence.'

'You know, I think just one minute's silence is fine, Michael.'

'OK, never mind,' said Michael irritably. He straightened up and addressed the rest of the office. 'Listen everyone – conference room, five minutes.'

Five minutes later, Michael waited until Stanley had taken the last chair.

'Today … we lost a co-worker. And I think there's one thing we can do to make sure this doesn't happen again.'

'Check our guns at home have the safety catch on?' suggested Dwight.

'No – we need to laugh more here. We need to be happier. That is the only way we can stop Tom's depression from spreading to the rest of us. For example, I have a great joke book in my desk, and some days I will just spent two, three hours at my desk just reading jokes, and I feel better. So I want each of us to step forward and do something amusing, whether it be tell a joke, or do an impression, or show us a weird birth mark – the choice is yours. Who wants to go first?'

Dwight jumped to his feet and faced the rest of the office with excitement.

'Alright – so a black man, a Jew and a prostitute all walk into a bar, and –'

'No, no, no – God, Dwight, sit back down. Anyone else?'

'I don't think anyone's in the mood for laughing, Michael,' mumbled Phyllis.

'Oh, really, Phyllis,' said Michael loudly. 'So we're just gonna let this whole thing slide, like it's no big deal? Look, if I'm not making you laugh at work, then I'm not doing my job as your boss.'

'I'm pretty sure you are,' muttered Jim.

Michael ignored him.

'What I'm trying to say is that if you're suffering with depression, then I should be the first person you tell, before any friend or family member. I can help. I can kill your depression. I have a joke book. OK, back to work.'