Chapter 26 - Jim, Thursday

I’d gone into work early, to get a head start on some stuff that needed doing . We were having clients in for a meeting, and I needed to go over our history with them before they arrived to make sure we were going in the right direction with things. But it’s tricky to get that kind of work done when there’s an office full of people about and phones ringing all the time. I guess I really should have taken it home with me to look over in peace, but it never occurred to me until I actually got home, so getting in early was the next best thing.
The office was eerily quiet - I was in at 7am, and there probably wouldn’t be anyone else in for another hour. It almost felt like I was burgling the place, and certainly felt like I shouldn’t have been there. I put on the coffee machine, flung open a few blinds and turned on the computer, trying to make it look as much like normal as possible. Except there were no people and no noise.
I spread the file across the desk and spent a good hour poring over it, taking notes as I went and covering the documents in Post-it notes where there were bits I wanted to copy or quote. I must have been about three-quarters of the way through it when the first few people started arriving in the office. A few shouted, “hi”, as they went past, one or two looked slightly surprised to see me in so early, and then one of the PA’s brought me coffee and it was just like any other day. I sent her off with a pile of things to copy, and a list of other things I needed to find, then phoned one of my colleagues to check the meeting room and catering had all been arranged.
I’d finally got back to the last pages of the file when the phone rang. I let it ring, not wanting to be disturbed until I was finished, so one of the guys next door picked it up. Next thing I know he’s standing in the doorway.
“Uh, Jim, there’s a call for you, I think you might want to take it, it’s the police.”
My first thought was that something had happened to Maria, although it pretty soon occurred to me that I’d probably be the last person she’d want the police to contact. Unless she’d completely over-reacted about that letter. Oh fuck.
“Mr Masters?”
“Yes, can I help you?”
“I believe you are a friend of Simon Hall?”
“Yes I am, is he okay?”
“”He’s in our station at the moment, he asked us to call you and get you to come down and pick him up. Can you do that?”
“Yes of course, what’s happened?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, but I’m sure he’ll explain it to you when you get here.”
“Okay, I’m on my way.”
Fuck.

I grabbed my jacket, raced out of the office, popping my head round the Manager’s door on the way out to tell him I had an emergency but would be back in time for the meeting. I left so quickly he didn’t have time to disagree with me. I started to run along the High Street, until I managed to find a cab, then sat back, getting my breath back and wondering what on earth was up. He’d been fed up lately, and the redundancy was a bit of a blow, but I can’t imagine he’d ever do anything stupid. Something must have happened to him, he sometimes seems like he has ‘victim’ written all over him, I wonder if he got mugged? I wonder why they wouldn’t tell me? I wonder why he didn’t phone Nick?
I paid for the cab and went into the police station. The reception area wouldn’t have looked out of place in a business type of hotel, apart from the lino on the floor instead of thick carpet. And the fact that the people sitting round waiting all looked miserable or slightly battered. I went up to the desk and a young woman who hardly seemed old enough to work for the police told me to take a seat and someone would come out and find me in a few minutes. While I waited I phoned Dave, just to keep him in the picture. He was just as confused as I was, and couldn’t imagine what on earth Simon could have done to end up in a police station. He was going to ring Nick, but I thought it might not be a good idea until we knew what had happened - he’d only tell their Mum, and the last thing I needed was her coming down here screaming and shouting at the police.
I ended up waiting over half an hour, getting increasingly nervous as a succession of people came in and were impatient with the woman behind the desk. I felt overdressed in my suit and fully expected someone to turn on me at any moment. Then I realised I’d never been in a police station before, and it was exactly like ‘The Bill’ only more boring. Eventually Simon was led out by a policeman. God he looked rough. He was wearing a suit, with his tie undone round his neck, which would either mean he’d only been in since this morning or he’d been in all night. Judging by the look of him it was hard to tell - he certainly looked like he’d been crying, but other than that he seemed to have no injuries. He was clutching an envelope and was looking very sheepish.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, lets get out of here.”
So we left, although once we got outside Simon didn’t really know what to do and just stopped where he was.
“What do you want to do? Go home? Go to work? You feel like telling me what happened?”
“No, not now, not in the street, I need to ring work and I need to get home.”
So we found a call box, as neither of us bother with mobile phones, and he phoned work whilst I hovered on the pavement trying to work out what he’d done. It couldn’t be anything to do with work or there’d have been no need for him to phone him. What’s he been up to?
We walked for a bit, then decided to get a bus back to Simon’s. I was in danger of missing my meeting and would have to phone them as soon as I got there. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, the rest of the team could take the meeting - I was only there to make up the numbers I guess - but it looked a bit bad, so I’d need a bloody good reason.
The bus finally arrived, and we travelled back to Simon’s in silence. Clearly he didn’t want to discuss whatever had gone on in public, so I sat there trying to work out what on earth had gone on. Burglary? I wouldn’t have though he’d have needed to go to the police station. Fighting? He didn’t look like he’d been fighting. Accident? Ditto. I guess I’d have to wait, it really wasn’t the place to ask.

We finally got back to his, and the first thing I did was ring work and tell them I was going to be delayed. They were cool about it as soon as I mentioned the police, but I need to get back as soon as I can. I’ll get Simon settled then get someone else to come and stay with him, if he needs it. I did that stupid English thing of going and putting the kettle on, because tea always makes it better. Simon slumped on the sofa, staring into space, clinging onto his envelope as if there was something precious in it.
“So, you ready to talk about it?”
“Oh Jim, I don’t know, I just want to forget the whole thing happened!”
“I don’t mean to sound pushy, but you ought to tell someone - you can’t just phone up from a police station and then not tell people why you were there! They’ll be worried! I’m worried! What happened to you? Were you mugged? Are you in trouble?”
“It’s all so stupid, I just can’t believe it happened, what was I thinking?”
I went into the kitchen - this was clearly going to come out in his own good time and not before.
“I got caught shoplifting.”
“Shoplifting? Where? What did you steal? And why?”
“It was in the shop across the road, just a couple of bars of chocolate.”
“You been in the police station all morning for stealing chocolate? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No, you see it wasn’t the first time, it’s been going on for ages.”
“What were you thinking Simon? You can afford chocolate can’t you? Why on earth would you steal it? Is everything okay, I know things have been a bit stressful lately, you okay?”
“I don’t know, it’s a long story.”
So I went and poured the tea and came back to here him tell me all about what had happened - how he’d been casually stealing chocolate most days for months; how it had started out of boredom and then once he’d started how he’d got hooked on it and couldn’t stop; how hated his life and felt like everyone hated him; how he felt like he’d never be in love; how he was worried he might be gay; how he hated his job. Honestly it all came flooding out, and along with it came more tears and more tea. He was in a right mess.
Then we opened the envelope. It was a copy of statement he’d made admitting stealing on a regular basis for months; a charge sheet; and a letter advising him that he would be summoned to a Magistrates Court at a date to be decided. Oh shit, this was going to get worse before it got better.

Chapter 25.5 - Take a letter Maria

“Hello Weatherby Walker estate agents, Natalie speaking, how can we help you?”
“Nat, it’s Maria, you okay to chat?”
“If you’re quick, they’re all out on visits so I’m on my own in the office.”
“You’ll never guess what that twat Jim has done now!”
“What? I thought you weren’t in touch?”
“We weren’t! I told you about the sixty day thing didn’t I?”
“Yep, so what’s he done?”
“He wrote me a letter.”
“Oh, what does it say?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t opened it.”
“Are you going to?”
“I don’t know, and that’s not really the point - he was supposed to stay out of contact for sixty days, and he couldn’t even do that right!”
“Sorry Maria, I’ve got a customer, can I call you back?”
“Meet me for lunch? Pret a Manger at 12.15? Bye”


Wanker. I told him not to get in touch with me! Okay, I admit that the sixty day thing was a bit of a trick. It is a recognised technique for getting over a break-up, but I just didn’t want to see him and thought it would be a good way of achieving than. I didn’t even tell him where I was going to live, and I changed my mobile number. Of course I never thought he’d be stupid enough to send me stuff at work! What was he thinking! Now what am I going to do with it? I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist. I can’t throw it away. But I can’t read it!

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To: Jim (work)
From: Nicky Heath
Subject: You bastard

How could you? What’s all this writing to me at work crap about? I thought we’d agreed not to get in touch? What gives you the right to invade my workplace with your shit? There better be a good reason why you sent it, although as I don’t intend to read it I’ll never now. Don’t bother me again you twat.

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Perhaps I’ll get Nat to open it and tell me how bad it is? Oh but that’ll never work, I’ll just want to know what it says and make her tell me anyway. I could shred it, then there’s no going back. Oh God, I’m just going to have to read it aren’t I. I can’t just leave it on my desk and get on with my work, this’ll drive me mad! Okay, I’ll put it in my draw, no my bag. Out of sight out of mind. I must get on with some work, this is madness!



“Dear Nicky,

I know I agreed to your sixty day thing but I’m hoping enough time has passed for you to read this in the spirit it is written. I’m not going to beg you to come back, I realise that’s never going to happen. And I’m not going to repeat how sorry I am, because you’ve heard that before and I don’t think you believe me. But I want to tell you that I’ve changed, I’ve learnt from what I did and I hope I’ve grown. You meant more to me than I realised and I’ve missed you like mad since you left. Yes, I know you can never trust me again, but I wish we could be friends. Will you meet me for lunch? A drink maybe? Come round and see the cat - he misses you like mad. I miss you like mad! How did I manage to let the best thing that ever happen to me just up and leave?”
Fucking bastard, fucking fucking bastard.



“Hello Weatherby Walker-”
“Fucking hell Nat, he’s gone mad, there’s pages of shit, just rambling on about how he misses me and wants me back, and how the cat misses me, and how stupid he was! The man sounds unhinged”
“I’m sorry Maria, I can’t talk now, we’re really busy, I’ll see you at lunch yeah?”
“How am I supposed to last till lunch with this thing burning a hole in my bag?”
“Shred it Maria, it’s the only way. Gotta go, bye”


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To: Jim (work)
From: Nicky Heath
Subject: You selfish twat

You selfish fucking twat, unloading all your shit on me like that! I don’t care how you feel! I trusted you and you really hurt me! Stay away from me, I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to hear from you. You’ve ruined my day, STAY AWAY FROM ME!!!!!

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Chapter 25 - Simon, Thursday

Happy fucking birthday to me.

I’ve never really enjoyed my birthdays, but even by my standards this one is starting pretty badly. The throb in my head won’t go away, and I wonder if I might have concussion? It’s tender to the touch, and there’s even a bit of a lump. No cuts or bleeding, which is a relief, but it hurts like hell. I should have gone to the doctors yesterday, just to get it checked out, but how on earth was I ever going to explain how it happened? I guess I could have pretended I’d been mugged, but I’m so ashamed of the whole incident I just want to forget it ever happened.
So instead I went back to work. I ended up being quite late back - once I’d pulled myself together, I then had to make myself look more human - wipe the snot off my face, and make my eyes less red. I wandered round for a bit, breathing deeply and trying to calm myself down, but everywhere I went I felt like I could see him out of the corner of my eye, talking to someone, sneering and pointing at me. By the time I got back to work my heart was racing and all I wanted to do was cry. But such is the atmosphere at work at the moment that no one noticed or cared that I was late back, so I went and hid in the toilet for a bit, until I felt calm enough to go back to my office and face people. Thankfully nobody bothered me all afternoon, and I was able to sneak out at five without being noticed.
When I got back the flat was deserted - John must have been on nights - so I was able to hide in my room feeling sorry for myself without anyone expecting me to explain what was the matter with me. Both Jim and Dave phoned, leaving messages of support about the whole work thing. And Mum phoned to remind me to go round for tea after work today, but I didn’t speak to any of them, and ended up falling asleep in my clothes.

So this is how it feels to be 38. Great. I’m not a fan so far. I wish I could stay in bed all day, but I’ve got to work. People complain about working on their birthday, but I don’t usually mind - what would I do otherwise? Sit around at home counting how many people have forgotten me again? It’s not like I’m going to have a big party or do anything exciting, so I might as well go to work and forget about it. And thankfully I’ve managed to keep it a secret at work, so no one ever makes a fuss. Or perhaps they know and just despise me? Aah, fuck it, who cares!

I got ready for work, slowly reassembling myself until I look pretty much like the man who left the house yesterday morning. My suit looks a bit dishevelled, but it’ll do - who knows how much longer I’ll be wearing it for anyway? I thought I was going to get out of the house without speaking to anyone, but just as I was getting ready to leave Mum caught me.
“Happy birthday love!”
“Thanks Mum.”
“I won’t sing to you, I’ll save that for your birthday tea.”
“You don’t have to Mum, not now I’m a grown-up.”
“Ooh, but it’s your birthday, someone’s got to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to you! And you’re still my little boy.”
Dear God, I’d swear she was drunk, only she doesn’t drink.
“Okay Mum, well you sing to me later, I’ve got to get to work now or I’ll be late.”
“Okay love, see you at teatime, don’t be late, it’s your favourite!”
“Bye Mum.”
“Bye love.”

Shit, the last thing I need today is birthday tea with Mum. This whole thing is like some stupid bad joke. The phone rang again, but I left it ringing and headed out of the flat. As I locked the door I heard the beep as the answering machine kicked in, and it sounded like Jim leaving a message. He’d find me later no doubt, but for now I didn’t want to speak to anyone.

There was a bit of a queue at the bus stop, which was a surprise as the bus wasn’t due for ten more minutes. So rather than stand shuffling and avoiding eye contact with strangers I nipped into the newsagents for a paper. I took my time, browsing the magazines, wondering if that be a more entertaining way to spend the bus journey, but I got slightly overwhelmed by the enormous choice, and the only things I really wanted I was too scared to buy, and couldn’t read on the bus anyway. So I picked up my usual paper and queued behind some school kids at the counter. One of them was trying to buy scratchcards, and George the newsagent was having difficulty making them understand that he wasn’t going to sell them any unless they could prove they were over sixteen. Eventually the ringleader got sick of arguing, slammed his chocolate down on the counter and said,
“Fuck you then, we’ll go to the one in the High Street - they’ll sell you as many as you like, and fags and booze too. Loser.”
“Watch you mouth you scrawny bugger. If I see you in this shop again I’ll kick you arse, now fuck off out of my sight.”
Go George!
We had one of those, “it’s not like in our day” type conversations, despite the fact that he’s probably twenty years older than me. He had a point though, I’d never have spoken to someone like that when I was a teenager, and certainly wouldn’t have had enough spare cash to waste like that. God, it makes me feel so old.
I headed for the door, and George shouted for his wife, no doubt to tell her about the continuing decline of Western Civilisation in general, and teenage boys in particular. Without really thinking I put my hand out to pick up some chocolate, but then I remembered it was my birthday and I deserved a special treat, so instead of the usual KitKat I grabbed a couple of bars of Dairy Milk, put them in my pocket and opened the door.
Then I felt a hand on my arm, and before I realised what was happening George was screaming at me and pulling me back into the shop. I didn’t let go of the door at first, so it turned into some ridiculous tug of war - George pulling me, me hanging onto the door. And then I started to hear what he was screaming:
“You thieving fucker, you think you can come in here and chat to me then just help yourself to my stock on the way out? I’ve had my eye on you for weeks, but you’re always too sly for me, but not today, I see what you put in your pocket, give it back!”
I let go of the door handle and burst into tears. Not just a gentle trickle, but great big wailing sobs. It stopped George shouting at me for a minute, but then he grabbed me by both arms and started shaking me.
“Pull yourself together, be a man why don’t you. If you think crying’s gonna get you off the hook you’ve got another thing coming!”
Then he reached into my pocket and snatched back the chocolate while I just stood there wailing, letting the paper fall out of my hands, hanging my head and shaking as I wept.
“You can stop that right now”
It was George’s wife.
“I’ve called the police and they’re on their way. Crying won’t help you know. You should be ashamed of yourself, stealing when you can bloody afford it! At least when kids do it you know they’re doing it because they’ve got no money, but you, you in your suit, you make me sick.”
I hadn’t meant to upset George’s wife, so I started saying I was sorry, and kept saying it although it was hard to understand as I was sobbing and gulping for air at the same time.
By the time the police arrived I was on my knees, whimpering and saying over and over how sorry I was. George and his wife just stood there in disbelief, occasionally shooing away the odd customer who wanted to come in to buy something. One bloke got a bit arsey because he couldn’t get any fags and called me a twat on the way out. He had a point. Next thing I know there’s a policewoman standing in front of me, asking George what had happened. George’s wife said something about CCTV, and pointed to a camera that I’d never noticed in the corner of the shop, then George pointed at the chocolate that was laying at my feet.
The policewoman knelt down to talk to me:
“You okay love?”
“I’m sorry”, I wailed, snot running down my face, mixed with my tears.
“Come on now, you need to tell me what happened. Sitting on the floor sobbing isn’t going to help any of us”
She gave me a tissue, and I wiped my face. But I didn’t want to get up, because I wasn’t even sure my legs would hold me.
“You want to tell me what happened?”
“I don’t know”, I sniffed, “I don’t remember”
“These people tell me you’ve been stealing stuff from them for some time, now you want to tell me about it here or you want me to take you to the police station and let you tell someone else?”
Police station? Fuck.
“No! I didn’t mean to! It’s my birthday! My head hurts!”
“You’re not making much sense love, you okay? You want me to get someone you know to come and help you?”
God, now she thinks I’m some kind of retard.
“No, I’m okay. I’m sorry.”
“Yes love, we know you’re sorry, we’re just not sure what you’re sorry for. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you down to the station to sort this out, these people have got a business to run and you sitting in their doorway bawling your eyes out doesn’t seem very good for business.”

Fuck.

Chapter 24 - Simon, Wednesday

Well that went as badly as I’d expected, although I guess going in with that kind of attitude didn’t really help! It’s just hard to get excited about it - I know I’ll be gutted if I lose my job, but at the same time it might be the kick up the arse I need. It’s a bit difficult to motivate yourself to beg for your job when you’re not sure you want to keep it!
I thought we might just be having one-on-one meetings with Clive, but I got there to find him flanked by our HR manager and a specially appointed ‘Reassignment Consultant’. For fucks sake, use the term redundancy - we’re all grown-ups, we know what it means! So it was a bit like facing the Firing Squad. I wouldn’t have minded seeing Clive on his own - we’ve worked together a long while - we started in the same department, although clearly our career paths have diverged slightly. He can be a bit of a wet blanket, but he’s always treated me fairly, and I think he’d have given me the nod if anything was up. But not the other two - I doubt I’ve ever spoken to our HR bloke, possibly we’ve communicated by email, but I’m not sure I’d have recognised him if you’d asked me who I was. The Consultant was a smug looking twat in a very expensive looking suit, who sat there with his pen poised looking like he was enjoying the whole process. He started writing something before I even sat down, which really put me on the defensive - that better have been a shopping list!
What followed was pretty much an interview for my job. The usual questions that I don’t know how to answer: what are your strengths? Your weaknesses? Do you consider yourself a team player? Yeah, right - the word ‘team’ when used in that context makes me gag! I can barely tolerate most of the people I work with, so I’m guessing the answer to that is no. I can’t do bullshit very well, so there was a lot of ‘hmmm’-ing and ‘aaah’-ing. It didn’t help that the twat in the suit stared at me the whole time and never said a word. Just as I was looking my most uncomfortable he’d scribble something loudly, and smirk annoyingly. He wants me gone, I can tell. The HR bloke hardly said a word either. I remember him now, a dopey git, never has much to say for himself. If anyone should be going it should be him! At least Clive seemed to be on my side, talking me up a bit when I forgot about stuff I’d done.
He finished with a load of standard spiel about how no decisions had been made yet, how nothing would be decided until all the interviews had taken place, but how they appreciated it was a difficult time so they’d be letting people know as soon as possible as the prolonged wait would prove disruptive in the workplace. Twats. Bugger the workplace, we’re people not machines. I left the meeting feeling like shit - I knew I’d done myself no favours, but equally who wants to work for a company with so little regard for its staff? Wankers.
I went and hid in the toilet for a bit. No one would miss me - management had all gone into hiding since the announcement, and the junior staff were just going through the motions and couldn’t care less either. What am I going to do?

I spent the rest of the day hiding from people. Jim phoned several times but I let the voicemail pick it up - he wanted to know how things had gone, and I was in no rush to repeat the story. Same for Dave. Nick phoned too, which means Mum spoke to him. I’m surprised she bothered, she normally only likes to gloat about my good news, not bad. He sounded sympathetic, which was sweet of him, but I don’t think I’ll phone him back either. Then Mum caught me. It’s easier to take her call than to take the grief for not speaking to her. She wanted to know how things went, and was full of unhelpful ideas about things I should have said. At one point she suggested that this place will fall apart without me, which is frankly so ridiculous I burst out laughing. Of course she told me off - “it’s not a laughing matter Simon!” I wouldn’t mind, but the last job she had was in a hat shop about forty years ago, so she’s hardly an expert!

Lunch was a welcome relief, if only to get out of the office. I’d not been in the mood to make sandwiches, so I wandered down to the shops to get something to eat, and a beer to go with it. I found a bench to sit on and ate in the sunshine, although it was a little too cool to be really nice. A I sat there a few people from the office walked past - some said, “hi”, some looked straight through me. Neil came past, looking a bit lost without his posse. He sat down beside me for a bit and chatted about what was going on - he’d had his interview before lunch and was feeling equally depressed. We were agreed that the Consultant was evil - he never said a word to Neil either, and he felt his interview had gone really badly as well. But they can’t sack us all can they? The place needs some people to keep it going surely? Although we both wondered if the whole thing was part of some sneaky plan to relocate everything to Belgium, without having to offer us jobs over there and pay for our relocation. Of course even if I was offered I’d never go. God I wish this was over!
Neil wandered off in search of his mates, although I think he realised deep down that they’d deserted him and the days of the pub posse are over. When the dust settles it seems unlikely that anyone would want to keep up a tradition that just served to remind them of how many people were missing. I thought I ought to head back to the office too, but before I did I just popped into the shopping centre. I meant to get some chocolate, just a little something to see me through the afternoon, but before I really realised what I’d done I was in the toilets. I had noticed that I needed to pee so it was no surprise when I stood at the urinal and nothing happened. A bloke came in and stood beside me, and it soon became obvious that he wasn’t peeing either. I should have just zipped myself up and left, but in the moment before I did that I turned to look at the bloke beside me and couldn’t help notice that he was waving a hard cock at me. Bloody hell. I cleared my throat, more out of surprise than anything else and zipped myself up and for a moment there was still chance to leave, but I paused just a beat to long, and he said, “you like what you see?” I was dry-mouthed and couldn’t speak. I guess “yes” would have been the truthful answer, but somehow I couldn’t seem to say it, so I nodded my head mutely.
“In there” he said, nodding towards the cubicle, so I turned round and went into the nearest cubicle. He followed, shutting the door behind him and leaning back against it, cock still hanging out of his trousers. It was then that I realised I was out of my depth and didn’t know how to get myself out of the situation. He came towards me, and I thought he was going to hit me so I cowered slightly, which confused him as he was only trying to kiss me. He grabbed me by the back of the head and pulled me into a furious snog. I was on autopilot, the first touch of his lips and I was kissing back, chasing his tongue with my own, immediately forgetting what a dumb idea it was. As he kissed me his other hand reached for my belt, finally getting it open after a couple of tugs. The zip stuck a little, so he yanked it down as far as he could go and then pushed his hand into my trousers. As soon as his hand touched my cock I froze. This wasn’t a good idea, it wasn’t what I wanted. I tried to push him away, mumbling something in coherent and telling him to stop, but he didn’t stop, so I pushed him a little harder and he stumbled backwards.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do this”
“Bit fucking late now pal, you should have thought about that before you led me in here.”
“I’m sorry, this isn’t what I want, let me out.”
“You fucking prick tease, you think you can get me all worked up then just walk away because you don’t feel like it? Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m sorry, let me out, or I’ll call for help”
“Call for help? Who’s gonna come and rescue a filthy pervert in the toilets? Get a grip mate! Now, give me your wallet.”
“What? No!”
“Come on, I said give me your fucking wallet, you must have something in there I can use.”
“No, I won’t, let me out!”
But my whining just annoyed him more than he already was, and next thing I know he has my head in his hands and he’s banging it against the cubicle wall. Thank God it was only wood, but it still hurt like hell. I was sobbing and begging him to stop, and after the fourth or fifth time he did, and I slid to the floor, sobbing like a baby, holding my head, snot running down my face. He grabbed the wallet out of the inside pocket of my jacket, and turned to open the door, but before he left he spat in my face, and left saying, “that’ll teach you you pathetic closet case”.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but I finally moved when I heard someone come into the toilets. I leapt up and slammed the door shut, then sat down on the toilet with my head in my hands, silently sobbing. I could feel bruises where I’d hit the wall, but thankfully there was no blood. Fuck I felt a mess.

Chapter 23 - Jim, Wednesday

I posted the letter. It might have been slightly mad, but I know where she works so I posted it there instead. So unless she’s changed jobs - which seems unlikely considering how much she loved it - at least I know she’ll have got it. Then the rest is up to her. I don’t even know if I want her to reply, I just know that I want her to know that I’m sorry and I’ve learnt something from my mistakes. Oh God I wonder if I’ve done the right thing?
Of course things should never have gotten this far. It was all my fault, as these things usually are. We were really settled, we’d been living together for two years and had been going out for just over three. My life was more relaxed than it had been in years! Okay, I’d had to make some sacrifices - she didn’t like me smoking, so I gave that up, and I saw an awful lot less of my friends, but it seemed a small price to pay for being so happy. Dear God, we even got a cat. But I got bored. And I got confident - she made me feel like I was capable of doing anything, but I was too stupid to realise that there were limits to it.
I’d worked with Michelle a long time. Six or seven years maybe, certainly longer than anyone else in the company. We always got on really well - she teased me, and in return I flirted with her a bit. Not much, certainly not enough to make her think there was anything going to happen between us. Besides, she was married and I was happily coupled. It was one of those office things - just something to perk up a dull day. But then she resigned - her husband had been reassigned to another part of the country, and as his job paid much more than hers it made sense for them to up and leave.
Oh it was all so clichéd - leaving do, too much to drink, bit of a drunken fumble in the pub toilets. Not my proudest moment. I hoped I might have been able to forget the whole thing. I hate to use the phrase “get away with it”, because I didn’t want to - I just wish the whole thing had never happened! But then we made the stupid mistake of texting each other about it, at first we were agreed that it should never have happened, but then we kind of got a bit playful and flirty about it, as you can when you’ve no chance of seeing the other person again. But then Maria took my phone to work by mistake - we’d bought identical phones, because we’d gotten a better deal on them, although Maria kept hers in a case so we could tell them apart. But she’d taken it out of the case, got distracted and never put it back, then in a hurry the next morning she picked up the wrong phone.
So the “morning big boy, how’s my favourite stud?” text came as a bit of a shock. At first she thought it was a wrong number, but obviously it played on her mind and she decided to read all my old texts. She clearly had some doubt about my fidelity or she wouldn’t have bothered. Stupidly I’d not deleted all of them. The more complimentary ones I’d kept, because they made me smile. What a vain twat. So then just to make sure she phoned Michelle. Well, Michelle tried to lie but was genuinely wrong-footed by the call, which made matters worse. By the time I got home that night Maria had started to pack, and nothing I could say would change her mind. Her last boyfriend had cheated on her continually, and she’d vowed never to put up with it again. I knew this, we’d had long conversations about it before she moved in. God I was a twat.
I should have just left it after I said “I’m sorry”, but I kept going on and on about how I didn’t want her to leave and what a twat I’d been. We were agreed on the twat bit, but she kept saying, “why did you do it?” and “I was drunk” just wasn’t a good enough answer. Then I started crying and tried to unpack her bag, and that’s when she belted me round the head with the hairdryer. She was about to pack it, and instead just swung it into my head. It must have felt good as she did it again, and again, and a few more times until she broke the case.
At that point I came to my senses and left. I ended up spending the night on Simon’s couch, which annoyed his flatmate no end I seem to remember. Before I dared go back the next morning I phoned to see if Maria was still there but got the answering machine instead. Before she left she’d thoughtfully changed the message: “Hello, Jim is an adulterous cunt. You may want to reconsider leaving him a message.” Nice.
I went home, half afraid that she’d be waiting for me, armed with a knife, but she’d gone. Oh but had she gone out in style! She’d taken everything that she’d brought with her, everything she’d bought since she moved in, anything I’d given her - everything she was entitled to basically. Plus all the food, well all apart from the stuff she’d tipped over the kitchen floor. And the cat, he was her cat, she’d picked him and he loved her like mad. I merely fed him. Right now he was licking jam off the hob, and I didn’t have the heart to stop him. It’d save me feeding him.
Things were worse in the bedroom - she’d burst a pillow, so there were feathers everywhere, and had taken scissors to some of my clothes. Not many of them, just things she knew were important to me, like the T-shirt I got from Morrissey’s first solo gig, and a flat cap that had been my granddads. Bitch. And yet somehow I couldn’t complain, I deserved it I guess.
I called in sick and spent the rest of the day tidying up. Once everything was back where it belonged it soon became apparent how little stuff I had. I couldn’t remember who’d bought the kettle and the toaster, but obviously Maria had as they’d vanished with her. How on earth she’d managed to get all the stuff out of the house at such short notice is anyone’s guess, I imagine she rallied her friends round and they were only to happy to help - most of them had been hoping we’d split up ever since we’d gotten together.
The cat and I eventually called a truce, once he realised that nobody else was going to feed him but me. He didn’t let me off lightly though, and would randomly piss on the carpet whenever he felt like it for the next couple of weeks. Even the cat blamed me, there clearly was no hope!

But obviously there was as I’ve ended up where I am today - feeling a bit calmer, although clearly no less mad. As soon as I’d posted the letter I wondered if it was the right thing to do? A whole day at work without enough stuff to keep me busy convinced me that I’d been pretty stupid. I spoke to Dave, but didn’t mention it to him - I’m sure he’d have only confirmed what I already knew. He’d spoken to Simon and it turned out he was having his meeting with the management today, so I tried to phone him and see how it went but I could only get his voicemail. Not a good sign. Dave and I agreed to keep tomorrow free, and meet up anyway if Simon didn’t feel like it. Poor sod, the timing couldn’t be any worse!
I toyed with the idea of emailing Maria to let her know what I’d done, but thought better of it - yes, it would give her chance to prepare herself, but it would also give her extra time to get angry about it, and I didn’t really want to do that. I kept kidding myself that it might get lost in the post, or that she might have changed jobs, but I realised I was just clutching at straws because I’d been such a twat. Oh you’d think I’d know better by now!
Before I left the office I tried Simon one last time, but someone else picked up the phone and said he’d already left. I didn’t like to ask how he was as I didn’t know who they were. It wasn’t unusual for him to leave on time, so it didn’t help me work out how things were. I made a note to ring him later and headed home. I guessed he was voiding people, and couldn’t blame him really.
All the way home I had this nagging urge to ring Maria. Wouldn’t hurt surely? Just say, “hi, oh and by the way I’m mad.” Twat. The cat was no help - he just wanted feeding, and had no thought for my emotional welfare. Then Mum phoned, and I toyed with the idea of asking her what I should do, but she’d have only been hurt that I hadn’t mentioned I was living with someone all that time. Well, it never came up. So I let her leave another message, and could hardly miss the disappointment in her voice. I must try and be a better son.
In the end I did the only thing I could think of - ate crap food and lay on the sofa getting stoned, flicking channels and listening to music - anything to stop the voices in my head that kept telling me what a twat I’d been. Funny how they all sound like Maria.

Chapter 22 - Gay Dave, Wednesday

Last night was fun! And I don’t just mean the bit where I met Danny’s gorgeous man. For a brief moment I toyed with the idea of pretending we’d “met” before, nudge-nudge wink-wink, but something in the way Danny has been talking about him made me realise he was serious. Actually it was probably the fact that Danny had been talking about him at all, as he never usually does. Anyway, we exchanged pleasantries and I left them to it. Lucky devils.

By the time I got round to Nicky’s she was on the verge a big strop. It didn’t help that I was a bit late, and I didn’t have a very convincing excuse - I could hardly confess to hanging round the flat to perv over my flatmates new man could I? So I mumbled some lie about getting held up at work, which I didn’t get away with as she’d apparently phoned work to tell me to bring cream with me, only to find me already gone. So I gave her the flowers and a hug, told her I was really sorry, then went to give some chocolate to the girls. Laura hardly had time to yell, “hi uncle Dave” as she was in the midst of some complicated shoot-em-up game. I’m sure as I headed up the stairs I heard her yelling, “die scum!” Becky’s door was shut, and I knew better than to go into a girls bedroom without asking, so I knocked and said, “Becky, it’s Dave, I’ve got chocolate”. Her mother yelled up the stairs, “she won’t eat it, she’s only eating green coloured things this week!” and which point the door was yanked open and Becky bellowed, “no I’m not, that was last week, this week it’s red stuff!” And although she said it with a smile on her face I had no idea whether she was joking or not.
“Do you want to save it for a brown week?”
“Don’t be stupid, there is no brown week! I’ll have it now, then I won’t have to have as much of what’s she’s burning downstairs.”
She was right, there was a distinct smell of burning in the air, followed by Nicky yelling, “fuck fuck fuck” and the clattering of a pan on top of the stove.
I raced downstairs with Becky right behind me, and even Laura poked her head around the door long enough to make sure the house wasn’t on fire and she could go back to her game. There was a strange shaped smouldering pile on the baking tray, which didn’t look like any food I recognised.
“What on earth was that?”
“Clay”
“As in clay, or some obscure vegetable you found in Waitrose?”
“Fuck off, it’s actual clay. Laura was making stuff the other day and I put it in the oven out of harms way. And forgot it was in there!”
Then she started giggling hysterically, followed by Becky, although burning clay didn’t seem that funny.
“What’s so funny?”
“It was going to be a birthday present. For you.”
I know it sounds ungrateful, but I think I had a lucky escape! But there’s a few weeks left yet so I’m afraid she’ll have another go. I’m just curious to find out what it was….

The meal turned out to be really nice - a huge shepherds pie, heavy on the potatoes, several glasses of wine, and once the girls were in bed a couple of tubs of Ben & Jerry’s. We had the same sweet tooth, possibly due to a childhood without sweets - Mum was paranoid we’d rot our teeth so we only ever got chocolate at Easter or Christmas, unless we managed to con some money out of relatives in the meantime, although Mum was always keen to make sure we spent it sensibly. I know it was just because she was terrified of the dentist and didn’t want to put us through it too, but tell that to 8 year olds who are the only ones in their class who can’t blow bubbles with bubble gum, because they’ve never even had the stuff! We’ve made up for it since, and luxury ice cream is one of our favourite treat - one tub each, then swapping over when they’re half empty. Sounds greedy? Well, yeah but that’s the point surely.
We had a nice relaxed gossip - and for a change we both only had good things to tell each other. We’re both very settled, although in quite different ways. As much as she loved Jack she was also enjoying him being away for a week. He phoned a couple of times during the evening, and I even had a quick chat with him, just to say ‘hi’ and ask him a favour. The girls were good too, although Nicky was worried it was the calm before the teenage, and I wound her up a little by reminding her how much of a nightmare she’d been as a teenager - it’s amazing she never slammed her bedroom door off its hinges! In contrast I’d been a dream child, although if anyone had realised what was going on in my head they’d have probably locked me up.
I ended up staying far later than I’d intended, which meant another late night. I must stay in tonight, I can’t keep getting too little sleep, it’ll catch up with me eventually! And I think that time might be now. I stumbled round the house this morning, but was awake enough to notice the strange pair of shoes were still in the corner of the living room - Todd clearly stayed. Good for Danny! As I left I banged on the door and yelled, “Stop shagging boys you’ll be late for work.” The giggling that followed told me that was exactly what they had been doing.

And so to work. The temp arrived as promised, but of course it wasn’t a cute boy. Her name is Suzi, with an ‘I’ not a ‘y’, which says it all really! Actually she seems fine - everything she’s done so far seems right, although she needs very specific instructions and doesn’t seem to be able to think for herself. But I mustn’t complain, because anything is better than doing it myself, and I’m sure she’ll get the hang of it. Let’s hope so.
I managed to find time to speak to Simon, although he sounded like shit - I’m not surprised - he was due to have his chat with the management, to beg for his job basically. He sounded fed up and confused, and when I mentioned his birthday he said he just didn’t want to think about it. I promised I’d speak to him later to see how his chat went, and would keep Thursday evening free just in case he fancied doing something. From what I heard it sounded unlikely - I mean would you want to celebrate being 38 with your job in the balance? No, me neither.
So I phoned Jim to let him know that I’d spoken to Simon, and we ended up having quite a nice chat. I’d lost touch with him a bit lately, as he’d been busy playing happy couples with Maria, but I’d missed him as he always had something interesting going on and was always up for mischief if there was the possibility of some. We ended up arranging to meet tomorrow anyway, regardless of whether Simon was there or not. Another late night, which means tonight has to be an early one.

The rest of the morning was really busy. We had a departmental meeting to see how prepared we were for the auditors, and I was frankly amazed to find that we’re pretty much on top of things! I guess all my shouting and jumping up and down has been worth it. I know something unexpected will happen, but if we’ve got everything else done that shouldn’t throw us too much. Still, I don’t want everyone else to relax and get lazy, so I played down how well they’d done. They’ll get their reward when it’s all over, but for the time being it won’t hurt to make them sweat! Actually they’re not a bad team, although I could kill myself every time I use that word - when did I get so indoctrinated that I think of the people I work with as a team!?

By the time lunchtime arrived I felt the need to get out of the office for a bit and get myself a bit of a treat. I guess I should have been looking for a gift for Simon, but actually I think we stopped doing that a few years ago so a card would do. I picked up a lovely one with a picture of a cake on the front from the bookshop over the road, and enjoyed flirting with the man behind the till as I paid for it. They should train people in shops to flirt with the customer’s, it makes the whole affair seem so much more agreeable - frankly I enjoyed spending the money just to see him smile, and God bless nametags too, because at least now I know I’ll be daydreaming about Luke.
The spotty boy in the phone shop could have done with some of his charm. I only popped in because I was bored, although I’ve been thinking about a new phone for a while now. I keep trying to persuade the company I need one, but they’re not going to fall for that any time soon. Anyway, I let the bloke give me the chat about which phone was which, but it soon became clear he knew almost less than I did about them ,so I told him I’d think about it and headed back to the office. I was feeling generous so I grabbed a pile of sweets from the newsagents on my way back, that’d keep them happy for the rest of the afternoon and make me look like the generous boss I want them to think I am.
What I wasn’t expecting to find was the office in chaos - Bob and Mike were snarling at each other whilst the rest of my department stood round looking a little bit sheepish. No sign of the temp, that can’t be good news…..

Chapter 21- Nick, Wednesday

I can’t help thinking it’s a bad idea to wake up with an 18 year old work colleague beside you. Especially as I’ve got to get into work and he’s got to get into college. What were we thinking? Well, clearly we weren’t thinking, which is just as well otherwise we’d have never got this far. Why did we have to do it on day when neither of us could linger in bed though?

It all started in the cinema. I’d texted Brenda to see if she fancied going to a film or something, and she immediately said yes. Apparently she’d had a shitty day at work and was likely to go home and drink herself happy. Blimey, when did we all become so dependent on alcohol to make our bad days better? And she said she’d text the Bens too, as they were always fun to be around. I’m sure she has ulterior motives on the front, but she’s right, they are fun.
So 8 o’clock comes and we’re all on the steps of the local cinema wondering what to see. The choice is limited - an action thing, a slightly girly drama, or something animated. Turns out the Bens had seen the animated thing, and Brenda had seen the girly film (and got really annoyed by it), so off we went to see the action film. It was your bog standard action film really - lots of running through the streets, car chases and posturing. The hero turned out to be slightly flawed, but at the end he was redeemed. Oh good. But it was pacey and loud, and you couldn’t really call it boring - just predictable.
I was sat there watching it, and my mind had started to wander. My interest in car chases is limited, so by the time the third one started I was flagging a bit. I wasn’t the only one. I felt something touch my leg, which made me jump a little. When I looked down it was Big Ben’s hand, casually laying there stroking my thigh. Blimey, he must be hating the film as well. Thankfully Brenda was between me and the other Ben (why don’t we call him Little Ben I wonder?), so he was unlikely to see anything, especially in the dark. When we’d sat down he’d started talking very intently to Brenda, so Big Ben and I had naturally started talking to each other - chatting about our days, and gossiping a little about work between mouthful’s of popcorn.
And now he very definitely had his hand on my thigh, and it has to be said I rather liked it there. I casually moved my hand over the arm of the chair and placed it where his thigh ought to be, only to find he was slumped in his seat and I’d unexpectedly had a feel of his crotch. A little shuffling later and we were happily holding hands for the rest of the film. I don’t think I’ve ever done that before.

When the film finished I hastily retrieved my hand, rearranged my clothing and traipsed out after the others. None of us were ready to go home, although all for very different reasons. But we were all aware that we had to get up in the morning so couldn’t afford to make it a late one. Luckily there was a coffee shop over the road that stayed open late so cinema goers had somewhere to chat about what they’d just seen. We all ordered hot chocolate and cake, and grabbed a table in the window. We were agreed that the film had been likeable nonsense. Implausible but harmless. Fun. I made a point of sitting next to Ben and chatting to him about what films he liked, leaving Brenda and Big Ben to gossip. Of course both Ben and I were eavesdropping on what they were saying, and I guess we were both disappointed to here Big Ben talking about some of his previous shags. For an eighteen year old he’d not been wasting much time! It’s taken me years to accumulate a similar amount as he already had, which somehow made me sad for both of us.
We finished our drinks, picked the crumbs of our plates and generally weren’t terribly keen to leave. I was particularly intrigued to see where the evening was going - the hand thing hadn’t been like the snog - that was drunken, this was most definitely sober. But how was I ever going to get him on his own to ask him about it? Or even should I? Perhaps that’s just what he did with his friends? I didn’t want to come on all mad - I’d done that enough times in the past to know it wasn’t a smart idea.
Eventually Brenda made the decision to go - she had the furthest to travel and she certainly looked knackered, bless her. The Bens would be heading in the same direction, so we wandered towards the bus stop. I could walk home, and although it was late and a bit far it was also a really nice night and I could do with the time to think. So we stood chatting at the bus stop, grumbling as all the wrong numbers went past, then practically cheering when the right one came round the corner. I was just saying ‘good-bye’ when Big Ben realised he’d left his phone in the café. I think Ben was about to offer to stay but Big Ben told him he’d catch up with him at college the next day, so he got on the bus with that disappointed look that seems to be constantly on his face lately.
“We better rush or they’ll be shut and you’ll never get it back”
“No need, I didn’t leave it behind at all”
“Well if you run you can catch up with the bus at the next stop, it might be ages before the next one comes along.”
“I don’t want to catch the bus, I want to go home with you.”
Bloody hell. I like a man who knows what he wants, but this took me by surprise.
“Hmm, blimey, I….”
Articulate aren’t I.
“You shouldn’t be surprised, I’ve had my eye on you for ages.”
But of course I was. I started having those, ‘he’s not in my league’ type thoughts, then realised I wasn’t such a bad catch myself and thought, ‘why not?’.
“But what about Ben? He’s mad about you, you know?”
“Yeah, but he knows it’s never gonna happen, I’ve told him often enough.”
Hmm, doesn’t necessarily make it right though does it? But at this point I wanted something to happen between us, so I’m afraid I rather overlooked Ben’s feelings.
“So, we heading back to yours or just gonna stand chatting in the street all night?”
He said it with a cheeky grin on his face, but there was a real eagerness in his voice, and a slight vulnerability about him - he seemed confident, but deep down he wasn’t sure I was going to say yes. Just as well I was.
“Come on then, I’ll race you home.”

It took longer than expected to get back to mine - we’d not gone far before Ben stopped. I thought he’d changed his mind, but when I turned to ask him what was the matter he just grabbed me, pushed me against the wall and snogged me. He’d have had a hand down my trousers if I hadn’t stopped him. Not that I wanted to, but sex in the street didn’t seem like the smartest idea, although it certainly sounded like fun!
We finally got back to mine, and never even made it into the bedroom - clothes were shed pretty quickly, and strewn all over the living room floor. Shoes were awkwardly removed, whilst trying not to stop kissing, and we ended up collapsed in an untidy heap on the sofa. I couldn’t help feeling amazed that we’d got here at all, and that he was clearly enjoying it as much as I was.

Of course it turned into a late night. I’ve no idea what time we went to sleep, but I was a bit disappointed when it turned out he’s one of those people who sleeps with their back to you, not touching you at all - I wanted to fall asleep wrapped around him, otherwise what’s the point of having someone in bed with you?

The alarm went off at seven, which seemed stupidly early, although it only gave us and hour and a half to get to work and college. I prodded Ben awake, resisting the urge to lie there looking at him - I swear there’s a stalker in me somewhere! He rubbed his eyes, stretched a bit, the turned towards me, eyes still shut, duvet pulled up to his chin.
“Wakey wakey sleepy head”
“Morning gorgeous”
Hmm, that’s the ideal way to start the day.
“you sleep okay”
“Mmm, not enough. You fancy staying here all day?”
God, what a tempting offer.
“Oh mate, there’s nothing I’d love more! But I’ve got work and you’ve got college”
“Pity, I had a better plan for the day.”
“Well we’ve got a little longer, come here and give me a cuddle.”
God I love the feeling of a warm body in the bed with me. It’s a great start to the day. He smelt all sweet and clean. I could have spent all day just curled up with him, but I made do with twenty minutes, enjoying his warmth pressed against mine, and the sound of his breathing. But then it really was getting late, so I stroked his face to persuade him to open his eyes.
“Come on mate, time to get up”
He grinned sleepily, stretched again, then got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. I just lay there thinking what an idiot I was to let such a fantastic arse get out of my bed just so I could go to work. So I came to my senses and followed him into the shower….

Chapter 20 - Gay Dave, Tuesday

You’d think by now I’d know better than to get into a heavy drinking session on a Monday night. I blame Danny - if he hadn’t accepted my invite to go out drinking after work this would have never happened. As always the plan was just to have a couple then get a take-away and head home. Finish the night in front of the TV, then when Danny headed off to bed take a quick peek online and see if I could fix myself up with some dates for later in the week.
Of course it doesn’t work like that. Since I last went in The Anchor Monday night has become half price night - that’s all drinks half price. Fucking stupid if you ask me, just encouraged us to drink more. Well, you’re money goes twice as far so why wouldn’t you? And so we did. Luckily they do food, so we at least had the sense to eat in an attempt to ward off the drunken-ness, but they’re hardly big on vegetarian options so Danny just ended up with a plate of chips.
So we gossiped about our days, and our love lives. His is just as hopeless as mine, although it doesn’t seem to phase him in the slightest - his attitude is , “something will come along”, but said in a way that suggests he really doesn’t care if it doesn’t. I’ve no idea when he last had sex - he’s certainly never bought anyone back to the flat, at least not while I’ve been there. So drunkenly I asked him.
“Friday”
Blimey, that took me by surprise. I expected him to say 1997 or something. Crafty bugger. So to speak.
“Friday?”
I wasn’t going to make this easy for him. All the times he’d taken the piss out of my shagging, this was the ideal opportunity to get my own back. He knew what he was doing though as he already had a big grin on his face.
“Yeah, Friday. Day after Thursday, day before Saturday.”
“Hmmm, thanks for that fantastic explanation - I can see now why you’re a teacher!”
Cheeky git wasn’t going to make it easy for me.
“Come on you bastard, give me the details! Dish it or your yoga mat gets it!”
“Oh I hope not, that’s what got me the shag in the first place”
Big grin this time. He was loving winding me up, and I have to say I was pretty intrigued.
“Enough of the mystery, I’m too pissed to guess what on earth you’re talking about, unless you’re telling me you shagged your yoga mat?”
“I have a purely platonic relationship with my yoga mat. Unlike my yoga teacher.”
“You shagged your yoga teacher? Isn’t that illegal? Or at least just bad karma?”
That made him laugh, so I got in another round of drinks and spent the resting of the evening listening to how he seduced his yoga teacher, and hearing about just how flexible they both were. Blimey, I think it might be time I enrolled myself in one of those classes!

We stumbled home after closing time. Danny went straight to his room to talk to his teacher. From what he told me it sounded like they were heading towards becoming boyfriends, which would really suit Danny. Jammy fucker. I turned on my laptop, more out of habit than for any useful reason, and before I knew it I was chatting to all kinds of strange men. Why are the ones I always like at the other end of the country? Or already coupled? Or maybe I’m only attracted to people I can’t have? Actually, that wouldn’t include the coupled ones then - they all start off telling you how happy they are with their boyfriend and how they’re only looking for friends, but before you know it they’re telling you how they haven’t slept together in three years and do you fancy a shag? Piss off you greedy bastards - talk about cake and eat it! No wonder I can’t find a boyfriend - there aren’t any, just unhappy couples looking for playmates. So I went to bed feeling pissed and disappointed. No dates lined up for any time in the near future - I might as well become a monk!

I woke up feeling pretty much the same - hung over and frustrated. I’m used to getting what I want in pretty much every other part of my life, so why is this boyfriend business so tricky? I’m a good catch! We’ll I’d go out with me!
I was flicking through my diary to see how many dates I’d had this year, and after I’d counted a stupidly low number I kept flicking through the pages to see what else I had to look forward to when I noticed that it’s Simon’s birthday on Thursday. Oh fuck. He’ll sulk for months if everyone forgets, so I better do a ring round and see if anyone remembered. Poor Simon, he hardly seems to register in our lives. Mr Invisible.
On my way out I passed a sleepy looking Danny staring into the mirror, presumably trying to will his face into its normal shape. I slapped him on the back and cheerily said, “nice night mate, we should do it again”, which elicited only a grunt in response. Never could take his drink!

The day passed in a blur - reports to write, other people’s reports to correct, stupid stuff to sort out myself because we don’t even have a secretary, and far too long spent emailing people bitching about our lack of same. Not all of them could help me with the matter - my sister, for instance, couldn’t care less, but by then I’d gotten so annoyed about the whole business that I was just ranting and raving at anyone. Fat lot of use it’ll do. My sister just emailed back saying, “do it yourself you lazy twat. Then come to tea. XX” Charming. But at least the offer of a free meal helped.
I emailed a few people about Simon’s birthday, mostly getting the same, “oh shit, is it?” response. Couldn’t find an email for Jim though, so I left him a message at home. He might have remembered, he’s good about stuff like that.

After lunch the whole secretary thing got our of hand. How am I supposed to manage people when I’m spending half my time printing and copying? That’s what I said to our HR department, although I fear I may have lost my temper a bit and shouted it. I certainly pointed. And looked a bit cross. I bet I stamped my foot - why do I always do that? Just to prove my point I have to stamp my fucking foot, like some spoilt child. Well, that’ll help my cause I bet. What a twat. I’m pretty sure I heard the HR secretary sniggering as I left, and I was tempted to tell her that if she had nothing better to do than snigger she could come and help us out, but thought I’d made a big enough fool of myself for the day.
Although apparently it did the trick - we’ve got a temp starting tomorrow. Let’s hope they’ve got their wits about them - we’ve had one before who couldn’t operate a photocopier, and whose typing was so bad it took longer to correct it than it took to write in the first place. Fingers crossed this one is good. And as an added bonus let it be a cute bloke - I need something to brighten my day up right now!

Before I left the office I gave my sister a quick call, just to check there’d been no domestic disaster that I ought to know about before I went round. But apparently everything was fine - Becky was hiding in the room after a horse riding lesson, and Laura was playing some bloodthirsty game on the PlayStation, yelling to herself as she kicked the shit out of soldiers apparently. Such a charming nine year old. I promised to fetch wine and get round as soon as I could.
So on the way home I stopped in at the supermarket, grabbed more wine than I ought to be drinking after last night’s session, and picked up flowers and piles of chocolate - I liked my chocolate, but Nicky and the girls could give me a run for my money. The pile I’d picked up would probably last ten minutes, but at least we’d each get at least ten minutes of bliss.
When I got home there was a strange coat on the back of the sofa, laying on top of Danny’s. His door was shut and I could hear talking and giggling - I guess he’d brought the yoga teacher back! Good for him. Pity I had to go out, would be fun to hang around and see what he looked like. By the way Danny described him he sounded gorgeous, but Danny was smitten so he was bound to say that wasn’t he.
I jumped in the shower, and as I was getting dressed Jim phoned up. He’d forgotten Simon’s birthday as well, and worse than that he says Simon might get made redundant. Crap timing. He’ll be gutted. Now we’ve really got to make an effort for his birthday. What the hell are we going to do? What am I going to get him? I promised to give both Simon and Jim a ring the next day - I was running late as it was, and Nicky was likely to be on the phone telling me how rudely late I was if I didn’t get my act together and leave soon. But not just yet - I could hear movement in Danny’s room, so I pretended to sort through the post until the door opened, and Danny came out with his shirt off and a big smile on his face. Hmm, nice chest, but if he was good-looking his mate was even better looking.
“This is my flatmate Dave. Dave - Todd”
He smiled and shook my hand, saying how nice it was to meet you, and I thought, “you might be gorgeous, but if you hurt my mate I’ll make you sorry.” Blimey, where did that come from?