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Chapter Two

CHARLIE

A file the size of a house brick lands on my desk and Geoff appears, throwing himself down in the chair opposite mine.

‘Another bunch of stuff for you to work through – looks like you’re not going home early tonight!’ he wheezes, his face bright red as he struggles to catch his breath. Geoff is the size of a house himself, his enormous belly straining at the buttons of his grubby white shirt. Geoff is a colleague, my equal, but as he’s fifteen years older than me he treats me like a five-year-old. The man has a serious lack of ambition, and a serious case of body odour.

‘Honestly, Geoff? It’s 8pm – surely you don’t think I’m even considering going home yet?’ I give a little laugh as I pull the file towards me and start leafing through it; despite the fact I still have a ton of paperwork next to me that needs going through before I can even consider leaving the office. I feel the beginnings of a migraine tapping at my temples, no doubt brought on by tiredness from a 5am start and the stress of the never-ending paperwork that comes with the case I’m working on. The pressures of being a corporate lawyer are well known, the long hours, the stressful cases that take over our lives and eat into our personal time with our families, but it is all worth it in the end. The salary and benefits make sure of that.

‘Well, don’t stay up too late. You don’t want to leave that pretty little family of yours too much; someone else might snap them up!’ Geoff heaves his massive bulk from the leather chair across the desk from me, leaning over to ruffle my hair as he leaves.

‘No chance of that, Geoff.’ I grin at him through gritted teeth, the thud of my headache growing louder and making me wish I could slap his meaty fingers from the top of my head. He breezes out of the room, as much as a twenty-stone, fifty-year-old corporate lawyer can, and I reach for the phone. I dial our home number, leafing through the new documents while I wait for Sal to pick up. Engaged. I hang up and redial, using the mobile number. It rings and rings, and I picture it sitting on the kitchen side where Sal always leaves it, the hideous Johnny Cash ringtone that Sal insists on blaring out. It rings out and goes to voicemail.

‘Sal, it’s me. Who the fuck are you talking to? Call me back.’ I slam the receiver down, and lean back in my chair, grinding the heels of my hands into my eyes to relieve the pressure that beats away there. I don’t need this shit – I have enough on my plate to deal with in the office, without wondering who the hell Sal is talking to at eight o’clock at night.

An hour later, when my call still hasn’t been returned, and I’ve tried the house phone numerous times, but to no avail, I bundle up the files and stuff them into my briefcase. I can’t concentrate on work all the time I am wondering why Sal isn’t answering the telephone. All sorts of scenarios cross my mind, ranging from Sal knocking the phone off the hook so as not to be disturbed with some illicit lover, through to Sal on the phone to some other person (Sal’s sister? Sal’s mum? Someone I don’t even know?), planning to leave me. I don’t know what the hell Sal is playing at, but I’m not happy. I thought I had made the rules perfectly clear – if I call, Sal should answer. I spend every waking hour working my butt off to make sure I can provide for my family – I think the least Sal can do is answer the phone when I call. I smooth down my fair hair, sticking up at all angles where I’ve been pushing my hands through it in an attempt to calm myself while I concentrate on those bloody files Geoff dumped on me, grab my black jacket and head out the door. When I get home, Sal had better be there – and if Sal is there, I’ll want to know why the bloody hell my calls this evening have gone unanswered. I’m not being ignored by anyone, least of all the person I chose to spend the rest of my life with.