Chapter 1
1342 Words
1
Another day. Another dollar.
However fulfilling a job might be, nothing feels quite like finishing after a twelve-hour day.
I punch the six-digit code into the panel, and the steel door closes behind me, letting out a shrill, squeaking noise as it locks into place.
The late shifts are a killer—especially in the winter. There’s something very depressing and just plain wrong about starting and finishing work in complete darkness. Still, the extra cash is a plus. Money’s tight all ‘round. Vegas is just three short weeks away, and I still haven’t saved a thing. Not a single penny. And worse still, Tommy is on my back to settle up the flight costs.
Good luck with that Tommy-boy!
At the staff car park, I feel the cold air on my cheeks as I pull out my keys from my jacket pocket, buried deep among the loose change, petrol receipts, and expired lottery tickets. I climb into the car and check my phone; still no signal. Shaking my head in annoyance, I pull away, flashing my ID badge to Smithy at the gates, and then I’m off.
About a quarter of a mile from Romkirk, I hear my phone make a beeping sound in my pocket. Finally, a signal. I mean really, how can there still be places where you can’t get phone reception? For God’s sake, they can speak to a man on the b****y moon—surely Bristol shouldn’t be a problem. I contemplate reading the text, but know who it is: it’s Anna, wondering where the hell I am. Don't want to waste any more time pulling over to read it. I just want to get home.
To bed.
I manage to make the thirty-five-mile drive to Crandale in less than fifty minutes, thanks to it being so late—but mainly thanks to breaking the speed limit for ninety percent of the journey. Lucky for me, I know exactly where all the cameras are—hidden or not.
Pulling up outside my house, I notice the blinds are closed in Sammy’s bedroom. Missed another bedtime. This’ll be the third this week, not counting the other six from last week. I sigh loudly as I climb out of the car and walk up to the house. I see Edith May from next door again, staring out of her living-room window. I give her my usual wave, and she returns the gesture. Nosy old cow. I bet she’s judging me, all these late finishes. I bet she thinks I’m a terrible father.
Is she right?
“You’re home late, Rob,” Anna points out as I enter the kitchen. “How was work?”
I fling my jacket over the back of the dining chair, and then walk up to her. “It was fine. Usual stuff. Just a bit tired.”
I wrap my arms around Anna’s thin waist and pull her close to kiss her. She then pulls away, making a face. “I think you need a shower, Hun,” she tells me. “You stink.”
I lift an arm up over my head and sniff my armpit. She’s right. Twelve hours stuck in that tiny little room with no air-conditioning will do that to you. “Yeah I know. Long day. You’d stink too.”
“Yeah, yeah, we know.”
“Did you find the b****y dog yet?”
Anna shakes her head. “No. I’ve looked everywhere. Me and Sammy walked the whole of Crandale. Can’t find her anywhere.”
“s**t. That b****y dog. I knew it was a mistake getting one for him. I knew it. What did I say from day one?” I run my fingers through my short brown hair and groan. Stupid dog. “How’s Sammy taking it?”
“How’d ya think? He’s devastated. I had to lie to him. I said she’s just playing hide and seek. I told him that she’ll get bored soon and come home.”
“Oh well, he’s only four. I’m sure he’ll forget. If not, we’ll have to buy him a new one. Preferably one without any legs.” I raise my arms up, yawning loudly. “I’ll help you look for her tomorrow. Not tonight though. I’m so tired my eyes are burning.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’m sure she’ll turn up somewhere. Have you eaten yet?
I let out a fake chuckle. “What do you think?”
“So that’s a no then I take it?”
“Yep. Well, unless you count the bar of chocolate I had at four-thirty.”
Anna shakes her head. “That’s not right. You should complain to your supervisor. They should hire someone to cover you. Or at least some admin staff. Take some of the paperwork off your shoulders. Doesn’t the law say that employers have to give you a break every four hours or something?”
“Probably. But you know what that place is like. Everything’s got to be done yesterday. And as for speaking to my boss, I’ve already tried. We all have. It’s just in one ear, and out the other with him. There’s nothing much I can do at the moment. I’ve just got to suck it up. But the worst thing about it is not taking Sammy to bed. Again. I mean, I can handle missing the odd meal and writing up endless reports. And I can even handle having a shitty boss. But not spending time with Sammy—it b****y kills me. It really does.”
“Yeah, I know. Must be horrible. Well, maybe you need to find another job then. Something with more sociable hours. Like a postman.”
I let out a small laugh and then shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I’m sure I’ll survive. It won’t be like this forever. And it is a great job. It’s just hard sometimes. Like most jobs.”
“Well, it’s not right.” Anna opens the fridge and pulls out a large container, and then places it on the kitchen worktop. “Still got some pasta left over. But I wouldn’t have this if I were you.”
“Why?” I ask, peering down at the chicken, pasta and pesto. “Looks good. What’s wrong with it?”
“Well, I had some earlier and now my stomach doesn’t feel right. I think I may have undercooked the chicken. Better not risk it. I’ll make you something else. Maybe a jacket potato.”
“Did Sammy have any?”
“No, luckily. I made him a cheese omelette.”
I smile and then shake my head playfully. “What’s the point of watching all those b****y cooking shows if you can’t even cook a chicken?”
“Very funny,” she sarcastically replies. “Just get yourself a shower and scrub that stink off you. Otherwise, there’ll definitely be no action for you tonight.”
I smile. “Action. Well maybe I don’t want s*x, anyway.”
“Yeah, right,” Anna says under her breath.
But oddly enough, and probably for the first time in years, I don’t care either way. I feel completely shattered—from my throbbing head, down to my blistered feet. But I’m not exactly going to turn down s*x.
Seize every opportunity. That’s what Granddad used to say.
I’m lying in bed, texting Wayne about the transport arrangements for the airport. I was put in charge of the minibus. Me. Of all people. The same person who forgot to book the honeymoon suite for my own wedding. The guy who didn’t fill up the tank to drive his wife to hospital to give birth.
More fool them.
Anna is still in the bathroom—vomiting loudly. And she has been for at least twenty minutes. I try to block out the horrid retching noises by turning the TV up ever so slightly. Loud enough to block out the splashing sound of chunks hitting the bowl, but quiet enough not to wake up Sammy.
After a few minutes, I hear the noise of rushing water as Anna flushes the toilet. She then returns to the bedroom.
She looks terrible. Reddened eyes; sweat dripping down her forehead; her long brown hair stuck to the sides of her face; skin like The Incredible Hulk. She’s most certainly seen better days—which is a slight relief seeing as s*x is now completely off the table.
“b****y chicken,” she says, as she crawls into bed, sinking deep into the mattress and groaning. “Do you think you should sleep in the spare room tonight? Just in case? Don’t fancy spewing on you in my sleep.”
I shake my head. “Don't be silly. I’ll be fine.” I kiss the top of her head. “Just don't breathe on me when we’re having s*x tonight.”
“Very funny,” Anna groggily replies; too drained even to smile. “At least I haven’t got work tomorrow. And if I’m still rough maybe your mother can watch Sammy for a few hours.”
“Yeah. Just give her a ring. I’m not working ‘til one anyway.” I turn to face the other way to go to sleep. “Good night, babe. Just give me a shout if you need anything.”
“Okay, Hun. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
As I lie there, too exhausted even to sleep, all I can think about, all that races through my overworked mind is: Please don't be pregnant. Please don't be pregnant. Please don’t be pregnant…
- Writer
