GARY KEELE
‘All right, Tuggie,’ Keith Meade shouts across the carpark. The sun’s bright this morning. I have to cover my eyes with my hand to see him.
‘Morning, Keith. Good day for it?’
He looks up and around. ‘Just about perfect, I’d say,’ he says as he walks towards the office.
He’s right, it’s a perfect day for flying. It’s days like this that make me glad everything worked out the way it did between me and Sarah. If we were still together then I wouldn’t be here now. I’d still be living in our cramped terraced house in the middle of the city, spending long hours stuck in traffic and even longer hours stuck at the office. Most of the people I used to work with are probably still there, too scared to leave. And while they sit at their desks and follow orders and struggle to hit targe
