by J P Sayle
Puffing out his cheeks to prevent the tears building at the back of his throat, he let himself be diverted by the sounds of the sirens drowning out the loud chatter.
Aaden moved slightly against the cold brick building so he could see what was happening when activity and noise levels increased. Staying out of sight, he waited until they confirmed Joel’s death.
Only then did he head towards the rolling hills behind the building that led home. Keeping low, he hunched his massive shoulders into his dark jacket. He moved quickly. He crossed over the small slip road and headed back the way they’d come in the car. This time, he walked on the grassy banks and rocky ground, taking a more direct route.
The purple and green hillside gave him something, other than his growing aches and pains, to focus on. His foot throbbed like a fucker, along with his knee, but the need to put as much distance between him and Joel’s death had him speeding up.
He figured if the pain got too bad he could ring Joe for a lift back. He cast the idea away as soon as it formed as the idyllic quiet of his surroundings soothed his battered soul.
As he removed his jacket, he felt the warmth of the winter sun penetrate through his black cashmere jumper, soaking into his weary body. His taut muscles released the tension that had been his constant friend since last night.
The light breeze dried his sweaty skin as it warmed. The quiet comfort of being outside in the country finally soothed the hard edges he’d held in what felt like forever.
Aaden hummed softly to himself, letting his mind meander.
The connection he had felt to the island when he first arrived seemed stronger now that he was outside. He inhaled the clean air. The freshness reminded him of the moors he explored with his brother. The untainted air here made him homesick.
Stopping midway past the second cattle grid, he sighed in contentment at the view before him. He glanced towards Douglas through the dip in the valley. If memory served him correctly, below him was Baldwin. The large reservoir stretched out across the valley floor before the vista ended on the sparkling sea on the horizon. The casting sunlight created glittering patterns on the swaying sea, the movement hypnotic as the light danced over it.
The overriding urge to just stay put and hide away from the world and the questions bound for him had his contentment wane. The wave of loneliness that followed left him struggling to see the beauty he’d felt moments ago.
Aaden hugged his arms around himself. He winced at his throbbing ribs. Ribs that decided to remind him there was no escape from the violence, even in his dreams.
He gave a mournful sigh. His broad shoulders drooped as he strode towards Kirk Michael. And what he knew would be some hard questions he wasn’t sure he was ready to face, ask or answer.
Greg rushed through the office door, pointedly ignoring the stares from his colleagues that said he was late. Skipping to his desk, he tucked his messenger bag next to his chair. Taking in his organised desk, he gave a happy sigh for his own anal organisational skills. The files he’d left on Friday ready for this morning sat in a neat pile waiting for him and Stuart to sort through.
He glanced at Stuart’s empty office and chewed his lip. A small sob escaped before he could stop it. Wiping at the stray tear at the corner of his eye, Greg quickly busied himself shuffling papers.
He cursed his own temper. If he hadn’t been so mad at Joe, he would have remembered to ask for his number so he could find out how Stuart was getting on at the hospital.
Just Stuart, he assured himself, and no other person that may look like the Hulk. Greg reassured himself half-heartedly. Nope, I’m not thinking about anyone else.
Unclenching his fisted hands, he smoothed out the crushed file. Greg rolled his eyes at the crumpled papers and forced his mind back to the dilemma at hand. Stuart wasn’t going to be fit for work. For God knows how long, and Martin wasn’t due back for more than a week.
What the hell am I going to do now?
His office manager’s job was relatively new, and he supposed he’d been doing a good job? But the very idea of taking full charge of everything, now that was a completely different kettle of fish. This morning’s fiasco now seemed secondary to the notion of taking charge. Greg’s breakfast cereal crested the waves in his stomach, deciding whether it wanted to stay put or rejoin the land of the living at the very idea of being the boss. He was convinced his new-found confidence at getting the job was now running away screaming with him right behind it.
Greg shook himself, giving himself a little pep talk.
You need to man the fuck up and take charge.
You can do this.
Please let me be able to do this and not look like a total knob.
He squinted sideways at Louise across the room. Her blonde head was lowered as she typed away at her computer.
There was no love lost between them, especially when she’d done her best to undermine him, wanting the office manager’s job. Louise had been his biggest competition for the role of office manager when Emma had been sacked. The fact she and Emma had been friends was irrelevant when the job became available because she’d always wanted it.
When he’d stepped into the breach after Brad, Martin’s partner, had been attacked by his own father, resulting in Brad’s admission into hospital to Intensive Care, Stuart had sung his praises to Martin, which, it seemed, had helped him obtain the promotion.
Greg shivered at the memories of what he’d read in the papers about Brad. His fingers trembled as they tapped on his tidy desk.
Was the office jinxed?
First Martin’s partner Brad getting beat up and now Stuart.
Who would be next?
“Greg, earth to Greg, anyone home in there?”
He hadn’t realised Louise had left her desk, until he felt a hard tap on the top of his head. Wincing, he rubbed at the tender spot and glared at Louise’s smug face.
Her berating squawk continued.
“First you’re late, and then all you’re doing is sitting daydreaming. You better hope Stuart doesn’t catch you.”
His teeth gritted together. The implied threat in her words had him snapping back. “I’m in charge today and will be until Martin returns. Stuart is… indisposed… for the foreseeable future. So, I wouldn’t bother tittle-tattling. Oh, that’s right.” He gave her a smug smirk. “You go right ahead and tittle-tattle, but that would be to me. So, go on.” He was pleased when he sounded confident, even if his insides were jumping around like angry kittens stuck in a box, clawing to get free.
Not liking how she stood over him or the sour expression that would have turned milk, Greg got up. He made extra sure not to break eye contact while forcing himself to stand tall.
“I will be calling a meeting in a few minutes to discuss the workload and share out Stuart’s current projects. That means you will be answering to me for anything that is not completed on time.” The warning was clear, and he didn’t miss the sly look that slivered in her pale watery blue eyes.
He purposefully put his hands in his pocket so she couldn’t see them tremble.
“Well, well, it didn’t take you long to start flexing those puny muscles of yours, did it? But unless I get it in writing that you’re in charge, I won’t be answering to you. Not now. Not ever.”
Greg mentally slapped his forehead several times to stop himself from interrupting her snotty rant.
“Nope, it won’t be happening, matey boy, and as neither Stuart nor Martin is here, I’ll be answering to, yes, you guessed it, no one.” The implied “fuck you” in her voice wasn’t hard to miss as she flounced off with her nose up in the air.
Snotty cow.
Greg pursed his lips, keeping his thoughts to himself. He observed her stalking away. Long, loose blonde curls bounced with every step as she walked into the small kitchen at the back of the large office. The black roll-neck jumper and matching skirt hugged her far too tightly, showing off roll upon roll of fat. Greg was mesmerised by her jiggling meaty hips that,
to his mind, resembled two pigs fighting under a blanket.
Did she really think that wearing all black could hide her awful body shape? She’s in serious need of a makeover or the gym or maybe just eating less.
The taste of metal flooded his mouth. He coughed. His gag reflex worked overtime, making him release his tongue from between his sharp teeth. He swallowed, just about stopping the childish urge to poke his tongue at her back. He supposed he deserved a throbbing tongue for his catty thoughts.
He sighed, inhaled, and brought his attention back to the work at hand. He picked up the work files and went into the boardroom, concentrating on the pre-made plans from Friday.
Stepping up to the windows and the closed burgundy blinds, Greg opened them, letting in the grey morning light. The sense of pride he felt being in the austere setting made him always think of Alan Sugar and The Apprentice. The urge that sat on the tip of his tongue to say “Louise, you’re fired” might get him into trouble.
He chuckled at his own silly thoughts as his gaze swept over the room, checking it was ready for the meeting he was going to call. The white walls were nothing special until you noticed the strategically placed photos adding splashes of colour and depth to the otherwise plain room. The large, dark wood boardroom table filled the space and was surrounded by twenty-four burgundy leather seats. The aroma of leather and lemon furniture polish was ever-present, even when the room was filled with people. The scent lingered under the competing aftershaves and perfumes.
His mind went straight to a certain spicy scent from this morning. A scent he’d not initially noticed until he was in the car. And though there were other odours coming off his clothes, it hadn’t taken long to latch onto a distinctly masculine, spicy musk on the front of his top that hadn’t been there when he’d left home. He could only assume it had transferred to him from lying on the Hulk, Aaden.
He wasn’t going to think about how he had carefully put the top to one side and not in the washing basket when he’d removed it. Not going there.
Clutching the back of his neck, he massaged the taut muscles. The sounds of morning traffic on Athol Street barely registered as he valiantly attempted to push one man out and concentrate on another; Stuart. He prayed he was going to be okay.
He moved on automatic pilot, spreading the files around the table. He assured himself he’d have enough time to worry about what had transpired this morning, when he didn’t have so many other concerns. Or answering the inevitable questions the staff were going to ask about Stuart.
He still hadn’t quite figured out what to say. He wasn’t sure if the attack on Stuart would be reported on Manx radio, which played continuously in the office.
Blowing the fringe out of his eyes, he straightened his powder-blue suit jacket. He gathered his courage, knowing he couldn’t put it off any longer. He poked his head out of the boardroom. Checking no one was on the phone first, Greg raised his voice over the morning buzz.
“Please can I have everyone’s attention?”
Greg’s neck became a furnace when all eyes turned to stare at him. He cursed under his breath when the heat spread under his pale skin into his face. He plastered on what he hoped was a confident smile he definitely didn’t feel. He addressed the room.
“Could you all please come into the boardroom? I have several things that need to be discussed as a matter of urgency.” He noticed a couple of scowls, but it was Louise that drew his attention as she purposefully carried on with her work, blatantly ignoring his request.
He moved swiftly across the office when several others faltered in getting up. That would never do.
He could feel the air spark with the gravity of the situation, but he didn’t look at anyone else when he felt everyone pause. He could all but feel everyone’s excitement press against his skin at the prospect of work drama. Stealing himself, he took a deep breath and tried to calm his bounding pulse.
“Louise, please can you stop what you’re doing and come to the boardroom?” Though he’d phrased it as a question, he made his meaning clear. Move your arse or else.
Holding his breath, he waited to see what she would do.
She swivelled on her seat, facing not only him but the whole room as she leant her heaving, ample chest towards him. Her angry eyes gleamed with malice as they latched onto him like a cat would a mouse.
“I think you’re misunderstanding your job role, Greg. You are the office manager, not my manager. In case you misunderstood me earlier, until Stuart or Martin tell me otherwise, I won’t be taking orders from a jumped-up whippersnapper like you.”
Her overtly aggressive, shouty voice had his anger rise after everything he’d been through in the last few hours. This was the final straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.
He leant closer and pushed his face towards Louise, instantly regretting it. Her halitosis forced him to breathe through his mouth when he refused to back down. He forced a low growl through his gritted teeth. “I am not asking you. I am telling you to get in the boardroom for this meeting. If you feel the need not to attend, then I would suggest you collect your belongings and head on down to the dole office to find a new job. The choice is yours.”
Greg didn’t give her a chance to reply as he stomped away. His jaw thrust forward as he kept going, not looking back. He was pleased with himself for not shouting. He registered every eye in the place turned away as they scuttled to grab what they needed before going to the boardroom. The inane urge to dust his hands together had his hands twitching at his sides as he went to the kitchen.
Grabbing a glass with unsteady hands, he turned on the cold water tap and filled the glass. As he swigged it back, the icy cold hit his tonsils and relieved the dryness in his mouth. His tongue did a happy dance, ungluing itself from the roof of his mouth.
He hated confrontation and would normally avoid it like the plague, but Stuart had entrusted him with this position. And he owed it to him to do the right thing, regardless of how it made him feel.
Greg rested his head against the cold laminated cupboard door. The cool surface helped to calm his overheated skin. Greg took several long inhales, gathering himself.
“Come on, pull yourself together. You got this.”
He prayed he did as he paused in the kitchen doorway. His cheeks hurt when the smile grew at the small thrill of victory when he found the main office empty.
Greg pushed open the boardroom door, feeling a little conspicuous at the sudden deafening silence. His anxiety ratcheted up another notch, causing the tension he thought had gone to mock him. Stiffness in his shoulders had him resembling R2D2 as he walked to the head of the table before sitting. His legs jerked and twitched under the table when all eyes turned to him.
He sat purposefully in the middle seat trying to show his authority. Now he wasn’t so sure. He hid his hands under the table.
He looked at Louise first, and her nasty sneer did nothing to allay his fears, but he forced himself to make eye contact with everyone individually before speaking.
“Right, let’s get started.”
Giving a quick synopsis of the work that required submission to the FSA that week, he then started on the training brief. His confidence sored now that he was in familiar territory.
“There is new legislation coming into effect in July 2018 around data storage, and you all need to attend the training to know what’s expected.” Greg went on discussing the sessions, documenting who would attend which one before finally finding the courage to mention Stuart.
“As you can see, Stuart is not here today, and I’m sorry to say, won’t be for several weeks. He has had a little accident, so won’t be fit to attend work for a few weeks.”
Greg paused at the tittering laughter that came from several people around the table.
“Yes, yes, settle down. It would seem Stuart is a little accident-prone.” Greg added a forced laugh. With everyone assuming it was the same as before when Stuart fell at Go Ape and had injured his leg, he breathed a s
igh of relief. He was happy to move on when no one asked any hard questions. He finished off the meeting, doling out the workload.
Dismissing everyone, he headed back to his own desk and dove straight in. He needed something to distract him from the lack of call from Joe. He pointedly avoided looking at the clock.
The chiming of his phone had him pause, and he saved the figures he’d been working on. He searched through his suit jacket pocket. He hoped it was an update on Stuart, and maybe someone else, but he felt a crushing disappointment.
Greg sagged against the chair when he saw the message was from Vic. His leg bounced in agitation as he opened the message and recalled his earlier anger at Vic.
Hey, wtf happened to you this morning? I was hoping for a quickie!
Greg barrelled out of his chair, gripping his phone. The desire to throw it at the wall made his fingers ache.
How fucking dare he! Really, is that how you talk to your boyfriend?
His smarting emotions failed to see why he was putting up with the crap. The nagging voice from this morning returned. The shouty voice told him in no uncertain terms, go, find some privacy and ring the dickwad. And make sure to tell him exactly where to get off.
Dark, fathomless eyes and an incredible hulk body have nothing to do with it at all. No, definitely not.
Shaking of that thought, instead, he used his driving conviction to motivate him across the room.
Nodding at no one in particular, he glanced at his wrist, checking the time, and went directly to Paul who was situated next to the large bay window that overlooked the street. Greg found himself preoccupied by the amount of racket filtering through the large, single-glazed windows.
How the hell could anyone get any work done with the amount of noise was beyond him.
Feeling the weight of responsibility, he relayed his plans before leaving.
As he stepped out onto Athol Street, he dodged the early lunch crowd that were scurrying along in the hopes of not getting caught in a downpour the darkening clouds threatened. Greg gripped the jacket lapels closer. His powder-blue suit jacket and thin, white shirt scarcely kept the winter chill away from his skin. He wished he’d taken time to grab his Kenneth Cole black wool winter coat. Heaving a put-upon sigh, he headed towards Prospect Hill and the traffic lights. He knew that if he went back for his coat, he would chicken out of the visit to Vic.