by Michelle Day
“Paul, I thought you were a one woman man and that you were in love with Carmen?” Monica stepped into the conversation.
“I do love Carmen; I’m having a hard time with the one woman bit.” He sighed “I’ve been with Suzanne this week as well as whomever that was at the club.”
“You old dog.” Matt chuckled.
“I suppose I’m hoping in vain that you were safe?” Monica asked.
“I know I was last night if only for the fact that I was still wearing my protection this morning.” He cringed.
“Oh, that right there is just plain wrong” Matt shuddered “Ergh.”
Monica suppressed a smile at the horrified expressions both of the boys wore “Don’t you think you would be better off with Suzanne, she is at least more your age.”
“She won’t have me, she says I’m not ready to be with her on a permanent basis yet and she’s right but I can’t get enough of her.”
“And where does Carmen figure in all this, remember her, the one carrying your baby?” she prodded.
“I love Carmen, I really do but I’m in love with Suzanne, it’s hard to explain.” He shrugged.
“Try.” Monica put her hands on her hips.
“Well,” he paused, searching for words, running his fingers through his hair “If I were an artist I would say she’s my muse, the one I want to capture, she’s my soul mate, I can tell her anything and everything and none of it phases her, she’s the only one besides you who truly knows me.”
“And the girl or girls last night?”
“Drunken fumbles.” He admitted “Something which I hope won’t be repeated but who knows?”
Later that evening, after a lengthy phone call to Carmen which revealed that not only was she experiencing increasingly regular Braxton Hicks contractions but also that her house had finally been sold and she was actively looking for somewhere to live.
Paul silently thanked his Uncle for purchasing the house while he made plans to step up his work load and make a lot of money in as short a space of time as possible.
He began to rise earlier in the mornings and was already well into the day’s work when his staff arrived on site and on the days where he had to work for his Father, he would put in a few hours gardening work before going to the office, often working by the light of the spotlights he had hired to extend the winter working day and washing and changing into his suit in the men’s bathroom’s at Jensen Incorporated only to return to site when the office closed and put in a few more hours before going home.
His commitment to his job and staff had the desired effect of making them work harder and he encouraged them to make decisions and take responsibility for their own sections of the job. It gave him immense pleasure to tell them that they were ahead of schedule and the Council were prepared to pay a sizable bonus amount if they managed to complete the job one month earlier than planned.
He kept up his routine for six weeks before it began to take its toll. Working six days a week, partying Friday and Saturday nights and spending most of his Sunday’s working out in the gym left him permanently tired. Each day he found it harder to wake up and staying awake during office hours was a mammoth task even though he now found the work interesting thanks to Alan Satchell but as Monica kept telling him, something had to give, she expressed her concerns for his health on a daily basis but he would simply smile and tell her he was fine.
Returning home from the gym the following Sunday, Monica found her son in the kitchen at his favourite stool by the breakfast bar. He had made himself something to eat and was glancing through his staff rotas while chasing the food around his plate with his fork, he greeted her with a weary smile and she watched him as she peeled potatoes. Paul began to sway in his seat, almost asleep over his plate of food. Monica removed the plate from him, closed his diary and ignored his protests as she told him he had done enough for the time being and he should go and take a nap.
Within the hour, the phone rang, Monica answered and listened to the woman on the other end speak, hanging up, she climbed the stairs, entered her son’s darkened room and crossed to the bed shaking Paul’s shoulder and saying his name, he didn’t stir on any of the four occasions in which she tried to wake him and, taking note of the dark circles under his eyes and the way his deep breathing didn’t alter, she knew further attempts at waking him would be futile, he was utterly exhausted and in a dead sleep, she returned downstairs, leaving her son to his dreams.
End