Free Slow Burning Lies by Ray Kingfisher

that all that’s worrying you?’
    Christ, what did she want, the full repulsive details of what happened to Carrie Carlini? He could tell her more, he could tell her so much more.
    ‘Have you talked your problem over with your doctor?’
    ‘I didn’t want to.’
    ‘I suggest you tell that old male pride thing to take a walk and go see him. He might be able to prescribe something to help you sleep.’
    ‘I might just do that.’
    ‘And please, Patrick. Everybody’s got their issues. You need to know you can talk to me about yours at any time.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘I’d like you to keep me informed, Patrick. I need some indication if your situation deteriorates.’ Her eyebrows popped upwards. ‘We understand each other?’
    ‘Sure.’
    Beth turned to her PC and sighed out a ‘Right, then’, and Patrick stood up and left.
    As he walked back to his desk he considered his actions.
    Had he done the right thing in telling her? The more his thoughts played around in his mind, the more uncertain he became. Sure, there was that brief surge of relief that at least he’d told someone – even if it was his boss and he’d only told her the most basic element of his troubles. But there was always a danger of the information being used against him, either to simply embarrass him or for some more sinister purpose. And to make him feel worse she’d shown zero sympathy and more concern for his standard of work than his mental state.
    However, the fact remained he had at least told someone, and the sky hadn’t caved in on top of him. And that was progress. His shoulders felt just that little bit lighter, so much so that he decided to go out that evening rather than stay in his apartment turning his head inside out. After the grilling from Beth he’d had enough female company, so instead of one of his usual pick-up haunts he decided to visit a proper bar, with genuine barfly sorts, to get drunk and socialize rather than to add further complication to his life by getting involved with another girl.
    But amongst the uncertainties there was one thing Patrick was sure about after that day. He now understood pretty much what working for Beth was going to entail, and where her reputation came from.

14
    Patrick was on his fourth beer. He was surrounded by guys he occasionally met in the same bar but didn’t know well enough to call friends (and, in truth, didn’t want to). The conversation was of football and soccer, new movie releases, the trouble with women, and – so it felt to Patrick – the entire history of rock music.
    It was all light-hearted, easy going conversation, a balm to heal Patrick’s mental wounds. It was exactly what he wanted and felt comfortable with at this time.
    And it was in that ‘relaxed’ state that Patrick considered the nuclear option – telling his small crowd what he’d revealed to Beth. Telling her had done him the world of good – even if he hadn’t gone into the shameful detail. So perhaps if more people knew it would give him more peace of mind. He could steer the conversation round to it somehow:
    – Start with an ostentatious yawn.
    – Are we boring you, Patrick?
    – Hey, I’m sorry, not sleeping too well, lately.
    – Why’s that? Too much action of the horizontal variety last night?
    – No, actually I’ve been having these terrible nightmares.
    But it was much easier thought than said. In your mind’s eye people don’t laugh at your problems; in real life they often do. As Patrick dissolved into the background, the bartender poked fun at Tom the realtor yet again, this time for keeping his CD collection in alphabetical order:
    ‘I mean, what’s the goddam point? You only listen to the goddam things on your ipod and they’re in aphabeticalized order anyway once they’re on that goddam contraption.’
    ‘ “Alphabeticalized” ?’ Tom said. ‘I mean, is that even a word?’
    The bartender leaned an elbow languidly on the bar and stared straight at Patrick. ‘See what