Free Killing the Beasts by Chris Simms Page A

behind him eight hours later, he flung the keys to his Audi TT on the hallway table. 'Honey, I'm home,' he called out in a fake American accent, placing his briefcase on the oak plank floor and shrugging off his Paul Smith suit jacket.
    'In here,' called a voice off to his side. Passing the doorways leading into the living room and dining room, he paused to glance in the mirror on the wall at the end of the corridor. Then he stepped into the kitchen, poured a glass of red wine from a newly opened bottle and sauntered back into the front room. His wife was sitting on the leather sofa, long legs curled up under her and strands of blonde hair swirling over the cushions behind her head. Spread out on the coffee table before her was a mess of holiday brochures: Greek Villas, Tapestry Travel, Ionian Idylls. None looked remotely mass market.
    Slumping down next to her, Tom cocked his head to the side. 'Snaff, snaff, snaff, what have we here then?' he announced in a creaky voice, but their age difference meant his Professor Yaffle impersonation was lost on her.
    She folded open the brochure across her lap and looked at him with heavily lidded eyes. 'Darling, it's got to be Greece; look at these properties. Private beaches, their own olive groves, pools. This one even has a rooftop garden and barbecue area.'
    Tom smiled, wondering how to start telling Charlotte about his day. After the conversation with the director in London, Tom had logged on to the Cornwall tourism web site, clicking through the 'businesses for sale' section. The small cafe on Harbour Road overlooking Towan Beach was still for sale. It was going for a London price, but then so would his house in Didsbury if he sold it.
    Tom knew he was at a crossroads in his life: either pack in his job now and avoid the stress of the coming months, or see it through until after the Games and reap the financial rewards. The part of him that always sought compromise was already urging him to put off the move to Cornwall for a while longer. The only question nagging at the back of his mind was whether he could cope with all the added responsibility of taking over Ian's job.
    'So, you like the idea of your own private beach, then?' he asked, the Cornish coastline in his mind's eye.
    Charlotte smiled at him. 'Well, it would beat the sunbeds at the gym.'
    Tom took a breath. 'Ian's left. Buggered off to our biggest competitor. Really left us in the shit. I got a call from one of the directors down at the London office.'
    Charlotte raised herself up, turning to face her husband, her mind working through the implications. 'And?'
    'Well,' said Tom, feeling like he was blundering into a pool of quicksand. 'They were sounding me out about taking over. But,' he carried on swiftly, before she could interrupt again,' it's going to be mayhem in there over the next few weeks.' Voice trailing off weakly, already knowing how things would turn out.
    Sure enough, Charlotte leaned towards him and took his hand in both of hers. 'They've offered you Ian's job?' she said slowly.
    'Yes.'
    She screeched with delight and flung herself on to him. The wine in his hand came dangerously close to sloshing over the carpet and he had to lean forward to quickly place it on the table.
    'Oh Tom, Tom, Tom. I'm so proud of you,' she said, face pressed against his chest. Slowly he was forced backwards by her weight until he was lying diagonally across the sofa.
    The decision had been made. Tom told himself that, as long as he packed the job in once the Games were over, he could get through it.
    Having pinned him beneath her, Charlotte raised her chin, wisps of fine hair hanging over her face, a wild and mischievous look in her eyes. 'They'll have to up your pay bigtime,' she said, grinning.
    Tom nodded, thinking of the work and pressure.
    'And didn't Ian drive a bright yellow Porsche Boxter?'
    He nodded again, knowing everything would be resting on his shoulders.
    A strangled 'Yes!' escaped her lips and she banged her