Free All That Mullarkey by Sue Moorcroft Page B

Lillian’s section black desktops and red trays. The section members got mid-backed chairs; section leaders high-backed chairs with arms. And larger computer monitors. The trappings of success.
    Lillian filled her corner with a huge, frothing asparagus fern. Gav had a wooden tidy with little compartments for paper clips and staples.
    Gav was on time; Lillian looked as if she’d been at her desk for hours. He nodded as he passed on to his own section of twelve women and four men, all with groovy names like Daryl, Rowan and Erin, scrolling through their call lists and unwinding headsets.
    It took three passwords – the company’s, his section’s and his own – before he could access his emails. Last week’s figures waited at the top of his inbox and he scrolled through them. They were OK. Next section meeting he’d tell his team that OK was not OK. Outstanding was OK. And the first person to make excuses about the credit crunch would be put on a warning.
    Lillian swayed up to his desk, tight little arse in her tight little skirt close to his arm, perfume cooking nicely on her pulse spot. ‘How’s your father?’
    He thought about saying, ‘Nice offer, but do you think howsyerfather is appropriate to the office?’ But he was always a model of office courtesy. ‘On the mend, but he’s got to be careful for a while. Thanks.’
    She nodded and began to wiggle away.
    And then it just came out without warning, bleh, his voice working independently. ‘I need to speak to you.’
    Her finely marked eyebrows lifted slightly over cool grey eyes. A fall of hair slid slowly, silkily from behind her ear, a curtain across her cheekbone.
    ‘Later,’ he added.
    She nodded and swayed back to her seat. Gav made himself not watch. Wished he could take back his words. The less he had to do with Lillian, the better.
    Definitely. Less, the better. He checked his BlackBerry for the time of his meeting with his line manager, Bob Chester, then set an alert to phone his mother later to see if his dad was home safely.
    Hopefully, by the time Gav and Cleo paid a follow-up visit Dad would’ve got his stuffing back after the brutal conflict with his own body, and begun to care again whether his hair stood on end or his face was unwashed and unshaven. For now, Gav could forget the desperate prospect of his father’s death.
    During the whole panic, Cleo had been great. Unflappable, helpful, thoughtful, seeing what had to be done and doing it. A better wife than he currently deserved.
    Cleo. He conjured up an image of his wife. Things weren’t warm between them. Not since ... He tried to push the memory away but it came sneaking back. Maybe on Saturday they could go shopping for new wallpaper and, without the stripped patch above the bed reminding them both of the stupid words he’d scrawled there, they could forget the amazing rage that had frightened even him.
    He tried to recall Cleo’s schedule. He thought she was taking a training day somewhere. He’d text her and she could read the message at her next break.
    He began a new text message. Inviting others 4 meal 2nite will cook spag bol love G .
    Then there was just time to visit the Gents before presenting himself in Bob’s office.
    An hour later, when he emerged, Lillian was loitering in the corridor reading a noticeboard. He jumped.
    She smiled slightly. ‘Well? What?’
    He screwed up his face and rubbed his forehead. ‘What was it, now?’ A short, embarrassed laugh. ‘It’s gone. Completely slipped my mind. Sorry.’
    He didn’t want to talk to her after all.
    Gav’s text message made Cleo sigh. ‘Now, do I really feel like an evening passing the wine, listening to everyone complain about their kids and about each other? No, I don’t, actually.’ Gav was a pain, not bothering to consult her before he invited guests. What if she’d wanted a quiet night in or a loud night out? Maybe she should go out with Liza and send Gav a little message about that? Sorry. Made other