Free Half Plus Seven by Dan Tyte Page B

the best thing he could have done for them anyway.’
    â€˜I don’t quite follow, Carol.’
    â€˜Oh, sorry, Pete. Christy came through the Positive Pathways scheme. You know the one that places young people from underprivileged backgrounds into the workplace.’
    â€˜I see,’ said Pete. ‘Sounds like you really bonded.’
    â€˜Well…’ said Carol.
    â€˜Well what?’ said Pete.
    â€˜You could say that,’ said Carol. ‘Or you could say I accidently stumbled across her file when looking for something for Miles. I couldn’t help but read it.’
    â€˜Carol, what are you like?’ said Pete.
    They laughed.
    â€˜Show us your minge! SHOW US YOUR MINGE!’
    Carol shrieked. Pete defensively stood in front of her. One of the tramps had lost the plot again. Spider was no good around women. Part of the reason he was out here. He rubbed his legs and salivated at the short, unattractive middle-aged woman in front of him.
    â€˜How dare you?’ said Pete, and they scurried away through the revolving glass doors of the office.
    I really did need to watch the company I kept.
    I’d always go back to the office. Someone had to pay for my booze so it might as well be PRWire. Com’s 4 th Best Agency of 2013. I felt a bit like the tramps’ envoy on the other side. The UN ambassador of an embittered tin-pot nation, stating their shaky case to the suits, squares and continent. This afternoon in the office had the potential to be massively awkward and embarrassing. No, I hadn’t left my fly undone and asked if anyone was thirsty again. It was the first of my buddy sessions with Christy. Christ alive. Daytime drinking usually sharpened me up, or at least levelled me out, but with the ACME anvil of this afternoon’s session hanging over me I felt nervous, edgy and ill at ease. Maybe this was nothing to do with the booze. Maybe these were real life feelings. Imagine that. Time had conditioned me so the only emotions experienced during office hours were apathy or hatred. This was new. I felt like I was preparing for the most disappointing first date ever, one where the off-chance of oral sex had already been ruled out before I’d even washed my knob in the sink and rushed out of the door.
    â€˜So, erm, these things are meant to be so as you can ask, erm, where the washrooms are, and, erm, when the weekly fire alarm goes off, who the biggest douche in the office is and if you’re ever going to enjoy working here,’ I said.
    â€˜Great. They’re down the corridor, second on the left,
2 p.m. on a Wednesday, Miles has taken an early lead and the jury’s still out,’ she replied.
    We were sat facing each other in something that looked like the interrogation room for the Nuremberg Trials, if a daytime cable TV interior design celebrity had been in charge of soft furnishings. Try as it might, the ambience was still more Hermann Göring than Gentle Lavender.
    She looked at me, deadpan, for what seemed like an eternity. I looked straight back. She laughed. I followed. The reciprocation rule.
    â€˜So, how are you finding it?’ I asked.
    â€˜Well, you know, okay. Really, umm, quite okay,’ she answered.
    â€˜I did know.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Oh, nothing… anyway, so do you have any questions or anything? I think this is what these things are meant to be about.’
    â€˜Well, not really, Bill. Pete’s orientation didn’t leave a stone unturned, and I’ve managed to find the bathroom all by myself.’
    â€˜Yes, Pete isn’t allowed near the Ladies after the incident…’
    â€˜What incident?’
    Should I wink? Should I wink? I fucking winked.
    â€˜Have you got something in your eye?’ she said.
    Oh dear. Oh shit.
    â€˜No, I was trying to denote there was no incident. It was an attempt at a joke,’ I said.
    â€˜Ah, of course, there would be no incident with Pete and the