“Which one? The Wetherspoons?”
“Yep.”
Sue heard footsteps coming from the back of the office, and her muscles clenched. Martin.
“Don’t panic, Mr Mannering!” Martin said with forced cheer in his voice. “Do you like that one, Sue? More your era that.”
Sue sat down in the chair next to Penny. “That’s right. Only I didn’t have hag feet back then.” She turned her back on him.
The office door clunked as Krish came in. “Fucking carpark’s flooded.” He was soaked. His dark hair plastered to his forehead, a watermark spreading up his trousers. Even his shoes squelched as he walked. “Most of the cars have drifted a few feet. There’s no way anyone’s getting their car out tonight.”
“It’s like the last flood,” Martin said. “Ten of us slept over.”
“I should call reception and IT,” Helen said. “They might not have noticed like us.”
“Reception’s closed,” Krish said.
“Oh,” Helen said. “Funny they didn’t call up.”
“The only person in was Ginny,” Sue said. “Carla phoned in sick. I bet Ginny just left and didn’t think to call us.”
“Right, well, I’ll call IT then,” Helen said. “Hopefully Kevin left before it got bad.”
“It’s not looking good, is it?” Krish said. “We’re going to have to stay here all night.” He sighed. “I’d best call home.”
20
6:14 p.m
Martin had spent at least an hour in the work toilets today and never wanted to see or smell them ever again. But he’d eaten half a packet of extra-strong mints and was beginning to feel a bit better. He wasn’t going to be eating anytime soon, but at least he didn’t feel as though he was going to hurl his guts up every time he walked out of his office.
He winced at his inbox. There were several requests for the exam timetable—the deadline had been five thirty—but the girls were still working on it. He hadn’t followed the explanation particularly well, something about system crashes and duplicates.
Just as his mouse cursor was hovering over the latest email, he noticed a new grey bar indicating a new email. This one was from [email protected]. Strange. Martin clicked it open.
You should see what your wife is up to.
There was an attachment.
He hesitated.
It could be a virus. He’d be in big trouble if anything happened to his work computer. But it didn’t feel like one of those emails. They almost always contained bad English and made out as though the attachment was something fun. This was too specific. They knew he was married at the very least.
He downloaded it.
His heart was a piston hammering against his ribs. That sweaty sensation he thought had passed started up again, making the back of his neck cold and damp. Their internet connection was terrible. Perhaps it was the rain.
His office door opened, and Helen strode in, her heels thumping along the carpet. “We’re done,” she said. “Thought I’d share the good news. Penny and Krish are checking things over, but the nightmare clash has finally been resolved. The students will probably play hell about taking an exam at five p.m., but fuck ’em. How are you feeling?”
“Much better, thanks,” he said, trying to smile.
“Good. I’ll be back once it’s finalised.”
“Great,” he said. He was nodding his head emphatically as she left.
As soon as the door closed, he clicked open the attachment. It was a zip folder, so he had to extract the files. His pulsed raced on. There was some sort of epiphany building in Martin’s chest. Things hadn’t been good between him and Ange for a while now. It started with bickering. Who changes the most nappies? Who takes the bin out? Who reads the most bedtime stories? The answer was always Ange. Of course it was. Saint Ange did it all and then complained he wasn’t pulling his weight. What about him going to work and bringing home the money? Sure, Ange had a part-time job, but she hardly earned anything. He was the one with that pressure on his shoulders.
Then Ange had taken up yoga. Every Monday and Thursday evening.
What if she wasn’t going to yoga at all? She certainly hadn’t toned anything.
He clicked open one of the images.
Part of him felt vindicated. He was right. He’d been right to suspect her. Now who was the fucking saint? Bitch.
Then he noticed who she was with. The man had brown skin, dark hair, slim-hipped but broad across the chest. He was about forty years old. He was kissing Ange full on the mouth. Martin opened another image. They were walking down the street, holding hands. In the next image they were hugging outside a restaurant.
Krish.
Krish was fucking his wife.
21
6:23 p.m
Krish was eating a chocolate bar he’d bought from the vending machine next to the reception desk. It was a Double Decker. The last one. When it got stuck on the metal spiral, he thought he might not get it at all, but a few decent shoves had dislodged it. He hadn’t bothered to ask anyone else if they wanted chocolate, but then no one had spoken for over an hour. He, Penny and Helen had spent that time deleting the duplicates Sue made while Sue read her Stephen King novel and ate a packet of crisps she’d produced from her desk drawer. He’d overheard Helen speaking softly to Sue, telling the older woman about how she’d find other work for Sue to do in order to “redirect her strengths elsewhere.” In other words, they were kicking Sue off the database. About time.
Krish was stuffing the last bite of the Double Decker into his open mouth when Martin came striding out of his office. The manager wasn’t pale and sweaty anymore. No, he was red-faced and wild-eyed. His tie was skewwhiff, his collar untucked at the back, jacket removed entirely. Brown brogues slapped against the floor. Krish jumped to his feet immediately, just in time to block the first punch.
“Martin.” His voice was muffled from chocolate still in his mouth. “I can—”
“My wife? How long has it been going on?”
Behind him, Krish heard a faint well I never from Sue. Penny had pushed her chair back and was staring at them open-mouthed. Helen strode over and inserted herself between Krish and Martin.
“What’s going on? Hey. Stop it. Stop it.” Helen opened her arms and placed her palms on both Krish’s and Martin’s chests. “What the hell happened?”
Martin took an uneasy step back and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His breathing was fast and laboured. “Krish is fucking my wife.”
Krish slumped down into his chair as Helen turned sharply towards him. He put his head in his hands to avoid her intense blue eyes. He heard another ruckus and the scuff of shoes against the carpet. When he raised his head, Helen was pushing Martin away. She was reminding him that he was a manager and he had to behave like one.
“Yeah. I’m also a husband. Fuck off, Helen. High-and-mighty bitch.”
“Hey,” Krish said. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
Martin came at him again, fists flying. Krish raised his arms to block the blows. It tipped his chair over, knocking into Sue from behind. He heard her cry out, but there was nothing he could do about it. The weight of Martin pressed down on him. His head caught a desk leg on the way down, and he ended up pulling a computer mouse down with him. A Biro skittered beneath the desk. Once Martin was on top of him, he managed to twist himself out of the chair and wriggle his way underneath Martin’s body until he was free. There was enough adrenaline coursing through him not to feel most of the bruises, but he knew some of those punches had landed on his jaw, chest and side. He staggered to his feet, winded and ashamed, certain that Sue was smiling. What was that little comment she’d made earlier? Had she known? Did Sue tell Martin?