The rest of Monday was no less disastrous. Seguing smoothly into warts and all mode, I must confess I mooched about a bit, unable to settle. If I'd had a cat I'd have kicked it (not really, I hasten to add!). Eventually, snarling under my breath, I went to the Co-op and bought not one, not two but three bottles of Burgundy. I'd almost finished the first bottle when I received Dave's text.
I'M HERE. NOW 4 IT!
WISH ME LUCK AND
X YR FINGERS.
Flicking through TV channel after channel, finding little to tickle my interest, I half-heartedly plumped for Monsters Inc. And was unexpectedly captivated. Trust me, I don't usually have time of day for computer-generated films. Usually, as far as I am concerned, real-life is okay but cartoons are best. Disney (think Jungle Book), Top Cat and Tom and Jerry (especially the older, more violent ones). And Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies, of course. I'm Yorkshire born and bred, but I know class when I see it.
Monsters Inc. was class. Maybe that second bottle of red helped, but I loved it. I was even thinking words like "pathos" and "sympathy".
Dave rang when I was into the third and final bottle. 'Sorted,' she said gleefully. 'Well, cobbled together, anyway. The tills work and so do the telephones. That'll get us through the grand opening.'
'Brilliant,' I slurred. 'Will you be home tonight?'
'No. It's after eight and I have lots of fine-tuning to do. One of our techs effect up with credit card payments once in a situation like this. He left it so everything looked like payment had been made . . . except it hadn't. Cost the company thousands, that did. No way am I making the same mistake.'
'So you'll be back tomorrow?'
'I dunno. I've tests and all sorts to make. And I can't do them until the branch has closed. It's looking like two night's in a Travelodge for me.'
I wished her goodnight (I think), then abandoned my latest large vino and hit the sack.
Two minutes later, or so it seemed, my alarm roused me. I'm lucky with hangovers (rarely getting one) but do admit to a certain fragility that Tuesday morning. Refreshed by a cold, not-quite-icy shower, I was in the office early as always.
For anyone who has forgotten, I work in Credit Control for a nationwide company. Put simply, we make and sell gizmos into the construction sector. And, constructors being constructors, lines of credit are a must. My job was to keep the valued customers as near as possible to terms without rocking too many boats.
A fine balancing act? Put it this way, I know exactly how Karl Wallenda must have felt on his high-wire.
The morning got off to an inauspicious start when Chris arrived. Chris is about my age and has made no secret of the fact he fancies me. Mildly attracted myself, I'd put him in a slot marked "Maybe Next Christmas". Then I'd met Dave and shifted him to "Maybe the Twelfth of Never".
'Have a good time in the Lakes?' he said in greeting, grinning.
Slightly taken aback, I scowled. Scowling is, I've always believed, a great default mode, much more gracious than gasping or gaping.
'The Kirkstone Pass,' he persisted. 'I was on my way to Ullswater.'
'What a small world,' I managed, mentally damning the internal combustion engine.
'I didn't expect to see you there,' he continued. 'Especially not with her from IT. I'd have stopped and bought you both a drink, but the carpark was full.'
