Not Having It All by Jennie Ensor

Author:Jennie Ensor [Ensor, Jennie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bombshell Books: an imprint of Bloodhound Books
Published: 2019-05-27T16:00:00+00:00

10 August, Friday, 8pm,

sipping a remedial glass of South West Trains’ Chablis

My final illicit transactions were going well until interrupted by the untimely arrival of Mr Smarmy Pants during the penultimate customer payment, to the recently diagnosed MS sufferer Mrs Paterson. (In May, I deemed Mrs Paterson’s Critical Illness Cover that she’d contributed to for seventeen years to be invalid, since she hadn’t disclosed a recurring headache, toothache and various other ailments prior to taking out the policy – a decision that has nagged at me ever since.)

There I was, furtively huddled in front of my computer screen, debiting £84,311.50 from the No. 2 Settlement Account. I was about to transfer the same amount into Mrs Paterson’s account when the telltale scent of my junior colleague’s Brut assailed me. Assuming a nonchalant expression, I quickly restored the BBC’s weekend weather forecast.

‘Still hard at it, old chap?’ In his habitual less-than-friendly tone, compounded by a lopsided sneer.

I sigh emphatically. ‘Oh, you know how it is. Too much work, too little time. I’ve got a couple of outstanding cases to look at, they won’t take much longer. What are you doing here? I thought you’d be on your third or fourth pint by now.’

‘Just came back to pick up my overnight bag.’ He unlocks the lower drawer of his desk. ‘Didn’t want to take it to the pub with me in case it got nicked.’

‘Enjoy your weekend, Mark.’ I will him a speedy exit into a waiting lift.

Instead, Mr Smarmy Pants positions his slim torso and David Beckham stubble beside me and scrutinises my screen. ‘Sunny intervals, highs of twenty-five. Not a great weekend for repairing hi-fis, Col.’

I give him my most derisive look. Why won’t the little shit get a move on?

He beams me his smarmiest smile. ‘Hey, don’t let me interrupt your important work. See you Monday, have a good one!’

‘Have a shit one,’ I mouth at his back.

Churlish of me, yes. But my colleague would go crawling to our bosses quicker than he’d accept another pint of London Pride at The Butcher’s Hook.

After several wild flutterings in the region of my heart that I put down to delayed shock, I decide to complete the last payment of my Robin Hood scheme (to the thirteenth customer on my list) after a suitable length of time has elapsed. Two or three weeks should be enough to put Mr Smarmy Pants off the scent. Four, even, in the interests of my heart. I print out the evening’s transactions, delete the confirmation file and perform the obfuscating transactions. Then I switch off my machine and rush to the lav, only to be confronted by Mr Guy Relish, mid-flow. I back out before he spots me.

Woking coming up, and a weekend of Sky Sports, renovating the hi-fi and (please, God) another meeting with the gorgeous Madeleine.

To be continued in my next instalment, all going well.

Fondest Wishes,

Colin

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