Straight to You Sample

  Straight to You

  by David Moody

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters and situations in this story are imaginary. No resemblance is intended between these characters and any real persons, either living or dead.

  Condition of Use

  This book is made available subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Copyright David Moody 2003

  First published electronically by David Moody in 2002

  www.djmoody.co.uk

  INFECTED BOOKS

  Prologue

  At a quarter past one on the morning of Tuesday, October the 2nd, our sun began to die. Like the inside of a body being slowly weakened and devoured by a cancer, and unseen by anyone and anything watching, the star began to writhe and to react within itself producing lethal levels of energy and radiation which it spewed out into the space surrounding. All around the rest of the universe, nothing seemed to have changed - the brilliant yellow mass continued to burn brightly and to warm the planets in orbit around it where life continued unabated and oblivious to the star's inaudible dying screams.

  Eventually, within fifty hours of the sun's first internal reaction, a change worked its way steadily through the vacuum which was noticed and which was, surprisingly, welcomed by the population of the earth - it began to get warmer. As the people on the planet's surface talked of mild winters and of Indian summers, the temperature of the air that they breathed rose steadily until, by Monday the 15th, most areas were a good five degrees warmer than their record books and experts said that they should be.

  It was not the first time that such things had happened there and, for once, rather than complain, most people in England chose to relax and to make the most of their mini-heatwave. Steven Johnson. however, was far from impressed.

  At only twenty-six years of age, he had done well to get to where he sat today. It had taken him eight years to work his way up through the ranks of the company which employed him from a mere clerk to the heady heights of an office manager. Now, as he sat alone and uncomfortable in the stilling heat of his oak-panelled office and rested in his expensive leather swivel chair, he wondered if it had been worth all the effort it had taken.

  Steven looked out of the wide window next to his desk and down onto the busy high street below. With jealous eyes he watched people chatting, laughing, shopping and enjoying themselves and he cursed the concrete prison cell into which he locked himself for a minimum of seven hours every working day. Sometimes he wondered if he would have been better off without the burden of responsibility which had been hung on his shoulders at a relatively young age. Although not a lonely man by any stretch of the imagination, he would often listen to the laughter and jokes which drifted through the air from the main office and into his room, and curse the professional distance that his superiors insisted he maintain from the people who worked for him.

  He also found it difficult to relax and to cast aside the stresses that his job involved, and the heat of the last two weeks had only made matters worse. As a single man, Steven went home each night to an empty house where the only listening ear belonged to the cat and, while the animal did its best and listened to his problems, it was useless when it came to offering support and encouragement. Although he never made any admissions to his friends or family, he was desperately in need of someone to share his time, his money, his problems and his life with.

  Perhaps he was being naive, but he made no effort to go out and find such a person. He had been the victim of too many broken hearts and missed opportunities to spend his nights trudging around lonely bars and crowded clubs anymore. Brought up on a diet of other peoples sickly sweet love stories, Steven was sure that all he needed to do was wait patiently and then, one day, the girl of his dreams would come waltzing into his life.

  Even with the large window open, the heat in the office was sticky and close. He loosened the tie around his neck and undid the top button on his formal, pressed white shirt. He glanced up at the clock on the wall in front of him and sighed heavily as its hands quickly worked their way around towards two o'clock. Two o'clock on the afternoon of Monday the 15th had been a time and a date that he had not been looking forward to. It had been decided by those in the higher echelons of power that one of the junior members of the office staff had not been performing to the fullest of his abilities and, unfortunately, this was the time and date when it had fallen to Steven to deliver the company's ultimatum to their struggling employee. As the second hand on the clock ticked mercilessly past the hour, he took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

  With the receiver held tightly in his hand, Steven swallowed hard and dialled out to his secretary at her desk. If he was honest, he didn't believe that Ian Stanton (the member of staff that he was about to reprimand) had done anything to merit such action being taken but what troubled him more than being the hired mouthpiece of a man in a grey suit in an office on the other side of the country, was the fact that he was about to admonish one of the most popular members of staff. He felt sure that it would only serve to alienate him further from the rest of the people in the branch. Still, he thought, there was no avoiding it, it was what he was being paid to do.

  The thought of money depressed Steven and, as the phone rang in the outside office without answer, he could not help but think and be saddened by how much he had become a willing slave to cash. He was about to do something that he did not believe in and the only reason that he did it was to keep those few extra pounds flowing into his pockets at the end of each month. To stop them soiling their own hands, his superiors paid him a little more than the staff beneath him and expected that to be sufficient.

  The company that Steven worked for was part of the financial industry and he could see better than most just how the possession of money seemed to command more respect that it ever deserved. He would often spend the best part of a day running around on behalf of those people who either had cash or connections while the people who really needed his help had to wait in a poverty-stricken line at the bottom of a stinking heap. Even when he was able to assist such people, it was never without heavy cost to those least able to pay while the rich were never asked to put their hands in their pockets. It was a difficult fact to accept but it was an unavoidable part of his working life. It was also a huge bone of contention which lodged itself painfully in Steven's neck. He knew that he had to find a new career before this one drove him to insanity.

  Someone finally picked up the telephone.

  'Hello,' a chirpy, high-pitched voice answered. It was Carol, the office secretary.

  'Would you ask Ian to come inside please?' Steven said abruptly.

  'Will do,' Carol replied before quickly replacing the receiver.

  Steven put his phone down and took several deep, calming breaths. In the moments before Ian entered, he tried desperately to remember the standard lines from countless courses and numerous memos that his bosses had force-fed him with to deal with a situation such as this. He hoped that he would be able to keep up the act and deliver their ultimatum with the minimum of effort and resistance.

  The silhouette of a man appeared in the frosted glass of the window in the door to Steven's office. The shadow paused for a moment (Ian was obviously as nervous and unsure about the interview as his manager was) before knocking on the door and coming inside.

  1

  There was a loud confident knock at the door and I stood up to let Ian into the office. He walked quietly past me
, keeping his eyes directed firmly away from mine, and stood in front of my desk.

  'Sit down, Ian,' I said and he pulled a chair across the room to sit opposite my chair.

  I watched him as he sat down and noticed that he looked considerably calmer and more composed than I felt. He had already been told the purpose of my calling him into the office today and I expected him to have prepared his responses to the company's threats beforehand. A young man, only a couple of years my junior; he folded his arms, sat back on the hard, wooden chair and waited for me to sit down opposite him.

  I cleared my throat. It was difficult for me to hide my dislike at the situation and, although I didn't look directly into his face, I could feel Ian staring across the table at me. I was sure that he saw me almost as the enemy and definitely as someone who could not be trusted. Although I knew that what I was about to say were the words of other people, I felt that he would hold every last syllable against me personally.

  'How are things?' I asked, struggling to find a way of ending the stagnant silence and getting down to the matter at hand.

  'Fine,' Ian replied abruptly. It was obvious from the tone of his voice and from the brevity of his reply that he had no intention of making this an easy caution for me to administer.

  'Look,' I began, 'I don't like having to do this, and I'm sure that you don't want to be sat here listening to me. . .'

  I stopped mid-sentence. I remembered my teachers trying much the same line on me at school and I could not believe that I had just used it. I looked up to see Ian still staring at me. He turned away and began to fidget nervously and chew his fingers. I took another deep breath.

  'I'll come straight to the point, Ian. Your work has failed to meet the standards that the company expects from someone of your grade and experience. Unless you buck up your ideas and start pulling your weight, you could well find yourself out of a job.'

  I felt myself relax and was sure that my relief was obvious to Ian. I had delivered the required ultimatum and he appeared to have taken it reasonably well. I had been worried that he might not be so calm and was surprised when the expression on his face slowly changed to one of genuine concern.

  'I understand what you're saying,' he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. 'I really don't want to lose my job.'

  'I've got to be honest, Ian,' I said, quickly slipping back into company mode, 'you're not giving me that impression at the moment.'

  He was quiet again for a second and I could see that there was something that he wanted to say. He shuffled in his seat and looked away from me and out through the window before beginning to speak slowly and with some trepidation.

  'It's just that…' he began before stopping mid-sentence with uncertainty.

  'Just what?' I asked, keen to find out what was on his mind.

  'It's just that I can't see any point in doing any more than I need to.' Ian struggled to find the right words to express how he felt without, I presumed, sounding anti-company (which most, if not all of the staff in the office were).

  He fell silent again and I was about to speak when he interrupted.

  'You've told me before now that if I apply myself and work hard, then I could be sitting where you are and…'

  '…and?'

  '…and I'm not sure if I want to be.'

  Ian relaxed when he had finished speaking and looked anxiously towards me for a response. He had caught me off guard and I struggled to find anything to say in reply.

  'As long as I get my money at the end of the month, I don't care what happens,' he added, emphasising his point.

  It was my turn to fidget in my seat as I tried to force myself to act as a responsible company employee and to do the job that I had been paid to do. I could not help agreeing with and admiring Ian's views but I had to make the company's position known.

  'I've been told to give you a month - after that we'll review the situation,' I said, hiding my doubts idly behind the threats of others.

  'That's fair enough,' Ian replied, seemingly relieved that I had not taken his words badly. 'Believe me,' he continued, 'I really don't want to lose my job I just think that there's a lot more to life than slogging your guts out all day and getting home in such a state that you're too tired to do anything else.'

  Once more he looked cautiously towards me for a reaction before adding,

  'You can see what I mean, can't you?'

  Unfortunately, I could see all too well what Ian meant. I nodded and stood to let him out of the room. It was difficult to stop myself from telling him just to what extent I had agreed with his comments and so, to prevent any embarrassment, I decided to finish the meeting and avoid any further conversation. I could not help feeling deflated and somewhat depressed - I had let down the company and, much more importantly, I had let my own morals and ideals slip.

  'Please, Ian. Please just try and make a little more effort,' I said as I led him across the room. 'I'm not asking for one hundred percent dedication, just a little co-operation.'

  Ian managed a relieved smile and left the office. I shut the door behind him and leant against the wall, glad that our meeting had passed without any real incident.

  Although I made no conscious attempt to eavesdrop on the conversations out in the main office, I stood quietly next to the door for a short while and could not help but listen to what the staff were saying to their reprimanded friend. Through the frosted glass I could see them gathering around Ian for shreds of gossip and information like gannets after the tiniest scraps of food. I hated being cast as the enemy and strained to try and hear what was being said above the noise of the office. Although most of the words were nothing more than garbled mumbles, I distinctly heard Ian's voice telling the others that I had been a pushover.

  I walked back from the door and sat down at my desk again. I swivelled the chair around so that I could look outside, leant back and stared lazily into the deep and clear blue sky. Ian had been right, of course, I had been a pushover. But how could I be possibly be expected to argue against something that I knew was right and to criticise others when I agreed with their morals and actions? I decided there and then (as I did nearly every day at the same time) that a change of career was the only sensible solution to my problems.

  Five o'clock seemed to take an eternity to arrive. I spent three long hours alone in my office, ploughing through mundane paperwork and occasionally speaking to customers on the telephone. The heat made the time drag even more and I noticed from my records that it was on this date last year that we had fired up the boilers and switched on the office heating. Today I sat next to an open window with my tie hanging loosely around my neck and my shirtsleeves rolled up.

  A knock at the door disturbed the quiet and Robert, my assistant manager, poked his bald, sweaty head into the room.

  'All right if we all shoot off?' he asked. 'Everything's finished.'

  I nodded.

  'I'm just about to pack up myself,' I said and I was about to ask him a question when his head disappeared again. The heavy clunking of feet followed as the staff collected their bags, newspapers and redundant overcoats and climbed down the stairs to leave the building.

  I gathered up my papers from the desk and shoved them into my briefcase, determined to catch up with more work at home later. As I leant across and closed the window, I looked down onto the busy street below and watched as people strolled through the early-evening gloom of October with their jackets hung casually over their shoulders and their shirt collars open.

  I slammed the window down and locked it shut. Keen to leave the branch quickly and be on my way home, I picked up my jacket and case and went out into the main office. Robert had just let the last of the rest of the staff out of the building and I waited for him to return. It was company regulations that no-one was ever left on the premises on their own to lock up at night and a strict, almost regimental check of the building needed to be made before we could leave.

  A discarded newspaper lay on a nearby desk and I picke
d it up. The paper was one of the national tabloids and, as I expected, carried little in the way of any real news. As is the norm for such papers, the first hint of unexpected sunshine meant full, front-page pictures of crowded beaches and of children in park paddling pools. The predictable headline yelled. 'What a Scorcher!' in inimitable Fleet Street style and another footnote at the bottom of the page continued the theme, saying, '…and there's more to come!' Try as I might, I could find nothing inside the paper to explain the heat or to even give the slightest idea of how long the conditions might last or how hot it could get.

  Robert returned from the front door with his round face glowing red and covered with a layer of sticky sweat. 'This is too much for me,' he wheezed.

  'I know what you mean,' I said. 'I don't know what we'll do if it gets any warmer.'

  As I spoke and tried to make polite conversation, Robert walked past me and collected his briefcase. Although I was sure that he was not trying to be deliberately rude or obstinate, I could tell that he had no interest in anything I had to say and that he just wanted to get away as quickly as possible. I hoped that it was the branch he was so eager to escape from and not me - the constant whispers and glances from my staff were beginning to make me paranoid.

  I followed Robert as he made the required checks around the building and switched off the computers. As we left the building I breathed a cool and relaxing sigh of relief and looked forward to a quiet evening at home. With a little luck, I thought, I would wake up in the morning and find that the office had burnt down and that it was a typically grey, cold and miserable October day outside.

  Somehow, I didn't think that would be the case.

  2

  With the arrival of night, the autumn light had faded away as normal but there had been no noticeable respite in the suffocating heat. Although past their bright best, I was determined to take advantage of what remained of the conditions and so settled down on the patio in a deckchair to relax and to listen to the radio for a while. I had brought home plenty of work from the office which needed to be done but, as the pressures of the day had now reduced to an almost bearable level, I decided to leave it all locked safely away in my briefcase until morning. The company got more than enough out of me between nine and five o'clock each day - this was my time and my time alone.