Chapter 5

Garrett takes another look at his phone, he has two missed calls. The Caller ID confirms it’s the office. He presses 1 for the answerphone and hangs up half way through after recognising Tina’s nasal whine. Whatever it is, it can wait. He can guess from the tone of his PA that Williams, the Senior Account Director, is lurking nearby, dictating the message verbatim.

He knows he’s in for a bollocking. A few weeks ago, he would have been stressing over it. Not now, the death notice absurd and liberating in equal measure.

Williams is on the warpath and out for blood. One of Garrett’s accounts has imploded, and now the client wants compensating. The old adage shit flows downstream ringing true. Williams is looking to pin it all on Garrett. The emerging Kazakhstan market place not as stable as the original intel suggested. Garrett told them to hold off, but Williams overruled him, deciding he knew better.

Garrett decides to phone in, but the truth can wait. First, he needs to weigh up the options. He’s thirty-nine years of age. Game Over, not quite. There are things to sort before he bows out. He needs to put his house in order.

He makes the call, Tina picks up on the fourth ring, her voice is urgent, ‘Where have you been? You’ve missed your nine fifteen appointment, William’s is doing his nut over this. Roscoe & Ballingers were expecting a presentation on the viability of the Moldova project.’

Garrett closes his eyes, letting the line go silent, same old shit. ‘I’ve been puking up most of the night, think I’ve picked up some kind of bug. I slept through the alarm this morning, never got a chance to cancel any of my appointments. Sorry, should have checked the phone earlier.’

Her voice is distant, preoccupied.  ‘Oh... Shit. That doesn’t sound good.’

‘Listen, can you make my excuses and cancel the rest of my appointments for the day?’

Garrett stands in the car park, the phone pressed hard to his ear, straining to decipher the incomprehensible mix of background office noise and the whirring sound of traffic going past behind him.

‘Tina I said can you...’

‘I heard you...’ She pauses, completing her Instagram update, ‘Okay, but you owe me big time for this.’

‘I know, what can I say? You’re a diamond. Costa Coffee all round,’ he hangs up before she can protest.

Twelve feet out, he disengages the alarm on the arctic white Audi R8. Sweating, despite the autumn chill, his breathing is laboured, he can’t feel his legs. Sharp pins and needles strike down his left side causing a numbing, tingling sensation throughout. He makes it to the roadster, his arms splayed, resting on the roof. He tries to steady himself, then swallows hard, shaking his head, the voice of Aziz playing on a loop Stage 3a. 

Out of nowhere, he pukes. All his good work undone as the healthy contents of his Fruit and Fibre breakfast steam on to the tarmac.

A thirty-something, fake-tanned bottle-blonde sneers in disgust as she ushers her young daughter out of the line of sight, shielded by the top spec, midnight blue Range Rover Sport.

Garrett wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, giving her a look that says what the hell you looking at? He guesses the wannabe has never driven it anywhere near the countryside, let alone got so much as a whiff of cow shit.

Breathing deep and slow, he gathers his thoughts. The bitter after-taste of puke and bile forcing him to expel the remnants to the floor. His stomach twisting and turning in protest. Six months sober and he’s desperate for a drink. He should call his sponsor, what the hell, it’s not like it’s going to make a difference now. He tells himself, one drink—just to settle the stomach.

Garrett looks to the sky, Jesus can this week get any worse. Yesterday, he awoke to a Dear John from his wife. He thought it was junk mail and almost binned it. He’d gone so far as opening the lid, then he happened to glance down and saw his own name. Recognising the handwriting, he opened it and scanned the contents. At first, he thought it was a joke. Then it hit him straight between the eyes.

He read it again just to be sure, we’re not the same people we once were, we’re like polar opposites. You’re always angry or pissed off at someone or something, and I get the brunt of it. Most days, you don’t even see me—lost in your own world. I’m just convenient. I want more from this life, and I deserve more. I can’t handle your moods or violent outbursts. I’m Leaving. It’s over Garrett.

Sure they’d had their arguments, you don’t stay married for eight and a half years without the odd Barney along the way. Garrett had a stressful job, come to think of it, so did Maria, but deep down he knew the crux of it, she wanted kids and he didn’t, and that’s where it all stemmed from.

Garrett kept turning it over in his head, there was something, a fragment, a sliver, but each time it failed to present itself fully formed.

Leaning on the roof of the car, he scanned the area trying to get his bearings. It had been a while, but the place hadn’t changed that much, save for a couple of new skyscrapers and shopping mall come multi-plex cinema.

He pulled his collar tight against the biting wind and headed out of the car park. Walking across the bridge straddling the busy A road beneath, he stopped and looked over, mesmerised by the rhythmic beat of the traffic. For a second, he let his mind wander, contemplating what it would be like to climb up over the railing and just let go, his body in freefall.