It was another dark, dank Wednesday morning for Donald Radley. Sure, the sun was shining and the birds were singing but it was dark and dank all the same as far as he was concerned. Business had not been good, not in a long time. The recession had bitten hard, and it hurt. If only his stupid fucking wife hadn't spent so much money on shoes and spa treatments, maybe they might be able to rein in the spending and keep their heads above water. No chance of that happening now. He was in way over his head.
He’d already remortgaged the house twice and the small salary he paid himself was just about covering his credit card repayments each month. He’d tried everything to keep it down: balance transfers, 0% deals, offsetting equity. Whatever he did, the debt just kept on growing.
He felt the bile rise from the pit of his stomach as he drove down St David's Way and pulled up outside Unit 5. It was like waking up in the morning to see the one thing that had taken everything good out of his life. A building, a shell. A destroyer.
He sat in the car for a few minutes longer, summoning up the courage to face another day of red-letter bills and bulging overdrafts. The fact was, nobody wanted stationery nowadays. People could print their own letterheads and get business cards made up for next to nothing on the internet. Ah, the internet. Radley Stationery had been a little slow on the uptake when it came to the internet. Not on Donald's part, though; that slimy, good-for-nothing business partner of his had decreed that the world wide web was nothing more than a passing fad and an expensive one at that. No need for a website. No need to sell online. It wouldn’t last. People would always prefer bricks and mortar, and the internet would be expensive. Yeah, it had proved to be expensive, all right. Fucking expensive.
Bad things always happened to good people. He knew that. He felt stupid and foolish at the time, effort and money he had pumped into this place, only to be taken for a ride. Bob Arthurs epitomised the definition of a silent partner. Silent except when he disagreed with something Donald wanted to do. Which was everything. He barely set foot in the unit, but he still felt the need to stick his fucking oar in everywhere he could.
As far as Bob Arthurs was concerned, he’d put his money in as an investment and he wanted to make sure he was going to be able to get it back out again when he wanted to. Fat chance of that happening. He couldn’t have had a fiver from the till if he wanted to, because it wasn’t there.
Donald didn't know who he hated the most: Bob Arthurs for constantly getting in his way and driving the business into the ground, his wife for spending the money they didn't have, or himself for trusting either of these two witless idiots.
He thumped the dashboard and unlocked his car. He breathed in deeply and quickly, and out slowly. He felt like he was about to walk out on stage in front of ten thousand people. Hell, that would’ve been easier than having to spend another day in this place.
Of all the horrors he had expected to await him inside, he was not expecting this one.