FOUR DAYS TO GO

The rattling cry of the magpies sounded again, waking Benjamin. It was six a.m. He was going to get his gun and shoot those buggers. He was sick of them waking him, their noise clear through the original sash windows that he was going to have replaced with double-glazing soon.

The house was falling apart. He should never have bought it. The latch on the downstairs loo needed fixing; maybe he could do that himself. He could definitely remove that nail sticking out by Mouse’s door.

Was that what he was going to be reduced to? Odd-job man around his home, because he could no longer afford to get someone in to do it for him.

As his dad had always predicted for him.

No, this meeting with James would work. He’d get money to tide him over; it would be fine.

That’s what he told himself in the shower; as he dressed; while he forced down breakfast. His family whirled around him like biological mist to be waded through. They made noises, tried to engage with him, but he couldn’t pull himself out of the despair that seemed to be clinging to him. He had a bad feeling about today, but kept giving himself mental slaps, reminding himself of all he had achieved in his life: the awards his business had won, the huge amount of clients he had attracted, the high standing with which people regarded him. He had a beautiful wife, too. Although, she didn’t quite seem herself lately; she seemed sort of absent most of the time, and the last few days she had an almost haunted look on her face. He needed to speak to her, see if she was okay after the sleepwalking business. But not right now; right now, he didn’t have the strength to surface from the sea of stress he was drowning in.

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By the time he arrived at work, he had slid on his bombastic mask. Spoke in his booming, cocky way, playing the big man. But it was tiring, and as he flirted outrageously with his secretary – enough to make her giggle and feel pampered, not enough to make her want to file a sexual harassment complaint – he contemplated chucking it all in.

‘I’m not the man you think I am. I’m out of here,’ he’d announce, and let everyone see the empty soul behind the façade. He could almost hear the gasps of horror, see the staff backing away from him, and Jazmine… Poor Jazmine, she hadn’t asked for any of this.

He had no choice but to keep going, because it wasn’t only him who would suffer if he didn’t pull this off. He could not let anyone see through the cracks forming in his mask. He must refuse to give in to chronic fatigue and self-pity. Losers did that.

What was it Muhammad Ali always said? Those who don’t have the courage to take risks won’t get anywhere in life – or something like that. Just like Ali, Benjamin was the greatest, he was The Man, he would—

‘Here’s this morning’s post.’ His PA handed the bundle of envelopes over to him, shocking him out of his internal motivational speech.

‘Great, thanks,’ he said, giving her one of his best, most dazzling smiles. Act confident and he’d be confident.

He sauntered into his office, whistling as he went, and sifted through the letters, mainly cards from his clients and—

Oh, crap.

It couldn’t be. Not yet. He had been sure he had until the new year to sort something.

His good mood nuked, Benjamin closed his office door, slumped into his chair and stared at the brown envelope.

At his name peering through the plastic window at him.

At the berating black lettering of the organisation which had sent it.

Coughing, he swallowed down the bitter taste of sick. Forced himself to tear the letter open.

The words blurred because the paper trembled so much. Benjamin grabbed at his right wrist with his left hand to try to steady it, but it was futile. Instead, he crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it into the bin. Only to retrieve it instantly, for fear of his secretary or the cleaner discovering it.

He could tear it up. He could set fire to it.

It wouldn’t stop what he had read burning through his mind. His life was over. Nothing left but ashes and shame. He might as well be dead.