LITMIR.BIZ

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you’ve taken over his job.’

      Arthur marched back into the middle of the room.

      ‘I’ve what?’

      ‘Well, how did you think it was going to work? It was you or him. It’s you. Now, tell him.’

      ‘I have to fire him?’

      ‘No, you have to give him some sweets. Yes, you have to fire him. You’re in charge.’

      Arthur backed out, feeling white in the face, with deep and profound misgivings as to what he’d just agreed to do.

      ‘Right … Yeah … I’m in charge.’

      Being in charge, Arthur decided the best thing to do straight away would be to take a quick slip through the side door, drive into town and go for a little walk. This was going to take a while to sink in, and he fancied a quick look at the size of the problem he was going to be dealing with. Plus, wandering through towns and cities, reading their infrastructure and examining how they were put together had had a calming influence on him for years.

      It was a chilly grey morning, and now most people were locked into their offices for the day it was incredibly quiet around the shopping precinct. He walked across the pedestrianized street. This had been meant to improve the city. Instead, it had provided a good ground for people to fight each other, and hanging-out areas for the local youths. Dilapidated brick stands of pot plants filled with phlegm and cigarette butts stood forlornly at intervals, and the garish shopfronts told their own story: ‘Everything for ninety-nine pence’, ‘Pricesavers’, ‘Remnant Kings’. Plastic products nobody wanted spilled out of their fronts. Two hulking teenagers in sports gear were kicking around a tin can, watched appreciatively by four or five others. One just sat on the ground, eyes glazed with cheap cider, or worse. Underneath the centre were miles of deserted, dank underpasses that most people were too scared to use.

      Arthur circumvented the youths carefully and wandered into the run-down shopping centre to ponder what to do. It felt … This was what he was supposed to want, wasn’t it? To run things his way. More money. Power. Responsibility. Surely he should be more excited than this?

      Truthfully, all his life Arthur had waited for things to come to him. It saved too much boat-rocking. God, Fay had practically had to jump him the first few times they’d met. And this … what were they expecting? After all, he hadn’t meant the thing with the photocopier. What if they expected him to be that macho all the time? And how the hell was he going to fire Ross? He scratched the back of his neck. Christ! Maybe he should just stick to this leaving idea. He’d almost got his head around it, after all. In fact, the very thought of having to run this project was bringing him out in a cold sweat. It would be bad for him. Bad for his health. Bad for everyone. It would end in ruins and they’d shunt him to the back office and …

      Deep in thought and staring at the ground, he didn’t even notice Lynne until he walked right into her as she came out of a shop.

      ‘Argh!’

      Lynne dropped several packages on the ground whilst Arthur started a long litany of apologies.

      ‘God, I’m so sorry … Let me help you with … Wasn’t looking …’

      Scrabbling around on the pavement, he couldn’t help noticing that some of the packages were quite peculiarly shaped. Looking up, he realized Lynne had been coming out of the pet shop. A fat man, obviously the shopkeeper, came out behind her.

      ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry. We just can’t get crocodiles, okay? They’re illegal.’

      ‘Illegal? How on earth does anyone make soup?’

      Lynne raised an eyebrow at Arthur as the man retreated inside. ‘Hello, Arthur. Well met.’

      Arthur swallowed. ‘Em, hello there.’

      ‘Are you going this way? Let’s walk a while.’ It sounded more like a command than a query.

      ‘Why …’ Arthur stumbled for something to say. He didn’t really know any therapists and was slightly worried about being misinterpreted in some way that would mean he was a terrible person. ‘Why do you want a crocodile?’

      ‘Who wouldn’t want a crocodile?’

      Arthur shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess.’

      ‘What’s the matter?’

      Arthur looked at her kind face. Today, her hair, decorated with pendants that looked like leaves, was loosely pinned back in a bun with tendrils escaping.

      ‘Well …’ He explained about his conversation with Gwyneth. She was meant to be his counsellor, after all.

      ‘Hum.’ Lynne stared straight ahead. ‘That was quick.’

      ‘What? You knew they were going to do this?’

      ‘No, of course not. Not as such,’ said Lynne, twisting up her face. ‘Office grapevine, you know.’

      Arthur nodded.

      ‘So. How are you going to begin?’

      Arthur shrugged. ‘I was actually just considering … that I might not.’

      ‘Might not? Don’t be ridiculous.’

      ‘What’s ridiculous? Do I have the look of the man who’s going to spend the rest of his life stuck in an office?’

      ‘Around the mouth … and the nose, yes.’

      Arthur grimaced and walked on. Lynne caught up with him.

      ‘I think it is time, don’t you?’

      ‘What?’ He turned round. ‘It’s not my time.’

      ‘It is,’ said Lynne urgently. She looked at him, and he felt something odd pass between them. He shook his head.

      ‘Sorry – I don’t quite know what I meant by that. I mean – well, what do you mean? Time for what?’

      ‘Time for you to take all this energy and …’ Lynne cast her hand around the desolate parking garage where they found themselves. It was puddled with oil and cigarette ends. ‘Ssh,’ she said.

      Arthur followed her gaze. In the far corner, three white faces were huddled round a brazier, staring at them like ghosts out of the darkness. Not an unfamiliar sight in the back roads of the town. Arthur and Lynne quickly hurried on through the car park.

      ‘Who’s going to change all this if you don’t?’

      ‘What, now you want me to tackle the drugs problem?’

      ‘Environment matters, you know that. Pride, Arthur. It’s time to pick up your sword and go for it.’

      ‘Pick up my what?’

      ‘It’s just an expression.’

      ‘Oh. Only I seem to have been hearing about swords rather a lot recently.’

      ‘Yes, well unfortunately I’m not a Freudian type of analyst, so I can’t help you with that one.’

      ‘What sort of analyst are you?’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know. Let’s just see how it goes along, eh?’

      ‘You are a real therapist, aren’t you?’

      ‘Yes,’ she patted him on the arm. ‘Yes, I am. Now, what have they asked you to do? Fire someone?’

      Arthur gave her a sharp look. ‘Do you do everyone’s therapy or just mine?’

      ‘I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid.’

      ‘Well, then. Obviously you already know. Yes, they have.’

      ‘Then do it quickly. Show who’s in charge. Don’t mess around. If you’re going to run this thing, Arthur, you’re going to need respect.’

      ‘I

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