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had said, ‘Wow! You look really brown!’ but didn’t actually ask him whether he’d enjoyed himself or not and by lunchtime his being away was old news and quite forgotten.

      He had also phoned his bank to order new cards and made an arrangement to take out thirty pounds from his nearest branch. It was a sum unlikely to last him a week, but Flin hoped it would at least encourage him to try and be a bit frugal. Noticing a day later that two-thirds had already gone, he phoned his bank again to check his balance. He wished he hadn’t – just twenty-six pounds and eleven pence left until he was up to his overdraft limit. This revelation plunged him into renewed gloom. He knew he’d spent a lot of what he’d saved while being at his sister’s on the holiday, but was sure he had at the very least in excess of a hundred pounds. How could he be so far out? It was depressing but, none the less, he was confident he could pull through until pay-day, so long as there was no extra drain on his resources.

      ‘I’m broke too, if it’s any consolation,’ Tiffany told him later.

      ‘Really?’ Flin had never really given much thought to anyone else having cash crises. Obviously Tiffany earned less than him, being only an assistant publicist, but he just assumed everyone else was better than him at looking after their money. Hearing Tiffany’s tales of financial strife rather cheered him up, he shamefully realized. A partner in debt, a fellow money-mismanager. He had always felt he was the abnormal one among his group of friends; they all seemed to live their lives with consummate ease on what they either earned or had inherited.

      Geordie arrived back shortly after him that evening and quickly brought up the subject of outstanding bills.

      ‘We’ve got to pay the gas, electricity and phone connection fee, I’m afraid. Here,’ he said, handing Flin the letters. ‘Sorry, but it always costs a bit to get everything set up in a new house.’

      ‘So how much do I need to pay?’

      ‘Your share is forty-eight pounds, I think. We really should send it off tomorrow. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.’

      Flin felt sick. ‘The problem is, old man, I don’t actually have forty-eight pounds. I’ve got thirty-six quid to last me nine days and ten of that is in cash. Can’t we wait for a final notice before paying these?’ Why did Geordie always have to be so organized about such things, and why did he always have to make him feel so bad about being poverty stricken?

      Geordie gave Flin a rueful grin. ‘Look, don’t worry about it. I’ll pay your share and you can pay me back next week when you get paid. But honestly, Flin, you are hopeless. I just don’t understand how you never know the balance of your account.’

      ‘I thought I did, and I thought it was a lot more,’ he said feebly and added, ‘But thanks – I’ll pay you back next Wednesday.’

      ‘You should keep a book and note down everything you spend, then you’d always know. Just get into the habit.’

      ‘Yeah, yeah, I know.’ His friend was right and Flin also knew that it was decent of Geordie to bail him out, but being patronized by his housemate made Flin feel resentful. It must be so wonderful, he thought, to have money like Geordie.

      ‘Maybe I should change jobs altogether – perhaps that’s the way to get ahead in the competition,’ Flin told him resignedly.

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous – you love your job.’

      ‘I know I do on the whole, but I clearly don’t make enough to live on, do I? I’m sick of being perpetually broke and having to suck up to you to help me out.’

      ‘You’d be mad to chuck it in. Where else are you going to have the opportunity to meet all those film stars and so on? You may not get paid a fortune, but you don’t do too badly considering you’re being paid to watch films and visit sets. Can’t you just put a bit aside once a month or something?’

      ‘I do always do that, but then dig into it because I run out of the other. It’s all very well for you to preach at me, but you’re one of the main culprits in persuading me to do things.’

      ‘You can always say “no”.’

      ‘And watch you and Jessica go off and have fun without me? I’d like to see you try it – honestly, Geordie, you have no idea what it’s like always to be short of cash.’

      ‘Look, I’m sorry, but I have little sympathy. You have loads of good mates, a fantastically interesting job, you still manage to go on holidays abroad and do nearly all the things you want to do. I know this Poppy thing’s been a blow, but really, you have a pretty good life. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself, that’s all. And it’s not my fault I’m not poor like you.’

      Before Flin could respond, Jessica walked in. ‘Hi, darlings, can you give me a hand? I decided to do a shop on my way back from work.’

      The taxi outside was loaded with Tesco bags, a crate of beer, washing powder and an enormous bag of potatoes. Flin and Geordie dutifully obliged and took everything straight into the kitchen while Jessica paid the taxi. As they were filling up the fridge, she came in and gave them both a kiss and told them they owed her twenty-six pounds each.

      ‘You can add it to the tab,’ Geordie told a distraught-looking Flin.

      ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled quietly. Regardless of what Geordie had just said, he really hated life at the moment. How different things had been a few years before. At school and then university, no one had had a lot of money. They all seemed to be more or less in the same boat. Geordie may have had a trust fund, but they all had to do temping jobs in the holidays and during their years off; and somehow money was never much of an issue. And there were grants, parents and overdrafts to pay the bulk of life’s costs. Now, they were all totally on their own, with no help from anyone. And there was an increasingly obvious divide between those who earned a lot (i.e. all his friends), and those who did not (i.e. him). He was wallowing in self-pity again. It was unlike him to feel down for long, but he really had to try and snap out of it, and fast.

       chapter eight A Sunny Afternoon in Richmond (and a Bit in Borehamwood)

      Geordie had begun to think his boss had almost forgotten he existed when Burt uncharacteristically gave him the challenge of coming up with a new marketing package. He was to work on it with Mike, another sales manager who’d joined FDU just before him. The two had always got on well and Mike had even played in Geordie’s rugby team on a couple of occasions. He was really the only person at FDU that Geordie saw for the odd beer outside work; Mike was bored too and was one person Geordie could whinge to about Burt and work who truly appreciated his grievances.

      ‘It’s time you two got your brains into gear,’ their Taiwanese boss told them with typical frankness. ‘You’ve both been cruising along for too long on your soft arses, so you better make it good.’

      This had come as something of a shock to Geordie, who had become unaccustomed to applying his brain much at work. After all, he’d hardly had much need: he could sell monitors in his sleep. What was more, Burt had only given them a couple of days to get their plans together. All the same, he and Mike had worked hard and Geordie felt pretty pleased with their efforts. Furthermore, he’d quite enjoyed the whole exercise. His excitement about Molly had, he felt, if anything, given him a sharper edge that week.

      Their plan was to link up with a graphics card company. This was something that was put into a PC to improve all the computer graphics and presentation. Geordie’s premise was that if an individual wanted improved graphics it stood to reason that he would want a decent monitor too on which to use his improved presentation. Therefore he proposed to strike a deal with a graphics card company whereby FDU placed a voucher worth a small discount off any FDU monitor. This would give the graphics card company a competitive edge over other graphic card companies. He and Mike had worked out the finer points of how to implement this dazzling piece of marketing initiative and enthusiastically presented their plans to Burt.

      ‘I

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