Chris Simms - Killing the Beasts

'You can just help yourself?' said Jon, surprised.

'As long as you don't take the piss.'

Jon stepped into the room, opened up the fridge and saw it was stacked full of bottles. 'Bloody hell! Why am I in the public sector? We even have to pay for our coffee and tea.'

Tom laughed. 'Come on, I'll show you my office.'

They proceeded through an archway that led into the flagstone alley. Beneath the protective glass panels, two giant rubber plants thrived. Stepping through into the adjoining building, Tom pointed towards a door marked 'Head Honcho'. He raised his hand to his forehead and made a dickhead gesture, then began climbing up the circular iron staircase that curled up to the first floor where former bedrooms had been knocked through to form a single, open-plan office. Inside five workstations had been crammed in for the account handlers. The corner alcove was entirely taken up by a fortress of monitors and computer equipment.

Tom stepped through the doorway and was about to wave a hand at his desk when a flurry of activity started up. Visible behind the barricade of equipment in the corner was a mass of black hair. Creepy George. Their sudden appearance had obviously taken him by surprise and he was scrabbling to close down whatever he had been viewing on his monitor.

'Evening, George. Keeping busy?' Tom asked, not stepping any closer to his colleague's work area.

'Mmm, yes. I…' Slowly Creepy George rose to his feet, the bushy hair connecting with an equally dense pair of sideburns. Framed in it all was a pair of wire-rimmed glasses with particularly thick lenses. His eyes flashed darkly. 'Just tidying up some old files on the main server.' He reached for the front pocket of his thick khaki shirt and pulled out a Phillips screwdriver. Pointing it at the semi-disembowelled hard drive on his desk, wires and circuit boards exposed for everyone to see, he added, 'I need to fix Tris's

machine before Monday, too.'

He still hadn't looked at Jon.

'Oh right,' said Tom. 'Well, we're only popping in so my friend here can have a look round. Jon, this is George.'

'Hi,' said Jon, stepping forwards and holding a hand out over the monitors separating George from the rest of the room. A pair of magnified eyes blinked once, almost black irises giving him the stare of a corpse. Then a clammy palm was pressed briefly against Jon's hand, fingers barely flexing before contact was broken.

To Jon's surprise, a feeling that bordered on revulsion suddenly reared up inside him, instinctive and instantaneous.

Ten minutes later they were settling into two leather chairs in the snug surroundings of the Bull's Head. An early Van Morrison track was playing quietly from invisible speakers as Jon gulped a mouthful of beer and said, 'What's the score with that bloke in your office?'

'Creepy George?' said Tom, shrugging his shoulders. 'He was at the company long before I joined. One of those people who melt into the background whenever the occasional job has to be cut. I'm not really sure what his exact role is — I've heard him described as office manager; he's responsible for the computer system and in charge of getting the photocopiers and colour printers up and running again when they get jammed or run out of toner. Aside from that, he backs up all the files at the end of the day, orders new pieces of kit and upgrades equipment when it's needed. He chooses to work really strange hours — comes in late morning then works through far into the evenings, totally alone. If he's ever at his desk first thing in the morning, he's been there all night. Doing exactly what, I've no idea. No one has ever seen him eat anything other than family-size bags of Minstrels and he only drinks some type of purple squash from a bottle he brings in with him each day.'

'Well,' said Jon. 'He wasn't tidying up old computer files when we walked in on him. He couldn't get rid of whatever was on his computer screen fast enough.'

'That's the copper in you,' said Tom. 'I hadn't noticed. He was probably about to beat off to some teenage sex site.'

Or worse, Jon almost replied. Another pint later and Jon felt he could ask Tom about Charlotte again. 'So come on, mate. Cards on the table. How are you really finding married life?'

'What do you mean?' Tom answered, a tiny note of defensiveness in his voice.

Jon decided to lay out an admission of his own and see what it prompted. 'To be honest, the whole marriage thing makes me shit my pants.'

'What? But you're as good as married already! You've been with Alice for donkey's years.'

'Yeah, I know.' He looked at Tom's wedding band. 'But it's the formality of it all. I don't know, it makes me feel claustrophobic.'

'It doesn't change a thing, mate. I tell you what should make you feel really trapped — your shared mortgage with her. That's harder to get out of than any marriage.'

Jon smiled wryly in agreement. 'Until you have kids. Then you're really tied down.'

Again Tom sounded surprised. 'You're not a hundred per cent, then?'

Jon looked up at the ceiling and kicked his legs straight under the table. 'I don't know. It's the biggest step you can take. I just reckon I'll be crap at family stuff. I avoid holding babies like the plague.' He raised a large hand and stared at it, the knuckles peppered with scars and cuts from rugby studs. 'Tiny little things, just keeping you awake for months on end. I'd probably hate it. And there's my job — the hours I work. Nights and all that. It would really screw things up.'

'I'd love to start a family.'

Now Jon was stunned. 'You're serious?'

Tom's eyes dropped to his drink and when he spoke there was a melancholy note in his voice. 'Absolutely. Something's kind of shifted in me lately. It's all part of this plan to get out of the city and move to Cornwall.'

'You're getting broody.'

Tom smiled regretfully. 'I am. I admit it. But it's the last thing that Charlotte wants.'

Jon plucked a cigarette from Tom's pack and leaned forward a fraction. 'You've discussed it?' He touched a flame to its tip, listening to the tiny crackles as he took a deep drag. Tom shook his head. 'There's no need to. It couldn't be more obvious.'

'You know, when you two got married, it took me totally by surprise.'

Tom looked up. 'I know what you're thinking. Tom the shag monster.'

Jon laughed.

'But I tell you, the first time I saw her in the ad agency where she was the receptionist… fuck, my mouth filled up with saliva. I couldn't get my eyes off her body.' He stared into space. 'I went through the entire meeting on autopilot. As soon as it ended I was at the reception desk making up some bollocks reason to use their fax machine. Honestly Jon, if you gave me nude photos of every female film star and said put together your perfect woman, I couldn't do better than Charlotte.'

'And had you actually spoken to her by the time you'd decided that?'

Tom didn't even register the joke, and Jon groaned inwardly at how precarious the basis of their relationship must be. But then Nikki Kingston's face appeared in his mind. 'I know what you mean when the sight of someone just makes you go…' he snapped his fingers. 'There's this woman I work with sometimes. A crime scene manager. We flirt around a bit, but more and more I'm…' He shook his head.

Tom tapped a finger on the table. 'Don't even go there, Jon. What you've got with Alice — don't risk that for a quick shove.' He swept up their empties and returned a minute later with two fresh pints. 'You know what I really miss about rugby?' he announced, sitting down.

Jon acknowledged the switch in conversation by sitting up and grinding out his cigarette.

'The pain.'

Jon took a long sip and placed his pint on the table. 'Go on,' he said.

Tom slid a cigarette from the pack, picked up the lighter and put both elbows on the table. 'Thing is, the way the world has got today, it's too easy to forget what it's really like to be alive. You get up, go to work, sit at a desk, go home, sit down and watch TV, go to bed. Maybe you visit a gym once or twice a week. Our lives are so cocooned and predictable. I look at people and think we've become so safe, we're all half asleep. Trudging around our daily business, living in our artificial environment. Know what I mean?' he concluded, lighting up.