Chris Simms - Killing the Beasts

Sean waded slightly closer to him. 'It's called a gag reaction. Plenty of people experience it. You want to give it another try?'

Tom looked down at the sun-dappled form of his wife beneath the water. Every so often a stream of bubbles rose to the surface. 'Can she continue the course without me? You know … the buddy system you described.'

Sean flicked a strand of sun-bleached hair from his face. 'I can buddy for her; that's not a problem.'

No, thought Tom, I bet it isn't. But he couldn't insert that disgusting thing in his mouth again. Old memories began to stir, ones he tried to suppress: the days of struggling with physics and chemistry, lying awake in the early hours of the morning wracked with worry. The dream still recurred now whenever he was under pressure: him looking at the timetable in the corridor at school and realizing there was an exam that afternoon for which he had completely forgotten to revise. The dread sense of impending, and completely unavoidable, failure.

Full of trepidation, he raised the mouthpiece to his lips once again. Immediately his stomach constricted and, as he felt the bile rising at the back of his throat, his mouth formed into an 'o' in readiness to vomit. He dropped the regulator into the water. Attached to his tank by a long black tube, it snaked lazily off to the side.

Not looking at Sean, Tom moved over towards his wife, bent down and held a hand beneath the water to touch her. She got to her feet, breaking out into the air, water cascading off her. Plucking the regulator from her mouth, she swept back her streaming hair. 'Everything OK?'

Tom tried to mask his sense of humiliation with humour. 'It's bizarre, but I can't do it, babe. There's something about the rubberiness of the regulator. All slippery and bouncing off my teeth.' He shuddered in disgust. 'It makes me want to puke more than a shot of tequila. Listen, Sean here can buddy you, so carry on without me. I need to try and sort out this work stuff anyway.'

Charlotte placed a hand on his arm, 'Are you sure? You really can't stand the feel of it in your mouth?'

'No.' He shook his head, grinning. 'But hey — the only fish I like to see come served with a lemon wedge. You enjoy yourself.' Before she could object further he began shrugging off the canister.

After a quick shower Tom hurried back over to the hotel's office, head bowed as he picked over the problem. He realized he was now barely noticing the beautiful scenery around him.

By the end of the afternoon they had located a printer in London who could, for a price, print two of the building wraps over that weekend. Once they'd negotiated a price for transporting the wraps and the printer crew up to Manchester to actually hang the things, that was two of the four jobs with the most imminent deadlines taken care of. Next Ges suggested looking for printers in Europe or even North America.

'Jesus,' answered Tom.' But what about the logistics? And do we know if they even use the same Vector and In Position software as us?'

'Well, unless you can come up with anything else, I suppose we're going to have to find out,' Ges answered, now sounding as stressed as Tom felt. That evening, as they ate red snapper cooked on a barbecue by the side of the main pool, Charlotte asked if everything had been sorted out yet.

'We're getting there, babe,' he replied. 'Two of the most urgent jobs are sorted, and we're now trying to find another printer for the remaining two. Problem is, we're talking twelve-floor-high images here, and that takes a specialist…'

Seeing her eyes beginning to wander, he cut off his reply, claiming he'd had enough of work. Instead he asked her how the diving was going.

Immediately Charlotte perked up. Taking a large gulp from the ice-cold bottle of Seybrew, she began telling him how great it had been gliding along the bottom of the pool, listening to the rumble of bubbles as they flooded over her ears. Even as Tom sat back, content just to watch his wife describe something that so obviously delighted her, office issues were pinging up in his head like emails arriving on a computer.

After a few more beers they ambled back along the softly lit path to their bungalow. Inside the air conditioning was gently humming and Charlotte headed straight for the bedroom. Tom paused at the desk in the dining room and sat down to write out some reminders for himself the next day. A few minutes later Charlotte called out, 'Are you coming to bed?'

'Yeah, in a second, 'Tom replied. But the stress he was under had obliterated any desire for sex and he knew he was deliberately delaying. Anxiety flickered in his stomach. The thought of slipping into bed next to her had only ever created a primal urge welling up inside him. Until now. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the desk in frustration. What was happening to him? By the time he wandered through to the bedroom his wife was already asleep.

While Sean took Charlotte out on her first open-water dive the next day, Tom carried out a fruitless search for a printer who could help them. 'What about America? What's the score over there?' Tom asked Ges.

'I've got an email back from a firm in San Francisco. They do wraps for a lot of film promotions round Hollywood. It looks promising — I'll forward it on to you. Thing is, with the time differences, they're opening up just as we're going home: and I've got to take my mum to hospital this evening.'

Tom didn't hesitate. 'Put everything on email, I'll contact them myself. So when can I ring them?'

There was silence as Ges worked out the time difference. 'Nine in the morning for them is nine in the evening for you.'

Great, thought Tom; there goes my night with Charlotte. 'OK,I'll call them as soon as they open. How's other stuff? Have we signed up any more merchandise promotions?'

'Julie's chasing Kellogg's. Oh, and there's something come through for Ian from X-treme, a chewing gum company. They're doing a special limited edition flavour for the Games. Free samples with a handout for a holiday competition at Piccadilly station. I'll put it in the crate on your desk.'

'Crate?'

'Yeah. Your inbox isn't big enough.'

Tom tried to laugh.

Charlotte got back after lunch, ecstatic about the dive. 'It was like being in a big aquarium, Tom. All those fish you see in pet shops — striped ones, luminous blue ones, they're all out there. Shoals of them. And there were Moray eels, poking their heads out of crevices in the coral, doing a weird opening and shutting thing with their lower jaw. Like that politician off the telly. You know, Gordon someone.'

Only hearing her last comment, Tom turned away from the sea and looked at her. 'Gordon Brown?'

'Yeah, that's him.'

'What's he got to do with your dive?'

'Nothing. It's the Moray…' her enthusiasm abruptly vanished. 'Oh, never mind, you've obviously got more important things on your mind. Office stuff, by any chance?'

Tom chose to ignore the mocking tone of her voice. 'We need to speak to a printer in San Francisco. Thing is, they only open when it's nighttime here, so we need to eat early this evening. I have to get on to them as soon as possible.'

'Fine,' said Charlotte, picking up a magazine and walking off towards a sun lounger on the deserted beach.

Tom called the San Francisco printer the moment it reached nine. A receptionist dealt with him at first, before putting him through to the voicemail of the new business director. Reluctantly Tom left a message, then sat by the phone listening to guests come and go in the foyer outside. Just before midnight his mobile went and he eagerly picked it up.

'Tom Benwell? Al Nevitt here. I understand you got some urgent business to discuss. How can I help you?'

Tom sat back in the seat, relieved to be speaking with someone who sounded so friendly. Al worked quickly and efficiently, reporting back within the hour that, with payment in advance, they could take care of both jobs within days.