Chris Simms - Killing the Beasts

'Well, your health is far more important than any contract,' said the nurse. 'Just think of it as a lunch he'll always remember.'

Tom appreciated his attempt at making light of the situation and, taking advantage of the softening in the atmosphere, asked, 'So what happens now? I'm not under arrest, am I?'

'No, not at all. Do you have any history of mental illness, Tom?'

Now Tom wanted to get the interview over with as quickly as possible. 'No,' he lied, not mentioning his episode of a few years before. 'Apart from the panic attacks, of course.'

'And this attitude you have towards,' he glanced at his notes and quoted,'“anything rubbery that's been in someone's mouth”. You called it a phobia. We'd refer to it as a neurosis. Are you familiar with the word?'

'Like a weird habit?'

'Compulsive or obsessive behaviour, usually provoked by an irrational fear or belief. It's amazingly common, so don't worry. Have you mentioned your concerns about rubbery things to your GP?'

'No; I'm so busy at work. But I should do. I mean, will do.' Eager to please, eager to get out.

'Yes, you should. Who is your GP?'

Tom gave him the doctor's name and practice address.

The nurse noted it down and said, 'Dr Goldspink can arrange for you to be referred to a counsellor; there are very effective forms of therapy available. You needn't let it have such a detrimental effect on your life and job.'

Tom nodded. 'Fair enough. I will.'

'Right. I'll let your doctor know what happened and recommend that he book you in to see a therapist. In the meantime, you'll need some trousers. Now, I can get you a pair of these.' He pointed to the thin green cotton pair he was wearing. 'Or there's a little trick I know about for removing chewing gum. We can freeze it off

— there's a gas here that can do it.' Tom looked bemused. 'Freezing chewing gum turns it brittle, then we can scrape it off with a scalpel.' 'Option number two, please.'

He had a ten-pound note ready for the taxi driver. As soon as the car pulled up outside his office he said, 'Here mate, keep the change.'

The driver said, 'Cheers! You want a receipt with that?'

But Tom was already half out of the car, keys to the office in his hand. 'No, you're all right,' he called over his shoulder.

Reception was deserted and the door locked, but when the alarm didn't start buzzing as he opened up, he knew someone else was still in the building.

Quickly he walked through to his office, shut the door and made straight for his desk. Two large dabs of powder later and he was sitting in his chair staring at the screensaver of the Cornish beach. Though it no longer gave him the same sense of exhilaration, the drug was working its way through his system, easing his nerves and smoothing the ruffles of his mind. He was just contemplating pulling out the bottom drawer and putting his feet up when there was a knock on the door.

'Yeah?' he said, surprised at the dreamy way the word came out.

The door opened halfway and Ges poked his head into the room. 'Where've you been? All hell's been breaking out here.'

'Go on,' said Tom. For the moment, nothing really mattered but the relief coursing through him.

'The guy from the chewing gum company called. Then his boss called from London. Then our bosses called from London. No one can get hold of you, so suddenly everyone's after you. Was there

some sort of problem with the chewing gum promotion?'

'Ges, I'll fill you in tomorrow.'

Ges frowned, but didn't say anything. Without a word he stepped back out of the office and disappeared up the stairs.

Tom went on the internet and checked that the cafe in Cornwall was still for sale. Seeing that it was, he gathered up his jacket and set off home. He hadn't even put his briefcase down in the hall when Charlotte called from the sitting room. 'Tom, your bloody mobile can't be turned on. One of the directors down in London has called here three times. He's left his home number for you.'

Tom went up to their bedroom, climbed out of his suit and dumped it in the wardrobe. Pulling on jeans and a T-shirt, he went back down the stairs, preparing his speech to Charlotte. He'd use the beach location to persuade her — emphasize the prospect of fresh air and opportunities for exercise. He'd already enquired about membership at the best gym in the area.

As he walked into the sitting room, he saw the TV was tuned into the build-up for the Opening Ceremony in the Commonwealth Games stadium. The place was already packed, every seat sold out. But his wife was sitting on the edge of the sofa, looking tense and uncomfortable.

'Charlotte,' he began, 'don't worry about that knob down in London. What has he said, anyway?'

'Nothing,' she said, biting on the edge of a thumbnail. 'Just for you to call him immediately.'

Tom moved to the sofa and sat down. He put his arm around her. 'Charlotte, it's all going to be fine. I've got this plan-'

She cut him off. 'I'm not bothered by some rude prick down in London. I'm bothered about this.'

She held up a white plastic object the shape of an ice-lolly stick. Halfway up was a little window with a blue cross in it.

'What's that?'

'A pregnancy test. The cross means it's positive.'

'You're pregnant?'

She nodded.

Tom stared at the top of her down-turned head, found himself focusing on the individual strands of hair poking through her scalp. He felt like he was looking through a microscope. 'But that's… that's perfect. It'll all work out brilliantly. I've got this plan, you see. We'll pack everything in and move to Cornwall. There's this cafe for sale. It's so beautiful — it's wooden, painted a pale blue. It's got this great big veranda. We can live by the beach, raise our child there, away from all this filth and pressure.'

Charlotte looked up. 'Cornwall? What the hell are you on about Cornwall for? Cafe? I'm only a few weeks late for my period. What if this stupid test is wrong?'

Tom realized he'd got ahead of himself. 'No there's more to it than that. I've had a disaster at work. Something serious. Resignation serious.'

'Is that why that director has been ringing?'

'Yeah, but it doesn't matter, 'Tom replied, brightening his voice. 'Charlotte, I'm desperate to pack it in. You know that. I'll work a settlement out with them and we can use the cash from it along with the money from selling this place to get out. Downsize. I've worked it all out.'

Very slowly Charlotte began to shake her head. 'I knew you were desperate to get through the run-up to the Commonwealth Games. And you've done it — look. 'She waved a hand at the dancers on the TV. 'The Games are starting in ten minutes. What's all this stuff about Cornwall? You never mentioned about packing the job in completely.'

'Well, I thought it was obvious. Sorry. It's been intense lately. But they've already begun to work out our next set of targets. It doesn't stop, Charlotte, it just goes on and on and fucking on. I feel so trapped.' He thought about the sensation of the spider's web around his head.

Looking agitated, she reached for a cigarette.

Tom placed his hand over the pack. 'Charlotte, do you think you should?'

Angrily she sat back and took a deep breath.

'Don't look so sad.' He placed a reassuring hand on her stomach. 'This is such perfect timing. We can start a new life… a family. Everything.'

She grabbed his hand and threw it back on his lap. 'I'm not having this thing!' she said, tears filling her eyes. 'How dare you presume that? I'm twenty-two for God's sake. I've got my life to live. Babies?' She let out a snort of disgust. 'You're bloody joking!' She leaned forwards, grabbed a cigarette and lit up.

Tom stared at her. 'What do you mean? It's our child. Ours.' Bizarrely, an image of the diving instructor from the Seychelles flashed through his mind.