Alex George - Working It Out

‘Hello,’ she said, and kissed him on the lips.

‘Hello,’ said Johnathan, immediately worried about the danger of his incipient hard-on manifesting itself through the lightweight towelling of his dressing gown.

‘Are you hungry?’

Johnathan looked at her as innocently as he could. ‘Not particularly.’

‘Good,’ said Kibby. ‘Come on then.’ She took his hand and led him back to the bedroom.

Johnathan eyed the over-laden plate with ill-disguised glee. Mushroom, sausage, egg, bacon and fried bread were heaped on top of each other, jostling for space. He looked carefully for a spot to put his tomato ketchup.

‘Wow,’ he said.

Kibby grinned. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’ve worked up quite an appetite.’ She paused. ‘You’d better enjoy it though. Don’t think I make it a habit to cook men breakfast. Strictly first-time shags only, birthdays excepted. From now on it’ll be back to cornflakes.’

A carefully constructed forkful went into Johnathan’s mouth. He chewed contentedly.

Kibby watched him eat. ‘Tell me something,’ she said. ‘Do you really not mind people like Gavin having a go at you? Doesn’t it rankle?’

‘Not really,’ said Johnathan cheerfully. He thought. ‘Well, sometimes it does. Sometimes it pisses me off hugely.’

‘Because they’re right or because they’re wrong?’

‘God, I don’t know. It just pisses me off.’

‘Oh, come on.’

‘All right then, both. They may be right. But what really infuriates me about people who criticize lawyers is that they don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. Lawyers are pretty easy targets, after all. People just make assumptions about how awful and greedy we are. That’s what really irritates me.’

‘Not the fact that most of you actually are awful and greedy?’

‘No. That I can live with.’

Kibby looked around his sitting room. ‘You don’t seem to be doing too badly for yourself.’

Johnathan put down his knife and fork. ‘Look, I’m not saying I’m particularly proud of what I do. I’m not. I don’t even enjoy it, really. I never wanted to be a lawyer. I never used to dream about a life of fighting injustice when I was younger. I just sort of fell into it. I work all the hours God sends and it’s usually pretty bloody boring. I won’t deny that the money isn’t bad, but there should be more to it than that.’

‘Such as?’

‘Recognition. Respect. More personable colleagues. Prospects. Better coffee.’

‘If it’s so awful, why don’t you leave?’ said Kibby.

There was a heavy silence. Then Johnathan said, ‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I just can’t.’

‘You’re scared,’ observed Kibby.

Johnathan looked at her. ‘Correct,’ he said.

‘Can’t you get another job? One that’s more fulfilling?’

Johnathan rolled his eyes. ‘They don’t exist.’

‘Have you tried?’

‘Well. No. No, I haven’t actually tried. But I know people who have.’

‘Perhaps you should try yourself.’

‘Perhaps I should.’ Johnathan began to eat again.

‘Bet you won’t,’ said Kibby.

‘I bet I won’t, too,’ agreed Johnathan with his mouth full.

‘Shame, though.’

‘Yes, isn’t it?’

There was a pause while Johnathan busied himself in skewering the last mushroom with the end of his fork, jabbing at it half-heartedly as it skidded around the plate. Kibby watched him closely as she sipped her mango and guava juice.

‘You only get one chance at this,’ she said eventually.

‘At what?’

‘Life. It’s not a dress rehearsal. You can’t come back and have another go. It’s now or never. Aren’t you worried that you’re going to wake up one day when you’re sixty and ask yourself what you’ve ever achieved in your life and arrive at the rather awkward conclusion that the answer is probably nothing? And by then it will all be too late. You’re right when you say that there are more important things in life than money. There are.’

‘Breakfast,’ suggested Johnathan.

Kibby ignored him. ‘It’s pointless spending your life running after money if you’re empty inside. At least if you enjoyed your work that would be a reason for doing it, but you don’t. You’re a nice bloke, Johnathan. You deserve better, you really do. You should at least think about it.’

‘I will,’ said Johnathan.

‘Bet you don’t give it another thought.’

‘I will. I promise,’ said Johnathan.

‘We’ll see,’ said Kibby. She drained her glass, and looked at her watch. ‘I should really go.’

‘Oh. Right,’ said Johnathan, suddenly realizing that he desperately wanted her to stay. He watched helplessly as she got up and began collecting her things.

‘Thank you for a nice evening,’ she said. ‘And a nice morning.’

‘Thank you,’ said Johnathan.

‘Here’s where I am,’ said Kibby, writing down a number. ‘It would be nice to see you again, so give me a ring.’

Five minutes later Kibby was gone, after a slightly embarrassing goodbye kiss. Johnathan had aimed for Kibby’s mouth and she had gone for his cheek, resulting in an awkward clash. Johnathan had only narrowly avoided poking out Kibby’s left eye with his nose.

Alone in the flat, Johnathan stood in the middle of the sitting room with a broad smile on his face. After a while he became bored, and so instead sat on the sofa with a broad smile on his face.

Kibby Kibby Kibby, he thought. Nice name. Kibby what? He realized that he did not know her second name. Who was she, actually? He had slept with someone without knowing their surname. Johnathan felt appalled and then felt an unstoppable rush of elation. Kibby. Kibby Something. Kibby Something with whom I have recently had sex. Twice. Johnathan nodded with satisfaction. It sounded good.

Johnathan walked into the kitchen where the dishes from breakfast were stacked up neatly by the sink. He would do them later, he thought. Perhaps on Wednesday. Just then he didn’t want to spoil his moment of glory.

He leaned down towards Schroedinger’s bean bag. ‘Oi,’ he said. ‘I scored.’

Schroedinger looked up at Johnathan, unimpressed. ‘Suit yourself,’ said Johnathan. He beamed. Schroedinger emitted the sigh of the long-suffering self-righteous, and closed his eyes.

Johnathan remembered the winking answer-phone. He went into the hall and reluctantly pressed the button. After a brief crackle of static, a familiar voice echoed through the flat.

‘Hello? I know you’re there. I do. I can sense it. Why won’t you pick up the phone? Johnathan, we need to talk. I’m worried about you. After Troilus. I know you’re upset. I just want to talk to you. I want to check you’re all right.’ There was a small pause, followed by an artfully controlled sob. ‘I think you need help. I wish you’d call me. Soon. Please.’

Johnathan let out a low whistle of appreciation. Some performance. Brilliant. He had fallen for this sort of thing before, but no longer. Chloe was history. He made some more coffee and walked through the flat thinking about Kibby and what she had said about his job. It was, he reflected, nothing new. Such thoughts had been lurking at the back of his mind for years. He had learned to ignore such ideas when they fought their way to the front of his consciousness. Dissatisfaction was all part of the job package, along with private health insurance and gym membership.

Money. The root of all evil. Also the root of quite a lot of pleasure, thought Johnathan. A thought began to nag at the back of his mind that if that was true, he should be getting a lot more pleasure from it than he actually was. He began to wonder where his salary went. He stared at the ceiling, trying to remember what he had spent money on in the previous week.