Room 66b

"Hello, Mike. What can I do for you today?"

Jack Nielson studied the man on the other side of the desk. Mike Charles evidently needed somebody to do something for him; his face was creased by worried lines, his eyes sunken and furtive like lost animals in a burrow, and his normally pristinely-ironed shirt had dishevelled valleys and mountains all over it. He wasn't wearing a tie, either, Jack noted. Very unusual.

It had been Mike's immaculate appearance that had encouraged Jack to employ him. A recent promotion for Jack to Filing Supervisor had opened up a space in one of the filing rooms, and it was now Jack's responsibility to find a replacement for himself. Mike Charles was presentable, well groomed, evidently very sure of himself, and came across as a man in control of his own destiny. Judging by Mike's C.V., he had plenty of experience in this area and Jack felt immediately that the man would be good for The Company: tidy, efficient, clean. Just the type.

Jack hadn't been sure about accepting the promotion at first. He liked the filing room he used to work in, liked that his former supervisor, Mr Green, now retired, left him alone to get on with filing. This new role meant having to oversee many filing rooms and oversee the people that worked in them, checking that everything was okay and, well, supervising. Jack had never been one for people. At thirty-four he remained unmarried and could count the girlfriends he'd had on one hand (not including the thumb). He didn't work out. He didn't dress up. He was as far away from Brad Pitt as it was possible to be, but Jack didn't much care. He liked his own company and didn't feel the need to have to include someone else in his life.

But the money was better and that was what he needed. Bills kept going up and with the price of petrol being what it was he didn't really feel it was sensible to turn the position down. So against the nagging doubts that told him he couldn't do it, the job wasn't for him, Jack Neilson had relinquished the job he had held for the last fifteen years by accepting the offer and took hold of his new responsibilities with gusto. He surprised himself with how easy he took to the challenges it brought. He actually found that people weren't as bad as he had believed; those bullies at school were clearly restricted to that time of this life, relegated to a part of history that probably wouldn't be repeated. After a couple of weeks he began to see how isolated and stuffy that old filing room was.

Then he met Alice.

Alice was lovely. Others commented that she was rather plain, but Jack knew they were wrong. She wore big round glasses that Jack thought highlighted her chocolate eyes, and when she wore her mousey brown hair in a bun, which was every day, he could see the soft flesh of her neck. It made him tingle in a place that didn't normally tingle. He wasn't used to it, but he liked tingling very much indeed.

Jack had started talking to her, if single syllable words could be called talking, and Alice had seemed just as nervous. After several accidental-on-purpose meetings at the tea machine they both just started laughing at the whole thing. That had broken the ice - shattered it to pieces, in fact - and before he knew it they were dating. She encouraged him to do things he hadn't considered before, like putting gel in his hair. She seemed to like it so he did it. And they were going to the pictures tonight. Seven-thirty showing. Mustn't be late.

Oh, yes. Mike.

"Sorry, I missed that," Jack apologised.

"I think my wife's having an affair."

Jack gulped. This was a first. Dealing with personnel personal problems. He had Googled it when he had first started Supervising, accepting that it may come up and hoping he could figure out the best way to do it, but after a few months of not needing to he thought he would never need to. Now he wished he had read the whole article. Still, this was A New Challenge. There had been plenty of those in his role of Supervisor, and so far he had dealt with them all. What was one more, right?

"Oh, er. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry to hear that, Mike. I mean, are you sure?" Jack's insides scrunched up. Somehow that didn't seem like the right thing to say.

Mike Charles nodded slowly, seeming reluctant to acknowledge what was surely his worst fear. "Yeah, pretty much." The man looked like he was going to be sick. Jack leant back in his chair, just in case.

Jack knew he was out of his depth with this one. He didn't have any relationship advice to offer; he had only been seeing Alice for a couple of weeks now, so that didn't really qualify him as 'experienced' for this kind of thing. He lacked training for counselling, too. Filing problems he could sort in a jiffy. He knew exactly where everything in that room was, but this was not in the job description. Maybe there was something in The Company Handbook about it, Jack wondered.

Jack collected his thoughts, hoping to find some words of encouragement, but it was Mike that saved the room from the awkward silence.

"I mean, I think so. Just because she has this guy's number on her phone doesn't mean they're doing anything, right? Right?" Mike was clearly becoming more agitated, as if he were trying to convince himself more than anything. Jack felt he'd have more chance convincing the Pope that God did not exist. "They were friends before we got married, after all. Worked in the same place, you see."

What do I do if he starts crying? Jack asked himself in a moment of panic, but stayed quiet a moment longer before venturing, "Why don't you just ask her?" It seemed logical. Jack thought that would be the obvious thing to do, now he had said it. "You've been together a few years, right? You should be able to tell if she's lying to you, or not."

"I don't know," Mike replied. "Since getting this job she seems to be a different person. It's like, I get in and she goes out. I just know she's seeing him."

Jack put on his diplomatic head. "Look, Mike. I think you need to be absolutely certain before you accuse her of anything. I don't know how to help you, but if you want the rest of the day off I can arrange that. Something's upset you, I can see that, but if I were you I'd just get my head down with some work. It might take your mind off it. It's only a couple of hours till break. Give yourself till then, if you like."

It was true. That's exactly what Jack did when he had a problem. Went to work and embroiled himself with addresses and numbers and filing and forgot about the worries. Not that there were many of those when you were single. His main problem had been money, and working hard seemed to cure that one.

"Yeah, maybe you're right. Yeah. I'll head back for a couple more hours. Till break, like you said. Then I'll see how I feel. Yeah. That's right" Mike stood up and was heading out of Jack's office door, still talking himself into doing a couple more hours.

Jack heaved a contented sigh, a flush of satisfied completion stretching his lips. That seemed to go quite well, in the end.

The rest of the day went just as good. Filing procedures were being followed, and nobody was getting numbers and addresses mixed up. The tea machine was working better than usual, pouring drinks that actually passed as tea rather than stale washing up water. Alice had sent a nice email explaining what she wanted to do to him when she got him back to her place after the movie. It took a while for the tingling to go away after that! One of the operatives from an adjoining filing room told Jack that Mike had stayed until break and then gone home, but as usual he hadn't left the place a mess. Jack honestly felt for the guy. He seemed a decent chap. Anybody who picked used staples off the carpet and put them in the bin couldn't be that bad, could they?

Jack decided to leave a minute early he was in such good spirits, and got back to his flat at five-twenty-three, a whole eight minutes early since that extra minute meant the traffic signals stayed green instead of just turning red upon his approach. Plus, the train was still in the station as he went over the level crossing. All for a minute! He'd have to do that more often.

But getting home early meant that Jack caught the last part of the five o'clock news as they were repeating the headlines, a breaking story of how a young man had come home in the middle of the afternoon and stabbed his wife one hundred and forty times with a kitchen knife before committing suicide. Jack felt a chill creep over his bones, and the pit of his stomach quivered. He knew somewhere deep inside that Mike would not be coming to work in the morning.

* * * *

"I'll be fine, Chris, really. It's not like I've never had a new job before."

"Okay, Babe. What time do you finish?"

"I'll text you when I'm on the way home, 'kay?"

"'Kay."

Chris bent forward and Lucy Chapman granted his lips a touch of her own before pulling quickly away. Best to leave him gasping for more. Before she could say anything further, Chris' attention was suddenly somewhere behind her, over her left shoulder. His hand left her hip to swish back and forth over his head. "Hey, you!"

Lucy turned to see a pretty, young blonde in tight Bench jeans smiling and waving back. Lucy didn't consider herself overweight for her height, five foot nine at eleven stone, but that girl made her feel fat. "Who's that?" she asked, with a little more force than she intended.

Chris turned to her, teeth gleaming with cheek. "What's this? Jealous?" He chuckled. "She's just one of the new girls in the typing pool. Don't even know her name. Sandy, I think."

"Yeah , like you don't know her name?"

"Will you forget about her, already?" Chris' smile widened. "Now get yourself off, or we'll both be late."

"Sorry, yeah. Take care. See you later. Love you."

"Ell-Why-Tee," Chris returned, as per usual. Love You Too.

Their hands stayed in contact for as long as they could, but Lucy was already running late. She had to be at work in, like, ten minutes, and she didn't want to give a bad impression by being late on her first day. Even so, as Lucy lowered herself into her green Rover 214 she could not help but notice how the blonde had waited for Chris to run up to her.

She breathed out her frustration and calmed her racing pulse. She had just passed her test and needed to concentrate. Belt on? Yes. Clutch in, first gear. Handbrake off. Find the biting point . . . Mirror? It's clear, pull out. Ohh, signal.

Traffic wasn't bad and parking was better. She arrived at Mr Nielson's office with a few seconds to spare. He was sat writing something behind his big desk. Red trays full of paperwork were on one side of him and shelves full of lever arch files lined the wall behind him. her knuckles on his office door window lifted his head from his work and he smiled, waving her in as he slid the sheet of paper back into a tray. The skinny man stood as she approached, and he extended a long-fingered hand over the desk. "Hello, Lucy. Er, Chapman, isn't it?"

Lucy took his hand. He had a weak grip, as if he were not comfortable touching her, but his smile was pleasant and genuine. He had regular features with an unimpressive physique, nothing like Chris' rugged looks and rugby-toned body. Mr Nielson's hair was a mess of dark curls, probably the result of untrained fingers slopped with cheap Tesco's gel. He probably thinks he looks great, Lucy thought. Bet he doesn't have a girlfriend. Lucy ran her left hand through her dark brown hair, a deliberate effort to display the rings Chris had given her to announce that she was off-limits. If her new boss had any interest in her physically, he hid it well. His eyes didn't stray from hers even though most men she met couldn't help but glance at her boobs at least once. Maybe she shouldn't have been so conservative, and instead put on the blouse that showed more cleavage?

Lucy shook the thought away. Good first impression. Good first impression. "Yes, Chapman. That's right." She smiled back.

"Wonderful! I'm just not very good with names. Never forget a face, though."

"I know what you mean," Lucy replied, even though she didn't. She never had a problem remembering who people were. Especially Sandy. The bitch.

"Come on, Lucy. Follow me. I'll take you to the office where you'll be based, and give you a run down of the daily routine. If you have a problem with anything, absolutely anything, don't hesitate to come see me. I'm either in my office, or at the tea machine." He laughed, and Lucy felt as though she should laugh too. So she did. Saddo.

So Mr Nielson spent half the morning with Lucy in the office she would be working in. He told her how all the files were alpha-numerically stored, and when a new file comes in they have to be stored correctly for ease of retrieval. Files older than three years need to be reviewed, and updated if necessary, so it was important to log all new files by date as they arrived. At break time he showed her how to use the tea machine, and when Lucy admitted she didn't drink tea or coffee he gave her a surprised look, like it was the weirdest thing he'd ever heard. Then he shrugged, and indicated the fridge where the milk was kept and told her she could keep water or juice or whatever she liked in there, as long as it was labelled properly. Then he said goodbye and went back to his office, leaving her to go back to hers alone. She had a couple of nods and friendly, non-committal greetings from other staff she passed, but nobody got particularly close. Lucy was happy with that.

Always difficult being the new girl in class, Lucy thought.

When she arrived at the office she noticed that a bundle of files, paperwork sandwiches held together by large elastic bands, had been left on the desk at the end of the room. So much for an easy start.

As she began to sort through the files, she re-evaluated her opinion about her boss. He actually came across as being quite nice, genuine and helpful. They'd had a bit of a laugh about something she couldn't remember now, but it had relaxed her nerves at the time. Overall, she had the impression he was safe, that he wouldn't be pestering her or making lewd remarks, like her old boss. She didn't have to worry about him trying it on with her.

After about an hour, Lucy noticed how cold the room was becoming. Of course, Jack had warned her about that. Make sure the window was shut to stop draughts, which it was, and put on a jumper. If it got too bad, he advised, get up and have a cup of tea. that's what they'd laughed about. It was the inactivity of the job role, he explained, the sitting down all day shifting sheets of paper between each other that made it seem colder than it was.

Lucy sat back and stretched the cramp from her legs, rubbing her shoulders with her hands. He hadn't been kidding when he said it got cold in here. Lucy thought immediately of Chris, and wished lustfully that he were here. He would warm her up.

If he's not warming Sandy up, that is.

Where had that thought come from? Lucy paused, her eyes taking in the hollowness of the room for the first time.

The filing room was perhaps ten feet wide by twenty five feet deep. the operative sat at a table situated at the far end, opposite the door with their back to the window. On the right was a set of shelves three layers high. One layer was packed tightly with lever arch files similar to the ones in her boss' office. The second layer contained tall, narrow boxes grouped by date three years ago - files to review or that had been reviewed, Lucy couldn't remember. The top layer had larger boxes also grouped by date, but going back further. Hadn't Mr Nielson told her they had to keep files seven years before they could dispose of them? Below the lowest shelf sat cabinets of drawers that she had been told contained more recent paperwork. The whole room radiated bleak, still, greyness.

Lucy shrugged the notion away and bent forward, hands settling upon the block of paper so her fingers could separate each sheet by the top left corner. The insectile movement was aided by the odd dab of moisture from her tongue, a gesture to improve her fingertip's trip upon the next sheet. As each corner was lifted the file's printed reference number came into view. Alpha-numeric order. All she had to do was keep going until she found the number closest to the next one on the 'to sort' pile and slip all the relevant files into the correct drawer.

The rustle of dead trees moving filled the room, a susurration that did nothing to calm Lucy's mind. Before long, the easy companionship Chris had shared with Sandy began to unsettle her again. The thought took root in the back of her mind like some black weed. Lucy shook her head, frowning with effort. It was preposterous. Sandy was far too skinny.

But he likes that in a girl.

The young woman's fingers stopped immediately, the index finger of her right hand finding the corner of her eye instead of the tip of her tongue.

After all, you were that size once.

Yeah, she had been that size once. Had it really been ten years since she had met Chris? They had dated for three before they were married. She had been a size eight then, and now, what, lucky to get into a twelve? Unertain eyes gazed upon the body they belonged to and Lucy could almost feel the rolls of flab jiggling obscenely beneath her clothes. She was half again the size she once was.

There's no wonder he's with her, then.

"Don't be stupid, girl," she scolded, harshly now, ignoring the images coming unbidden to the insides of her eyes. "You're imagining things. Your husband loves you and would never cheat on you."

You sure about that?

Lucy set her jaw, grinding her teeth together to keep the quiver at bay. All afternoon she drank tea and worked hard, hoping the keep the deepening chill at bay.