Act Normal

Paul absentmindedly chewed the skin on the side of his fingernails whilst he scanned his unread emails. Nothing of significance leapt out as he filtered through meeting confirmations and ignored newsletters. He took a sip of coffee, his mouth pursing in disgust as he swallowed the lukewarm liquid. Although adrenaline pumped through him, he needed the caffeine.

He had hardly slept the previous night. In the fleeting moments that his body had tried to take over his brain and he drifted towards sleep, he would find himself suddenly startling awake, sweaty and breathless as he remembered the envelope on the kitchen table.

The envelope had been waiting on the mat when he stumbled through the door after one too many post work pints, something that was becoming habitual. Drinks with colleagues on Fridays, and the occasional carefree Thursday, had led to Paul taking a quieter train home. He began to slip into one of the pubs by Victoria Station to avoid the peak rush hour on particularly busy days but over the past few months this had happened most evenings. He made sure to rotate which pub he visited so that the bar staff didn’t think he had a problem. He didn’t; a few pints just made coming home to an empty flat that little bit more bearable.

The small padded envelope has been hand delivered, his name written on the front in a thick, black scrawl. He ripped it open, tearing down the side of the package as he did so.

One line was written on a cream, rectangular card in the same black handwriting:

‘Enclosed is as promised. I’ll give you a call tomorrow to catch up. - M’

Confused, Paul double checked the front of the envelope, expecting to have misread it but saw that his name was clearly stated. He reached in and pulled out a strange, two pronged key. For a moment he was unable to process any meaning for the item and then, suddenly, realisation hit him.

***

‘Morning!’ Fiona’s plummy voice made him jump, knocking the remainder of his coffee over.

‘Shit.’ He grappled at the stray papers on his desk, shaking off the coffee that had reached them. ‘Do we have any tissues?’

‘Here.’ Fiona proffered a box towards him. ‘You’re in early today.’ He could feel Fiona’s critical eyes watching him as he mopped up the excess liquid from his desk.

‘Had an early call.’ He mumbled distractedly before handing the tissue box back to Fiona. ‘Thanks.’ He flashed her a quick smile and watched as she placed the box in its rightful position on her desk.

Paul and Fiona formed the HR Department of the company. When they had started working together six years ago, Paul had thought Fiona uptight and pedantic. He had often complained to Jenny about her, who pointed out that Fiona might not be full of praise for Paul. In the years that followed they had forged a strong, successful working relationship. Fiona was the first person Paul told when Jenny had asked for a divorce eighteen months before. Guilt raged through him as he watched Fiona hang up her coat. He hoped she would escape this unscathed.

A knock on the door caused them both to look up. Hugo, one of the junior account managers poked his head into the room. ‘It’s all kicking off out here, you’re missing the drama.’ Paul leapt to his feet and must have looked worried because Hugo held his hands out.

‘Oh, it’s nothing bad or HR-y, the workmen have hit a pipe right outside the station. It’s spraying like a fountain and the commuters’ reactions are hilarious.’

‘Oh, you had me worried.’ Paul replied truthfully, trying to make his voice sound as light as possible. Under his desk he clenched his fists to stop his hands from visibly shaking.

‘Are you coming to this 9am with Elaine?’ Fiona flicked through her in-tray.

‘Could you send my apologies? I’m expecting a call from one of the applicants for Kate’s job and we keep missing each other.’

‘Sure.’

Paul’s gaze returned to his screen, feigning interest in an email as Fiona walked through the door that Hugo had swiftly disappeared from. He waited until the sound of Fiona’s heels retreated down the hallway before taking out his phone.

No new messages.

He couldn’t wait. Sliding open the top drawer of his desk, he took out the small black notebook that he used for all his contacts. He flicked through the pages erratically until he found the details he needed. It took three attempts to type the number correctly, his fingers losing their dexterity.

His mouth was dry as he listened to the ringing, unsure if he actually wanted the call to be answered.

‘Good morning, this is Amy at M and M Property, how can I help you?’ A bubbly voice answered. It was not who Paul had expected.

‘H-hello.’ Paul cleared his throat. ‘I was hoping to speak with Michael McAllister please?’

‘Mr McAllister is tied up in meetings this morning. Can I take a message or help at all?’

‘Can you tell him that Paul Marshall called?’

‘Of course, Mr Marshall. Can I take a phone number or email address?’

‘If you could tell him I’m on my mobile, he should have it.’

‘No problem, I’ll let him know.’

‘Thanks.’

Paul hung up without saying goodbye. It had been months since he had spoken to Michael and had started to doubt that this day would ever come. His decisions, right or wrong, were made and there was no way that he could change them now.

Needing to do something to fill the time, Paul picked up his mug to make a fresh drink when his phone buzzed. Unknown Caller.

He swiped aggressively to answer. ‘Hello?’

‘Paul, it’s Michael. I take it you got the key?’

‘Yes. What the hell is going on?’

‘Have you got a pen and paper?’

All the questions Paul had evaporated as he searched for a pen under the stray pieces of paper on his desk. ‘Yes.’

‘Write this address down.’ Paul scribbled down instructions as Michael dictated. ‘It’s number 103 and it’s all there.’

‘All there?’

‘20, as promised. In dollars’

‘When, umm, what should I-?’ Paul was unable to talk. Twenty thousand.

‘It’s happening very soon. I’ll be in touch.’

Paul slumped in his chair and let his head fall into his hands. Twenty thousand dollars. He felt the key in his pocket. A surge of energy shot through him. He needed to go, to see for himself. He would take an early lunch and go then. He got up and paced around the room, unsure what to do next.

Act normal. That was the advice Michael had given him when they had first spoken. He would do just that. Paul put on his jacket and picked up his wallet and the black notebook, slipping them both into his pocket. The coffee shop across the road would have recovered by now from the morning rush.

As Paul crossed the foyer, he spotted Fiona looking up at one of the large televisions. He was just about to call out to her when the bold, red news headline caught his eye. A wave of fear crashed through him.

It had started.