A Spot of Bother - Mark Haddon [83]
He wondered sometimes why in God’s name he did this job.
He rubbed his eyes.
He had to stop moaning. He was going to be a good person. And good people didn’t moan. Children were dying in Africa. Jack Riley didn’t matter in the greater scheme of things. Some people didn’t even have a job.
Just knuckle down.
He pasted in the photographs of the interior.
Giles was doing the pen thing over on the facing desk. Bouncing it between his thumb and forefinger then throwing it up into the air and letting it twirl an even number of times before catching it by the handle end. Like Jamie used to do with penknives. When he was nine.
And maybe if it was someone else, Josh, or Shona, or Michael, it wouldn’t have mattered. But it was Giles. Who wore a cravat. And took the foil off a Penguin, folded it in half, then rewrapped the bottom of the bar in the now-double-thickness foil forming a kind of silver paper cornet to prevent his fingers getting chocolatey so that you wanted to put a bullet through his head. And he was making the noise, too, every time the pen fell back into his hand. That little clop noise with his tongue. Like when you were doing a horse for children. But only one clop at a time.
Jamie filled in a couple of Terms of Business and printed out three Property Fact Finds.
He didn’t blame Tony. Christ, he’d made a total arse of himself. Tony was right to slam the door in his face.
How the hell could you ask someone to love you when you didn’t even like yourself?
He typed up the accompanying letters, put everything into envelopes and returned a string of phone calls from the previous day.
At half past twelve he went out and got a sandwich for lunch and ate it sitting in the park in the rain under Karen’s umbrella, thankful for the relative peace and quiet.
His head was still aching. Back at the office he cadged two ibuprofen from Shona then spent a large part of the afternoon mesmerized by the way the clouds moved very interestingly past the little window on the stairs, wanting desperately to be on the sofa at home with a large mug of proper tea and a packet of biscuits.
Giles started doing the pen thing again at 2:39 and was still doing it at 2:47.
Did Tony have someone with him? Well, Jamie couldn’t really complain. Only the poisoned prawns stopped him shagging Mike. Why the hell shouldn’t Tony have someone there?
That was what it meant, didn’t it. Being good. You didn’t have to sink wells in Burkina Faso. You didn’t have to give away your coffee table. You just had to see things from other people’s point of view. Remember they were human.
Like Giles fucking Mynott didn’t.
Clop. Clop. Clop.
Jamie needed a pee.
He got off his stool and turned round and bumped into Josh who was carrying a cup of startlingly hot coffee back to his desk.
Jamie heard himself saying, very loudly, “You. Total. Fucking. Moron.”
The office went very quiet.
Stuart walked over. It was like watching the headmaster coming across the playground after he’d torn Sharon Parker’s blazer.
“Are you all right, Jamie?”
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
Stuart was doing his Mr. Spock impression, giving absolutely no indication of what he was thinking.
“My sister has just canceled her wedding,” said Jamie. “My father’s having a nervous breakdown and my mother’s leaving him for someone else.”
Stuart softened. “Perhaps you should take the rest of the afternoon off.”
“Yes. Thank you. I will. Thanks. Sorry.”
He sat on the tube knowing he was going to hell. The only way to reduce the hot forks when he got there was to ring Katie and Mum as soon as he got home.
An old man with a withered hand was sitting opposite him. He was wearing a yellow mac and carrying a greasy satchel of papers and looking directly at Jamie and muttering to himself. Jamie was very relieved when he got off at Swiss Cottage.
Ringing Mum was going to be tricky. Was he meant to know about her leaving Dad? Was Katie even meant to know? She could have overheard a conversation and jumped to conclusions. Which she was prone to do
He’d ring Katie