Copyright © 2009 Peter Mackay

“You’re quite sure he got away?” Kim asked.

The guards looked dubious in the dim light.

“Okay. If this gets into the papers, it will be only be in the comics.”

“Fair suck,” said one. “There was only the two of us. We couldn’t do a full search.”

“You didn’t think to follow him?”

“He was gone.”

“We were shooting at him,” said the other guard. “He just ran for his life.”

“You didn’t hit him, you didn’t follow him, you didn’t detain him. Now we’ve got a problem.” Kim indicated the skeleton with his torch. “And it’s not just this poor bloke.”

“Our job is to secure the site. We’re not the police to arrest intruders.”

“Didn’t stop you shooting at him like the police. Except you didn’t hit him.”

“Well, what would you bloody do? He was swinging a shovel at us!”

Kim spread his hands in a soothing gesture, keeping them well away from his own weapon. “Sorry. Okay. What’s done is past. Let’s do our jobs. I’ll stay here to secure the scene. You,” he indicated one guard, “go back to the gate. We’ll have reinforcements arriving soon, and they’ll need to be signed in. And you two with the big searchlights, make a patrol around the fence. If you see him, you can shoot the bastard. Or politely ask him to come to the gatehouse while we call the police.”

“So the police will be coming?”

“Not unless we need them. I’m an authorised Commonwealth officer and I’ll take responsibility for determining if any crime has occurred, or if we need police involvement.” Kim flicked his light over the excavation. “This looks like ancient history to me, and I’ll get a forensics investigator in at dawn tomorrow to give an expert opinion.”

Kim watched the guards trudge away. What he really wanted was a shovel. A true cover-up. Problem with a quick fix on a construction site was that another idiot with another shovel or a back-hoe would undoubtedly uncover the bones all over again. Besides, whoever the intruder was, he or she had been busily disinterring them.

The skeleton, or at least the parts he could see, looked old. Fossil rather than fresh. Maybe there was an elderly murderer out there mounting their own cover-up.

Kim fingered his weapon and looked around the site with fresh eyes. No, do the job properly.

His main task was to limit the damage. Restrict the people who knew. Then get the facts. Do some digging. If it was a murder, then the police would have to be involved. Find some cops who could keep their mouths shut as they checked back through missing persons reports from the 1850s or whatever.

He made some phone calls. Briefed CAS. Arranged for site access at dawn. When the two guards returned empty-handed from their patrol, apart from identifying the likely entry point, he got them to remove a tarpaulin from a nearby pile of stores, and together they spread it across the excavation, weighing it down at the corners with planks lifted from a pile of scaffolding materials.

A platoon of replacement guards arrived, drawn in from the standby list, and eventually the site was secured to his satisfaction. Double guard on the excavation, with strict instructions to leave the hazardous material undisturbed. Better there be a rumour of asbestos than a body.

And then, finally, home again.

Zoe was long since offline.

Lee was a huddled shape under layers of bedclothes as Kim carefully replaced his gun and ammunition, stripped off and changed into pyjamas. But she reacted strongly when Kim slid up against her.

“Oooh! You’re cold!”

“And you’re so warm!  You love me, right?”

“Mmmm.” She had to think about that.

And then she rolled over, facing him. “Things I do for you, dear!”

Dear. Oh well, he was doing very well for an icicle.

“Kim?”

“Yes, dear?”

“You weren’t at the office, were you?” She inhaled. “And you’ve been with someone who smokes.”

“Just doing stuff.”

“And you had your gun. Anything I need to know?”

“Nothing you need to know. Just thought it prudent – there was something came up I had to look into, and until I knew the facts, I wanted to make sure I was covered. As it turned out, I didn’t need to defend myself.” Except maybe from trigger-happy security lunks.

“I love you, but you speak a lot of crap sometimes, Kim.”

“Yeah. This is really need to know material. It’s my job.”

“And I’m your partner. If you put your life in danger, don’t you think I’m going to get worried? And don’t you think I hate being lied to?”

Kim held Lee tighter. “I’m not lying to you.”

“Lying beside me, yes. Lying by not telling me things I need to know as your partner?”

Kim paused. Paused too long.

“Kim, how can I ever trust you?”

“There was an incident at a secure location. Shots were fired at an intruder. I was asked to check it out. It’s dark, there was some violence, and the people acted in self-defence. Given the limited details I was given, I thought it best to be armed.”

“And…?”

“And the intruder got away. We didn’t see any blood trail, we couldn’t find anyone on or near the site.”

“And…?”

“And that’s all I can tell you. It’s not the sort of thing we want in the papers. Look, honey, I was never in any danger. Even if I hadn’t taken a gun, I was with armed officers every moment. People trained and alert.”

“But they missed your intruder.”

“They fired to scare him away. We don’t shoot to kill unless there’s an immediate and major threat to life. A terrorist with a bomb. A maniac with a machine-gun.”

“I thought you were just a clerk when we got together.”

“Well, I am. Mostly. I’m not James Bond. As far as I’m concerned, the enemy lives on Pirie Street in Fyshwick, and I’m not allowed to shoot the buggers.”

Lee moved against him. “Hey, are you sure you put your weapon away?”

Copyright © 2009 Peter Mackay

Besides, he had better things to do.  He had Café del Mar on the stereo, he had a sheaf of reports that supposedly needed checking, and he had a girlfriend on chat that his wife didn’t know about, having retired to an early bed.

Zoe: And one night, we got drunk together. Lay on the grass by the creek at ANU. Looked up at the stars, and we talked about girl things and life and the future. We always wanted to stay friends.

Kim: And you did.

Zoe: Kimmie, this is important. We made a pact that night. We wanted to be happy forever. So Lee got you. And the twins.

Kim: Wow. And you?

Zoe: I never found any person I wanted so much. I wanted what Lee already had. All this time.

Kim: *hugs* I never knew.

Zoe: I came back. And you wanted me.

Kim: I always did, Zoe. I loved you both. So close, so beautiful, the two of you. Dark hair and red.

And a blonde would have made the set, Kim had thought back then. But there were only the two girlfriends, both lusting after him.

Zoe: You remember how I cried at your house-warming?

Kim: *kisses away tears*

Zoe: Too late, silly! I was so happy for Lee. And sooooo sorry for me.

Zoe: *snuggles into Kimmie’s chest*

Kim: *strokes Zoe’s hair*

Zoe: *loving the stroking*

Zoe: Thanks for chatting, Kimmie. I’ve been wanting to get that off my chest for, well, years.

Kim: Anything else you want to get off your chest? *undoes top button*

Zoe: Kim!

Zoe: *undoes second button*

Kim’s mobile phone trilled at precisely the wrong time. Perhaps five minutes later would have been even more exactly wrong, but from Kim’s point of view, CAS was the last person he wanted to hear from at this moment.

“Kim? I’m hoping you’re at home, sober and dressed. I’ve got a quick job for you.”

“Correct on all points. Just doing a bit of research. Shoot.”

“That’s the problem. We need you to go down to the site, find out why the security team there used their firearms, and sort out the body they’ve reported.”

“How old is this?”

“Minutes. No police as yet. Keep it that way. You’ve got powers under the Act. Use them.”

“On my way.”

Shit.

Kim: Z, work calls. *kisses Zoe goodnight*

Zoe: Now?

Kim: Sorry. It’s ultra-urgent.

Zoe: You’re not going to skip out on our Friday date as well?

Kim: I’ve been dreaming of nothing else!

Zoe: Go work, sweet man. *kisses Kimmie*

Kim: Goodnight! *XXX*

He closed the connection. Chat endearments with Zoe could easily go on for several minutes, with declarations of love, hearts, hugs, and lingering kisses.

Lee rolled over in bed when he came in, but he whispered, “Got to run,” and quickly pulled on outerwear, shoes and socks. He clicked through the combination in the wall safe, extracted a fanny pack containing pistol, ammunition and spare magazine, and wrapped it around his waist under his jacket. There was a holster for formal wear, but not tonight.

He reversed the BMW down the driveway, drove the three blocks down Monash Drive to Constitution Avenue, turned left to the Blamey Crescent intersection, through the red light into the building site gate area and pulled up beside a guard, who checked his identification and opened the gate for him.

Kim parked out of sight behind a demountable office, and hurried back to the gate. The guard was waiting for him. “I’ll just take you to the scene, Sir, brief you on the way.”

Kim nodded. Sweet. It had been a long time since anyone had called him sweet.

“…we responded to the alarm by sending out a patrol. Two officers, armed and equipped. They proceeded to the intrusion site and as they approached they became aware of noises. There was also a light.

“…intruder was digging a hole with a small hand implement and removing items. The senior member of the patrol challenged him and the intruder responded by attacking him with the implement. We’ve recovered and bagged that, Sir.”

Dear, dearest, darling were Lee’s terms, and he suspected that they were automatic now. Kim nodded again.

“…junior member of the patrol then drew his weapon and fired at the intruder. In self-defence, Sir. We’re trained to respond when attacked. Unfortunately the senior member had dropped his torch when responding to the initial attack and the junior member was unable to see his target clearly. He fired two rounds, and we’ll be conducting a thorough search for the cases once we have more light and more manpower.”

“No one else is to enter the site,” Kim responded automatically. “Not until I know exactly what happened. I have powers under the legislation to determine the investigation and to secure the crime scene for up to twenty four hours. I can arrange for security personnel to seal the area. Relieve you and your officers. We’ll have to take statements, see if the police need to be involved.”

“We’ve got a body!”

“Just let me see the scene first. If it all happened as you say, then we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

The “scene” was evident. Two men were walking up and down, heavy-duty torches trained on the ground as they conducted a grid search. Probably stomping any evidence into the dirt, Kim thought, though that could be a good thing. It was a construction site after all, and anything inconvenient could be quickly obliterated with a pass by a grader and dump truck.

“Turn those things off!” he commanded, softly yet firmly. “We don’t want the whole suburb hanging off the fence trying to see what’s going on.”

The lights snapped off, and the site resumed its semi-gloom. Streetlights augmented the city’s glow reflecting from the overcast.

“Right. Where’s the body?”

“Here, Sir.”

Kim had his own discreet torch. Something less like a club than the things the guards were swinging around.

Here was trouble. There was a garden implement, some sort of small shovel, sealed in a plastic bag. An excavation, fresh dirt piled up, stones and other objects visible. And a corpse.

Kim stared down in astonishment at the sad remains.

Shit.

“Right. I hope nobody called an ambulance. We can handle this without the police, fire brigade or any emergency services.”

Nobody laughed.

Sweet man. She’d find out how sweet he really was on Friday.

Copyright © 2009 Peter Mackay

There’d be a few to agree with her. The same few who fought passionately to save the rare habitat of the common sun lizard if it happened to be needed for a road or an office block. The same few whose names turned up on every petition, every protest against a government initiative.

The same powerless few every time.

Kim cut the letter out, pasted it into his file, made a copy for Colonel Kern, and turned to the computer.

Ann Ounce of Ounce Books turned out to be a real person. Campbell resident and business owner. Interesting background, dual citizenship, some brushes with criminal activity in Sydney. Long list of what the file referred to as “close international relationships”. Facebook page provided a photograph and some more details. Relationship shown as “It’s complicated.”

And, perhaps most intriguing of all, no previous history of writing letters to the editor. Not in Canberra, not in Sydney.

So, Kim mused, she is fired up enough to write her first ever letter for public consumption about … magpies. Why on earth would anybody do that?

He’d be keeping an eye on her.

In fact, now that he thought about it, he already had.

Interesting woman.

An alert on his computer screen. Another problem. Potential problem at CIA. Canberra International Airport had been shut down. Bomb scare. Disposal specialists en route. Local chat radio was getting updates from onlookers with mobile phones.

No action required. Not yet.

He picked up the phone for Colonel Kern.

“Kern here!”

“Kim. I’ve got a new package for you.”

“Good man! Handover as agreed, right?”

“Time of seven this evening good for you?”

There was a pause. Kim really couldn’t get away earlier.

“It’s winter. Winter in Canberra. I’m not a young whippersnapper like you, and I walk my dog at four, when there’s still some light and warmth in the world. See you then.”

“Yessir!”

Kim hung up. There had been something sharp in the old colonel’s tone. Something that made him jump.

His phone rang.

“Kern here. The first meeting of our protest group is Friday night. I’ll contact the people we’ve got and get them geed up. I’ll give you the details this evening.”

Kern hung up.

Kim reached for his calendar. Uh-oh. He had a big red circle on that day. Marked “Z”. Z for Zoe.

Timing could be a problem here. A big problem.

Well, they paid him to sort problems. He’d have to juggle things. Keep his balls in the air.

He flicked his iPod off. St Germain faded away, the beat continuing on in his mind for a few moments. The local radio replaced it, the voice of someone on a mobile phone, shouts and weep-wop-weep emergency noises in the background.

“He’s in some sort of padded bulletproof suit. Looks like a robot or a spaceman. Just bending down over the thing now. Can’t see what he’s doing from behind this tape, but he’s got some tool out…”

Bloody hell. Bombs at the airport. Experts fiddling with screwdrivers and wirecutters. It’s always the red wire in the films. Cut the wrong wire and the movie’s over suddenly.

But the crisis passed as he listened on. A whimper, not a bang. The best way to sort out crises.

The diverted airliners, the stranded passengers, the emergency response teams, they’d take time to sort out, but that was someone else’s problem.

Four o’clock, and they were just two men out for a jog through Campbell’s streets, making the most of the watery sunlight. Military officers, football players, fitness fanatics – the suburb had men in faded jerseys and running shoes at all hours.

David from the next office had agreed to get out in the field with him. He looked the exact part – chubby and not quite so fit, the very sort of jogger who might pull up with a cramp.

They started behind the school, after-school children running around on the oval, supervised by young women with clear voices. A few warming and stretching exercises and they were off.

“Bloody airport,” David complained as they headed up the hill. Slowly at first.

“Yeah. If it’s anything to do with air travel, they just go nuts. Why couldn’t someone just pick it up and look inside?”

“That’d make too much sense. They want to get dressed up, get their emergency pay, tick all the boxes in the response book.”

“And the airport gets closed for two hours.”

“You know what they say. Better safe than sorry.”

“You know how much it costs the airlines? Not to mention all those people missing flights and getting cranky.”

“Could have been worse. Could have been Thursday afternoon with Parliament going home.”

“Yeah. All those MPs pulled out of the lounge, standing outside in some cold old car park. We’d never hear the end of it.”

“You’d think someone would have just opened it up. A book, for God’s sake! Just open the bloody thing up.”

“It had a picture of a bomb on the cover.” Kim had read the same reports.

“Yeah. And baby food has pictures of babies on the tin. But there was a clue inside. Some numbers.”

Kim hadn’t heard this.

“You ever hear of BookCrossing?”

Kim had, as it happened, but he wasn’t going to admit it.

“Here’s our man.”

David stopped, suddenly bent double, holding a hand to his side and gasping. Kim took off his backpack, rummaged around, pulled out a water bottle and offered it to his companion. A green shopping bag fell out and unfolded itself in the grass.

An elderly gent came up, his dog growling at David’s ankles. The man put down a shopping bag, fastened a leash to the dog’s collar, nodded apologetically at the two men, picked up his bag and moved on.

“He was rolling his eyes at us!” David complained.

“He’s a character all right.” Kim was certain that Kern had been trying hard not to laugh at the performance.

They turned down a side street and completed the circuit back to the oval.

Kim looked through the papers in the bag.

“Christ. Who holds a public meeting at six thirty on a Friday night?”

Copyright © 2009 Peter Mackay

It helped ease the pain of staying home alone while Lee had Zoe all to herself at the movies, in the dark of the cinema. It was a soothing, satisfying, scintillating kiss.

Kissing Lee had never been like that. Especially not recently. Lee was familiar and comfortable, Zoe was excitement and adventure. Lee was home and Campbell, Zoe was exotic and unreachable in Brisbane.

Seeing her name pop up in his email inbox got his heart pumping. If Lee sent him an email, it was about a bill, or a doctor’s appointment, or servicing the car.

Email from Zoe:

Hi, handsome! I’m just about to take a shower. Care to join me, big boy? Love, Zoe

Would he? Just the thought of Zoe, her red hair and her taut body slick with suds was enough to get him excited. How long had it been since he had a shower with a woman? Years.

Email to Zoe:

Z. Better make it a cold one. I’m hot enough to steam it up right now! K

Kim was playing with fire, he knew. If Lee ever found out what sort of thoughts he was having about her old schoolfriend, she’d be devastated. She’d lash out. He could just imagine his suits shredded, his BMW spraypainted purple with four flat tyres and a bucket of dirty disposables emptied over the driver’s seat. And his laptop computer with a carving knife plunged through its heart.

Lee wasn’t a violent woman, but she certainly would relish taking revenge on any betrayal.

He would have to be very quiet and careful about this. But that was his forte, wasn’t it? A quiet strength.

He was bright enough to pull it off. The weak link would be Zoe, especially given her closeness to Lee.

Another happy image hit him and he closed the email window, smiling while he opened The Canberra Times. The editorial page had the cartoon – lame humourless leftist rubbish as usual – and the letters to the editor, which were of particular interest at the moment.

The first whining complaints about the ASIO site were coming in, and each writer was a pawn to be played in Kim’s game. No kind words for the project, but that was entirely to be expected: nobody ever wrote to the editor to express a positive thought.

The sort of people who wrote these letters were self-important smart-arse know-it-all point-scoring wankers, each one trying to be cleverer than the last.

Two relevant letters today. The first one was from someone seeking to pin the blame for the project squarely on the previous government. Nice try, but the new government had had two years to kill it if they really wanted, quite apart from allocating hundreds of millions of dollars over the years ahead. John Howard might have planted the seed, but Kevin Rudd was carrying the baby to term.

The second letter was more interesting. The writer commented on the huge surplus of office accommodation in Canberra at the current time, and asked just why ASIO couldn’t expand into some of the nearby empty buildings, such as Anzac Park or the Edmund Barton Building currently being refurbished.

Kim carefully cut out the two letters, glued them onto a sheet of paper, wrote Canberra Times at the top, dated it, and added it to a file. Of course all these letters were available on the computer, cross-referenced by author, publication and topic, but it helped to have the hard copy.

Next he turned to the computer, calling up the letter-writers. As he suspected, the first writer was a long-time member of the ALP. Looking at his past contributions to print media, he was a spinner, seeking to turn black into white. His side of politics could do no wrong, the opposing team were never right.

Kim could relate to that.

The second writer was a Campbell resident. Sister Hazel, a nurse at the Erstwhile Garden Retirement Village on Monash Drive. Sho too was a serial correspondent, but her letters appeared to be aimed at pointing out the failures of government at all levels and of all political flavours, using common sense as her main weapon.

The failing of common sense was that it failed to take into account the many needs of an intelligence agency for a secure environment, the latest computer networks and equipment, and energy-efficient credentials. The buildings of half a century ago were as inappropriate for ASIO as a mediaeval castle.

But, Kim had to admit, Sister Hazel sang a good song, and would have many Canberrans humming along with her.

Time to get his public protest group into action. He looked at the file CAS had given him and dialled a number. A chirpy voice answered on the second ring.

“Kern here!”

Hello, Colonel,” Kim began. “A ummmm, mutual friend asked me to give you a call about this new building project at the end of your street.”

“Ah yes. Wondered when you’d get around to it. Far end of my street, actually. Not a great nuisance to me. But more than happy to help. We should meet. Discuss tactics.”

Kim named a place and a time.

“Good thinking! I’ll be there.”

“Thank you, Sir! Look forward to it. Bright’s the word.”

“Bright it is. Gold’s mine.”

Kim chuckled. “I won’t forget gold. Goodbye, Sir!”

He hung up. He had some work to do before the meeting, but it was all routine. He pulled his iPod out of his pocket, plugged it into a minidock, and selected Marc Moulin. The nu-jazz of the Top Secret album filled the office, a female voice chanting, “Now we step into the dark.”

His thoughts turned to Zoe. His mind wandered in that direction more and more nowadays. They shouldn’t. He had work to think about. And Lee. And the twins. If he got right down to it, just how sensible was this whole girlfriend thing? He could lose his family, his career, his friends.

On the other hand, he could gain a new and exciting partner. Plenty of men moved from one relationship to another. Women as well. And, well, it wasn’t like he was married to Lee, was it?

No, that was an unworthy thought.

His computer chirped.

Email from Zoe:

Kim, I’ll be back in Canberra at the end of the week. I know a place where we can get naked and sweaty. Have a shower together afterwards. How does Friday after work sound? Love you hunky, Zoe.

Copyright © 2009 Peter Mackay

His name was Kim, which was a good name for a man in his occupation.

If a government bureau could be considered to be a desk with an in tray and an out tray, Kim’s organisation would have an overflowing in tray, and if anything ever appeared in the out tray, it meant something had gone wrong.

Kim’s job involved making sure that whatever did manage to find its way into the out tray was harmless before it left the building, and for this, he was an Administrative Support Officer of a reasonably secure level.

Work began at seven-thirty here. At least it did for a keen young ASO. That was the best time for work, before workmates stuck their heads in the door or dropped files on his desk or made random comments about sporting teams. Half the day’s work could be done in the first hour, Cafe del Mar edging his mind along.

His partner Lee considered his grey cement workplace a prison, letting him out on day release at night. He’d fall into bed exhausted and be off again at sparrowdawn the next day to clock in. At least they had weekends together. Sometimes.

He began his day with a crucial email, followed it up with unrelated reports, and then summarised the common ground. That kept him going until his dawn cuppa was a misty memory.

He was thinking warmly about refreshing the memory when his phone rang.

“Kim, sweetie! Stace. The boss has got me making coffee, and he wants you up here to have it with his wife’s special biscuits. Better take the stairs – they are about ninety percent chocolate. See you in two.”

The phone clicked off before he could make an appropriate comment. Something about climbing mountains or crawling over broken glass to see Stace.

He took a moment to splash on some fresh Zegna before leaving the office. Stace would notice.

The stairs were a pain. Putting combination locks on the inside doors and changing the codes weekly meant that only the keenest Administrative Support Officers used them. Kim took them two at a time.

Stace handed him a plate of homemade biscuits as he came in, taking the tray with coffeepot and cups himself. Three cups, Kim noticed.

Chief Administrative Support was waiting for him, along with Head Policy Liaison. Admin Support might run the bureau on paper, but Policy Liaison was where the real weight lay.

Stace poured, adding milk and sugar according to preference – Stace was reputed to know every taste of every officer – setting out a biscuit each for HPL and Kim, but avoiding CAS.

He shut the door behind him as he left.

“Right. Thanks for coming, Kim. We’ve got a job for you.”

HPL dunked his biscuit into the coffee before beginning. CAS glared but said nothing.

“ASIO, as you probably know, begin work on their new headquarters today. Site clearing to start with, but for the first time it’s work that isn’t hidden away in planning and procedures. People will notice trees coming down, fences going up and so on.

“In hindsight, it was an amazingly bold decision on site selection, and five years ago it seemed a brilliant use of resources. But now, maybe not so flash. You know how things go.”

“They should have put it out of sight at Campbell Park,” CAS sighed.

“It would have solved the parking problem,” HPL agreed, licking his fingers. “Irregardless, the decision was made, it can’t be reversed, and the government’s desire now is to keep it from becoming an issue in the media.”

“ASIO’s desire. Which is where you come in,” CAS said, examining Kim over the rim of his coffee cup.

“Media relations will put the right spin on it,” Kim responded. “National good, centralised location, sensitive planning, environmental efficiency. There are a lot of pluses.”

“Yes,” CAS agreed. “But the bottom line is that it’s a whacking great fortress of a building dominating the lake view, out of keeping with the planned boulevard atmosphere of Constitution Avenue. The local residents will hate it.”

“Even as their property values shoot through the roof,” said HPL. “You live in Campbell with a bit of a view. What do you think of it?”

“What’s good for the nation is good for me.”

“Poppycock. You’ll hate it. Your mission is to organise a local protest group. Here’s a list of names. Colonel Kern is your obvious figurehead. There’s also a few notions we’ve used before. Go for it.”

Kim took the file.

“I can’t guarantee that it will be a particularly effective protest group, Sir.”

CAS and HPL chuckled in unison.

“Good man!” CAS said. “And Kim? If this becomes a stuff-up, and I’m reading it in The Canberra Times, heads will be rolling down the corridors here. Yours will be the first one to bounce.”

“It won’t come to that, Sir.”

“See to it.”

“Sir.”

Stace winked at him as he came out. He winked back.

Kim walked back to his cramped little office. Thoughtfully, waiting for the lift.

Phone message from Lee:

Oh, Kim. The babysitter’s coming at seven, and the restaurant is booked for seven thirty. I’ve got a taxi ordered for seven fifteen. You might like to pick out a special bottle on the way home. See you tonight. Love you!

Email from Zoe:

Kim? You didn’t need to ask. The answer is YES! It always has been. Love Zoe

Kim sighed. Work was complex enough without life intruding. If only he could compartmentalise and suppress his relationships in the same way. Keep them close but quiet. Stop them from speaking to each other. He had a partner, two children and now a girlfriend. And the girlfriend was his partner’s best friend.

Who the bloody hell was responsible for this stuff-up? Heads would roll.

Copyright © 2009 Peter Mackay