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I hated selling advertising space. I did. It was a shitty job with a shitty boss, but it was my only job and my only source of income. I felt panic rising; I needed this job!
“Please, Mr Jones, I promise not to be late again. Can I have just one more chance?” I begged the grumpy bastard.
My boss wasn’t actually called Mr MacGrumpy. He was called Jones, Mr John Jones. Yep, a very nondescript name for a very nondescript person. He was a small, thin, pale man in his mid-forties with a receding hairline, no chin to speak of, and a constant dour expression with a perpetually grumpy personality to match. Hence, my name for him. If I were English, it would simply be Mr Grumpy, but I was not; I was Scottish, so he was Mr MacGrumpy to me!
He wasn’t just grumpy, though; he liked to shout, usually at me. While none of the other staff in the office were immune to his rants, he seemed to reserve his loudest and most prolonged bouts of shouting for me, and today was no exception. He was a bully who delighted in chastising me for the slightest thing because he knew how easily upset I was.
Of course, being late most mornings had not helped my case. That was why Mr MacGrumpy told me on Tuesday that I was on my final warning, and if I were late again, I would be out of a job. He had been off work tending to personal business the last few days, so being late wasn’t a problem, but not today, and my goose was cooked!
“I am sorry I was late. There was a broken-down train on the track and….” I started to say.
“I don’t want to hear any more excuses from a pathetic little mouse,” he interrupted, and l felt myself tearing up.
I stood there, ashamed, and tried desperately to tune him out while he ranted at me, and so, I only caught bits and pieces of what he was saying, “useless,” “always late,” “can’t even get out of bed in the mornings,” before I burst into tears.
The whole office was watching, and I’d never felt so humiliated!
“Get out and don’t come back!” he shouted, and I turned and ran for the door as tears streamed down my face. I didn’t stop running until I got back to the station.
I sat in the back of the train and sobbed.
I didn’t go home right away. I couldn’t. Going home this early in the day, instead of my usual time, meant facing up to the fact that I no longer had a job.
Instead, I walked to a nearby park, sat on a bench, and spent most of the morning people-watching.
When my stomach grumbled loudly, I finally moved. There was a café nearby, so I grabbed a coffee and muffin, then returned to the bench. The coffee tasted good, and I sipped it slowly. I couldn’t stomach the muffin, though. After a few bites, I felt nauseous, so I threw the rest into the pond with the ducks.
I read my Kindle for a bit. It was comforting and distracted me for a while. Then I took a slow walk through the park and pretended to admire the flowers, anything to avoid the problem I faced.
Eventually, I couldn’t put it off any longer and headed home. By the time I got there, I was replaying the morning events in my mind, and the tears were flowing again.
I realised, however, that they were for a different reason this time. This morning, they had come from shock, embarrassment, and humiliation due to my confrontation with my boss and losing my job. This time, they were due to an overwhelming sense of anger. Of course, I was angry at that appalling little man, but I was more furious with myself. I was angry that I had allowed him to bully me all of those times and annoyed that I had taken his shit in the first place. I might not have been in this situation if I had stood up for myself more or been on time for work more often.
I was also annoyed that I’d run off like a coward. I should have been confident enough to tell him he could stick his job or at least have walked away with my head held high and my dignity intact. Instead, I’d skulked away sobbing like the pathetic little mouse he’d called me.
“Aargh, I need a drink.” I practically screamed; I was so frustrated with myself.
As soon as I got into the house, I ran straight to my room and grabbed the bottle of gin I’d bought for a colleague’s birthday.
Well, I won’t see them anymore, so why not?I thought as I opened it and took a slug straight from the bottle.
It burned my throat, and I instantly felt better. I took another couple of large gulps, put in my earbuds, and started my favourite playlist to cheer myself up. Pink’s sultry voice filled my ears, and I started humming along before I reached for the takeout menu.
Some gin, some sounds, and some comfort food sounded like a plan to me!
CHAPTER 2
ASH
FRIDAY - EVENT PREPARATION
At nine a.m. sharp, I met up with my event planner, and everything looked great as we dotted the I’s and crossed the Ts.
Marcie Matthews was as thorough as me, and I liked that about her. She was a strong, confident, and attractive woman of mixed race who was fast becoming one of the best event planners in London. I’d used her a couple of times before, albeit for smaller events. Nevertheless, she was my first choice for the club opening because I knew she would get my vision for the place. I knew she would be happy to work with my little sister, Sonia, and let her have some significant input even though Sonia had been away at University.
Marcie was also one of the few women who didn’t hit on me. I was rich and reasonably attractive, with a powerful family, so I wasn’t short of female attention, but I didn’t mix business with pleasure. Business was important, and business came first. Apart from family, of course. If I needed a woman, I could get one, but I didn’t want a relationship. Not right now. So, I steered clear of involving myself with any women I worked with. That would only ever lead to complications I didn’t need.
I used to dream of having a wife and children, but not for a long time. My lack of emotion and my obsession with revenge didn’t make for a good basis for a relationship.
