1
DAMON
It takes me far too long to realise that the repetitive drone of my ringtone is not part of my dream. The scene of me, lounging on a sunbed, drenched in tropical sunshine, sipping a very fruity, very alcoholic cocktail, slowly transforms into a hazy view of my bedroom. My phone is still ringing —or ringing again; I can’t be sure. The sound cuts off. It’s dark outside, which means very little, as today’s the shortest day of the year. It could be three in the morning or eight. Who knows? I certainly don’t care. My bed is warm and cosy.
With a grunt, I roll over and squeeze my eyes shut, but I can’t find my way back into my dream. Like all ephemeral things, it’s gone, never to be experienced again. My phone rings. I grab a spare pillow and press it over my head to drown out the noise. It stops after a dozen rings and then starts again moments later. Who the fuck is trying to get hold of me at whatever time it is? I don’t need to be anywhere today.
I push the pillow aside and reach for my phone. It stops ringing. I have six missed calls from my older brother, Nigel. Before I can press to call him, he rings again. I answer, roll onto my back, put the phone on speaker, and rest it on my chest.
“What?” I demand.
“Someone’s grumpy this morning.”
I grunt a response.
“I need you to hold down the fort.”
“What fort?”
“At Elevated.”
I wipe the sleep dust from my eyes. “I’m on holiday.”
“Not anymore, you’re not. I need you to make sure everything runs smoothly. Oh, and you’ll need to go to the charity ball.”
“You’re the boss.”
“For the next few days, you are.”
I can’t be properly awake. Is this a nightmare? “Why?You’rethe boss.”
“I’m going on holiday.”
“No,I’mon holiday.”
“No,you’rebumming around in your apartment, doing nothing, and going nowhere.”
Exactly. I’m on holiday.
“I’m saving you from your grumpy self by sending you into the office, to be me for a few days, while I go and enjoy a tropical Christmas.”
I sit up and check the clock. It’s seven. I realise there’s a lot of noise in the background of the call. “Where are you?”
“At the airport. I got a great last-minute deal. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”
I clench my teeth. “Idomind.”
“Aww, don’t be like that. Anyway, I’ve got to go. My flight is boarding. I know I can count on you.” He hangs up.
Well, fuck. He always does this to me. I can’t exactly say ‘no’ when he’s about to step on a plane. Well, I can, but someone’s got to be in charge. I hate this time of year, when customers suddenly realise they haven’t got a gift and place a last-minute order that they’re relying on us to get to them before Christmas,despite the chaos of the postal system at this time of year. Not to mention Nigel has the design team hard at work on packaging and advertising for the new line he wants to release in the New Year. Initially, it was February, but he decided a week ago that a New Year’s Day announcement would be better. My brother is the king of last-minute decisions and goalpost changes.
None of this was supposed to be my problem. I booked time off around Christmas to avoid the stress and festive songs on loop. Now, not only will I have to suffer the far too cheerful jingly jangly songs, but I’ll also be the one whose fault it is if anything goes wrong. Fan-fucking-tastic.
My phone beeps, telling me I have a text message.
Nigel: Don’t forget your costume!
Damon: What costume?
