Dylan’s head hit the table with a dull thud. “I’m such acunt.”
Rhys rubbed his shoulders. “I doubt it. Angelo being ill doesn’t give him a license to treat you like shit, and it might be thathe’sthecunt.”
“He’s not a cunt,” Dylan slurred, but he lost the rest of his sentence to his elbow sliding off the table, and by the time he’d righted himself, the Sambuca had kicked in and coherent speech had left theparty.
Rhys swayed in his seat too, apparently as rat-arsed as Dylan. “Well... whatever else we say about the man, he fucks like abeast.”
Dylan nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, hedoes.”
* * *
Workingthrough a hangover had been the norm for Dylan a few years ago, but he liked to think he’d grown up a bit since the days of partying all weekend and heading into the office on Monday morning on barely an hour of sleep. But Thursday morning found him praying to the porcelain God and wishing he’d never been born.Dramatic?Maybe, but it didn’t feel that way on a train ride that seemed to go on fordays.
In the office, he slumped at his desk and skimmed through his email. His neglected inbox was overflowing, and he had no one to blame but himself. It took till lunchtime to work through the backlog, and of course therehadto be another snag in Angelo’s DRO application.Is there anything I haven’t fucked up withhim?
An hour on the phone revealed that it was a clerical error in the Romfordoffice.
“Who’s the case manager?” the woman on the phone asked. “Is it you or the advisor inRomford?”
Dylan gritted his teeth and scanned the mess of paperwork again. He couldn’t take Angelo’s case back?—not now after all that had happened between them?—but his conscience wouldn’t let him leave Angelo at the mercy of the Romford office. Wincing, he gave them Helen’s name and hung up just as she appeared at his desk. “I gave your name on an out-of-area DRO case,” he blurted before he could give in to the urge to hide under hisdesk.
“Oh?” Helen raised an eyebrow. “Any particularreason.”
Lots of reasons, but Dylan went for a painfully casual shrug. “Romford were fucking?—er?—messing it up, and this client needs a break. I’ll do the paperwork, I swear. You’ll just have to signit.”
Helen was a stickler for rules, and Dylan knew that she’d insist on overseeing the case, but with the chaos he was currently residing in, that likely wasn’t a bad thing. He waited for her lecture and for her to then move on, but she perched on the edge of his desk and put a hand on hisshoulder.
“What’s the matter,Dylan?”
“Hmm?”
Helen fixed him with the kind of look his dad had given him every time he’d cried over his mother’s moonlight flit. “You seem a little distracted, and it’s not like you to pass casework off. I usually have to pry it out of yourhands.”
“I’m tired,” Dylan said. “I’ve not had much sleep thisweek.”
“Insomnia bothering youagain?”
Dylan shrugged. “Maybe.”
Helen stared at him for a long moment, perhaps waiting for him to squirm and break like he had done in the past, when his problems had been limited to needing a little morekip.
But Dylan didn’t break. Not this time. He’d spilled his guts to Rhys and woken up on the couch feeling worse than ever. He didn’t have it in him to revisit the reasons why. “I’m fine, honest. I’m gonna sleep all weekend, I promise. And Iwilldo that casework foryou.”
“I’m not worried about the casework, Dylan. I’m worried about you. I know you’d never let your personal issues affect the clients, but we’ve got a hectic phase starting from tomorrow with the TC renewals. If you’re not up to it, I need toknow.”
Shit. Dylan had forgotten that Tax Credit renewal season was coming up?—a wonderful eight-week period that left vulnerable clients at the mercy of a woefully inadequate system. He suppressed a groan. “I’m up to it. Are we ready for the first wave of claimstoppages?”
“Are we ever? Award notices went out on Monday and I’ve drafted extra volunteer advisors for each day, but there are going to be some cases that only you and I can deal with, and that’s on top of your regularworkload.”
“I know.” Of course he did. Thirty-five per cent of his cases from last year were still open, thanks to a series of criminal government fuck ups. “I can stay late tonight and prepare some gatewaypacks?”
“Only if you feel up to it.” Helen stood. “A few extra hours tonight won’t do us any good if we lose you on sick leave. I mean it, Dylan?—it’s time for some self-care.”
She left him to it, taking Angelo’s paperwork with her. Dylan was relieved to see the back of it?—Helen had forgotten more about debt regulations than he’d ever know?—but guilt still scratched his insides. Dylan had failed Angelo in many ways, but he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t square away the DRO. After everything, it was the least he coulddo.
Dylan stayed late at the office and boarded the train home as it was getting dark. His blistering hangover had faded as the day had gone on, but his head still ached, and he was bone tired. For once, his empty bed was calling him, and he was half asleep when he stepped up to his front door a little while later and walked smack into Sam’schest.
“Jesus!” Dylan reared back, rubbing his forehead. “What the fuck are you doinghere?”
