‘What a fool you are Henry,’ he said aloud. His heart slowed its rapid beating and gradually the trembling of his body ceased. He was soaked in sweat. Salty droplets ran down his cheeks like summer rain. It was too hot in the house, he decided. He made a mental note to speak to Imogen about the thermostat. She obviously set it too high. He sighed at the sight of the spilt coffee. He was running late now. He tossed the remains of the porridge into the bin and sloshed the coffee down the sink. There would be no time now to make a sandwich. He would have to get something from the cafeteria and Henry cringed at the thought.
He was surprised to see the thermostat was set to nineteen. It was surely hotter than nineteen in the house. He was certain of that. There must be something wrong with the heating system. He’d have to look at it tonight. The clock on the cooker told him time was rushing by. He’d never been late for work once in the twenty years he’d worked at Linley and Webster insurance brokers and he wasn’t about to start now. Hurriedly the porridge bowl and coffee mug were put in the dishwasher. He had fifteen minutes to dress, clean around the shower, and tidy his hair. Henry didn’t like to rush, and he was already sweating profusely under his dressing gown. He would have to shower again if this went on. He thought about opening a window but what if he forgot to close it in his haste? The house insurance would never cover a burglary if a window had been left open. Inviting burglars, they would say. No, best to leave them closed, he decided.
The shower was dry already. No sign at all that he’d even had one.
‘That just proves it’s too hot in here,’ he mumbled. ‘I’d better turn the heating off completely.’
The newly ironed shirt was quickly thrown on and the hanger tossed into the wardrobe. Henry then rushed down the stairs. He’d miss his bus. There wouldn’t be another for twenty minutes. Prompt they were too, it was one of the few things Henry could depend on. Henry didn’t drive. He had tried but he just could not get the hang of gears. It was all too much. Besides, there were far too many cars on the roads these days. He opened the front door, grabbed his coat and then realised he didn’t have his briefcase. He hurried back upstairs where the briefcase was lying on the chair by the wardrobe, waiting for him. He grabbed it, knocking the shirt off the hanger in his haste. He picked it up tiredly and threw it into the wash basket. Finally, and with much relief, he left the house and ran for the bus and got to his stop just as the number 193 pulled up.
‘Thank goodness,’ Henry sighed.
He wouldn’t be late.
Chapter Three
Henry jumped on board the bus, flashed his pass at the bus driver and said in a jolly voice,
‘I thought I was going to miss you.’
Henry believed politeness cost nothing. There’s not much in life that’s free these days. The bus driver, who clearly didn’t believe in politeness, free or not, simply ignored Henry. Still, thought Henry, if bus drivers took the time to chat to every passenger the buses would cease to arrive promptly. With that thought, he excused the driver and walked towards his usual seat only to find someone sitting in it. He didn’t feel comfortable in any other seat so instead, he stood. The bus was anything but luxurious. The seats had been dulled by the grime of many years. Henry imagined that when it had rolled off the assembly line the seats must have been a brilliant blue, the chrome handrails sparkling.
He decided to make an appointment with his doctor that day, although he had no idea what he would tell him. His were not common symptoms. He very much doubted he would even find them on Google.
‘I’m seeing things that aren’t there,’ he’d have to tell the doctor.
No, he couldn’t possibly say that. He would take his temperature when he arrived at the office. That was most likely the problem. No doubt, it would be high. He was clearly running a fever. No wonder he had been sweating. He had been a bit delirious this morning, that’s all it was. He would take a couple of paracetamol when he reached his desk. With a pang, he realised he had forgotten to take his regular vitamins. The obituary had completely thrown him off balance. That was what the unexpected did. It knocked you for six and day-to-day routines were thrown to one side like rubbish.
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ he muttered.
To make matters worse he had left the pill bottles on the kitchen table. Imogen would no doubt put them back in the wrong order. There was something very disturbing about things being put back in the wrong order, thought Henry. He saw his stop approaching and made his way to the front of the bus.
‘Excuse me,’ he said to the other standing passengers, but no one moved.
‘So rude,’ he grumbled as he squeezed past them. He jumped off the bus as the doors were closing. The bus roared off, splashing muddy water from a puddle all over Henry’s well-polished shoes.
‘What’s the world coming to?’ he moaned.
The familiar red brick building of Linley and Webster’s was ahead of him. A smiling, grey-haired employee that Henry recognised was holding the door for his colleagues and Henry stepped in behind them.
‘Morning,’ he smiled but they were too engrossed in their conversation to notice him.
The overheated foyer made him perspire all over again. It was the flu, no doubt. A few people at the office had been off with it the past few weeks. Henry’s tension lifted and he decided it wasn’t necessary after all to phone the doctor. It was just a virus. He’d be back to normal in a few days.
‘Morning Helen,’ he said smiling at the receptionist. ‘Terrible weather isn’t it?’
She continued chatting on the phone, her orange lips opening and closing like a goldfish. She didn’t look up at Henry once. So rude, thought Henry again. He had often mentioned to Imogen how rude the receptionist was.
‘She can’t even give you as much as a good morning,’ he had complained. He shrugged and walked to the stairs. The exercise would do him good.
‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he said entering the office. Although a quick glance at the clock on the whitewashed wall told him he was actually on time.
He pulled off his coat and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a tissue. He looked past swivel chairs, filing cabinets stacked with files, and desks adorned with computer screens to the water dispenser. He was thirsty but still there were no cups. He did not relish going back to Helen to ask for one.
He stopped abruptly at his desk. Someone was sitting at it. Henry opened his mouth to enquire who the man was when his work colleague, Sam, strolled across.
‘Sorry to add something else, Matt. The Lester case was another that he was handling,’ he said. ‘This needs to take priority.’
Henry watched Sam hand over a brown folder.
