Ready, Set, Love!

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

“Watch where you’re going!” Paula’s voice shook. Her palms stung as she pushed herself off the gravel. A warm hand steadied her arm. “I don’t need your—”

“I’m so sorry…”

She looked up, her gaze climbing lean, tanned legs to a broad chest, finally settling on the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Frustration melted like snow under a noon sun. Still, he was the reason her new Adidas were scuffed. He wasn’t getting off that easily. “…Look where you’re going.”

“Hold on,” he said, stepping back. “You bumped into me.”

“I was checking my heart rate,” she countered, thrusting her Fitbit toward him.

“And I was checking my pace,” he mocked, waving his own watch. His smile made her pulse spike—something she could easily blame on the cardio.

She held out a hand. “I’m Paula.”

A grin spread across his face. “You’re kidding. I’m Paul.”

They held each other’s gaze, the sun reflecting in his eyes. They stood there, hands clasped, until the first drop of rain caught them by surprise. The heavens opened, making Paula squeal. “That wasn’t in the forecast!”

“I don’t think any of this was,” Paul said. He restarted his watch. “Enjoy the rest of your run. It was nice to meet you.”

Paula inhaled deeply, catching a breath that had nothing to do with the jog. She picked up the pace, her clothes already soaked.

As her house came into view, the rain eased. A rainbow arched overhead. She slowed to a walk, skin cooling, heart rate finally dipping. Her new trainers were a mess, but she didn’t care. All she could think about was Paul. There had been a connection, hadn’t there?

“You again?”

Adrenaline tingled through her. It was him. “Paul? Are you following me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he teased. “I live here.” He pointed to the house across the road.

“You’re kidding? I live right over there.”

“No joke.” He jingled his keys.

Too good to be true, Paula thought. She’d be seeing this man every day. She was already half in love.

Then, his front door swung open. A glamorous woman with golden hair stepped onto the porch. Paula squinted as the woman reached him. A kiss. A casual, intimate lean. Realization hit like the cold rain—they were together.

Paul shot Paula one last friendly wave before disappearing inside with her.

Paula’s cheeks flushed, her pulse racing once more. Obviously just the running, she told herself. Nothing more than that.

Famous Last Words

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

★★★★★ 5/5

Author: Gillian McAllister       Genre: Psychological Thriller

Publisher: Penguin                 Published: 3rd July 2025

Started: 3/01/26                    Finished: 8/02/26

Page Count: 416 pages

“And Cam watches the sky and thinks, how somewhere the answer is out there, as obvious as the dawn itself, but still hidden in night.”

Who doesn’t love a good thriller? The tension, the questions, the fear. Having read all of Liane Moriarty’s books, and learning she’s a fan of Gillian McAllister, I had to give this one a read. Liane says Famous Last Words, ‘makes your heart race and then your heart melt,’ and I couldn’t agree more. Famous Last Words is a fast-paced thriller, and it doesn’t leave you much time to catch your breath, so buckle up for the ride.

The book follows Cam Deschamps who is happily married to Luke, and they have a baby called Polly. Cam, a book publisher has the perfect life, or so she thinks. Everything she knows blows up around her when she learns her husband is caught up in a hostage situation, only he isn’t the hostage, he’s the gunman. Cam’s world is thrown into chaos, who is the man she married? And what does this mean for her and their daughter?

At the heart of this gripping thriller is a moving love story, and Cam shows what she’s willing to do to save it. Despite the evidence against Luke, Cam simply doesn’t believe her husband to be a bad man, and she’s desperate to find out the truth, for closure, control, for love.

What stood out to me most is the control Gillian has over the tension between the characters. Cam tiptoes around her sister’s IVF, is never quite honest with the hostage negotiator, and her desperation to find out the truth of what happened to her husband, only raises questions in which the answers are only more questions. It’s like opening a box to discover a box, and then another, I was hooked and craving a resolution.

I also enjoyed Gillian’s writing style which I have already described as fast-paced, but in another sense musical. The stormy language Gillian uses drives this all-encompassing tension to its final conclusion, like a continuous background symphony. For example, ‘the shock repeats on her like rolling thunder’ and ‘rustling forensic bags’. The stormy mood is carried by rumbles, heavy rain and aftershocks, like lots of little music notes pouring off the page and creating a sustained, dramatic drumroll, leading to a crescendo that rings in your ears long after you’ve put the book down.

If I had to be picky, one thing that didn’t quite land for me was the slower pacing into Act 2, but it wasn’t enough to discourage me. In fact, I can see that the plot required it. I think I felt like this because Act 1 is so strong, the catalyst could have been the climax, I couldn’t believe there was still two thirds of the book to go.

Overall, Famous Last Words is a solid read that left me wide-eyed and amazed. I found myself oohing and aahing at every plot twist, reaching my own crescendo with a WOW! If you’re a fan of Liane Moriarty’s The Husband’s Secret and films like Gone Girl, which both explore the destruction of a perfect family unit, or you just love a good psychological thriller, you should definitely add this to your shelf.

Cratchit – A Christmas Carol Continues

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

★★★★ 4/5

Author: R.M. Bouknight                         Genre: Christmas

Publisher: Hollybridge Books                Published: August 2025

Started: 02/01/2026                               Finished: 07/01/2026

Page Count: 144 pages

“The fates never leave love to chance”

I was so excited when this book came up as a Facebook Ad last month. As a lover of A Christmas Carol, I was suddenly desperate to read how the Cratchit family was getting on, it was as though R.M. Bouknight knew I needed this in my life more than I did!

Cratchit is set thirteen years after a Christmas carol, leaving enough room for the new world Cratchit now finds himself in to corrupt him into being a selfish, ignorant man. Inevitably, it takes its toll on his family; how he behaves as a father and as a husband. It’s a grim reminder of how our every decision can affect every aspect of not only our own lives, but the lives of those closest to us.

Delving into the first stave, something wasn’t sitting right with me. A self-assured Bob Cratchit? Tiny Tim a ladies’ man? the family split? This wasn’t how I remembered these much-loved characters. I persevered, and was glad I did, because once I moved into stave two, it dawned on me that no one stays the same, people change, especially over the course of thirteen years. Once I became open to this I could see how the world can have a huge impact on man’s weakness in following his desires.

The ghost of Christmas past reminds Cratchit of how he was before Scrooge helped him, and of pivotal moments that subtly reshaped who Cratchit becomes, to the point that he hardly recognises himself anymore. The ghost of Christmas present highlights to Bob the effect this change is currently having on his wife and children, things that he’d become blind to. And the ghost of Christmas yet to come shows him what will be if he doesn’t change. Can the spirits save Bob Cratchit?

R.M. Bouknight explores themes such as women’s roles, social issues and peer pressure, and on a more serious note, bullying and suicide which may serve as potential triggers, but Bouknight handles these issues with great care and sensitivity.

I would recommend Cratchit to any fan of A Christmas Carol. A casual reader may only think about the characters they’ve enjoyed, but more reflective readers may discover some deeper thoughts about their own vulnerabilities that stays with them long after the final page.

In the end, Cratchit doesn’t pretend to be a new idea, it’s better than that. It’s a reminder of how our decisions shape us, for better or worse, and how easy it is to fall. But also, (to quote Aragorn, one of my favourite characters), that there’s always hope.

Good Deeds

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

Let me tell you about Eleanor. One day she did something so small, so insignificant, she could never have imagined the impact it would have.

              On a cold day in December, the sky as white as snow covered fields. Eleanor, in her black beanie hat and matching gloves, was drawn to the sound of guitar strings, and words of a song she once knew. They pulled her in, connecting her present to her past. She could almost feel his arms around her as they danced, before he got ill and passed away.

              Overcome with emotion, Eleanor pushed through the crowd and found herself standing in front of a busker, an elderly man, cold and lonely and lost in his song. Eleanor dropped a five-pound note in his guitar case, attached to it was a letter.

              Shivering, the busker counted his earnings with frosty fingers, a wide smile stretched from ear to ear upon finding the letter; thank you for the song, Eleanor. He tucked the five pounds into his wallet, and with his shoulders back and chin high, he strode across the road and into a betting shop. He left five hundred pounds richer.

              He swung his arms and whistled as he walked, unaware of how much his aura warmed the chilly hearts of the shoppers around him. So fulfilled was his heart from the note off a lady called Eleanor, he entered a pub, and bought everyone a drink.

              Sat in a corner at a table for one, a girl twirled a lock of fiery red hair around her ringless finger, her thoughts drifting on an uncertain future. But after hearing the words, ‘the drinks are on me,’ a flicker of hope sprung from within, a sudden sense of calm, everything would be OK.

              Standing, she straightened her clothes, finished the remains of her free drink and stepped out into the fog that had descended on the town. Remembering the mobile blood donation van she’d walked past earlier; she headed in that direction, ‘one good turn deserves another,’ she told herself as she stepped inside. A fresh pint of blood was on its way to the lab.

              Leonie lay in the bed of the emergency room. Her rare blood type, B positive meant she was in critical condition. She was one pint of blood short of having a transfusion. A doctor appeared, ‘we’ve found a match.’ Through falling tears and a loss of words, her parents held on to one another.

              Leonie was saved.

              Saved because of a generous blood donation from a girl, who’d found hope in a free drink from a busker, who’d been moved by a thoughtful tip and a letter from a woman overcome with emotion.

              And all because Eleanor heard a song.

All The Pretty Things

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

‘One second,’ Wendy shouted. She pulled up her leggings, slipped on a Black Sabbath t-shirt and ran downstairs, quickly regretting not putting on a bra, her face just about surviving the ordeal.

              She opened the door ready to berate a couple of Jehovah’s witnesses, but was left speechless at the size of the bouquet hovering before her. A tiny woman popped her head around the flowers, ‘I believe these are for you,’ she handed them to Wendy, ‘you lucky thing.’

             A warm feeling came over Wendy, threatening her usually robust character. The only flowers she’d ever received were a tired bunch of dandelions she’d won in a wet t-shirt competition. In the absence of a vase, she filled a pint glass with water, and squeezed the flowers into their new home. They certainly brightened up the faded walls and tatty brown carpet.

             With sparkling eyes, she opened the accompanying envelope, but felt a sense of betrayal as soon as she started reading, ‘My dear Imelda, someone like you deserves all the pretty things. All my love, Jimmy.’

              Wendy let out a heavy sigh. Of course the flowers weren’t for her. Only pretty people deserved pretty things. Still, they looked nice, ‘sorry Imelda,’ she said to the flowers, ‘they’re mine now.’

              An hour later, the door knocked again. Wendy tutted because she’d been napping. She was going to a gig in a few hours and she wanted to be fully conscious for it. She stuck her feet into bat shaped slippers and stomped to the door, flinging it open with more force than she’d meant.

             ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ said the hairy 6ft bloke standing before her, ‘but I believe some flowers were delivered here that were meant for someone else. You wouldn’t happen to know what I’m talking about, would you?’

              Typical, thought Wendy, ‘one second.’ She pushed the door to, and when she returned she shoved the pint of flowers into the hands of her unexpected guest, ‘they’re too good for me anyway.’

              He gave her a quizzical look, ‘why would you say that? a hot chick like you should have all the pretty things of this world.’

              She couldn’t help but smile, with the right words, he’d broken down her usually hard to scale defences. ‘Don’t you have a girlfriend, Jimmy?’ She rocked back on her heels, ‘Imelda, isn’t it?’

              ‘Imelda’s my ex-mother-in-law,’ he chuckled, ‘she not been well and…’

              ‘Sorry,’ Wendy blushed, ‘I’m good at putting my foot in it.’

              ‘Easy mistake I guess. How did you know my name?’

              ‘I read the card.’

             He nodded to her t-shirt, ‘Sabbath fan, hey? Hold these a minute.’ He gave the flowers back to Wendy and opened his jacket, revealing his own Sabbath shirt. ‘They’re playing tonight.’

              ‘I’m going,’ she said.

              ‘Me too, perhaps I’ll see you there?’

              She handed back the flowers, he put up his hand, ‘keep them,’ he winked, ‘there’s more than one person in this world who deserves pretty things.’

              Wendy smiled.

Surprise

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

‘What’s this?’ Eddie returned the Christmas decorations to the loft and picked up an unwrapped present he’d found tucked away in a corner. He blew off the dust and coughed. There was no name on it, just a ‘K’, which meant it must have been for his wife, Kayla, the only ‘K’ in the family.

         Obviously he’d forgotten about it. Had it meant to be for this year, or a past Christmas? The dust suggested it had been there for a long time.

              He had form for buying early gifts and forgetting about them. A few years ago he found a present in his boot that hadn’t even been wrapped, but it had worked in his favour. It turns out women don’t appreciate anti-wrinkle products as gifts because a few days later, an advert for an anti-wrinkle cream came on, she’d pinched her eyebrows together and said, ‘Imagine receiving that for Christmas.’ Eddie shuddered at the thought of his close call with that one.  

              December sun shone through the landing window, making visible the dust particles drifting like snow. He squinted at the sudden brightness.

              ‘Kayla,’ he said, bounding down the stairs. He paused at the bottom to catch his breath, he wasn’t getting any younger. ‘I’ve got something for you.’ He couldn’t remember what he’d brought her, but it had all the feels of a lovely piece of jewellery. Kayla would love it when she saw it, and it was bound to give him a few brownie points.

              ‘The answer’s no,’ came the short sharp reply of his attentive wife. ‘I’m too busy and I’m too tired.’

              He found her in the kitchen in her apron and rubber gloves, washing the dishes, bubbles spilling over the bowl. He leaned against the breakfast bar, arms out in front of him, ‘I think you’ll like this.’

              She turned around and saw him holding a present, a rare smile spreading across her face. ‘What is it?’ She pulled off the gloves and wiped her hands down her apron.

                He let out a loud breath and handed her the present, ‘open it and you’ll find out.’

              ‘Looks like something special,’ she said, bouncing from foot to foot. ‘Shall we dim the lights and sit by the fire?’ Her eyes sparkled.

              He felt a tingling in his limbs, he was definitely on a promise. They shared a look as she gently pulled the wrapping from the package, eyes wide as she lifted the lid. ‘Oh,’ she said, frowning as she picked up a note. Eddie rubbed his chin, his mouth suddenly dry.

              What had she opened?  

              Kayla read out loud, ‘Katrina my naughty little minx, someone as beautiful as you deserves something beautiful to wear.’ She pulled a beautiful red heart on a golden chain from the box, her gazed fixed on her husband, ‘you’ve spelt my name wrong.’

              Eddie gasped.

The ‘K’ was for Katrina, how could he have forgotten? His heart raced as he remembered his affair with the buxom blonde with skin so fair, almost ghost like. It happened so long ago, he’d put her out of his mind completely and yet here she was, back from the past, haunting him. ‘It was…I, a…’

              A tear dripped down Kayla’s face. He reached out for her but she pulled back, her sparkling eyes now red. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, besides, what would he say? Sorry didn’t seem enough. But he had to say something, the truth perhaps?  He swallowed hard, ‘honey, there’s something I need to tell you.’

Believe and Become

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

When Christina Mathers stepped inside the church for the first time in her life, she wasn’t expecting to feel…what was that feeling? Hopeful.

            She was only there to watch her friend’s daughter Holly perform in the Christmas nativity. Holly was a Christmas star and was waving frantically at her mother, Dee, who waved back as Christina’s gaze wandered to the stained glass windows and glistening fairy lights. Her nose twitched as she breathed in the scent of burning candles.

              She’d never been excited by the Christmas season, just couldn’t see the point. Being single and never having had children of her own gave her even less reason to celebrate. She had family, and although she loved her sister, she struggled with her passive aggressive manner that could only be managed in small doses. And her parents argued about the same things every year, how the tree should be decorated, how the turkey should be cooked, who made it on to the Christmas card list. She felt like she didn’t belong.

              Christina hated Christmas traditions altogether. They were stupid and pointless, but the one she hated the most was these blasted nativity plays where children dress up to act out something they probably didn’t believe in.

              No amount of mulled wine, mince pies or carolling could put her in the festive mood. Christmas day was just another day, and she couldn’t wait for it to be over. She slouched in the pew with her arms folded, and sighed.

              ‘Cheer up, you’re going to love it, I bet by the end you’ll be smiling.’

              ‘Dee, I love you, that’s why I’m here, but telling someone to cheer up has never cheered anyone up.’

              The vicar, who looked about 98, stood at the front and hushed everyone as the play was about to start. Around 30 children in various costumes broke into an interesting rendition of Oh Little Town of Bethlehem. Christina shut her eyes and yawned, but was quickly elbowed awake by Dee. ‘Ouch,’ she said rubbing her arm. Sitting up straight, she watched as Mary and Joseph took to the stage.

              ‘The time came for Mary to give birth,’ narrated Miss Cain.

              But no one could find the baby Jesus.

              Mary glared at Joseph with her hands on her hips and mouthed something to him. Joseph glanced around the church before raising his arms and shrugging. Mary stamped her foot, Miss Cain released a heavy sigh and everyone laughed, including Christina who found herself intrigued by the whole thing.

              ‘Everybody look for the baby Jesus,’ Miss Cain said through clenched teeth.

              And that’s when chaos erupted.

            Children ran around like little wound up toys all bumping into each other. Two angels knocked heads, the donkey skidded on some hay knocking over a king in his wake. A little girl cried, another shouted, ‘I need a wee,’ over and over again. Holly was still waving, ‘hello mummy,’ she called over the chaos.  

            Miss Cain hurried around the altar, hair stuck to her sweaty forehead, trying to calm her students, and she was regaining control, until a shepherd and an angel shouted out, ‘I found the baby Jesus,’ at the same time.

            ‘No I did,’ said the angel.

            ‘I found him’ said the shepherd.

            They tugged at the doll, pulling and stretching its arms and legs till eventually they both let go and the baby Jesus went flying up in the air.   

            The congregation broke into laughter and despite herself, Christina laughed too. ‘Is it always like this?’

              ‘Every year,’ said Dee, ‘told you you’d smile.’

              ‘Back to your places,’ shouted Miss Cain, her voice rising in pitch.

              The laughter continued, but speaking out amongst the clamour, a little boy with red cheeks and a squeaky voice said, ‘everyone who believes that Jesus is the Christ has become a child of God.’

            The play continued as if no one had heard it, but Christina had. Wow! She didn’t understand why she felt a stirring in her heart or a tingle over her skin. She felt stuck in a moment while the rest of the play moved on until finally, her bubble was broken by the sound of Away in A Manger. Even Christina knew this one, and she was pretty sure the lyric wasn’t “no crisps for a bed.”

            The children had a very forgiving audience and received a standing ovation. Christina remained in her seat, the words still on her mind, believe and become. It sounded like a good deal. Amongst the mistakes and the mayhem, her best friend at her side, she could suddenly see a meaning to the season, and it was a meaning she felt she could get on board with. Perhaps there was somewhere she belonged after all.

I Owe You One

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

‘Damn it,’ said Mr Bridges, ‘damn.’ He soaked up the spilt coffee in a napkin, then holding it up, he called to the waitress. ‘Could I have another one please?’ he said, pointing at his stained white shirt. And then feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment he added, ‘you’d think my mouth was big enough wouldn’t you?’ The waitress handed him a fresh napkin and a pitiful smile, before walking away. Mr Bridges berated himself for his pathetic attempt at a joke. He rubbed away at the stain unaware that he was making it worse. He might have a brilliant legal mind, but he certainly didn’t know how to launder clothes.

            You see Mr Bridges was a judge and he was due in court in, he looked at his watch and gasped, 20 minutes. How had he let time slip away like that? He hurried out of the café and into a shower of rain. Could anything else go wrong? Well he was going to regret that thought any minute now…

            His car wouldn’t start.

            ‘That’s it,’ he said out loud, ‘for the first time EVER; I’m going to be late.’

            He stepped out of his car and popped open the bonnet. Again, he had no idea what he was doing, so he did the only thing he knew how to do; he glared at the engine, judged it, and decided that this car was the most useless, untrustworthy most pathetic car he had ever had and it was most definitely being sentenced to the scrap heap. He couldn’t fix this on his own, he needed help.

            ‘Need some help?’ said a voice from behind him.

            Mr Bridges looked over his shoulder to see the scruffiest looking teenager he’d ever laid eyes on. He wore grey jogging bottoms that clung to the ankle and an oversized grey hoodie that swamped his skinny frame. His trainers looked as though he’d just had a run in the brook. To Mr Bridges, who usually only made contact with people like this in court where he was safe behind the bench, this kid looked intimidating. The spider tattoo on his cheek didn’t help. ‘I’m fine,’ he said turning back to the engine.

            ‘Suit yourself,’ said the teenager.

            But fiddling about aimlessly with leads and some weird oily stick was getting him nowhere. And the teenager had been polite. In fact, now he came to think of it he was the one who had been rude. ‘Excuse me,’ he called. The teenager turned around, ‘I really could do with your help, if you’re sure you know what you’re doing.’ He offered his hand, ‘I’m Mr Bridges.’

            ‘Spider,’ said the teenager accepting his hand. ‘To be honest, I can’t do worse than you, ent it.’

            Despite the temptation to correct Spider’s grammar, Mr Bridges couldn’t help but smile, and in no less than five minutes, Spider had the engine running. ‘You’ve been ever so helpful,’ said Mr Bridges, ‘thank you, I owe you one.’

            ‘Cool,’ said Spider, ‘any chance of a lift then?’

            Mr Bridges wasn’t expecting to owe him one so fast, but he was thankful to Spider for getting his car started, so he said, ‘of course get in, but I can only take you as far as the court.’

            ‘What are the chances’, said Spider, ‘that’s exactly where I’m going.’

          Mr Bridges arrived at court a whole 10 minutes late which was completely unheard of. But the criminal due in court for today’s first case hadn’t arrived yet either, so it was OK. ‘All rise,’ said the Clerk when he entered the room. The first case for sentencing was a young lad who had been found guilty of car theft. Mr Bridges couldn’t stand those thieving little scrotes, he was going to teach this lad a lesson. But when the criminal was ushered into the court room, Mr Bridges had to conceal a snigger, standing in front of him was Spider. They locked eyes and smiled. He was known for making an example of people but Spider had helped him when he didn’t have to, and this was a first offence, he didn’t deserve to have the book thrown at him just yet. So he gave him a good talking to and 12 hours community service. And he thought that, perhaps, knowing someone with Spider’s skillset might not be such a bad thing.

The Edge

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

It’s been hard. His life is almost over now, but mine has been over since he got the diagnosis. I can’t do it anymore. ‘Come on, love,’ I say, ‘let’s get you wrapped up; we’re going for a drive.’

            I tighten his scarf, put a blanket over his lap and tuck him in tight. All these little things I do for him that he never remembers. I thought I could cope, and when I couldn’t cope I thought I’d just get used to it. But none of those things have happened. He hasn’t known me for the last two years. Everyday I’m a stranger. It’s not fair on either of us. I wipe a tear from my cheek and cringe at the lines under my fingers. I don’t remember getting them, it’s like one day nothing, and then they were there.

            I push his chair into the back of the car and drive to our favourite place. ‘Where are you taking me,’ he says.

            ‘Nearly there, love.’

            We always loved it at the top of this hill. There’s a bench near the edge that looks out to sea. We used to sit here and listen to the waves crashing against the rocks below. He points at the bench as though he’s remembering something, but it will be gone again in a moment. This is where it all started, our first date, our first kiss, where he proposed and where it will end. The wind tries to steal his scarf; I tuck it into his coat. He shivers.

            ‘Home,’ he says.

            ‘Not yet, love.’

            I push his chair toward the bench but this time I don’t sit, I walk straight past until his chair rests on the brink. I wipe away another tear, ‘I love you,’ I whisper as I push him over the edge.

Desperate Measures

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

Liam wasn’t sure how it had come to this. One minute he was hosting a meeting with his colleagues, the next he had his hands around Andy’s throat. It took precisely one second for him to vacate his chair, punch Andy to the floor and pin him down. Everyone agreed that this was unusual behaviour for Liam, he was always so calm.

            Of course he regretted it as soon as he did it, but he needed that money. He looked at his colleagues pleadingly, hoping they would step in and stop this lunacy but they just sat there, jaws hanging, staring. Liam tried to move his hands but it was as though they were stuck with glue. Any longer, Andy would be dead; he’d be a murderer, and then what? But Andy’s knee collided with Liam’s privates knocking him back and rolling onto the floor holding his crown jewels.

            Andy stood and straightened his tie, ‘what the hell’s wrong with you?’ he said, ‘I’m calling the police.’ He stormed out of the room.

            What was wrong with him? He knew he’d over-reacted, but desperate times call for desperate measures, before he could stop himself he shouted, ‘if I see you again, I’ll kill you.’

            He pulled himself up and swiped his hand across his forehead and looked up to find a whole audience had entered the room while he’d been possessed. And then another thought crossed his mind; witnesses. ‘Fuck,’ is all he said.

            The crowd parted as his director approached. ‘It’s probably best if you go home.’

            Liam took a slow walk of shame out of the door. The cold air hit him like a slap in the face. He felt the first drops of rain that would soon be a storm. He lifted his head to the sky and thought about what had just happened, the news there would be no bonus, the fight, the witnesses. Would Andy call the police? A worse thought crossed his mind; he had to tell his wife that the money was gone.

He made his way home.