Little Men - The E Book (5 page)

“All we do is fill the forms out and send them to your bank. It’s up to them to set up the direct debit mandate correctly.” Sam knew this part was correct.

“So you’re blaming the bank! Passing the buck!”

“No…”
What have I done to deserve this?
Sam thought.

“What are you going to do about it?” Quigley demanded. Sam thought about asking him to speak to his bank, but dismissed the idea. The man was irate enough.

“Er, I can give you a refund for the forty pounds now…”
I’ll just give you whatever you want, just leave me alone.

“That’s a start.” Sam hoped this would be enough, but the expression on Quigley’s face told him it wasn’t.

“And I’ll call your bank myself to get this error sorted out.” Surely this would pacify the prat.

“And?” Obviously not.

“What?” Sam felt the irritation rise in himself now. What else did this idiot want? Sam had been more than helpful.

“Get me your manager, please.” The self-importance of the man was staggering. Sam had personally offered to sort this problem out, but Quigley was still not satisfied. Now Sam would have to break the news to Dean that there was an irate muscleman in reception waiting to bend his ear. Sam got on the phone and called Dean’s office.

“Yes?” Sam explained the situation. “Can’t you deal with it?” asked Dean in his tetchy manner.

“I’ve tried, but…” Sam had to force himself not to say “
the cunt won’t listen
.”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming over.”

And so the day ended. Sam survived. He’d only upset one customer and Dean a couple of times. An average Monday, really. He’d get an early night, and tomorrow would be a better day.

Dear Sam,

Thank you for your recent application for the position of office junior at FPC. I am pleased to invite you for an interview. Please call my secretary June Hemmings on 020 7845 2548 to arrange a convenient time.

Kind regards

Tristan Carrington-Smyth

Sam gazed at the computer screen with interest. It was Tuesday evening and he was going through his emails. Pleasing, but he didn’t want to get too carried away. FPC was a large advertising agency, but the job he’d applied for was very low-ranking with a small salary and unlikely to involve much creativity. But it was a
start
, thought Sam, a way in. It was all he could hope for at this stage. It was good news. He would call the lady in the morning and arrange the interview.

Sam was in a good mood all the way home. He still felt a little fragile, but the news of the interview helped ward off the midweek blues creeping up on him, a belated reminder of the blistering weekend that was now a distant memory.

And there was something else occupying Sam’s thoughts on this dark Tuesday evening. He had met a girl on Saturday night. It was time to call her. She was very pretty, from what he remembered. Small and gentle-looking. His memories beyond that were sketchy due to the state he’d been in. He’d written down her name, thankfully. Nikki. He remembered she wasn’t English. Australian or American, he didn’t know. But he had enough information to call her and attempt to fix up a date.

Sam closed his bedroom door and picked up his mobile. He had already stored Nikki’s number as he didn’t trust himself not lose it. It was a landline, an outer London 0208 number. It rang a few times.

“Oh hi, is that Nikki?”

“Yes.”

“Er, hi, it’s Sam. I met you in Snake
at the weekend.” Silence.

“Oh. Yeah, hi! I remember. Sorry, I’m not with it today. How are you?”

“Pretty good thanks, just about recovered, I think. How are you?”
Why are these conversations always so awkward?
thought Sam.

“I’m good, I’m good.”
She’s American
. The accent was unmistakable. Why had he been in doubt?

“You were real messy the other night.”

“Oh yeah, you noticed.” Sam smiled, but felt embarrassed. There was another awkward silence. “I was wondering if you fancied meeting up one night, maybe next week.” Sam was hoping to recover fully from the weekend by the time he met Nikki.

“Er, yeah, sounds cool. How about Tuesday?”

“A week today, er, yeah. No problem. I take it you live in London, do you?”

“Yeah. What about you?”

“Dartford.” There was another silence. It sounded like Nikki didn’t know where Dartford was.

“Do you want to meet in town?” Nikki solved the problem. Sam felt relieved, and also pleased with her enthusiastic tone.

“Okay.” Sam thought quickly, he needed to sound decisive but not like he’d thought about it too much. “How about near Snake?
There’s plenty of bars round there?”

“Great idea… Erm, do you know The Ice Bar?”

“Oh yes.” Sam was pleased Nikki seemed to know the same haunts as him, and the conversation was now flowing freely.

“About…eight?” Nikki had taken charge now. But she is
American,
thought Sam. He could almost
hear
her confidence.

“Sure. I’ll see you then?”

“Yep, sure will, bye.”

“Bye.” Sam shut his mobile, making sure the call had disconnected. A huge smile played across his face. He felt elated as the nerves that had built up before he’d made the call suddenly disappeared.
That was painless
, he thought.

He tried to recall exactly what she looked like. He remembered her as being small and dark, with short hair. But he couldn’t picture her face. Inevitably he fantasised about what she looked like naked, and imagined having sex with her.

The week that had started out so horribly was actually turning out very well. Even the comedown was now in the distant past, the midweek blues had been chased away, before they’d had a chance to start.

Sam had not had a proper girlfriend for a long time. Too long, he thought. Another thing lacking in his life. His spare time was occupied with drinking and partying, which was enjoyable, but deep down he really longed to be in a couple.

“There’s plenty of time for all that shit,” he would say to his friends. “Right now I’m happy caning it every weekend, we’re only this age once. We’ve got decades to meet birds. We won’t be able to go out when we’re fifty though, will we?”

It was a well-worn argument, he used it a lot, but only half meant it. He would
love
to have a girlfriend. To stay in on a Saturday night cuddled up in front of the telly. Spend Sunday morning making love, then going shopping together, that sort of thing. Sam would never admit it but he was more than ready to get into a long-term relationship. He would still go out clubbing and partying with his mates, but he dearly wanted to meet someone special.

There had been flings at university, and one-night stands. They were okay. He would bask in the glory for a few weeks and show off to his mates, but the relationships never lasted and this bothered Sam. What was he doing wrong? Why did women not want to stay with him? Why could other men his age sustain a relationship, but he couldn’t?

He was quite good-looking, with cheeky, boyish features and a wicked smile, about average height. He had thick brown hair that sometimes even looked okay. He worked-out when he could face staying on at work after home-time. He had a personality, he was funny, he wore half-decent clothes, didn’t live with his parents and owned a car. Plenty going for him. He felt sure he would meet someone soon. Maybe, just maybe he had. But he didn’t want to get carried away. He had made that mistake in the past.

Sam’s good mood lasted until Friday. The weekend came around again quickly, and as per usual his mobile buzzed with text messages from friends asking what he was up to, and could they join him? It was good to be so popular, thought Sam, but it wasn’t other people that brought him crashing down to earth that Friday evening.

Sam finished work as usual, and decided to do something he had been avoiding. He checked the balance of his bank account. Sam felt the colour drain out of his face as he held the small white slip of paper in his hand. How could he possibly be this broke? It was still two weeks until payday and he was about twenty pounds short of reaching his overdraft limit. A limit he had increased on two occasions recently. Last Saturday had been big, admittedly, but he’d hardly been out apart from that.

Sam dejectedly drove home, trying to remember everything he’d spent recently. It was so difficult keeping track. He parked his Peugeot 205 outside his flat, thinking it was something he may not be able to do for much longer. The car was a constant drain on his funds.

What a way to ruin a weekend
thought Sam. He felt so down he rejected any offers of company that evening. A night in front of the telly was about all he could afford and all he felt like doing. Sam reflected on his life. Up one minute, down the next, that’s all it seemed to be at the moment. At least his body would thank him for a weekend away from alcohol and drugs.

Friday night TV completely failed to raise his spirits, the standard celebrity wank-fest as per usual. Out of habit, he paid far more attention to the adverts than the programmes.

If he could only get a half-decent job, he thought, his troubles would be over. Most of them, anyway.

Sam eventually went to bed, but it wasn’t long before he was woken by Darren and Steph having noisy sex in the next room.
Just perfect
thought Sam as he held the pillow around his ears.

Sean Philips was in a foul mood. This was not uncommon. In fact, he was such an unpleasant person it was difficult to tell when he wasn

Today there was a particular reason for Sean

The joke was completely lost on Sean. He struggled with plain English, let alone Tony

At last Tony got a reaction from Sean that was more than a grunt.

This got Sean

Tony silently swore at Sean. ‘Customs’ was a banned word.