Tom stood up. 'I'm not discussing this. Go upstairs and clear your desk or the police are getting involved.'
George didn't move. Tom knew he couldn't break eye contact, but the intensity of suppressed emotion emanating from the other man was unsettling him.
Suddenly George looked down and pressed a fist to his lips. Registering the anguish in the gesture, Tom knew he had won. 'Come on, I'll help you.'
Still avoiding eye contact, George got up. Silently they climbed the stairs. The solemn way they entered the room caused everyone to look up and watch. Tom stood awkwardly to one side as George unlocked his cabinet and removed his briefcase, jacket and tie. Next he pulled a plastic bag from his bottom drawer and began emptying the contents of his drawers into it.
Finally Ges stood up. 'George, Tom, what's happening?'
George kept his head down and Tom waved a silencing hand at Ges. 'If there's any other stuff we can come in at the weekend and sort it out,' said Tom quietly. He walked George back down the stairs and through to reception. As George went to leave, Tom steeled himself for the last thing he had to do. 'George, I'll need your key to the office.'
George stopped and remained still as if contemplating the comment. Tom could see tears in the corner of the other man's eyes as he slid a keyring from his pocket, extricated a key from the metal loop, then hurled it to the floor.
Tom was trawling through overhead variances on the monthly Purchase and Ledger analysis when he heard multiple footsteps coming down the stairs. Guessing what was going on, he kept the files open on his desk.
Julie knocked on the door a second later. Ges, Ed and Gemma were visible behind her.
'Tom,' Julie began hesitantly. 'We're going for a drink at The Church. A leaving drink actually…'
'Yes, I heard, 'Tom interrupted. 'Sorry I didn't have time to pop upstairs earlier.'
'Oh,' she replied, sounding disappointed. 'Some new account they've won down in London.' She looked at him to confirm the story.
'They didn't give me any details,' said Tom. 'Just said we're going to lose you. When is it that you…'
'Straight away. Well, tomorrow. My last night in that soulless hotel, thank God.'
Tom smiled. 'We'll miss you. Look.' He stood up and went over to her. 'I'll try and make it over, but I've got loads on, so if I don't …'
He gave her a big hug and she used the opportunity to whisper in his ear, 'No job is worth your health, Tom. You take care of yourself.'
The comment left him at a loss for words. Was it that obvious he was under so much strain? Self-conscious now, he searched for an answer but she saved him the trouble. 'You know what? I enjoyed it here — the North isn't quite so grim as everyone makes out.'
Tom laughed. 'You take care.'
There was an awkward silence and Tom knew they were all waiting for him to explain what had happened earlier.
'By the way, George has left the company.'
Everyone stared at him, waiting for more information.
'He had been using work computers for his own business. Head office found some files and that was it, they wanted him out. Immediately.'
Ges let out a low whistle. 'What sort of files?'
'I don't know, to be honest,' Tom answered, making sure his glance missed Julie.
After they had all trooped out Tom waited for five minutes, then checked Sarah in reception had gone, too. Grabbing the keys to the works van from the cabinet behind her desk, he opened up the back door of the office and loaded the boxes of X-treme gum into the rear of the van. He had just opened the gates to the courtyard when he heard a footstep in the alleyway behind him. Turning round he saw George fixing him with a malevolent stare.
'You've got rid of Julie,' he announced flatly, all his plans ruined.
Needing time to think, Tom walked back to the storage room and wheeled a Cooper's Barrow into the back of the van. 'George, it doesn't concern you, but I haven't got rid of her. She's been called back down to London. They need her there.'
'Really?' he sneered. 'That's not just a ploy?'
A ploy. By using that word George was indicating he knew they were removing Julie from the equation before anything happened. Unable to believe the man's audacity, Tom said, 'I hate to think what you're getting at with that comment.' He shut the rear of the van and started walking round to the driver's door. 'Now, if you could step out of the way.'
'Why? Where are you taking that lot?'
'To the promotions company, 'Tom answered impatiently, hoping his tone would deter any further questions.
'At six forty in the evening?' George's eyes narrowed.
'Yes,' said Tom, unlocking the driver's door.
He had started the engine and put it into first gear when George knocked on the van's window. He wound it down halfway and George spoke quickly, barely audible over the chug of the diesel engine. 'Tell your wife she should draw the curtains when she's ironing at night. I can see straight in.'
Tom replayed the sinister implications of the comment in his head. By the time he'd got the van in neutral and jumped out, the man had vanished. 'You sick bastard,' he announced weakly to the empty alleyway.
By the time Tom had stacked all the boxes at the end of his garage and covered them with a large tarpaulin, it was after eight o'clock. Charlotte was out with some friends from her gym, not due back until late. He let himself into the house, opened a bottle of wine and went through to the living room.
Slumped on the sofa, he kicked off his shoes and put his feet up on the coffee table, a glass of wine resting on his stomach. He had gone beyond exhausted to a state where he just felt hollowed out and zombie-like. He so desperately wanted to sleep but there was too much going round his head, too much going round his bloodstream.
Draining the glass, he poured another and then remembered that the work van was parked on the driveway and his Porsche was outside the office. Bollocks to it, he thought, deciding that he would return it early the next morning and no one apart from that twisted bastard George would be any the wiser. Creepy George. What was going on in that man's head? He'd seemed genuinely devastated by the news that Julie was going, as if he'd developed a real crush on her. He snorted. A crush was something teenagers or giddy adults experienced. Men like George didn't have crushes: they had obsessions. Dark and frightening ones.
Gulping down the second glass of wine, his thoughts turned to George's last comment. The bastard had been outside his house at some stage. He must have got his address from a computer file at work. Tom climbed the stairs and slid the shoebox out from under the bed. The man who delivered the gun didn't say a lot, other than to ask for his four hundred quid then show him how the safety catch worked. It looked like a small air pistol, almost toy-like in size.
George lurked in the shadows of the car park at The Church. He couldn't stand pubs. The smoke, the music, and worst of all, the women. Obscene in their make-up and short skirts, laughing loudly as they got more drunk. More confident. Looking at men, chatting with them, playing their flirtatious games. But never with him. Never with him.
Hands thrust deep into his anorak pockets, he crossed the car park and peered in through the window, fingers turning the packet of pills round and round. Julie was there, at a table with the rest of them. Red lips smiling, she got to her feet, circled a finger above everyone's glass, then set off for the bar.
He willed himself to go inside, knowing that it was his last chance. Maybe the others would get too drunk and go home. He constructed the scenario in his head; him and Julie the last to leave. Slipping the pill into her final bottle of beer, then — because he didn't drink — offering to drive her to the Ibis hotel. Her speech getting awkward, clever comments no longer on the tip of her tongue. Her losing control as she got out of the car. His car, with the briefcase in the boot. Helping her into the lift and up to her room. Getting her on to the bed and then waiting for her to pass out completely. The hours of fun he'd have with her.