Why, oh why, did today have to happen? I haven’t a clue how I’m going to explain losing the car and losing Finn. I mean, I didn’t lose Finn per say, he got his head chopped off. Nice I know, but that’s how it will look on my record – which is tarnished enough as it is. Not mentioning the boot load of £50 notes that went up in a puff of a smoke.
Once again I’m in Hell’s waiting room. I have been ‘summoned’ to this plush, wood-panelled room to await my fate on a designer chaise lounge. Beatrice the perfectly coiffed and preened receptionist is tapping away on a keyboard with her acrylic nails. I would love to peel them off her fingers. Stupid receptionists, they always have a full view of the room, in her case, in front of the double doors that will consume me and possibly destroy my life.
Shouting from behind those doors catches my attention, followed by the unmistakeable sound of smashing glass. Moments later they swing open spewing forth a slight, dark haired man with a noticeably wobbly gait and splintered glass embedded in the skin under his left eye.
” What are you staring at girl,” he snarls in my direction. I can’t help but giggle, which causes the man’s brow to pucker in anger. He affords me one last glare and stumbles to the exit. Clearly, he didn’t get the pay rise he wanted.
“You can go through now,” I stand, my mood lightened by the ridiculous fool that came before me. All I did was lose property and a partner; that guy asked for a pay rise, and if all they’re doing for that is smashing faces through tables, I have nothing to worry about.