Die of Shame Read Online Free PDF Page A

after nine, but Tony is used to his wife getting back late. She often has to entertain clients or go for dinner with other execs at the ad agency. There are night shoots and awards ceremonies, movie premieres sometimes. Now and again she asks Tony if he wants to go with her, but he always says no. He thinks that knowing he won’t want to is the only reason she asks in the first place.
    He opens the fridge, peers in.
    ‘How was your session?’
    ‘Yeah, fine,’ he says. There are some bits of salad, lots of jars; pickles and preserves. He pulls out a pizza that is probably meant for their daughter, but which she will never eat. ‘Went well.’
    ‘Good. So, how was your girlfriend?’
    Tony turns, lets the fridge door close behind him. ‘What?’
    ‘You know exactly who I’m talking about,’ Nina says. She cranes her head and stares past him, towards the TV screen. ‘The tiny one who looks like a boy.’
    ‘You’re being ridiculous.’
    ‘You didn’t see the way she looked at me that time, when I came into the kitchen.’
    ‘I’m not even going to talk about this.’
    ‘OK.’ Nina shrugs. ‘But it’s not like you haven’t got form in this area, is it?’
    Tony sighs, begins to tear at the packaging on the pizza box.
    ‘Very unprofessional, if you ask me.’
    ‘If it’s the woman I think you’re talking about, that was a long time ago.’ He moves to stuff the plastic and cardboard into the recycling bin. ‘She developed an attachment to me, that’s all.’
    ‘Which you did nothing about.’
    ‘I was trying to help her,’ Tony says.
    ‘I think shagging her would probably have helped her enormously.’ Nina sips her wine; precise, measured. ‘You get too involved with your clients, that’s the point.’
    ‘How can I not?’
    ‘What about the new woman? The one who came tonight.’ She turns to him and smiles. ‘She your type?’
    ‘Trust me, no she really isn’t.’ Tony walks across and turns the oven on. ‘And even if she was —’ Nina’s laughter stops him short. She either finds his protestations genuinely funny or else she is simply winding him up. Tony can no longer tell the difference. He opens one cupboard after another in search of olive oil and something different to talk about. ‘Have you been upstairs yet?’
    ‘I’ve only just got in.’
    ‘The smell up there… Jesus.’
    ‘Yes, well.’ Another delicate sip. ‘That’s your area of expertise, Tony, not mine.’
    ‘She not your daughter, then?’
    ‘I don’t know why you’re being so dramatic. They all do it.’
    ‘It’s getting out of hand.’
    ‘It’s just an appropriate rebellion, that’s all. Even I can work that much out. What do they say about a cobbler’s children going barefoot?’
    Tony closes the cupboard. He stands and studies his wife.
    ‘I’m sure you’ll sort it out with her.’ Nina reaches for the remote and raises the volume of the TV. ‘When you’ve got time. I think that’s the attachment you should be concentrating on, don’t you?’

HERE AND NOW
     
    Nicola Tanner read through the email twice, then clicked on the attachment. She thought about the tens of thousands of other Londoners starting work in bland, open-plan offices much like this one, right about now. Many would be exchanging meaningless platitudes with workmates; chatting about what had been on TV the night before or complaining about the day ahead, just as several of her own colleagues were doing at desks nearby. Loosening ties and needlessly rearranging paperwork. Finishing overpriced coffees bought from chains on the way in, because they could not face the slop that squirted in fits and starts from the machine in the corner.
    She clicked on the first picture, sucked in a fast breath.
    Many of them would be working at computers, as she was, and might spend the first ten minutes weeding out spam or checking Twitter. Some might even ease themselves into the drudgery of the working day by checking out a few of the