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describe yourself as an animal, which one would it be? Which best
defines your character. Which animal.’
    Focusing his
attention on the man behind the desk Tony said the first animal that came into
his head. ‘Crocodile.’ The raised eyebrow returned, as did the scribbles on
paper to his left.
    ‘In what way?’
    ‘I may not
always appear alert and ready for action, but I’ll lay low, my ear to the
ground, striking effectively. I get the job done.’
    Out in the
office the guy who dropped the tray passed once more. Which one was this? The
first or the second? No one had acknowledged this appearance, but that didn’t
necessarily mean anything. What he referred to as The Repeat Other would no
doubt pass by again shortly if it hadn’t before.
    ‘And finally,
could you give me an example of a situation where you have used initiative to
achieve a solution?’ The Repeat Other, identical to the tray dropper who had
just passed, crossed the window again. Tony heard the scribble of pen that
filled the long pause hanging between the three of them. He wished that
initiative would come to him now.
     
    ‘How many has
that been?’
    ‘Third this
month. That’s one per week for the last three weeks – I’d have worked well in
fin-ants – I call that progress.’
    ‘That is good,
for you. In fact, that’s very good for you.’
    ‘The agency
seems to be sending me out to any old thing no matter how irrelevant. I think
they must have quotas to reach.’
    ‘Or just trying
to get you off their books.’
    ‘Thank you
Emma. Love you to.’
    The lounge
shimmered with the sporadic images from the TV. Tony had selected the film but
only thirty minutes in had forgotten what it actually was, let alone kept track
of plot developments. There was currently a masked figure stalking a girl as
she shrieked through a wood. This vague summary of the scene hardly narrowed
down the possibilities of whatever the hell they were watching.
    ‘Did I miss
anything?’ Emma’s dad poked his head around the lounge door. A screen full of
blood lit his face a dark red.
    ‘Nothing that
can’t be rewound. Please, Dad, stay in or stay out.’
    ‘Sorry sweetie,
won’t happen again.’ His bodiless face ejected back out into the hall and the
door shut.
    ‘What have we missed?’ asked Emma.
    ‘A forth
decapitation,’ said Trevor. Emma’s boyfriend faked a yawn and used the stretch
to put his arm around her neck like teenagers at the cinema.
    ‘Smooth,’ said
Emma. They sat nestled on the couch as Tony, the third wheel, reclined back in
his single seater armchair and dug into his takeout chicken chow mein.
    ‘How is yours?’
asked Emma.
    Tony held up a
forkful of noodles. Oil drizzled down the length of one and into the plastic
tub embossed with the Lotus House’s floral logo. ‘Once it’s drained of oil,
it’s not too bad. Yours?’
    ‘A little too
spicy,’ said Emma.
    ‘There’s no such
thing as too spicy.’ Tony swallowed down the noodle which miraculously
contained an essence of actual chicken, just enough to qualify its poultry
pre-fix.
    ‘And yours?’
She turned to Trevor, managing in the same movement to extract herself from his
overbearing, one-armed embrace.
    ‘Can’t
complain, everything tastes good with you by my side.’
    ‘Cheesy.’
    ‘No, it's
lamby.’
    Emma’s dad once
more entered the room to enquire on the body count. He stood centre of the
lounge, hands on hips, waiting for another steady-cam kill.
    ‘Dad, I can’t
see.’
    ‘You’re not
missing much.’ He turned to the couple on the sofa with a final glance at the
TV to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. ‘How did the football go?’ he asked
Trevor.
    ‘Only lost by
four today, we’re getting better. Creeping up the table by the incompetence of
other teams around us.’
    ‘I think it's
about time I got back on the field of action.’
    ‘It’s not war,’
said Emma.
    ‘Isn’t it
honey, isn’t it? Maybe there’s a veterans league I could