The Evil Inside Read Online Free PDF Page A

decor was stylish yet understated. Cool green and soft off-white walls were enlivened by big, classy contemporary prints and a long row of framed PR awards. The effect was pleasing: Anthony had always exuded impeccable taste as well as enviable chutzpah – qualities immediately evident from his
GQ
wardrobe of handmade Savile Row and Milanese suits.
    ‘I’ll show you to your office. It’s not huge but it should at least accommodate your colossal ego,’ he said.
    ‘Thanks, mate. It’s half the size of yours then, eh?’
    He was right. The office itself was nothing to write home about: a shiny new ruby iMac, a desk, a bookcase, a coat stand. But the view was a New York postcard. Like the boardroom, my window also looked directly out towards the Chrysler Building. I whistled softly.
    ‘Thought that might inspire you. Come on – let’s go meet the team. They’re all very excited to meet the new creative director.’
    The rest of the day was a brain-blitzing blur of faces, names and titles. Almost everybody seemed to be a vice-president of something or other, even if they were still in their early twenties. And as I was being introduced around, my obvious ignorance of American business jargon was cause for some good-natured ribbing from Anthony and my other new colleagues: ‘heads up’, ‘gap analysis’, ‘bandwidth’ and ‘knock-on effect’ were all a foreign language to me.
    ‘How was it?’ Mia called out when I walked in the door at seven. I kicked the last vestiges of snow off my new Kenneth Cole brogues and shook some more out of my new Barneys scarf. ‘It was
awesome
,’ I replied in mock-Americanese. ‘Actually it was good. Anthony looked after me and everyone was super-friendly in that super-friendly Yank way.’
    She was searching for something in the cupboard-sized kitchen.
    I hung up my new Zegna pea coat. ‘What are we eating? Should we get takeaway or what?’
    ‘It’s called “take-out” here, Michael, that funny desk clerk told me. No, I’ll cook with one foot out in the hallway because I got us a couple of prime New York sirloins in honour of your first day in the Manhattan work force. I finally managed to pick up some decent cutlery today, too.’
    Without turning around, she held up a brand-new, black-handled, two-pronged carving fork.
    Just then the phone rang on the hall wall behind me. ‘I’ll get it,’ Mia brushed past me with the fork still in her hand. ‘That’ll be Michael with exciting news on getting some extra sheets and pillows up here as well.’
    As she scooped the handset from the cradle, a subterranean memory from long ago rose up in me.
    I’d been reading a
Mad
magazine when the phone rang.
    ‘May I speak to your mother, please?’ the important-sounding lady at the end of the line had asked.
    ‘Who should I say is calling, please?’ I almost added ‘ma’am’ as she sounded so officious.
    ‘Er, can you please just put your mother on, young man? I’ll explain it all to her.’
    I dropped my magazine and covered the mouthpiece.
    ‘Mu-um! Phone. Sounds important.’
    I could hear my mother spluttering and cursing in the bathroom – she hated having her bath interrupted.
    She padded out in a ratty, threadbare towel, leaving watery footprints behind her, and snatched the phone from me.
    ‘What are you looking at, boy? Give that here. Hello … ?’
    And as I watched the expression on my mother’s face dissolve from anger to agony, I knew that something had just been broken that could never be fixed again.
    I shivered as Mia hung up the phone and playfully poked the fork towards my abdomen. ‘Hmm put that thing down, will ya? You look dangerous,’ I said.
    I followed her back into the kitchen as she dropped the new fork back in the drawer. I tried to cuddle her from behind, but she suddenly froze. It was a distressing new habit she’d developed over the past month or two. ‘Where’s our little space ranger?’ I asked, trying to restore the initially