The Wilds Read Online Free PDF Page A

Karl. ‘A lot of departments are counting on the work you do.’
    ‘I appreciate that,’ Karl had responded. ‘Surely you can see the position I’m in, though.’
    ‘Of course, your family must always come first,’ Mr Pool said, ‘but is it really that serious?’
    Karl’s temper began to flare. He had always found Mr Poole to be quite an obnoxious human being, but had always managed to suppress his feelings for the sake of his career. Now, though, he was being tested to the limit.
    ‘My brother is missing,’ he said, his tone firm but trying to hide the anger. ‘My mother is going to pieces, and I need to go home.’
    Mr Poole regarded him with some disdain. Poole was typical upper middle class. He had no particular talent in marketing that Karl had ever seen. However, he had attended the right public school to get him a well-paid job managing a department full of people who were much better at the job than he was. Poole did not like it that a country bumpkin, as he undoubtedly saw Karl, was speaking to him in such a manner. Karl would normally have backed down at this point, let the pathetic little man have his power trip, but not this time.
    ‘To be honest with you, Mr Poole,’ Karl said, ‘I’m going whether you like it or not. I just thought it would be polite to let you know.’
    Poole had continued to stare at him for a long time, his face unchanging, but his eyes revealing what he was thinking. At first they had flashed with anger at the way Karl had spoken to him; Karl thought for a second that he would be dismissed on the spot. Then the anger gave way to something else, contemplation and concern. He was thinking that Karl would probably try and sue for wrongful dismissal and that he would probably win. Then the final emotion came into Poole’s eyes: defeat.
    ‘Alright,’ he said, dropping his gaze from Karl. ‘Keep me informed of when you’ll be back.’
    That had been the end of the meeting, and the end of Karl’s working day. Now he was on his way, his meagre possessions in a duffle bag over his shoulder. He headed east on Cinnamon Street, and then crossed the road and headed south on Wapping Dock Street;. This brought him to the high street directly opposite Wapping tube station. As always the city was awash with life. People from all walks of life swarmed the streets, each of the wrapped up in their own existence. Not one of them was interested in Karl, they didn’t even notice him. As the street lights flickered into life, and the heavens opened, Karl felt like little more than a ghost in the city.
    When he eventually got to King’s Cross, soaking wet, he caught a GNER train heading to Peterborough; from there he would get a train to Darton. As the train pulled out of King’s Cross, the rain had stopped and evening had started to descend. The sky had darkened to a royal blue, and the bright lights of London had begun to shine. Karl looked at his own reflection in the window of the train; he looked superimposed over the cityscape. He knew that after four years in this place, he still did not belong there, but as the train headed north towards his home town, he knew he didn’t belong there either.
    The offices of The Darton Chronicle were compact to say the least, actually small was a better description. They did not need much room, the paper only had four full time employees, the editor, two reporters and a receptionist. None of the printing was done in house. It was all sent to a firm in Lincoln who actually produced the papers for them. They had several part time reporters and a couple of freelance photographers, but none of these needed desk space; they worked mainly from home. The small room at the front contained copies of the paper, leaflets about local places of interest and events, and a desk for the receptionist, Linda Blake.
    The room behind was small and had three desks, one for each of the full time reporters, and one for overflow. Then right at the back was the editor’s