Chapter 2

At the breakfast table, Andrew shamefacedly poured Michael some industrial strength filter coffee. He knew his friend was in serious need of energy level boosting for today's digital marketing seminar.

Andrew finally broke the awkward silence with a halting, guilty statement. "I know I've to do a lot more than say sorry. But if I explain, perhaps you'll understand."

Michael had a good idea of what was coming. Poor, hard done by Andrew - not to blame for any of this. Sure enough, it soon became clear Dean Stimson was the villain here.

For Christ's sake, Andrew didn't act as independent travel agent to all his mates, either. He'd provided Keiran with loads of information on Dublin and Michael with none on anywhere. How did he think that left Michael feeling?

No sense of betrayal whatsoever was the answer to that one. Andrew knew Dublin from visits to his old friend Russ. City breaks in general were much more what Andrew was about. He steadfastly kept away from the sun drenched beach resorts Michael favoured.

"Dean knows Barcelona better than the places Kayleigh went to with you," Michael pointed out briskly. "He's done quite a few Facebook posts from there with that English teacher mate of his."

"And Kayleigh's now posted how our supposedly perfect Paris trip was nothing of the kind!"

"Andrew, Kayleigh meant everything she said about Paris," said Michael. "But it must make her sad to think of how happy times like that ended as well. The only baggage she's got with Barcelona is the cases in her room."

"Well, who was it who put an end to those happy times?" said Andrew. "I don't think you'll find it was me!"

"Oh, of course not!" exploded Michael. "I mean, all you did was forget there's two people in a relationship and nobody without problems! Your father's let you down his whole life so why the blessed martyr act when he does it again?"

"Nobody ended up dead - " began Andrew.

"Yes, that's right - nobody ever died before your stepfather, did they?" shouted Michael. "Except Kayleigh's gran, but what did that matter when she'd had a much better innings? Except Kayleigh's dad, very nearly but then she'd still got him so what was the problem? After all, you've lost two dads one way or another! Kayleigh can't have any idea what Lawrie Millen's put his family through, can she? I mean, her fiance's only taking more after the selfish, drunken shitbag by the day!"

"Just f**k off out of here - I'll get a taxi to work!" yelled Andrew. "And don't worry - you'll not be seeing me there much longer! I might as well pack the job in and pack for Edinburgh! That's where my best mates are!"

They certainly weren't at the offices of In The Market. Lynsey could hardly bring herself to return Andrew's greeting or look at him. Obviously she'd had a message from Michael. Andrew's first visit to the kitchen confirmed she'd fully briefed her new BFF, too.

"There's a big jug of coffee just brewed," announced Keiran McAleevey in his broad Lancashire accent. "I expect you'll be wanting a few mugs of that today."

His deep brown eyes drilled into Andrew, obviously looking for signs of the night before.

"Not mugs you've washed up," retorted Andrew, gesturing inverted commas. He took a mug off the tree and closely inspected it to make the point.

"That'll be spotless - it's one of the set Tara bought Friday lunchtime," said Keiran. "Perhaps you've lost a few brain cells since then."

He made no particular effort to disguise the knowing smirk before swigging from his own mug. A picture of nonchalance with his tall, muscular frame leant against the wall.

Keiran's dark brown hair was lightened by a sunbeam through the opposite window. Or it could have been a bulb above the head clearly deep in troublemaking thought.

"Tara might decide she wants new staff as well," added Keiran. "Ones who aren't so stupid as to drink themselves stupid on the eve of a potentially lucrative contract."

"Well, that'll be up to Miss Calvert when you or Lynsey tell on me, won't it?" said Andrew. "Perhaps she'll be able to tell which one of you's more pathetic because I can't. It's like playground bully and lovesick lassie under his spell with you two!"

More than once Andrew had wondered if Keiran and Lynsey's relationship went beyond a working one. He studied Keiran's expression for a look of alarm or guilt. All it showed was that nothing would be revealed.

"Tara won't need to be told anything when she's back," came the cool, smug response. "Either you'll be fine or the fragrance of eau de whisky sweat'll be telling its own story."

"I've had plenty of water, I've kept my breakfast down - " Andrew began furiously. Keiran held his hand up with a "calm down, dear" kind of look.

"Then answer A's more likely, isn't it?" he said with equal condescension. "And there's nothing to worry about for now anyway, is there? Apart from whether any orange creams are left in this ..."

Keiran prised open the biscuit tin, which Andrew longed to smash over his head. He held aloft a gold wrapped circle like it was a doubloon.

"Ooh, wasn't that a bit of luck - getting the last orange cream?" declared Keiran. He knew those were Andrew's favourites.

"When you prefer the florentines - not really," said Andrew before returning to his desk. He heard Keiran fling the biscuit back into the tin with a loud curse.

Keiran was even more put out when Andrew had no problem eating the orange cream or keeping it down. In fact there were no signs of alcohol withdrawal at all throughout Keiran's morning watch. All Keiran could report at its end was getting far less done than Andrew.

The sandwiches stuck in Keiran's craw like that thought as Latimer Logistics' visit got underway. Honestly, why had he sacrificed half his weekend preparing for the presentation? Because he couldn't count on Andrew being up to it.

Nobody could count on Andrew being up to the job of brand manager any day. The signs were obvious to everyone. Sweats and fans on in wintertime, ibuprofen for breakfast, drinking the water cooler and cafetiere dry ... Tara must have seen them too, judging from the series of talks she'd held with Andrew.

The first ones had opened with gentle, concerned usherings into a meeting room. Andrew had come out of them with a blend of regret, annoyance and steely resolution. But what eventually happened to steel under more pressure than it could handle? It got weaker and buckled worse under the same load next time.

After these discussions, Andrew could focus and perform much better for a while. Then his problems stealthily crept up behind him and into the office again.

Other meetings followed with more swiftness than the last - and even less achieved from where Keiran was sitting. Literally when he heard the sound of tempers loudly fraying one January morning.

When all Tara ever did was find fault, Andrew didn't know why she kept giving him more chances. Neither did Tara - all he did was abuse them and abuse her like he was doing now. So he could just go straight home and not return until the disciplinary she'd notify him of.

With characteristic efficiency, Tara had done this inside an hour. It was all arranged for Wednesday of next week at half past ten.

However, on Monday morning Tara was organising a card and collection for Andy. His cousin Robbie had been killed in a French Alps avalanche over the weekend. The suspension was abandoned and replaced with compassionate leave.

Of course that was only appropriate but what had Andrew returned to do? His job like he’d done before Robbie died and that was the whole problem. Still he came in hungover, tired and distracted but Tara just put the “grief” umbrella up over everything.

Well, soon she wouldn't be seeing what she wanted to in Andrew. She'd be seeing a car crash she couldn't walk away from.

Was that apt or ironic in front of transport company execs? wondered Keiran grimly. Andrew was shaking, sweating and stumbling his way through the presentation.

Andrew stumbled, sweated and shook throughout his presentation to the transport company execs. Was the car crash appropriate or ironic? wondered Keiran grimly.

Poisoning panic began to spread among Andrew's fellow prawn and tuna sandwich consumers. His endorsement of the caterers rang somewhat hollow for accompanying his dash out of the meeting room.

*There's a stomach upset going round - me and another colleague have had it," said Keiran. Both Latimers delegates moaned about that bloody bug having bitten them, too. An hour later it was a miracle Keiran had no toothmarks on the palm they'd eaten out of.

Andrew felt much better for the walk home in the fresh air. He decided to get more of this on the garden bench. Logan and Fyvie contentedly nuzzled against him for earlier than usual post work fuss.

"Nice to be in somebody's good books," murmured Andrew as he caressed the cats into sleep. It was a lovely feeling for all of the five minutes it lasted. Both boys abandoned him with filthy looks when they were awoken by his ringing mobile.

Tara informed Andrew that Keiran had clinched the deal but some points of discussion did remain. She could come round for those after work today or during her lunch break tomorrow.

Did that mean Tara thought Andrew would be off sick tomorrow or he was fired? The calm, professional tone gave nothing away and he'd give himself a far worse headache for fretting. So Andrew opted to get the meeting over and done with ASAP.

Three hours later, he apprehensively noted the high resolution of the stilettos’ tapping on the path. So businesslike the same as everything else about Tara. The navy pinstripe suit, the immaculate side chignon, the perfect make up. Those sea blue eyes never washed over any detail and nor did she.

Tara surprised Andrew by beginning with a criticism of her own workplace performance. She wished now she'd insisted on Andy taking more time off after Robbie died. Instead she'd just kept giving him excuses to bury his grief under his work. It was always going to erupt and sooner rather than later at that.

"It's better for life to start going on sooner rather than later," said Andrew. "I'd the evenings and weekends to grieve at home. That's where personal stuff stays, isn't it?"

"Not for you at the moment, you have to admit," said Tara. "So perhaps it's better you take some time off to clear your head. Use up the rest of your annual leave to see your folks in Edinburgh and Inverness - "

"Including my so called father in HMP Inverness?" came Andrew's outraged reply. He wished he'd never told Tara about that visiting order. It had all come tumbling out like the contents of the folder his agitation made him drop.

"Well, perhaps you should see him for your own sake," said Tara. "There's obviously a lot of stuff you'd be better letting out than keeping in. And I don't just mean all the toxins sloshing about in your liver."

"Tara, today was the only time - " Andrew began.

"That you threw up your drink at work or suffered the effects of it there?" Tara cut in sharply.

She lay a hand on Andrew's with her more characteristic tenderness. "You've been through so much this past year, honey. And not having someone at home to share it with must make things even harder - "

"Well, we've all to solve our own problems at the end of the day, haven't we?" said Andrew. "My father wouldnae help himself either time he was married. Living alone's changed nothing with him and nothing with me."

"No, it hasn't," said Tara. "You were starting to drink more before you split up from Kayleigh."

"Before I drove her into the arms of another guy she's much better off with?" Andrew demanded belligerently.

"Andrew, I don't know Gavin and you know that's not what I meant." Tara tightened her clasp to show she wasn't giving up on him that easily.

She'd not become a business manager before her thirtieth birthday without a good understanding of people's needs. Or a very well thought of one without tireless application of it to her staff.

Soon she was saying just what Andrew had kept thinking all day. The issues were rooted in his family and Scotland. So where did their best chance of resolution lie? Back among those closest to him and the issues.

Andrew's remaining holiday entitlement only ran to Wednesday of next week. Tara recommended a doctor's appointment to extend the time off as sick leave. During this she'd suggest getting help for his problem with alcohol.

"That could be up in Edinburgh if you've got temporary resident registration with a GP," said Tara. "Take as long as you need wherever you want to get this under control. Don't come back to work until you really are ready - Keiran'll do a great job of covering yours."

I bet he's doing a great job of coveting it and all, thought Andrew - with surprisingly little resentment. He was on the verge of saying Keiran could have his role permanently - then something stopped him.

Initially Andrew couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. Not wanting to hand Keiran victory, not wanting to burn his boats ... Then it came to him. Giving up his job meant giving up on the best friendships he'd ever had. No matter where life took Andrew, he couldn't live it without Michael and Lynsey. Best to keep his options and the possibility of reconciliation open.

After the door was closed behind Tara, Andrew telephoned the doctor's surgery - much to Fyvie's delight. A busy owner left him free to enjoy some moggy mischief.

Soon Fyvie was living up to star striker billing in more than name only. He kicked over the bin, then dribbled the rubbish around. Afterwards he began headering clothes out of the ironing bag until the referee stepped in. Andrew reached across, pulled the bag towards him and stood it by the telephone table.

Fyvie decided to give Andrew a taste of his own, rudely interrupting medicine. His flying leap across the table's lower tier scattered everything on it like tenpins.

Restoring the table to order, Andrew heard a rustle from behind him. He looked round to see Fyvie in a nearly empty ironing bag with disarray all around. The perfect life metaphor if ever there was one.