I can't believe that this morning seemed so ordinary. I suppose that's the way things usually are: omens and signs are generally only seen in retrospect, if at all. I remember standing in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door in our bedroom, looking at my reflection and making the kind of critical assessments most women make of their appearance; especially when they get to thirty-five. My chestnut brown hair still tumbles to my shoulders and further in what I like to think could be described as a 'cascade', even if there are a few flecks of silver now. My face is, I think, fairly attractive. My bright blue eyes and full lips are highlights - especially with the application of mascara and lipstick - even if my nose is a little on the large side. My breasts are still full and round, even after becoming a mother, and they filled out, I thought, my plain white blouse in a striking way. I have put on a little weight since my daughter Marie was born, but I think of myself as curvy. I like to think I could pass as twenty-eight. In a generous light. If you squint a bit.
"Karen?" Steve, my husband, was sitting, propped up against pillows, in our bed. "Are you taking Marie to school today?"
"No," I replied. "Gillian is going to pick her up and give her a lift. I'll make sure she's up and getting ready before I go out and I'll leave her breakfast on the table." I fastened my pleated black skirt and turned toward him. The early Spring sunlight shone through the curtains and illuminated our bed and as he lay there I felt a terrible sense of pity for him. For us. It has been six months since his accident and he hasn't been able to work since then. There have been other things he hasn't been able to do. The injury to his back when he fell from that ladder has made it very difficult and painful for him to move - or even to lie down properly in bed. At least we are more financially sound now. It took a few months for the insurance money to come through. The insurers insisted the fault lay with the company Steve worked for and they insisted they had followed all the Healthy and Safety guidelines. Lawyers got involved. You know how that spins things out. Anyway, we were pretty much in dire straits for a month or two - things got pretty desperate - but eventually we got sorted. "I may be a little late back," I said as I walked to the bed. I kissed him and added, "I might pop in on Sally. She's in a bad place at the moment since Martin left."
"That's OK," he replied. "Remember - I've got the Chiropractor this evening. Bob's looking after Marie." I'd forgotten, but that meant I'd call Sally and arrange to have dinner with her and we'd have a good, long chat.
I looked in on Marie, checked that she was getting up and that her school uniform was ready, and told her that her breakfast would be waiting for her downstairs before I hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, and went downstairs. The kitchen needed a good clean but I tried to ignore that as I made Marie's breakfast. The living room needed tidying but I tried to ignore that as I made sure my phone, my purse and my keys were in my handbag. The hallway needed a vacuum cleaner but I just didn't have the time, so I tried to ignore it as I opened the front door and stepped out into an April morning that was chillier than I had expected.
By the time I got to work I'd spotted the ladder in my tights. It was on my knee, just below my skirt when I sat down. When you've got very pale skin and you're wearing black tights, ladders are very obvious. I went to the toilets and took them off, laddering them further in the process. Shaking my head I dropped them in the bin and headed for my desk in Accounts. On the way I passed Eric - a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a bit of a paunch who always gives me a smile - or maybe that's a leer - when he sees me. We exchanged good mornings on the stairway and he made off in the direction of Sales. There are about twenty guys who work for the company and five women. I'm the only one of those five working in Accounts. I work with two guys - Colin and Mike - and our boss is Phil Neville. Phil the Ferret we call him.
I was the first to arrive in the office. I took off my jacket and hung it over the back of my chair before sitting down and logging into my computer. There were the usual fifty e-mails to get through. Colin arrived, gave me a friendly wave before getting started at his own desk. Mike came in shortly after. We get on pretty well together and there is a fair amount of good-natured banter. Sometimes, though, I feel that there are sexual overtones to things they say or do that make me a little uncomfortable. During the course of the morning, for example, Mike made me a cup of coffee - which was nice - but as he handed it to me his fingers touched mine and he deliberately looked me in the eye. Am I reading too much into that? A little later on Colin came over to ask me about the new policy document on reporting figures to senior management. He sat on the corner of my desk, his legs apart and his groin only a foot or so away from me. Again, he didn't actually say or do anything overtly sexual, but still. Let's just say I think there's a little tension.
So the morning passed. There were cheques to process, BACS payments to confirm, invoices to send: the usual sort of stuff you get to do in Accounts. I chipped a nail. It's funny now to think how cross I was about that. When one o'clock came around I put my jacket back on and went out to a small sandwich shop and got a bacon, lettuce and tomato roll and came back to eat it at my desk. I don't work during the lunch break, but there is nowhere more comfortable to go in the building. I dropped the paper bag from my sandwich into the bin beside my desk and went to get a coffee. As I was returning to my desk, Phil popped his head into the office. "Karen," he began in his high pitched, whiny voice, "When you've finished your lunch would you mind dropping into my office. There's something I need to discuss with you."
Puzzled, I nodded as his head disappeared and I went back to drinking my coffee. About fifteen minutes later I knocked on Phil's office door and went in. "Come in, Karen," he said. "Sit down." He was sitting behind his desk looking at his monitor intently, though when I sat down I think he glanced at my thighs as I crossed my legs. "There's something puzzling," he said. He was then silent for what seemed an age and I looked at him. He is a thin man - you might almost say scrawny - of about fifty-five. Largely bald, he has a little hair at his temples and a wispy, half-hearted moustache above a small, mean mouth with protruding teeth. He has a large pointed nose and a chin that is almost receding. We call him Phil the Ferret for a reason.
"There's a payment here I don't understand," he said at last. "A few months ago. For two thousand four-hundred and twenty-seven pounds and ninety-eight pence." I felt my heart jump inside my chest as he continued; "It seems to be for catering services to a company called 'Zest'. It seems you authorised the payment."
Shaking slightly I said, "That's right. It was for a sales pitch at our Bristol branch."
"That's what I thought," replied Phil, smiling. "The thing is, though, I've got another payment here for catering that Colin authorised, for a company called, 'Gayle's'. It, too, seems to be for a sales pitch at our Bristol branch." I could feel the colour draining from my face and my hands felt cold. "So I checked with the Bristol branch," he continued. "It seems they did use Gayle's as the caterers for that event."
