He could see himself sitting at his desk, trying to concentrate on the screen. He remembered how much his eyes stung as he punched the data into his computer, and the screen blurring every few minutes, causing him to rub his eyes with his palms. Focus! he screamed in his head. He remembered every hour passing so rapidly. You have to focus! What’s the matter with you? Leaning back in his chair, all he could hear and think about was the tick-tocking of the large clock hanging on the wall next to his desk. Come on, Gardener, get it together… you’ve only got three hours to finish this. Move your ass. Clutching his coffee cup, he remembered that it was stone cold. He stood, adjusted his tucked-in shirt, and as calmly as possible walked over to the coffeemaker. As he reached for the pot resting at the top of the machine, he noticed his trembling hand. He clenched his fist tightly to stop it. Turning his head, he checked if any of the telesales staff had noticed—they hadn’t. Suddenly feeling light-headed, he grasped the wall for support. He closed his eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass.
After a few seconds his head began to clear, so he seized the coffeepot handle, ignoring his still trembling hand. Pouring its hot contents into his mug, he rescanned the office for onlookers—again there were none. As he started for his desk, his vision blurred again. He stopped, but the room began to spin. His stomach somersaulted as he felt hot coffee splash over his ankle. The office filled with loud echoes, like the sounds of a swimming pool. He could hear the muffled voices of the telesales staff speaking to customers, the noise of fingers clattering against keyboards, and distorted laughter coming from Leah’s office.
Then dead silence. Not even the sound of his coffee mug smashing against the hard carpet could be heard. Nothing. The next thing he saw was Leah standing in front of him, mouthing something, with a look of worry. He tried to hear but it was no use. His knees began to buckle, and as if a time-lapse had occurred, he fell, hitting the back of his head on the desk.
And then he remembered the darkness.
The sound of Nicky rustling beside him pulled him out of his daze, so he rolled onto his back. Staring up at the ceiling, he wondered how on earth Leah was going to cope without him. He tried to think of another subject, like movies, or sports, or even what to have for breakfast, but thoughts of the website and the missing files continued to seep through. How am I ever going to relax? he thought. She’s never gonna cope without me. Give her three days and she’ll be begging me back to save her ass. But I’ll just have to decline. Tell her I have to relax, put my feet up. Doctor’s orders.
Nicky shuffled again, and then popped her head up to look at the clock. “It’s a quarter past six, why aren’t you sleeping?” she asked, eyes half-shut.
“I’m trying. My body clock’s all messed up. I’m not used to sleeping in.”
She rubbed her tired-looking eyes and yawned. “How you feeling today? Any better?”
“I’m fine. I think.”
“Not feeling light-headed or anything?”
“No, nothing. Probably just a one-off.”
He turned his head and kissed her cheek. “Get some sleep. You’ve gotta get up soon.”
“Love you,” she said, barely audible.
“Love you, too.”
He listened to her heavy breathing as she slept beside him. Gently stroking her long brown hair, he stared up at the ceiling, trying desperately to block out thoughts of work.
No such luck.
Richard had been up since 6:45 a.m., unable to sleep. Nicky was standing in her underwear at the other side of the living room, ironing a dress. He glanced at her slim, sexy body as she ironed, trying not to be late for work again. It made him smile. No matter how early she was up from bed, she would still always manage to be in a mad rush.
“How’s the bump?” she asked, still focused on her dress. “Is it still bleeding?”
Richard prodded the cut at the back of his head, and then checked his hand for blood. “No. It’s fine. It’s dry.”
“Thank God. Lucky you didn’t need stitches.” Nicky sighed. “Or worse.”
“Worse? What’s worse than being carted out on a stretcher…in front of everyone in the office? It was bloody humiliating.”
Nicky stopped ironing her dress and scowled at him. “You could have been killed.”
Richard chuckled. “That’s a bit overdramatic, babe.”
“No it’s not. You could’ve smashed your head on something worse than a desk. You could’ve had brain damage.” She returned to her ironing, clearly irritated. “Don’t know how you can be so calm about it.”
“Look, Nic, there’s nothing I can do now. The doctor said it was just a nasty bang on the head. Maybe a little concussion. So there’s nothing to worry about. Honestly, I’m fine.”