The Drowning Pool. Syd Moore

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      ‘No. No, thank you.’ I went to the chair and picked up my jacket.

      ‘The referral is well under way. You should be contacted very shortly. Now do take some time to relax.’ He stood to see me out.

      ‘Yes. I will.’ I turned at the door to send him a quick smile of thanks but he was looking away from me out of the window.

      I kept my head down at work, reluctant to interact with anyone. I’m not good at small talk at the best of times and today I needed some solitude so I could bury myself in the course review – an analysis of the previous year’s strengths, weaknesses, retention, achievement and success rates. It wasn’t my favourite part of the job but within an hour the statistical overload had blocked out the morning’s incident and by the time Sue popped in to see if I fancied coffee I had more or less convinced myself that sometimes coincidences were just that.

      It was Sue’s last day before she went on maternity leave and she was determined to have a single glass of wine to celebrate. So after work a bunch of us headed down to the Red Lion to toast her. I was irritated by the appearance of McBastard, nearly an hour later, and even more alarmed when he sauntered over to the table where John and I sat.