Performing

Part 5

 

Gary stumbled out of the room. It was early. Or late. One or the other. The corridor was empty. Plush dark carpets, high ceilings and quiet. Newspapers lay outside several of the oaken doors. Each one with its own hessian carry bag.

Gary had a bag with him. Heavy, white fabric of some kind. Money, something that seemed important. Maybe something really important if he could convince Karen. A half-stifled yawn eventually erupted. Get back to the room and clean up, quietly. He’d cleaned after the job. That was a rule, obviously. You have to stick to the rules. Be a professional. No point in half-arsing it. He liked to think that it garnered him some goodwill. It certainly hadn’t gotten him the raise he wanted or the promotion that might change things. No, they only ever seemed to promote the bastards who didn’t do things properly. Did they get the nod for that, cutting corners? Might be useful higher up. Not a benefit down on the shop floor. And he cleaned that floor. He should bloody know. The things that get left when the others did it, you’d go vegan.

Gary caught himself creeping as he got closer to the lift. Stupid. Attract attention to yourself. Besides anyone up at this time is either on their way to something important, somewhere fancy or just doing a walk of shame. Which, Gary thought, he was doing in his own way. Still, needs must. And the bag was reassuringly weighty.

Fumbling for the keycard with his free hand Gary rested the bag on the floor which was when he noticed the dot. Just a dot of red. A splotch? Is that what you call it? Seemed too homely, like a Famous Five story with picnics and lashings of marmalade or some other twee nonsense. Gary’s mind was wandering, foolish and tired. Finally finding the keycard he crept inside, grabbing the bag on his way.

The bed was empty. No Karen. Gary had enough presence of mind to stuff the bag into the wardrobe, under a shopping bag before he started to panic. A panic which subsided when he saw the note. It was taped to the television. She had gone to stay with Trish. ‘Think about things.’ Because of course she couldn’t think about things in a room that cost this much bloody money. No, that would be too much. She’d be over there, getting a mind full of Trish’s ego massaging ‘kick him to the curb’, sisterhood crap. With an added dose of her bargain basement Sex and the City bullshit. Seething.

Gary had to calm down. He wasn’t thinking rationally or calmly. Systematic. He had to be thorough. The best thing now was to get some sleep. Get some sleep and something to eat in the morning. Despite the evening’s proceedings he knew some bacon would set him straight, back into the routine. Breakfast was served ‘til late anyway.

Gary flopped onto the bed. Sleep would be the best thing. 

He belatedly remembered his shoes. Best take them off. After all, he had to clean the floor. The things that get left. Not on these sheets.