The Drowners by Jennie Finch

hundred quid a week and the threat to the Wages Board still hanging over them, most were foregoing their lunchtime ‘pint and plate’ in favour of something in bread from home. Maybe he should buy shares in plastic lunch boxes, he reflected gloomily. A door slammed overhead and the sound of footsteps on the stairs told him he could not put off the confrontation with his wife any longer.
    ‘Morning Marie,’ he said brightly as she pushed the door open and stepped into the dimly lit kitchen. She gave him a hard stare before brushing past him to the range where the coffee bubbled in its pot.
    ‘You is up bright and early this morning,’ she said, pouring herself a cup. ‘Busy day ahead then?’ She rummaged in the cupboard over the work surface, slamming the door shut as she came out empty handed.
    ‘Ah, yes – sugar,’ said Phil, beating a hasty retreat into the bar where the tables were set ready for lunch. He grabbed some sugar in paper packets and slid behind the bar, taking a deep breath before steeling himself for the looming argument.
    ‘Thanks,’ said Marie, stirring her coffee energetically. Phil kept his eyes lowered as he picked up the spoon and rinsed it under the tap. The silence stretched between them, accentuated by the stillness of the empty pub. A fly buzzed against the window, hurling itself at the glass in a desperate bid for freedom. Phil knew exactly how it felt. He glanced up and saw his wife was watching him over the rim of her coffee beaker.
    ‘So when was you planning on telling me then?’ she asked and gave an amused snort at his startled look. ‘Oh for goodness sake man, I ain’t stupid. Anyways, that Tom Monarch, he put his head round the door to thank me for their supper. Made a point of it, in fact. Said he was looking forward to next week. Least he’s got some manners, not like some of ’em.’
    Phil opened his mouth but couldn’t think of a single word to say.
    ‘Look, I know times is hard and likely to get no better, far as we can see ahead, but I don’t like this. There was Micky, drinking here all night, only night them lot was here, right?He’s hanging around and muttering and grinning at them and suddenly he’s dead, drowned in the canal on his way home. I think that’s a bit of a coincidence and so do you if you was honest about it. Well, you’ve made an agreement now and it don’t matter how good his manners is, you don’t go back on your word with Tom Monarch, so we must just get on with it. Mark my words though,’ she flung over her shoulder as she headed out to the bar, ‘ain’t no good coming from this. No good at all.’

    The atmosphere in the probation office at Highpoint was strained as the officers went back to work and the clerical staff settled down in their office. Pauline unlocked the main door and they prepared for the inevitable influx of queries, excuses and hostility that comprised a normal day, but strangely there was no rush for the desk. The waiting room was empty, the dust flickering in the last pale sunlight of autumn as it drifted, undisturbed, in the hush. In the main office, however, there was some fierce wrangling going on.
    ‘I reckon is your turn anyway,’ said Lauren, glaring at Mavin, a tall, willowy woman with a shock of auburn hair. ‘I had the last two newbies and Alison took over Alex early, so is someone else’s job this time.’
    Mavin sighed as she folded her long frame into her typing chair. ‘I’ve spent months getting Eddie’s records in order,’ she said. ‘I’m not handing that over and starting again from scratch. It’s not fair to ask me and I won’t do it. What about you Sam?’ She nodded towards a small, plump woman sitting at her typewriter and pointedly ignoring the whole conversation .
    ‘Me? What?’ Sam blinked at her from behind her large, blue-tinted glasses and shook her head in mock sympathy. ‘Oh, I’ve got Paul’s brood and they come through so fast I’ve got twice the number of reports