Gemma turned wearily as the clock radio went off. She always found early morning DJs’ cheeriness irritating. But the radio was a gift from Eric’s mom, and he wouldn’t hear of Gemma getting rid of it.

Eric sat up, rubbing his eyes. ‘You’re getting up earlier every week, I swear,’ he mumbled. ‘Breakfast…?’

‘No thanks,’ Gemma forced a smile. She couldn’t face his over-crispy bacon and burnt toast. Not on a Monday. Eric rolled over and went back to sleep. By the time Gemma got to the door, he was snoring.

He could have tried to persuade me, Gemma thought.

In the shower, she thought I shouldn’t be annoyed. She’d been an executive even before she had married Eric; she had known that as an artist he earned only when he got commissions. Occasionally he would bring in a lot of money, and then nothing for months.

Why did I marry him? she thought. Well, at least he was prepared to be a house husband, whilst working from home. Okay, he was crap at most of the housework, but at least he made an effort.

Gemma had breakfast, and got dressed. She didn’t want to wake Eric, but he stirred as she picked up her car keys.

‘Take care,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s shepherd’s pie tonight.’

Gemma winced. ‘Remember, gas mark six,’ she replied. ‘See you.’

As Gemma walked to the front door, she stumbled over something. Eric’s boots – why couldn’t he keep them out of the way? She put them up against the wall, looking at the smudge they were leaving behind. Where’s he been to get them dirty? she thought. Not the garden, with that colour mud. I don’t care – he’s going to have to clean it up....

Half an hour later, she turned her car into the Greaterex compound, in Small Heath outside the city centre. It was in a deceptively peaceful setting, in a little patch of greenery with outdoor car parking.

A few minutes later Gemma was at her desk. Bright and early, no-one else there. As she sat down she saw Patricia, the portly middle-aged cleaner, at the far end of the open-plan office. ‘Alright, Patricia?’ she called out, but the cleaner headed for the door, seeming not to have heard.

Gemma checked her in-tray. Her heart sank. There it was – a little, square, brown envelope. Like its predecessors, it was blank outside. Inside was a scrap of paper, with an ominous typed message.

ONE WEEK LEFT. STOP NOW OR I’LL TELL YOUR HUSBAND.

Her blood ran cold. How had it come to this? How far back did she have to go?

Well, she thought, I could start with me marrying Eric four years ago. He had seemed so dashing when they had first met. His line drawings had won some obscure prize, and one had been featured in an exhibition at the Ikon Gallery. There had been an article in the paper about him being one of the artists poised to benefit from an expected reaction against unmade beds and pickled sheep. The bloody backlash still hasn’t happened, Gemma thought bitterly.

She hadn’t fallen for him just because of his ‘prospects’. She remembered the fire that had burned between them – how he would stroke her hair, whisper poetry in her ears. Then she had been a probationer with Greaterex, and the contrast between romantic Eric and the ruthless types she had worked with could not have been greater.

But not long after they had married, Eric’s early success had dried up. He had become bitter and twisted, refusing to get a regular job. Gemma’s career had taken off, leaving her as hard-bitten as her colleagues. The spark had gone out of their marriage, although they still cared for each other.

Then, last summer, Glenn had come along - a new trainee at the office. Five years Gemma’s junior. ‘You’re as young as the man you feel’, goes the cliché, and it worked for Gemma…

She snapped out of her reverie as the office door swung open. It was Hazel. She was in her mid-fifties, and when Gemma had started, she had been the only other woman in middle management. She had now climbed higher still, but continued to act as an unofficial mentor to Gemma.

‘Morning,’ Hazel said, passing Gemma’s desk on her way to her enclosed office. ‘You’ve got a face like a smacked arse,’ she said cheerily. ‘What happened?’

Gemma held up the note. Hazel gasped.

‘Shit, they don’t give up… And you still don’t have a clue who it is?’

‘No… wish the bastards would tell me to my face. They wouldn’t have the balls to tell Eric…he’d never believe them anyway…’

‘Can you take that chance?’

Gemma pondered. ‘I – I don’t know what to do…I don’t know where Glenn and I are going anyway…’

Hazel flashed a warning look at Gemma, who stopped in mid-sentence. She looked up and saw Ronald, their overall boss, entering the office.

‘Hard at work already, eh, ladies?’ he boomed. ‘Only a couple of days left, Gemma…going for it?’

‘For what?’ Gemma asked.

‘That manager’s post in Coventry, I told you about it, remember? It’d take you years to get that sort of promotion here, you know.’

‘I’d forgotten all about that…’

‘Think it over. I’ll put in a good word,’ Ronald tapped his nose, and disappeared into his office.

‘Like I said, I’ll speak to Glenn,’ Gemma said.

‘A quick shag is one thing,’ said Hazel. ‘Hey, I’ve had a few. But letting it drag on for months…you know the policy.’

Greaterex had suffered some big sexual harassment lawsuits in the US, leading to the current policy forbidding sexual relations between any personnel two or more grades apart.

‘Yeah, but …everyone’s at it....’ said Gemma.

‘Maybe,’ replied Hazel. ‘But if you get caught in a messy divorce through shagging golden boy, Ronald might just want to make an example of you.’

‘He wants me to go for that job, he wouldn’t shaft me like that…’

‘You’ve got everything going for you – don’t screw it up. Dump him.’ Hazel went into her office.

Gemma thought back to when Glenn the Accounts trainee had first come into her office...

*********************************************************************

He was about twenty-five, with blonde hair falling over one eye. He had a Boris Johnson look, something that said, I can be untidy and get away with it, because I’m me. He had bumped into Gemma on her way back from the stationery cupboard, knocking the box file she had just collected to the ground.

‘This is the way to the canteen, isn’t it?’ he had asked, bending down and picking up the file. Gemma looked at his bum – firm and taut, not flabby like Eric’s.

‘No,’ Gemma had smiled. ‘I’ll take you there – if I gave you directions you’d still get lost. I could do with a break – I’m getting square-eyed.’

They chatted as they walked to the canteen. Glenn had just left University, having done a Masters straight after his first degree. This was his first job.

On their way they passed the disabled-access toilet. Glenn had turned to Gemma and asked with a grin, ‘Is it true that disabled toilets just get used for a bit of er, you know..?’

Gemma had smiled knowingly and said, ‘Check after half past six and you might find out!’ 

She had meant it as a joke. But much later in the day, her phone had rung. The office had been quiet. Gemma had been working late, as always. Picking up the phone, she had been surprised to hear Glenn’s voice.

‘I thought you Accounts skivers all went home at four,’ Gemma had said.

‘Not when I’m on a promise,’ Glenn had replied. Gemma had blushed – the gall of the man!

‘You’re not at your desk, saying that?’

‘No – I’m where you said I should be, at this time.’

Gemma looked at the clock – it was six-thirty.

‘You’re not in the disabled loo?’

‘Where else?’

‘I don’t believe you....’

‘Why would I lie?’

‘I’ll lock you in when I get there, you randy sod.’

Minutes later, Gemma had pushed open the door to the disabled-access loo. Glenn was there, fully dressed, except that he’d taken his tie off and loosened the top two buttons on his shirt, revealing a good amount of hair. Almost without thinking, she had run her hand over his chest.

‘Can I return the compliment?’ he had said archly, ogling Gemma’s breasts.

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she had said.

He had locked the toilet door…

They had kissed and petted, and reached a point of no return. Glenn had pushed Gemma against the wall and made passionate love to her.

They had continued in the same vein. They would both stay on late at the office, he would call her, and they would meet in the disabled-access loo or the stationery cupboard. These settings seemed to turn Gemma on. They were a world away from sedate, once-a-week (lately, once-a-month) sex with Eric, always in the bedroom, with the lights out.

They had even managed a weekend away in a Brighton hotel, Gemma telling Eric she was on a training retreat on which mobiles were not allowed.

‘He’s really trusting,’ Glenn had said, when they were alone in their room ‘“Trusting” spelt “g-u-l-l-i-b-l-e.”’

Gemma had been annoyed with him for that, but not for long. Soon they had torn each other’s clothes off, coupling in every corner of the room.

That weekend, Gemma had confided in Glenn about her marriage. About how Eric was a decent guy, but she would no longer settle for cosiness when she could have passion. And how different it would be to have a man with a proper job, not a dreamer hoping his day would come.

Glenn had thought for a while. ‘You make more than he does. If you divorce him, he’ll take you to the cleaners.’

‘I know,’ Gemma had replied. ‘But – he’d deserve anything he got from me…I am cheating on him.’

‘And the job? If this comes out, what with the policy….’

‘If I left Eric I wouldn’t tell him who the other guy was…not for a while, anyway. Besides, if the company sack me I’ll sue the arse off them for gender discrimination. I’m sure I’d get headhunted soonish…’

Glenn had kissed her tenderly on the nape of the neck.

‘Let’s think it over,’ he had said.

Over the following weeks they had started to make mistakes. A few times they had not locked the door to the disabled-access toilet whilst together there. Once or twice someone had tried the door and Gemma had kicked it shut. Had anyone seen anything? The letters had started only days later.

Always in Gemma’s in-tray, always on Mondays. The threat always the same – that Gemma’s husband would be told. And there was a countdown. Six weeks left –five weeks left- now one week left. She had been coming in earlier and earlier, hoping to catch them. Futile hope really. Whoever it was would simply have pretended to be doing something else and either binned the note or sent it later.

One evening in the stationery cupboard, she had told Glenn about the notes. He had been worried. ‘It’s alright for you,’ he had said. ‘You’ve got experience; some other company will want you. I’m just starting out – I can’t afford to lose this job.’

‘You won’t,’ Gemma had teased, stroking his chest. ‘You’re the innocent victim of a middle-aged vamp…’

‘They won’t see it that way.’ Glenn had drawn away. ‘I’m still on probation – they wouldn’t have to fire me, just wait till my twelve months are up.’

Hazel had warned Gemma that the affair was public knowledge and might get her fired. Gemma had showed her the letters, and Hazel had seemed genuinely surprised.

****************************************************************

Gemma’s phone rang. It was Glenn.

‘Hi, just got in.’

Gemma looked at the clock - ten a.m. ‘Slacker,’ she smiled despite her misery.

‘You okay?’

‘What do you think? It’s Monday…’

‘You mean…’

‘Yes. And this time – just one week…’

‘W-what d’you think? Should we – stop?’

‘Not so loud,’ Gemma whispered. ‘I’m not a quitter…but let’s not meet today. See you tomorrow. I’ll have made up my mind.’

Who else?

Ronald? He must have heard of the affair by now. From the old-fashioned school of management, he would be too embarrassed to have a quiet word with his staff – especially his female staff – about their sex lives. He would be terrified that higher management might find out about the policy breach. He would also face discipline for not acting earlier.

Invisible? Of course! Patricia! Gemma made a point of knowing the cleaners’ names, and having the occasional chat with them, but she knew that to most office workers the cleaners never registered. Patricia was a strict church-goer, she must know about the affair, and she would disapprove. Was that why she’d blanked Gemma that morning?

Only one way to find out, thought Gemma.

Thank God the cameras don’t cover the corridors by the stationery cupboard and the loos! she thought. With beating heart, she play-forwarded the tape. On the screen, Patricia came into view, pottering around as usual. Going near Gemma’s desk – stooping next to it –YES!

No! She had only emptied out a bin.

Forward, forward. Now Patricia had left. No sign of anyone else, and by the clock at the bottom of the screen it was almost seven thirty. Staff would arrive from quarter to eight onwards.

Seven thirty-five on the tape. On the screen, someone was coming into the office. Gemma’s heart skipped a beat. It was Glenn – and not dressed for work either. He looked around, and walked up to Gemma’s desk. He took something from his fleece pocket, and put it in Gemma’s in-tray. He looked around again, and left.

No. It can’t be. She checked the other Mondays on tape, and it was the same. Glenn, always into work at ten, had been sneaking in and out early on Monday mornings to torment her. Gemma replaced the tapes, and walked slowly to her office.

Glenn. Glenn. Glenn!

She headed for the stationery cupboard, and found a small, square brown envelope. Back at her desk, she logged on and typed a brief note, in the same font as the letters.

She didn’t type her name. Why should she? He hadn’t. She printed the note and sealed it in the square envelope. It would go in Glenn’s in-tray.

Gemma printed the application form for the manager’s job, and filled it in. Ronald would probably make sure she got the job, so that she could vanish along with her scandal. Talk about sending her to Coventry!

Back home, a burning smell hit Gemma as she opened the front door.

‘Gas mark eight, you said?’ Eric asked, stepping from the kitchen. He was wearing that silly ‘kiss the cook’ apron that he liked. Another gift from his mom.

‘Never mind,’ Gemma mumbled. She looked him straight in the eye. ‘Eric, there’s something I’ve got to tell you...’

Her voice trailed off as she stared at his boots, lying in the corridor – muddy again.

His eyes followed hers ‘You’ve caught me,’ he smiled. ‘I’ve been to interviews for a job. Yes, a job.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Teaching drawing at the adult education college. You know it, a mile from here? Across from the park, hence the mud. It’s a new course, just three classes a week. It won’t pay much – but there are fringe benefits.’

‘Like …?’

‘I can do one course for free - I’ve signed up to learn cooking,’ Eric said. ‘You grin and swallow whatever crap I dish up, but you deserve better.’

Gemma dropped her briefcase and walked over to Eric. Silently, she embraced him. Then she pushed him to the carpet and slowly undressed first him and then herself.

Twenty minutes later, Eric was standing by the kitchen table, wearing only the apron, serving his apology for a shepherd’s pie. Gemma sat at the table, stark naked, holding out her plate.

‘What did you want to tell me?’ Eric asked.

Gemma quickly took a large mouthful of pie. At length, she replied, ‘I’m going for a new job. Manager. In Coventry....’