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laughing.

Chapter Eight
    R ob was quiet on the journey back to my flat, and so was I. I stared out the windscreen as we drove through the terraced suburban streets. It was a cold, dark night tonight, cloudy and starless. Deepest winter, cheered only by the sporadic clusters of Christmas lights that edged the roofs and window-frames of the houses we sped past.
    I shivered inside my thin bomber jacket.
    I’d had a mirror held up to me today—repeatedly—and I hadn’t liked what I’d seen. Hadn’t liked the man I’d become.
    How had my life come to this? I hadn’t used to be like this, had I?
    I stared out into the night and forced myself to face an uncomfortable truth: that my job—my single-minded determination to reach the top at Quicks—had turned me into someone I didn’t like. Someone no one really seemed to like.
    I pondered that idea for a while—that it was my job to blame—but the truth was, it didn’t feel honest.
    I considered another, more awful truth. That it wasn’t just the job. That it was me . That the job might bring out the worst in me, but the worst was already there. That the potential to be mean and ungenerous and unpleasant was part of me, written into my DNA.
    That was a much harder idea to bear, but it felt honest. It felt true.
    Hell, it was true.
    I leaned my head against the passenger window, sunk in misery, watching the Christmas lights flash by, and considered my future. Two years ago, near enough to the day, I’d written a five-year career plan, with promotion to partner planned for year five. I’d more than met my goals for the first twenty-four months and the next stage in my plan was a sideways move to the London office. I was going to ask for a secondment to the business unit I’d targeted as the best place to be in terms of career progression, and my objective there was to outshine the existing senior associates in that unit by working harder than anyone else and getting the team below me working harder too, doing whatever necessary to make that happen. It was eminently doable. Especially if you were prepared to sacrifice everything on the altar of your ambition, including decency and friendship and common humanity.
    I thought of Rob asking for time off for Tim and my shitty reaction. I thought of the nameless security guard with his stupid, crumbling mince pies, just trying to spread a little Christmas cheer. I thought of Ben and how unhappy I’d made him those last couple of years we’d been together. And I thought of Freddy, ever-optimistic Freddy, still doggedly asking me to come out every weekend, even after all the times I’d let her down. Still determined to think the best of me, still defending me to everyone else. For now anyway.
    Where was I going to end up if I kept walking down the same path?
    I remembered Marley’s haunted expression as she spoke of her regrets.
    That’s all we have to give each other. Our time, here on earth. And now that I’m looking back, over the last twenty-five years, I realise how much of it I’ve wasted.
    Another absurdly obvious truth hit me then.
    I had a choice.
    For some reason, the universe had decided to tell me something today. Or maybe it was just that I had woken up, and was finally seeing what was obvious to everyone else. Whichever it was, I had a choice . I could listen to what I was being told and try to change the direction of my life, or I could ignore it and keep going with that five-year plan.
    I thought about how it would feel to sit in the front of the board for a partner interview, how it would feel to get the call from one of them to be told I’d been successful. I thought of the years of even harder work that would follow my promotion as I sought to entrench my position as a junior partner on the up-and-up. There would be pressure to bring in work, make fees, schmooze new clients, and it would endless. It would leave no room for friendships or family. It would leave no room for a romantic relationship, not