I had faltered, but I hadn’t taken anyone with me. Even those who were now unemployed had been given a raise for the last month, so their benefit pay would be a little bit higher. And I never hired fools, so I could give anyone who asked fantastic letters of recommendation. But I was in no mood to inflict myself on anyone today. Nor tomorrow, probably.
I was just about to put my dinner in the microwave when there was a knock on the door. That couldn’t possibly be good news. At best, it would be an Eastern-European neighbour, offering me a bottle of hooch for some reason or other. At worst, it would be an Eastern-European neighbour asking for an impossible favour, usually to do with money. Still, my car was parked in front so hiding was silly. With a sense of dread, I walked into the hallway and saw an ear pressed against the glass.
“KATE!” I shouted, as soon as I saw a familiar face peering in through the tiny window. I opened the door and was almost overrun by my little sister. She is sixteen years my junior, very much an afterthought of my parents. Mum was 21 when she had me, 37 when she had Kate.
Unexpected or not, she had definitely been a welcome addition to the family. Around age 16, I was seriously beginning to resent women for ignoring me, or even worse, taking advantage of me. But my kid sister has always been my biggest fan and I think it is because she used to unashamedly crawl onto my lap and demand hugs and jokes from me until she was ten or so, that I never turned into an axe murderer or something similarly creepy. Women couldn’t all be bad. Some had to be like Kate. I’d never take someone’s Kate away.
“You can let go now,” I muttered, after Kate had taken me in a vice-like grip and peppered me with kisses. Kate is tiny. Well, next to me, anyway. I’m 1.77 metres, she is all of 1.60 plus what she can add wearing ludicrous heels. Her hair is usually brown, but it varies. Today, she wore a leather jacket that had been carefully made to look old and worn but was probably made not less than a week ago. She had curled hair this time. You never knew with Kate. It looked good on her. Mischievous, which suited her character.
“I’ll let go when I am good and done,” she giggled. “I missed you!”
“And I you. Are you here alone?”
“Yes, straight from Schiphol airport. Are you?”
She peered around me, as if Katja Schuurman might suddenly appear with a plate of snacks.
“Well yes, obviously.”
She pushed past me and saw what could technically be called a kitchen, with the microwave lasagna I was going to heat up waiting on the countertop.
“Jesus, Martin! Is there a manual for sad old bastards? Microwave lasagna in a sad little house… We’re going out. Get your coat. And I’m buying.”
“It’s not as if I am destitute, you know.”
“You must be, if you’re living here and eating that.”
She grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards the front door, but then she took a better look at me.
“Change,” she ordered. “You must have a suit somewhere. I’m not taking you out dressed like that.”
I was wearing a perfectly clean checkered shirt, and jeans. The only thing you could say against me is that my shoes needed a shine.
Still, Kate gets what Kate wants, so I did change into a suit, while she prowled around my house and unashamedly opened all the cabinets. Even my nightstand drawer!
“No condoms?” she asked, as I tried to do my tie.
“Fresh out,” I lied. “I was going to pick up a dozen tomorrow. I’ll just use a bin liner if anything pops up tonight.”
She sat down on my bed. Her leather boots were black and shiny. Kate always dressed well.
“That is just sad. You are a sad old man. It’s today, right, that you signed the papers?”
“Few days ago. But I did close the office today. I just came in.”
“Have you spoken to…”
Kate had never been Monique’s biggest fan, but after the divorce I don’t think she has ever said her name.
“Not recently. Not much to discuss. So how is this? Considering I’m a miserable, old, overweight, balding, unemployed and single sad sack of shit, of course.”
She got up from my bed and straightened my already perfect tie.
“See, was that so hard? Now you look like a human being. We’ll take my car and you can drive.”
It was months since I last saw Kate in person and that was at our parents’ house in Hastings, in the South of England. We call each other at least once a week, but she can be hard to reach so she usually found me. Kate is in the vaguest of businesses: star management. She works for an agency that assigns her to do PR for singers and bands, so she travels a lot and is usually in a different time zone to me. Kate gets shit done. Need five big black guys to carry you into a theatre on one of those litter chairs a Pharaoh would use? Kate will whip out her phone and get them for you, plus that chair. Want a limo? Black, blue or pink? Are you suddenly a vegan who is into raw food? She’ll find you a personal chef with the exact same mental affliction and fire her for you when you’ve come to your senses. Are you booked to do a concert but you prefer to stay in your hotel room doing coke? Kate will come and get you and you will do that show even if she has to personally animate your corpse with piano wire. Kate has a billion weird stories and hardly any spare time, so it is a treat when I see her.
She took me to a really nice place near Amersfoort I’d never even heard of, where I did not look out of place in my suit and tie. The waiter fell instantly and deeply in love with her (they always do) and we were treated like royalty. Of course, my current predicament came up.
“So… What are your plans?” she asked, when our starter plates were taken away.
“Well… Get a job, I suppose. One or two people have hinted there may be some mid-level positions opening up. Sales, mostly. Not quite a dream job, but…”
“Really? You wouldn’t do that, would you?” she said, indignantly. “You are a CEO.”
“I was. I am currently unemployed and not entitled to any kind of benefits. So I am in no position to be picky and I won’t be. Jack from Devon-Willis has said to come see him Monday, so I suppose I am going to have to write a resumé. It’s been a while since I needed one. I think my last copy is still in WordPerfect format.”
She just shook her head.
“Don’t take a bloody office job. This is your chance. You’re brilliant, go do something nice. Do radio. Write. Go do standup, you’d be amazing. Act!”
I just smiled.
“I’m a fat forty year old and I have absolutely no network in the media. No casting agency is going to want me unless they need an extra to sneak out of a whorehouse in the background or something like that. And as to stand-up… I don’t really feel very funny and I don’t think you can actually make a living wage doing that. Not until you’re actually famous. And last time I checked, there were waiting lists to even do free open mic spots. Meanwhile, I have bills to pay.”
“So how much do you have left?”
Kate and I were always open and honest about money, but I actually felt embarrassed now.
“I’ll manage for a few months.”
“Ah yes and how much is that in actual money exactly?” she insisted.