Page 4 of Border Control
“Fucking don’t,” I hiss under my breath.
Grunting, he raises his hands, releasing the glass door. “Okay, okay. Sorry. I don’t know why you put up with that kind of treatment.”
Wrapping my fingers around the papers, I slide them into my laptop bag, protecting their edges. “For the case.”
“Seriously?” John’s hands fall to his sides. “Huh. Well, free piece of career advice, cases like this are everywhere. Never stay in a bad work environment for a case.”
Everywhere. My hands tighten on my strap as I lift my shoulder bag into place. “This one is important.”
“They’re all important, sure.” His eyes take on a calculating look. “You know you could go into business for yourself, right? Choose your cases, hours.”
“And the rate,” I remind him with a grin.
He smirks back. “The rate is pretty tasty, yeah.”
Still smiling, I shake my head. “I can’t go into business for myself. I’m a solicitor, not a barrister.”
“Alright, sure, but I know some freelance solicitors.”
“Some. Not many.”
“So retrain, be a barrister. I can totally see you sparking off in a courtroom, setting fire to the opposition’s defence and dismantling them at every turn.”
I hold up my free hand, the other pressed against my bag protectively. “Thanks for the career advice. If Clark and Gibson found out you’re trying to encourage their employees to leave, they may reconsider your contract.”
“Then let’s take this offline. I’ve got your work number; give me another one that doesn’t stink of this place.”
My chest clenches. “I suppose…” I’ve got a burner phone for potential dates. Don't want any of them to have my real number. At the same time, I haven’t been on a date for years.
I've barely got enough time to eat and sleep, let alone for love. Guys may say they’re progressive, but they hate coming second to my career. And me.
I’m demanding in the bedroom, as I’m demanding everywhere else.
I pull out my dating phone. There’s a bunch of notifications from the dating app Bristol Meet, but I should just delete it. I don’t have time right now. Giving John my number, my mind spools back to the inquiry. I hate the waiting before an inquest starts. Until John gets up there and speaks, I’ll need to keep pushing. Is there a detail I’ve missed, an element I should emphasize more, a witness yet to come forward who could totally change everything about this? Closing my eyes, I try to think of what I'm lacking.
“Right,” John says, bringing me back to now. With a jaunty salute, he leaves the room, saying, “Speak to you soon.”
“Sure.” I busy myself, checking when my next meeting is. Wow, I have three hours.
And a reminder. Check on Ellen.
Shit. I haven't heard from her in a while.
Sliding out the third phone from my laptop case, I scroll into texts and call log. This was my number for my friends and family, on silent but vibrate just in case they needed me. I'd last texted Ellen last week, with no reply. That would be normal and nothing to be worried about, but that was before everything with the aliens went down.
Sometimes it’s easy to forget aliens are real and crash landed on my best friend’s farm. Everyday life hasn’t changed, except now we know for sure we’re not alone in the universe. The scaley guys haven’t been threatening at all, but we need to keep an eyeon them. Their reverent demeanor could be an elaborate ploy to get us to lower our guard.
Given Ellen’s alone and secretly experiencing first contact with an alien race that crash-landed into her barn, I need to check in with her regularly. Scrolling on my phone for her number, it says I last spoke to her… forty days ago. Not acceptable. That's way too long.
Punching dial, I pace. The phone stays silent in my ear for a long time. My chest ratchets tighter with every buzz of the dial tone. Then a cheery automated voice says, “I'm sorry, the person you're trying to contact is out of range. Please try again later.”
“Plague sores,” I mutter to myself. “Okay, don't panic. She often loses signal when she's in the fields.” And who's definitely going to be in range, snug in the house at this hour? Arabella.
This time my phone purrs when I hit dial, so at least she's contactable. Whether or not she's awake this early is up for debate.
“Mmmmorning, Law!” Arabella crows.
I drop into a chair. “Good morning to you, too. How's things?”
