The Suit

Chapter One

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Siraxta: What's your fantasy?

Oliver

I've never been a very good sleeper. When I finally drift off I rarely stay asleep for long. I'd never tell Beth this, but even after over a decade together I'm not all that comfortable sharing a bed with another person. Sometimes I wait until she's dead to the world and I'll slope off to crash out on the sofa to Netflix surf before falling asleep under the glare of the screen. As long as I'm back beside her before she wakes up she doesn't notice.

It's weird the things you see on TV when they programmers don't think anyone is really awake. Some of the stuff is so bizarre that I wonder if I'm actually conscious at all, or if it's a particularly banal dream. What I do like about late-night telly is the adverts. All these bonkers products that nobody would buy if they weren't at the almost-drunken stage of sleep deprivation. I should know, I bought a "holistic mop" once. Beth was furious, she tried to throw it at me, it bounced off the counter and smacked her in the nose. It was one of those moments where you want to laugh, but you know that you shouldn't, but you're just awed by the bizarre rules of physics that made an angrily torpedoed floor mop rebound in such a precise motion. I did laugh, actually. It didn't help matters.

Beth lay next to me, glasses on, reading something on her tablet about something that was making her do her 'concentration frown'. I've known that look since school, where her eyebrows create a delicate cleft above her nose, slightly off-centre. It's the look that German declensions used to give her. The strap of her pyjama top had slid down her shoulder and I leaned over to rearrange it. She flinched so violently that she caught me on the cheek with the corner of her tablet. "Jesus, sweetheart, was that entirely necessary?" I ask, the point of impact throbbing slightly, my whole face burning a little. Beth bristled and settled back into her reading.

"You made me jump."

"Yeah... I guess so. Sorry. Never mind." I flipped open the covers and got out of bed to take a look at my face and try and track down the arnica. She didn't ask where I was going. She barely looked up from the screen. I can't say I'm not hurt.

After slathering my already-blackening eye with some foul-smelling ointment, I briefly considered going back into the bedroom before opting instead for the sofa, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on. A smart-looking woman with gently curled blonde hair and a navy suit comes to life onscreen. "Siraxta is a revolutionary new technology..." I put my feet up on the coffee table as I wondered whether this was another mop, or maybe a hoover. Or a toothbrush.

Natalie

If you run, I'll run with you.

It's something I say more often than is strictly necessary, or appropriate I suppose. It's been a long-standing component of my comfort level, though. The idea that I could just strap on my most comfortable shoes and bolt has a weirdly reassuring feeling to it. When I was younger it was hinged on the idea of expiry. I'd scan new rooms for an exit strategy. Anything above the second floor was easy street; out the window headfirst, breezy drop and a sudden stop. Bam, gone, I could picture my body like a fleshy concertina, my skull giving way to the pavement so my soles could kiss my brain. Lower storeys were, of course, more complicated, though if I could spot anything as sharp as a biro I was in business. Glassware's good too.