enclosed is the prologue and the first chapter


Prologue


I was a boy born into an already large family. I had two sisters and two brothers. All of my parents offspring were older than I , bar one. That made no odds to me. I believed I was a bright, intelligent, adept man.
There was Jennifer, Oliver, Mark , Emily and me.
I knew deep down that I was not absolutely gorgeous to look at, but easy enough on any female’s wandering eye. That’s what I always liked to believe. As I developed, so did my personality and my emotional state.
As a child I would cry very easily at things. Such as being smacked by my mother. Though the threat of punishment also brought the same results. An embarrassing time in front of my other older siblings.
I felt as though I couldn’t control my emotions. Worse still, I thought I would never be able to. That was far more frightening. Eventually I did learn to master my emotions. In fact, I seemed to go the other way. Showing no emotions whatsoever. I obviously over compensated.
Yet I look at my family who are close, but in a distant, unspoken way. Very few hugs. No saying, ‘I love you’, and ‘you be careful’. Yet intrinsically, that language of love was always quietly spoken. I always knew it was there. Just because something isn’t said, it didn’t mean no one was thinking it.
I must clarify, that I do love my family, unequivocally. Without any doubts. I understand that everyone handles, and displays emotions differently.
My older brothers both work, but in so-called brilliant jobs. Both still live at home. My sister, the one who is the eldest, has a different father. She works as a lawyer or a barrister, I think. My other sister the one that precedes me does some kind of office work.
I was never too sure what my older sister did work-wise, as she was many years older than me. The barrister thing was probably just a dream.
From what I can remember she is very attractive. Maybe it was her fathers' genes. I never asked my mum about her father or about what happened. She always displayed a wounded sorry expression, when I or one of my older brothers asked about him.
Our house was always overcrowded. Although I do remember my time there with some glee and humour. Mark’s first kiss on the doorstep with Vanessa Trindel. As we watched from the bedroom window, he burped in her face, prior to that most crucial moment, before their lips touched. He heard us laughing. I’m afraid my laugh can be raucous, and easily identified. He never forgave us or me. Maybe that’s why he’s still living at home with daddy.
I looked at my two older brothers, Oliver who was thirty-five and Mark who was thirty-two. I was determined to not end up like them. Content with very little, and have no freedom, no place to call their own. Then again, there were reasons for that.
Well, I found my liberty to a certain degree and escaped the loving home life; the sanctity and safety my dear mother provided.
I began to wear glasses when I turned eighteen. I had reached six feet one inch in height. I took care of my jet black hair, washing it regularly, styling it with gels and sprays recommended by hairdressers. I wore aftershave and dressed in suits, something I’d always liked doing.
My school friends would think I originated from a wealthy family, simply because I was always turned out crisply, looking the part, whatever the occasion. The real truth was we had very little, but my mother’s maternal pride kept all of us looking better off than we really were.
This simple trait paid dividends for me. My attitude reflected how I looked and came across. Confident, calming, loyal, enthusiastic. Unknown to anyone seeing me, I was like a swan. Serene, austere, gliding on top of the water, everyone admiring you. Yet underneath the water, the swan’s legs are working like fuck to move itself supremely along. That’s me, Justin Whalley.
On the outside and to the outer world, a confident, slick operator. Inside, my heart thumps so hard, I think I’m going to fall over. My hand shakes, so much, if people saw, they’d think I’m Elvis. Thankfully my abilities to withhold urine are legendary. Otherwise, they be a lot of changing trousers, and some explanations, that wouldn’t make anyone proud.
I’d done well, so I thought, at twenty-eight years old, getting the job I now do. I’ve been there just over a year and I really do like it. However some of the procedures and processes are nothing short of idiocy. But then again who am I? A young twenty-something upstart, from a dodgy area of the city. They certainly wouldn’t give a shit what I think.
Anyway, there are three major tangibles I wanted from life. I don’t think it’s asking much.
1. A wife (or at least a long term girlfriend to start with).
2. Children. (the patter of tiny Justin’s, make me go all giddy inside).
3. A good job (one out of three isn’t bad).

This is the beginning of a story to try and obtain and keep these three major life-changing factors. I know life is a learning process, but for friggin’ hells sake, I didn’t think it would be this difficult.



‘THE SALES CONFERENCE’






1.


I had finished my presentation in front of a buoyant, ebullient audience. Three hundred pairs of eyes bore into my frail medium-sized frame.
A drip of perspiration ran from high on my forehead into the crevice created for my eyes, and under my thin-rimmed designer spectacles. The vision of the ‘swan scenario’ floated in and out of my mind. This increased as the audience erupted into riotous applause.
I stepped two paces back from the podium, and smiled at the applauding audience.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ I called out over the noise.
Even though my mic that I had pinned to my jacket lapel was on, I doubt if anyone heard me. They were enjoying this. Admittedly, so was I.
My nerves began to turn into adrenalin as I lapped up the praise. Was I really that good? Damn, I must have been. That’s what I kept telling myself, until I could get down, which I desperately wanted to do.
Turning to three senior executives seated behind me on stage, I beckoned the chairperson to step forward to introduce the next speaker. I was glad I didn’t have to follow me.
Usually the sales audience were either boisterous, but listening to you, or they were quiet as a mouse whispering in a library; in other words, they were fast asleep and paying no attention whatsoever.
Relief flooded my whole body as I finally took the five steps down off the ‘pop star’-like stage. Each step was extra carefully taken, as the cameramen videoed my every movement. This would always be played back at a later date in each of the twenty offices around the world.
I stepped off without a hitch, striding confidently down the left hand side of the enormous auditorium that all the Eiron Plc (pronounced ‘eye-ron’) sales execs were sat in. The host made some witty remark about the applause I received, but I wasn’t listening and I didn’t care either way.
With an isle in the middle and down each side, the ‘Lincoln Suite’, would easily have catered for three or four times the number of execs that were there.
The high ceilings had intricately decorated chandeliers hanging ostensibly from them. Thick, plush carpeting covered the part wooden panelled floor. The air conditioning, attempted to keep everyone cool and awake. It was no different to any other similar hotel business function room that I had been to.
The host however, was an absolute arsehole. That’s not like me to bitch, but he was. One hundred per cent tosser. I didn’t know someone could be as he was. Unfortunately he was the UK Managing and Sales Director. We had to answer to him. Not everyone did, but that’s another story.
He stood proud and haughty looking out across the audience. Lapping up the remainder of my adulation. His 80’s curtain hairstyle swayed forward and back as he nodded his head to accept the applause. At six feet five, with a stern straight face and piercing ice-blue eyes, Walter Baker smiled smugly, as was his trademark.
Towards the back of the hall, I fixed my eyes on a few guys from my team. My immediate manager, Errol Hughes. A clever, shrewd black guy, with the style that reminded me of ‘Huggy Bear’, from an eighties cop show. The exception was the hair, Errol hardly had any. And of course the clothes.
He was getting out of his seat, signalling me with his right hand. I think he was going to congratulate me. I hoped so. As he struggled to get by the legs of the other execs, I saluted Tom and Shaun, who smiled back and bowed their heads, mouthing ‘We are not worthy’. I got the joke.
Errol finally stepped over his underlings and reached out his right hand. I stood beaming from ear to ear, grasping his hand in a firm handshake.
‘So you did it, you old bastard. Well done, my man. How’s your underwear?’, Errol asked me confidently, with an assured toothy grin.
We had to speak quietly, and continue walking, ready to exit the hall. The nob-head on the stage built up the next speaker.
By now Errol had his left arm around me. He knew I was nervous, that’s why he asked me about my underwear.
‘You know me too well. Where’d you think I’m heading now. The loo. I’m gonna have to go. You know the score,’ I explained to Errol.
‘Hey, you can talk to me?’ Errol responded laughing quietly as we pushed open the heavy oak wooded double doors, to exit the ‘theatre’.
‘Don’t worry Justin, I’ll be right by your side.’
I gave Errol a strange look, which he ignored and continued to smile.
I had known Errol a long time but I never knew him wanting to go to the toilet with me before. I was obviously being paranoid.
When we reached the toilets, Errol told me why he wanted to come along. I was glad he did.
Inside, there were four urinals. One exec, I had seen around from our London office, stood at an angle with his tiny bit firing out his liquid substance. Errol and I gave him a quick once over. He finished and moved toward the basins to wash his hands. When he’d gone Errol began telling me what had grabbed his interest.
We stood with one urinal in between us. It was a man thing. Nothing was more awkward than when a third man enters and has to decide which urinal to use. You keep your head straight ahead, never turning left or right. Every man should be allowed his privacy.
So Errol began.
‘Yeah, Just, (nearly everyone shortened my name to this, when I allowed them), I overhead the big man on stage tell the European MD to look out for you.’
‘What do you mean?’ I replied just as I my urine was making it’s way out of my cylindrical orifice.
‘Don’t worry it’s all good. Good for you I mean.’ I broke the rule and glanced to my right, but keeping my head erect and in level eye contact with Errol. I had a ‘tell me some more look’ on my face.
‘Walter actually singled you out, you know, for greatness and shit.’ Errol chuckled in a deepish throaty roar as he said the words. I couldn’t believe it either.
‘So I could be moving up in the world,’ as I turned back to face the sterling white tiled wall.
‘Uh huh.’ Errol finished and zipped himself up.
‘You know I was never quite sure whether Walter liked me. He’s one of those people you can’t really judge. He doesn’t give much away,’ I tried to explain something, but the words coming out sounded as though they came from someone else.
I finished, nervously looking down at my light grey coloured trousers, hoping there were no splash marks. This time I was lucky.
Turning to the basins, I washed my hands when in walked Len Ferris. A mid forty year old jackass in my book. Lived in the past, thought he’d done it all, always said too much and at the wrong time, this opportunity was no different.
Errol and I had dried our hands, when Len stood at the second urinal.
‘Alright lads. Great conference again eh? Usual bullshit speeches and pats on our back, while that slimy Walter bastard does fuck all and gets nearly half a mil a year.’
I had to step in, even though Errol held my arm.
‘Look Len, these conferences are a third, business, a third geeing up the troops and the last third is a piss up. It’s never been any different. You of all people should know that.’ I told him straight. No messin’ around. I think Errol was mildly impressed.
But Len wasn’t.
‘What the hell do you know? You’re a young whipper-snapper, still wet behind the ears no doubt.’ I raised my eyebrows and noticed Errol about to make a move. This time I stopped him. I let Len continue.
‘This company has it’s arse in it’s hand. Doesn’t have a fucking clue what it’s doing. I’m telling you now, I’ll be the first to speak up when it comes to issues and Q & A.’
We both nodded and heard Len let out a string of consecutive farts, saying that’s what he thought of Walter Baker, the UK Sales MD.
I had to warn Len about something, before he went shouting his mouth of. Potentially making every salesperson’s life a misery – including his wife, who was in the audience.
‘Len,’ I said in a calm, psychiatrists style voice. ‘Look before you dish any shit, make sure no one else does the same to you.’
Len looked at me as innocent as a new born baby.
‘What? Me dirty! I’m the cleanest motherf….’
I didn’t let him finish.
By now Errol and I stood leaning against the basins. My arms folded. Errol had his hands in his trouser pockets, shaking his head at Len.
‘What about Barbara, in sales admin? The sales conference in Paris. It was the only time they were allowed to come along, because we had a fantastic year, my first as I recall.’ I paused. Len interjected.
‘So, and?’
‘So you shagged her silly, her words not mine. Said you were like a tiger, starved of food for weeks. You couldn’t get enough. You cut her on her left breast, you were biting that hard. Should I gone on?’
Len was actually quiet for a whole minute. Errol looked at me. I returned his gaze. Len looked at the floor, rubbing his chin with his free right hand.
‘How the friggin’ hell do you know about it?’
‘Whoa, so you admit it happened, no denial. That will help you with Sarah. She’ll probably forgive you for shagging her best friend.’
I had a smile on my face, but I didn’t know why. Errol said we’d better get back, otherwise people would talk about us being in the gents for so long together. I think it was more to do with getting out of the same room as Len. As we headed for the door, I turned to Len.
‘Remember Len no company is perfect. Neither are any of us. Think about who else might know what I’ve just told you, they may try and use it against you. You can trust me that I won’t. Let’s hope no one heard us.’
‘Look son, thanks, it was one of those irresistible urges that we men get. You know the score, she virtually laid it on a plate, and boy oh boy, I lapped it up. It was the best screw I’ve ever had. I can’t complain.’
Len had this ability to be supremely crass, or crude at any opportunity. He did it effortlessly. Almost as though it were a gift. It seemed to be his way. His version of the spoken word.
Errol was now outside the gents.
I’d had enough of listening to Len trying to justify his one moment of passion. I knew that he was lying. He’d been having an affair with Barbara before I started at Eiron. His poor wife did not have a clue.
‘Let’s hope Sarah doesn’t hear you say that.’
Len laughed as I let the door close behind me.
Meeting Errol, we headed back towards the hall. A strange eerie feeling came over me. We couldn’t hear anyone speaking in the hall. It was far too quiet as we approached. There were four huge sets of double doors. We were heading to the fourth, aiming to enter at the back, where we’d exited.
Standing outside the second huge set of doors was Len’s wife Sarah. She looked as if she could kill someone with her bare hands.
She was to all intense and purposes a calm woman, but provoked, I hear she could be a nightmare, worse that anyone could dream up. Right then and there, I was glad that I was not in Len’s size six shoes.
Yet I wondered why she was upset. There was no way she could have heard us. Then I saw the way Errol looked at my jacket and shook his head.
I watched Errol’s lips move. They mouthed ‘Oh shit.’ I raised my arms as if to say ‘What’s up?’
There on my left lapel, was the mic. It was still switched on. We both knew they were waiting, the whole sales force for EMEA (Europe, Middle East and Africa), for us to enter. I had no idea what kind of reaction we would get.
Thankfully Errol was brave. He volunteered to go in first.
Using hand gestures he told me to turn off the mic. Pointing toward the door, mouthing he was going to push it open. Errol then mouthed one, two, three and he pushed open the door. Approximately five seconds later I followed him. The reaction was something I’ll never forget.