Sparling’s email requested that Ben attend a lecture hall on his old campus at twelve o’clock the following afternoon. What was another day missed from work? He had called in sick the week before, having woken up with eyes still stinging from two bottles of cheap wine, the flavoursome equivalent of balsamic vinegar. If the stars aligned, they might even fire him this time. Jettisoning his half-hearted contribution could only have been good for business. He replied there and then.

‘See you tomorrow, Sparling,’ he muttered. ‘Maybe you can save me from this shit.’

His thesis had been surprisingly well received. Not that Ben doubted his own ability. He had never failed an exam in his life and couldn’t quite understand the adults in third-level education who had sat through year after year of schooling and still couldn’t get their shit together; those who had to focus when writing their name. The interviews just gleaned more interest than he had expected. Truth was that it hadn’t been especially difficult. Instead of trawling through scholarly articles and chasing up sources like a bona fide historian, Ben just had to press record and ask a few questions.

With the master’s under his belt, some commissions paid well. Lecturing alone could bag him sixty euros an hour. But jobs of that pay grade were usually fastened to the cobwebs of some decrepit academic who had become one with the university’s furniture.

Ben, on the other hand, survived week to week. There was never enough money and never the means to make any more. He walked somewhere between poorness and abject poverty, in a gutter that seemed to deepen as time rolled on. Even when he sent Jess all he could afford – having subsisted on a diet of thin sandwiches for a week – still she had scoffed at it. He literally only had the loose change in his pocket left. But that was nothing new. If Ben’s bank account was a bird feeder, he ate the nutty shards on the ground.

Embarrassment kept him from telling her the truth. The bills weren’t being met. His rent had been overdue for two months. Losing his home was inevitable unless his luck had a quick change of heart. There were only so many times he could ignore his landlord’s calls until he came knocking at the door. And it was highly likely that the lad had a key to let himself in.

Maybe this was the break Ben needed. He could finally answer with his head held high when asked, ‘Where are you working these days?’ He hated that question and he always hated his answer. Not even thirty yet and the world was starting to grind him down. But Ben knew the reason why. He had become a mindless, money-making cog. And even the money wasn’t enough to make ends meet.

*