He sat down and watched her bustle to her own seat, the beige silk suit she wore whispering against her tights as she sat down.

George smiled warily.

Josephine Denham smiled back. Just as warily. She cleared her throat nervously.

‘It’s about your redundancy - I have a note here of the amount you will be receiving.’ She passed a slip of paper across the desk to George and he glanced at it.

‘If you would like to leave earlier than stated, we would do everything we can to accommodate you. Jones is leaving at the end of the week . . .’ Her voice trailed off as she looked at his shocked face.

‘Twelve thousand pounds? I thought it would be more than this.’

George’s mind was whirling now. Elaine would go mad. He had told her about twenty or twenty-five thousand, which had softened the blow as far as she was concerned. Twelve thousand pounds. That would do nothing, nothing.

Josephine Denham watched the confusion on George’s face and felt a moment of sympathy. She had never liked him. Like most of the women in the firm, she had felt uncomfortable around him. Not that he had ever done anything, of course. It was just his way of looking at you. Of staring at you from beneath lowered eyelids. She felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck now as she watched his expression turn from confusion to fury.

‘I need more than this! Much more than this.’

‘Look, Mr Markham, it’s all worked out on your wages. You’re . . .’

George interrupted her. ‘I know all that. I work in accounts, remember? It’s just that I thought it would be more! Much more. I need more than that, for Christ’s sake. Can’t you understand, you stupid bitch!’

Josephine Denham’s eyes widened to their utmost and she stood up with what dignity she could muster.

‘I understand that you’re upset, Mr Markham, but talking to me like that won’t help matters. I think it would be better if you went now and we talked it over another day. When you’re feeling . . .’

George was breathing heavily. Twelve thousand pounds. The words were flying around his head, banging and thumping against his skull. Twelve thousand lousy pounds. It was like a chant.

He stayed in his seat. Josephine Denham was gone from his vision now. All he could see was the three thousand for the passport, and for Tony Jones to take his place in the testing.

The woman walked from the room and into the accounts offices. She pulled Peter Renshaw aside and after a hasty few words he followed her to her office.

It was empty. George had gone.

‘I thought he was going to hit me!’