The phone buzzes against the side of the tumbler and sets the twin lumps of ice to a jittering dance.
“Trevor Hallam hello.”
He tugs the glass free of the suction pull of condensation and takes a sip of whisky before wedging the phone between his shoulder and ear to wipe the film of water from the wooden bar.
“No, I’m fed up actually Colin. I’ve been here since six and judging by the delays I’ll be lucky to leave this side of the afterlife.”
Trevor dries his hand on his chest and takes another sip.
“Brilliant Colin, I’m so glad you suggested it. Shall I just go and chat to them now and tell them we have a deadline? I’m quite sure that’ll get things moving. BINGBONG attention ladies and gentlemen we are pleased to announce that the delayed seven forty five flight to Stockholm is now boarding at gate nineteen. We apologise for the earlier delays but are reliably informed that the snow has disappeared because Colin fucking Christie has got a fucking deadline.”
Nik Eveleigh 