Sitting on the edge of the bedsit camper bed, a small, skinny man sits opens a fresh can of larger.

“Well Boys…” We gotta win this one, tonight!”

With the flick of the remote, the tiny room is filled with the football commendatory; “Welcome to all those just tuning in to this Super Thursday FA Cup Quarter-final replay between Liverpool and Blackburn Rovers!”

Suddenly, the recipient of the call is startled by the mobile phone ringing.

“Yes!” he yelps in expectation.

“Hello. Is that Tim?”

“Yes” Tim blurts in confirmation, trying to find the remote he’d just thrown on the bed, while retrieving the phone.    

“Good… It’s Rachel from the agency...! Can we talk?”

Tim turns the TV down; “What’s up?” he nervously croaks.

Detecting his apprehension Rachel replies, “Don’t worry Tim, all is fine… I just want to make sure you’re ready for your new opportunity on Monday!”

Tim is reassured; “Yes! I’ll be there six thirty am. No prob!”

“Good… Well, if there’s anything you need, let me know, or if there are -but there shouldn’t be- any problems that might get in the way, please call… Ok?”

“Am I still being paid more…?” blurts Tim, “…Sorry to ask… I just...”

“…Tim, you’ll be an extra twenty-six pounds thirty-seven pence better off a week, before you take in to account overtime, if you’re asking?” She pauses for effect, “… And you’re one of our best workers at this agency, so we’ll look after you.”

“Thanks for all you’ve done. I’ll work hard!”

“So, Monday six thirty at the morgue then…?”