The Train, Sarah Bourne [dark books to read .txt] 📗

time, calming though it had been, he stared at the to-do list he’d made the day before as was his habit. He ended every day with a review of what had been achieved and a plan for the next day. One of his university professors had suggested it in his first year and he’d been doing it ever since. It gave shape to his days and a sense of accomplishment. He had learned, over the years, to have one particular item on every list – half an hour to deal with the unexpected. Something always cropped up and before he had planned for this spontaneity, he often didn’t manage to get through his list without staying late. Today, however, he was two hours late and had to leave early. It was going to be difficult to finish everything. He felt a surge of anxiety and had to wipe his sweaty hands on the towel he kept in a drawer for such occasions.

His boss popped his head round the door. ‘Ah, Sandeep, there you are. Are you okay?’

‘Yes, thank you, I’m fine. Sorry to be so late.’

Sandeep had always been acutely aware of the pecking order. Barry Worthington was the boss, and he, Sandeep, was a minion. A hard-working, intelligent one, but a minion nonetheless. And bosses deserved respect.

‘Not at all, not at all. Terrible thing to happen. Poor man. Well, poor you, too, going through it.’ He cleared his throat. ‘By the way, I just got a call from Ray – he’s also running late for his appointment, as luck would have it. Probably a good thing – give you a bit of time to gather yourself. You don’t look too good.’

‘It was a lady, actually.’ Sandeep didn’t know why he had to tell Barry, but it seemed important. A degree of respect for the woman.

Barry scratched his head. ‘How awful.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Sandeep.

His boss raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Sorry – thank you, Barry.’ He’d been reminded on numerous occasions not to call him sir, but it was a habit Sandeep found difficult to break. He watched his boss go, thinking that he’d been more sympathetic than his fiancée.

A few minutes later, Sandeep was back to looking at his to-do list when the phone on his desk buzzed. ‘Ray Dreyfus to see you,’ announced Monica, sounding as bored as always.

Sandeep stood and straightened his tie.

When Ray entered, they shook hands but Sandeep didn’t invite any small talk. His client handed over a folder full of receipts and invoices and closed his briefcase with a click.

‘I hope that’s everything,’ he said, and looked expectantly at Sandeep.

‘I’ll call you if I need anything else,’ he said, and opened the file. He had a job to do and it was important to get going on it as soon as possible. Fortunately, his client seemed keen to go as quickly as he could, so Sandeep put his head down and started going through the figures.

As Ray opened the door to leave, Sandeep put his headphones on, found the Gregorian chants on his phone and got stuck into Ray’s accounts.

In spite of the chants and the soothing screen full of numbers in front of him, Sandeep couldn’t concentrate. Abby’s words kept intruding: unpardonable sin, no salvation, there’s nothing you can do for her now. That must mean existing for all time in a no-man’s land of – of what? Nothingness? Away from the comfort of others and the Lord. He sat in a lather of confusion. He was well aware that in his mother’s religion suicide was also a sin that brought great shame to the family but he also knew people had a chance, many chances, in fact – to redeem themselves over lifetimes. This woman may have set herself back on her road to enlightenment, but she could eventually get there. Maybe it had been her karma to die in such a way in this lifetime, to pay for past sins. Sandeep thought it was a kinder view than Abby’s eternal damnation.

Sandeep clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments, forcing thoughts of the dead woman from his mind so he could focus on the task at hand. Then he chose a playlist of Hindu chants, including his favourite, the ‘Gayatri Mantra’, and for the next five hours, only stopped intermittently to stand and stretch his arms over his head and bend from side to side – another tip he’d been given and stuck to over the years.

At four in the afternoon, Barry stuck his head around the door again. ‘How are you going with Ray’s accounts – I hope he’s given you everything you need?’

‘Yes, everything’s here. I’ve almost finished the first two years.’

‘Thanks for agreeing to take it on – I know personal tax isn’t what you’re used to, but he was one of my first clients when I started the practice years ago, and I’ve never had the heart to send him on his way. He’s a bit like my lucky mascot, if you see what I mean.’

Sandeep didn’t, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He had wondered why a corporate accounting firm such as Worthington and Jones was doing an individual’s tax return, especially when the amounts, so far at least, were rather paltry. He’d far rather get his teeth into the audit of the big engineering firm they’d just tendered for. Big numbers, complex tax strategies, offshore accounts, international threads to follow. It was why he’d got into accounting. He thought of himself as a financial detective, and a quite a good one too.

‘It’s fine, sir – I mean, Barry. Really, I don’t mind at all.’

‘Excellent. Well, I’m going to squeeze in a few holes of golf with Sir Peter before I go home. See you tomorrow.’

At his first job several years ago, Sandeep had been on the team that did Sir Peter’s company tax and knew all about his particular