Trevor sat in the conservatory, drinking the last of the Sunday dinner wine.
“Are you coming through?” Marion called.
“Just doing my list,” he replied.
Trevor wasn’t a man to dread Mondays. “Waste of energy,” he always said. “Worrying your life away.”
Even so, he always liked to put his list together. It wasn’t a “to do” list, really. It was more a “what’s the worst that can happen” list.
He started tapping into his phone.
Wilkins will be horrified when he knows that the Granda project has gone to Building and Planning.
Wilkins will be difficult anyway – he’ll take a while to get going after six months sick leave.
The beta trial starts tomorrow. It could go pear-shaped and we’ll have to start again.
Smith and Anderson haven’t contacted me. I bet there’ll have been some panic emails over the weekend.
That would do. That was all enough to worry about. He refused to start looking at emails at the weekend. But it always meant there were a lot on a Monday morning.
“Is it done?” Marion had popped her head through the conservatory door.
“Yep. I think so.” He downed the very last of the wine. He held up his glass. “Shall we open another?”
She shrugged. “I wish you wouldn’t get so het up about Mondays,” she said.
“I don’t really.” He looked at his list again. Looking at it, working out what to expect somehow made it easier. And with this lot to contend with at least the week would pass quickly and he’d soon be relaxing at home again. “Just making sure I know what’s what so I can enjoy the rest of my Sunday.”
Marion rolled her eyes. “Go on then. I’ll get another bottle.”