By the time Zuska arrived downstairs Bruno had finished his breakfast and was playing fetch with Harry, laughing delightedly as the little dog skidded across the tiled floor in pursuit of a small rubber ball.

She smiled and poured herself some orange juice and let them play for a few minutes more before sending Bruno upstairs to dress in the clothes she laid out for him on the bed.

Was he happy? Zuska shrugged to herself. What did she know about happiness? He laughed more and talked more and seemed at least as content than when she’d found him in that awful place.

But of course Bruno was always content. Ever since she had known him he had showed an amazing ability to absorb all the poison and bile in the world and filter it – no, transform it almost miraculously - into pure, cool, sweet water. Like a holy well.

Was she doing the right thing? She shrugged again. What did she know about the rightness of things? The clinic was expensive, the best there was. Music and poetry and stories were part of his life now, and he was bursting with enthusiasm over the events of the week when he came home on Fridays.

She looked out of the window down into the street. The limousine was already there. Isaac, the driver, was smoking a cigarette and leaning against the car door. Zuska was glad it was him. She had threatened to cancel the contract with the limousine company on Friday when they had sent Bruno home with a different driver. Bruno wasn’t good with strangers.

She took the bag and waited while Bruno said goodbye to Harry, and then they walked hand in hand down the staircase and into the street.

Isaac nodded to Zuska and smiled at Bruno. He opened the rear door and took the bag from Zuska and put it into the boot. Zuska spread her hand over Bruno’s skull as he stooped into the car. She lent across the leather seat and fastened his belt and then whispered into his ear and kissed him tenderly on the lips.

Standing on the pavement she watched as Isaac pulled the Mercedes out into the traffic. She smiled sadly, kissed her hand and blew the kiss towards Bruno, receiving a little wave in return.

She looked up. The man from the café was standing in his doorway staring again, with the untroubled, unembarrassed curiosity that she began to realise was a characteristic of this town.

For the second time that morning their gaze locked across the street. She wasn’t going to back down and look away this time. She glared back defiantly for what seemed like minutes. The standoff only ended when a man tried to squeeze past to get into the café and proprietor and customer exchanged a few words.

When he looked up again, she was gone.

Zuska had lived in this strange little town for barely a month, but already the sounds of the street were familiar to her.

She needed no alarm clock. In the early hours she slept soundly through the noise of the mechanical street sweeper with its orange flashing light that sprayed and brushed the pavement clear of the daytime debris.

Hours later she didn’t stir when the birds began to gather and twitter on the branches outside her window, illuminated by the first glimmer of dawn in the far off sky.

But as soon as she heard the mechanical creak as the café owner opposite wound down the striped awning, she immediately opened her eyes.

She lay still for a moment until the repetitious, metallic squeaking stopped only to be replaced the sound of a stiff broom on the pavement. She pulled aside the covers and padded almost silently to the window where she opened the curtains a crack.

The man was like clockwork. Same routine every morning. He wore a starched white apron and gave a proprietorial glance up and down the street before making a perfunctory sweep at his feet without even looking down. He was more interested in greeting the early risers already on their way to work and drumming up business, than in cleaning the already spotless paving.

“Hello there Stefan!” he shouted to a man out of Zuska’s sightline below her window.

“How’s your wife?”

Zuska couldn’t hear Stefan’s reply, but the café man adopted a serious face and nodded his head gravely.

“Listen my friend – she’s in the best place. They’ll look after her better than a mother could. She’ll be up and chasing you around the kitchen table before you know what’s hit you!”

He smiled a sad smile and nodded his head again as Stefan imparted another bit of bad news about the unfortunate woman.

“Listen, you need to look after yourself too – keep up your strength. I’ve got just the thing. Beautiful bit of lemon sole - straight off the boat this morning. You’ll love it! What say I put you down for a piece at lunchtime?”

Stefan’s concern over his wife’s medical condition obviously had not deprived him of his appetite and a deal was struck.

“Fine, about one o’clock? See you then. And tell that missus of yours that there’s a celebration meal waiting here as soon as she’s well enough - on the house!”

The café man waved farewell and then, after a barely decent pause, pulled out a notebook from his apron pocket and a pencil from behind his ear and began to scribble down details of the booking.

He was just reflecting, not without a tinge of guilt, that given the good lady’s prognosis it was hardly likely he would ever have to keep the promise of a free meal, when something made him look up – directly into Zuska’s eyes.

She froze for a moment as their gaze locked across the street. Surely he couldn’t see her through the small gap in the curtains in this half-light? But his stare seemed to penetrate the gloom. She took a half step backwards and then silently let the curtain fall shut.

I knew it was all going to kick off today. I had a feeling in my stomach. I should have thrown a sickie. I knew. Don't ask me how, I just knew.
Trouble has been brewing since Monday when Richard, our fast-track trainee, joined us for a month-long secondment.
'Fast-track trainee' means he's got a good degree and is probably a family friend of one of the directors. They do a couple of years moving from department to department 'to get a feel for the business', before effortlessly stepping on the up escalator to a senior management post.
Naturally, they cause a fair degree of resentment and some of them are pretty insufferable. Richard in fact wasn't the worst of them. Cocky, bumptious, and thinks he knows it all, but clever, able and charming with it.
But for some reason he seemed to put everyone's nose out of joint from day one, and by Wednesday I had a major revolt on my hands. The posse were threatening to sever his brake pipes and no one was willing to sit within ten yards of him. Even Camp Colin, who sees the best in everyone, couldn't stand him.
On Thursday, I managed to calm things by sitting Richard on his own in a far corner with some routine tasks to get on with. I hoped he might just spend the time surfing the net - unfortunately he did.
I was in meetings all day today, and wasn't able to watch the disaster unfold. First I heard was shortly before noon when Rosalind's rottweiler PA stuck her head around the meeting room door.
"Sorry to interrupt but Oberon is needed in his department urgently."
"Why what's the problem?"
"Er - there's a riot going on."
"What do you mean 'riot'"?
"People fighting, throwing things at each other, damaging property - that kind of riot."
I was already on my feet running for the door. I caught Rosalind's disapproving frown. It is all my fault, obviously.
By the time I got there the warring parties had been pulled apart by two security men.  There were broken coffee cups, two overturned chairs and a coatstand on the floor. There were bits of paper everywhere, and a smashed noticeboard leaning against a desk.
Several of the girls were crying. I saw blood on a handkerchief. One security guard had hold of Richard, another was pushing Simon towards the door. Bilal, our mild mannered Asian, was crying. His shirt had almost been ripped from his back.
I found Ella. "What the hell is going on?"
It turns out that for most of the week Richard has spent much of his time surfing gay websites. I don't know if they are porn yet - that is part of the ongoing investigation, as the police would say. But certainly pretty racy.
One of the girls sneaked up behind him to see what he was up to and caught a glimpse of Latino Boys Online, or some such.
Of course news of this spread like a bad rash. Most significantly word reached Simon. Simon was enraged. Richard was using Simon's log-in to access the computer system. Accessing porn is considered gross misconduct and a sackable offence. Simon believed his job was on the line because of Richard's stupidity.
He waited for Richard to go to the loo and then went over to his computer to see what he was looking at. Mission accomplished he should have had a quiet word with me later on in the day, and I in turn could have had a quiet word with Richard. Job done.
But Simon is not one of life's diplomats. He waited for Richard to return and then said: "What the fuck do you think you are doing?" There followed a loud slanging match that caught the attention of the entire office. In the middle of this Bilal happened to wander past and caught a glimpse of what was on screen. He went ballistic and started screaming at Richard that he is an abomination to Allah or some such.
Richard had enough of this and grabbed Bilal, who weighs about eight stones, and pushed him backwards across the desk.
Simon waded in and got a grip of Richard. No actual punches were thrown, I am told, but there was a lot of shouting and swearing and all three were locked in violent embrace.
There followed a sort of rolling maul as they spun around, crashing into furniture and knocking people over. A couple of the girls tried to separate them but didn't have the strength. Ella started throwing cup fulls of cold water from the cooler over them as though they were dogs rutting in the street. The whole thing lasted for about 15 minutes until the security men finally restored some kind of order.
I've now been told I have to complete an investigation into this incident and report back first thing Monday morning. I've interviewed all concerned and they all see things very differently.
Richard has accused me and the rest of the company of homophobia and is threatening to go to the press. He says the sites were not porn, but dating sites and chat rooms no one would have turned a hair if he had been looking at pictures of women. He says he only grabbed Bilal because he felt he was going to be attacked and then wouldn't let go because he was outnumbered. He wants Bilal and Richard to be dealt with appropriately.
Bilal meanwhile has accused me and the company of Islamophobia. Such images are grossly offensive to him and to expect him to work in the same room as someone viewing such pictures is unacceptable and a classic case of gross cultural insensitivity. He was also the subject of an unprovoked attack and wants Richard dealt with appropriately. He is going to Friday prayers at his mosque tonight and will be garnering support from his fellow worshippers.
Simon says he is being picked on because he is neither black nor gay. He argues he had a legitimate beef with Richard and was entitled to challenge him. He only intervened to help Bilal who had been attacked by a much larger man and then kept hold to stop Bilal getting hurt. He wants Richard dealt with appropriately. He is also a union rep and will be speaking to his full time official tonight to ask for the union's support.
Do you think anyone would notice if I just drove to the airport tonight and jumped on the first available flight to anywhere never to return?