Dead Tomorrow

whose husband had had a new heart and lungs, was equally emphatic in her praise. With both the last two cases, the operations were carried out in local clinics.
    It was still too early to phoneAmerica, but in her own mind, from what she had now heard, Lynn was already convinced. Still, she owed it to Luke, especially, to complete the checks. And there was not going to be any second chance.
    Hopefully, some time this afternoon, or tomorrow at the latest, after she had spoken to the other two references, the transfer of the first half of the money would be done. The remaining 50 per cent would have to be handed over, cash on delivery, on the day of the transplant. Which gave her days, at most, to find the last £15,000.
    She had tested the German woman out on what would happen if she had a shortfall and Marlene had been firm. It was all or nothing. She could not be more clear.
    Fifteen thousand. It was still a lot of money to find–and even more so to find inside a week, maybe less. Further, the exchange rate of the pound against the euro was predicted to worsen. Which meant the shorfall might get even bigger.
    From the moment Luke made the transfer, the clock would start ticking. At any time in the following days, Lynn could get a phone call from the German woman, giving her and Caitlin as little as two hours’ notice before they were picked up and transferred to the clinic. As Marlene had explained so clearly, you could not predict when an accident was going to happen that would provide a suitable matching organ.
    She glanced around. Christmas cards were starting to appear on desks in the office, and tiny bits of tinsel here and there, and sprigs of mistletoe. But the company had a number of Muslims working for it and there was an edict that Christmas was not to be openly celebrated by employees for fear of offending the non-Christians. So yet again there would be no proper decorations going up–nor an official office Xmas lunch.
    Last year that had made herblood boil, but this year Lynn didn’t care. At this moment she cared only about one thing. The time. It was five minutes to one. At one there was a lunch-break exodus, as regular as clockwork, from several of her Harrier Hornet colleagues. Crucially, Katie and Jim, who sat either side of her and could hear everything she said, if they chose to listen, and her team manager, Liv Thomas.
    On the screen on the wall, the COLLECTED BONUS POT had risen to £1,450 this morning. The big pre-Christmas grab was on, to pull money in before clients blew it all on presents and booze.
    Making a big effort to focus on work, but without hope of scooping this week’s pot, she dialled the next number on her call list. It was answered a few moments later by a slurred, female voice.
    ‘Mrs Hall?’ Lynn asked.
    ‘Who’s that?’
    ‘It’s Lynn, from Denarii. We just noticed that you didn’t make your payment on Monday this week.’
    ‘Yeah, well, it’s Christmas, innit? I got stuff to buy. What do you want me to tell my kids? They’re getting no presents this year cos I got to pay Denarii?’
    ‘Well, we did have an agreement, Mrs Hall.’
    ‘Yeah, well, you sodding come here and explain that to my kids.’
    Lynn closed her eyes for an instant. She heard a gulp as if the woman was swigging something. She didn’t have the energy to deal with this right now.
    ‘Can you tell me when we might be able to expect you to resume your payment plan?’
    ‘You tell me. Tell meabout the social housing, yeah? You know, what about the Welfare? Why don’t you speak to them?’
    The woman’s slurring was getting worse and what she was saying made no sense.
    ‘I think I’ll call you back tomorrow, Mrs Hall.’
    Lynn hung up.
    Jim, to her right, a short, wiry Geordie of thirty, pulled off his headset and exhaled sharply.
    ‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘What’s with people today?’
    Lynn gave him a sympathetic smile. He stood up.
    ‘I’m off. Think I need a liquid lunch today. Fancy a drink? I’m buying.’
    ‘Sorry. No thanks, Jim. I have to work through.’
    ‘Suit yourself.’
    To Lynn’s relief, she saw Katie, a tubby red-haired woman in her forties, remove her headset and pick up her handbag.
    ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Off to do battle with the shops!’
    ‘Good luck,’ Lynn said.
    A few minutes later she saw her team manager wrestling her coat on. Lynn pretended to busy herself checking her emails, as she waited for all three of them to leave the room, then pulled