‘Mr Flint? Mr Matlock Flint?’

I walked into the office, glanced out of the dirt-streaked windows then rounded my tattered desk before flopping back into my grubby chair. The day started as it always did.

There was no use asking my secretary for a coffee to kick start the system and help reduce the pounding in my head. I haven't got a secretary, haven't had one since the work began to dry up and that was almost three years ago.

I pushed the chair away from the stained leather-top desk and put my feet up onto its surface knocking a pile of papers to the floor in the process. I muttered a blasphemy under my breath. My shoes had seen better days and one let in water when it rained but I didn’t have the money or energy to get them repaired.

Finally I got up and went over to a dented metal four drawer filing cabinet and pulled open the second down. I reached inside and lifted out a half bottle of scotch. What little sun that could make its way through window grime illuminated the bottle showing it was empty.

The bottle was thrown toward the metal bin and I let out an expletive at the top of my voice. As silence descended and a sense of utter frustration filled me I heard a light cough from behind me.

I turned to face the door and saw what could have been a vision produced by my desperate mind. The vision spoke,

‘Mr Flint? Mr Matlock Flint?’

I just about managed to stop myself from falling back and muttered back a response ‘Who’s asking?’

‘Forgive me for just barging in but your secretary wasn’t at her desk and I needed to see you.’

I pointed to the seat the other side of the desk before realising it held a stack of unfiled papers. Without even a pause she lifted the pile onto the desk and sat. She crossed her legs in that way that instantly shows breeding in one simple graceful move.

I sat and pulled my chair nearer to the desk. One of the wheels snagged in a rip in the carpet making what should have been a smooth elegant movement a jerky desperate shuffle. Once I had settled myself I leant forward and asked ‘How can I help?’

‘It’s a mess,’ she said quietly, her eyes glancing down to her lap, ‘A real mess. A friend told me that you might be able to …….’ She paused and glanced up at me. I melted, I’d do whatever I could to sort this little lady’s problem out.

‘Tell me what’s wrong,’ I said in as calm a voice as my body could muster.

‘I think it’s easier I show you,’ she said reaching into her handbag and lifting out some Polaroids that she pushed across the desk. I wanted to take them from her hand, to be able to touch the milky white skin but instead my fingers dragged on the grubby leather.

I sat back and turned the first photograph over. Even though I’m a professional I think she saw the instant reaction in my face. I tried to steady myself as I looked at the other seven.

‘Well?’ she asked

‘You’re right, it’s a mess, a real mess.’ I had seen scenes like this all my working life but this, this was almost indescribable. I paused and looked at the photos again and let my mind think. Finally I spoke again.

‘I might be able to sort this out. I might be able to clean up your …… mess.’

‘But the stains,’ she said.

‘Leave that to me, I might have friends who can help there. Now let’s talk about my fee.’

It felt good to be back in work, I was a Tile Grout Troubleshooter and never truly alive unless I was grouting