Gone was the smooth-talking Dapper Dave Randall the punters all knew and loved and the fish staff looked up to. This was the old Dave, one I hadn't seen in the flesh for a good long while, one that stood there by the closed door and stared at me for a good minute or so before he started talking. "So, it's obvious to me that we have some kind of problem, Graham." "Problem? No, I don't think so." "That's not what Jeremy just told me." I sat on the edge of Jacqui's desk and waited for him to elaborate. Dave moved from the door, appeared to melt into his old self. The sight of it nauseated me. "I understand that you're not happy here, Graham. You've made that patently obvious, not just to me but to Jacqui too. And you know, maybe it's my fault—" "It's definitely your fault." "I've tried to help you, Graham." "Oh, is that what you call it?" "How long have we known each other now?" "A long time." "Ten years, something like that?" "Longer than that." "So we're veterans, you and I. We're like old soldiers.
