Jose opened the waiting room door. Six men, wearing grey suits that were identical to his, were sat staring straight ahead. Their hands were palm down on their knees. Jose walked in and took a seat next to the reception desk. He put his hands on his knees and sniffed. He sniffed again.
‘Would you like a tissue?’ said Margot the receptionist, offering a box of lemon-scented handkerchiefs.
‘No thank you,’ said Jose, without looking at her. ‘It’s the bleach. I smell bleach.’
One of the men looked at his hands and sniffed them. Margot sighed and took out her iPhone. She put in her ear buds, hoping to drown out the sniffing sounds with Lady Ga Ga.
Fifteen minutes later, the red telephone on Margo’s desk flashed. She picked up the receiver and put it to her ear. She listened, nodding occasio
