How had things come to this, Charles thought to himself?

He stood staring down from the grey office building on the 108th floor. Shivering violently, he felt his clothes tightly squeezing his flesh, and he thought of the chunky sausages in the fridge at home. A siren on the snarled road below held no meaning, yet it seemed to be getting louder. His tie was whipped by the wind like a flag at the stern of a boat.

Soul mates, a bit of a cliché, but this was how Gina often described them to other people. Slender with pale blonde hair, brightly coloured clothing, gleaming red lips, and always good shoes … Gina put some effort into life, and he appreciated that about her personality. They had been together for five years now, and he had briefly considered marriage, mostly just after sex. But he had kept things from her. People always have secrets. His was surely imperceptible.

It started as a bit of lunchtime fun with colleagues (who could eat the most cream crackers in a minute?). They moved on to fried chicken drumsticks shortly thereafter. Before long, everyone realised, he had a natural talent for speedy overconsumption of various food items. He felt buoyed by this newly discovered talent. Gina had started to wonder if he had a thyroid problem, and he did his best to keep the weight down with late-night walks after work and fasting; but his stomach expanded like an inflated white balloon.

Monday had arrived, looking just the same as the previous one. Four slices of thick sourdough toast popped up from the toaster. Charles lavished its surface with a thick layer of salty butter, followed by the last of the crunchy peanut butter. He made a mental note to put it on the shopping list. If there were fewer than two jars in the larder, he started to panic. Gina preferred a thick cut marmalade on her toast. The thought of large pieces of orange peel set Charles’ gag reflex on high alert.

Licking his lips, Charles had a quick browse online. The pop-up adverts on Instagram had succeeded in dragging him and his credit card to one of his favourite sites many times. His defences felt particularly low that morning, and within a few clicks, he had purchased yet another navy jumper, a size up from the last one. He was reminded of his mother’s words, just before she died … “you should always wear navy darling, it complements your red hair.”

It was true to say that he had struggled with the loss of his old youthful identity and getting older was a big adjustment, but he had promised himself that he would gain some self-control in January. He had been reading ‘How to Revive and Thrive’. A Christmas present from Gina last year. He was trying out one of the techniques recommended. ‘You will not eat excessively, and you will not purchase any navy clothing’ he wrote out 50 times that night. This new handwritten mantra kept his mind and short chunky fingers occupied for a short while, and his bedroom drawers with space. But whilst standing on the bleak rooftop, he considered the monotony of his current occupation, a small cog in a large wheel as a Claims Handler.

The wind had changed direction now, and he felt as if he was being pushed closer to the edge of the roof. He quickly shoved the KFC boxes into the plastic bag, securing them with his favourite scouting square knot. With a short spin of his arm, the bag was jettisoned off the roof. Wiping grease from his moon-like face, he watched it fly like a bird on the thermals until it disappeared.

It was a personal best … three boxes of a six-piece family feast, each with a large bottle of drink.

Things were looking up.