Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
Before we embarked on the great driving expedition, for which I was beginning to think might be harder than it seemed to Boggs’ one-track mind, we decided to go and check out the mall, and if, indeed, there was an underground river, or, at the very least, if his flooding theory was correct.
We were going to need very old clothes, and when I left the next morning, my mother noticed it.
“I’m going to do some gardening with Boggs. He came up with this notion we could help out tat the old folk’s home.”
“That’s a nice thought.”
And it was a lie I knew would eventually come back to bite me. My mother hadn’t exactly told me to stop seeing Boggs, because she was beginning to think his mental capacity had been diminished after the beating.
It was a logical and perfectly acceptable reason for his odd behavior.
I went directly to Boggs’ house, and he was waiting for me. From there it was about twenty minutes, to a spot where he knew the surrounding fence had a hole big enough for us to crawl through.
It was odd seeing the place again, sitting out a few miles from the town, looking forlorn. At the front entrance, off the road specially built between it and the town, there were miles of cyclone fencing, with signs alternately telling people to keep out on threat of prosecution for trespass, and more recently, hazard signs proclaiming the whole area was unsafe.
From where we’d stopped, we could see the carpark, enough for hundreds of cars, a bus terminus, a taxi rank, and the front façade of the shopping center, mostly looking like the front of a castle, with towers and ramparts.
There had been auxiliary plans for a medieval theme park at one stage, that would have blended in with the mall buildings, but that had to be abandoned, even though the land allocated to it was stable. Or so a surveyor said.
We continued on until we reached the side leading to the marina. From this vantage point looking one way, there was the ocean, and the other, the damage to the side of the mall buildings, the cracks, and, in places, where the roof had collapsed.
This would be the first time I’d set foot in the place since it had been a mall.
It had been popular, and there was always plenty of people shopping, eating and drinking, going to the cinemas, or just having a day out. There had also been a museum dedicated to the naval days.
Now there was nothing.
It was ironic that as many of the castles in the British Isles that had been reduced to rubble, that was exactly what was going to happen here if someone didn’t take a bulldozer to the lot and level it out.
And that might happen sooner rather than later. This was reputed to be the site of many a disappearance of a local person. Three girls, two men, and a boy were supposedly hidden somewhere inside the mall, but the bodies had never been found.
I was thinking of those missing people when I said, with a degree of trepidation, “Do you really want to do this? I mean, if you’re sure there’s an underground waterway here, I’ll happily take your word for it.”
Boggs just shook his head. “You’re the last person I’d expect to chicken out.”
“It not that.”
“Isn’t it? I can go by myself if you’re worried about getting hurt.”
“No. You and me together. I have to learn to fight those fears.”
Another look, then, “OK. “Just a little further.”
Another minute or so, we reached a large rusting cylinder which had an almost illegible sign on it say the tank held inflammable liquid. I tapped on the metal and it sounded empty. I guess as part of the shut down they would have had to drain the tank. I followed the tangle of pipes that ran slightly downhill for about 20 yards and then saw the opening in the fence Boggs had referred to.
We left our bikes behind the tank, among some bushes.
We then walked down to the fence line where the pipes passed through, and Boggs pulled back the chain wire. A closer look showed it had been cut halfway up, making it easy to slip by, easier if there were two people along for the visit.
“Did you cut the fence,” I asked him.
He didn’t answer. I guess he wanted me to think he had.
“Have you been here before?”
“Through here, yes. A few times.” He held the wire away and I climbed through. I did the same for him on the other side, and he joined me. The two halves melded back together so from a distance no one could tell the fence had been tampered with.
From the fence, we had to cross the access road to the marina, and across a carpark, now overgrown with weeds, and bushes, with the odd tree springing up through the cracks in the concrete.
The wall, when we reached it, was where several large cracks joined, and part of the wall had fallen away leaving a hole large enough to crawl through. I put my head through the crack and could barely see anything. There was light coming from the seaward side, but on the other, it was inky darkness.
There was also a very disturbing aroma, like freshly laid concrete crossed with the smell of a garage repair shop. Years of spilled oil and grease.
“Is it safe?” I asked.
Boggs shrugged. “It could all fall down at any moment. You read the signs on the fence. Basically, this is, on one hand, cheating death. On the other, we could be on the verge of an interesting discovery.” Then, without another word, he went through the gap and inside.
A few seconds later, I could see the light from his cell phone.
I shrugged. If anything happened, like the building falling on me, I probably wouldn’t feel it. And he was right, we could be on the verge of an interesting discovery.
I followed him inside and slid down the broken concrete and bricks to a dirty but solid-feeling floor, where Boggs was waiting, the light from his phone pointed in the direction of a storefront.
And looking at a dummy still dressed in clothes left behind.
I couldn’t help but think I’d seen that style of clothes somewhere before.
There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?
A retired spy, well not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a setup.
But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.
And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.
Susan is exactly the sort of woman that piqued his interest. Then, inexplicably, she disappears. That might have been the end to it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex-boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum, find her or come back to work.
Nothing like an offer that’s a double-edged sword!
A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.
When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.
I had never been to a ball and had only seen what one was like on TV.
When I first received the invitation, on a gold embossed card with old style and writing in ink, real ink, I was astonished. I was not from a class of people whom one would associate with such a high-society event.
My father, when I had shown him the invitation, said it had obviously been sent to me by mistake, that it was some other William Benjamin Oldacre, not me. When I showed him the envelope with my address on it, he then said someone was playing a game.
I was inclined to believe him, so I called the RSVP number and spoke to a lady by the name of Charlotte Bingham, who had a very posh voice.
I told her my name, and then told her there must be some mistake.
“We don’t make mistakes, Mr Oldacre.”
“To be honest, ma’am, I am not a man of means, if you take my meaning.” I wanted to say I was just one of the rabble, but it seemed a little too blunt.
“You don’t need to be, to be a respectable and respected young man. Miss Emily said that you would find some excuse, and her instructions were if you were to call, to insist you come, and if you were having difficulties to call her on the cell number she gave you. I’m marking you down as a yes, and I look forward to meeting you.” The line went dead before I could reply.
Miss Emily.
My first encounter with her was anything but cordial, in fact, I had called her lazy, indolent, egotistical, annoying, and overprivileged, all in one breath. She was the typical rich brat to who the rules didn’t apply, the person who didn’t have to wait in queues like everyone else and whose schedules were made for other people.
Sadly, all the boys rich or poor grovelled at her feet, so it was a shock to her when I told her exactly what I thought of her. From there, we ignored each other, as much as it was possible, until a week before when we just happened to be in the cafeteria at the same time. I had been running late and almost walked away.
I joined Xavier in the queue, just as I noticed her with three of her equally bratty friends and a few people ahead in the queue.
“You must be starving,” Xavier said, “your nemesis is just ahead, and being her usual obnoxious self.”
“Unfortunately, hunger trumps common-sense.”
It was precisely the moment she turned around and saw me. Sometimes, she would make a sarcastic comment, but most of the time, she just ignored me. With one eye on her, I noticed as several others did, three boys, one of whom I knew, Oliver Richenburg, equally as entitled but not half as obnoxious, heading towards her.
It was clear if he was going over to her, that it was not a social call. In fact, I had heard on the grapevine, the social media account that kept up with all the rumours about the so-called social set, they had had an acrimonious breakup when she posted some telling details about his life. He had cheated on her, or so it was said, and it had spiralled out of control.
She had seen him steaming across the room, heading straight for her. Everyone in the hall was on alert, expecting to get a front-row seat to a gigantic bust-up.
“Brace yourself, the proverbial was about to hit the fan.””
This means I’m not going to get anything to eat, and without food, well, I was not a happy person. There was only one course of action. I timed my arrival at the exact moment the two faced off. Both were surprised to see me.
“Just…”
Oliver was just about to launch into his opening argument when I glared at him and said, in a harsher tone than intended, “Before you launch into what I’m sure will be just the right amount of outrage, let me say this. You’re an idiot. You had a girlfriend that most of us would give a right arm just to be noticed for five seconds, and you cheated on her. Wow, Oliver, you’re not going to have much of a married life if you can’t keep it in your pants.” I turned on Emily, “And you, well, you know what I think of you, but seriously, who posts utter drivel on social media in a language that only cavemen could probably understand. I’m sure I’ll get a spray before long, but quite clearly, we’ve all had enough. Take your cat fight outside.”
“Who…” She went from amused to angry in the blink of an eye.
“Who? Who what? Who cares. Get out of here the pair of you before I do something I regret.” I think I displayed just the right amount of unhinged insanity that they both left.
I looked over at the head of the queue; everyone was watching them leave. “Shows over folks, let’s eat.”
That following few days before the invitation had been interesting, to say the least,. I had gained an unwanted notoriety that raised my profile from the usual obscurity to fifteen seconds of fame, where people I didn’t know came up and told me it was about time both of them were put in their place, to there who just shook their head. What was more disconcerting was that she now noticed me, and I was not sure if I wanted to be noticed.
Now, getting an invitation, just took it to a whole new level. My first inclination was just to not go. It was for me and a plus one. There wasn’t a girl l knew to take but when my sister, two years older and a survivor of college histrionics, learned about the invitation she said we were going. Darcy was more of a tomboy than the average girl of her age, and a lot tougher. She’d also heard about the fracas in the canteen and had said, “You could do a lot better than to pine over what you can’t have”.
I told her I had no intention, and she just snorted, adding, “We’ll see.” Now I really didn’t want to go, because she was going to find a new way to humiliate me.
And when the day arrived I was feeling quite sick. I’d received a message on my phone that a car would be arriving at six to pick us up. The RSVP lady was making sure I didn’t change my mind. Darcy was, surprisingly, impressed. And I was equally impressed to see the jeans and Polo shirt norm transform into a very beautiful young woman in the most amazing ball gown. All I could say was, “Who are you and what have you done with my sister.”
At precisely six, there was a knock on the door, which my father opened. It was a real-life chauffeur. My father yelled out, even though we were waiting in the next room, “Your pumpkin has arrived.” I was glad my misfortune was causing him amusement. The chauffeur didn’t bat an eye.
It was not a pumpkin. It was a Rolls Royce, a car I’d heard of but never seen.
Darcy was thoughtful, having got past surprised. “I think she’s trying to impress you, Will. Is there something going on that I need to know about?”
“I assure you she’s just trying to put me in my place. “w
I hadn’t taken much notice of where the ball was being held, but twenty minutes after being picked up I realised we were heading out of the city. It meant it could only be in one place, the spider’s lair, the family home, a mansion you got to drive past and could barely see behind the surrounding wall. Reputed to have more bedrooms than in the houses in my street, my father was amused that one family could live in such a place without getting lost.
We were invited to the castle, and it was becoming more like Cinderella with each passing minute. Sweeping majestically through the gates it was like passing through a portal into another world. It was a moment not lost on Darcy, who squeezed my hand and whispered, “Just remember their real people just like us.”
I got the impression she didn’t quite believe it herself.
It was a clear run-up to the majestic front entrance to the building, which seemed small but almost overwhelming close-up. The car stopped at the bottom of red carpeted stairs leading up into the house. The doors were opened by two men dressed in uniform. At the bottom of the stairs, waiting, for a very elegantly dressed woman.
She smiled when we reached her. “William, Darcy. Welcome.”
“You’re the lady on the phone.”
“Yes. My name is Charlotte, Miss Emily asked me to greet you and make sure you know where to go.”
Darcy was now looking somewhat lost in awe.
She asked, “Is this place for real. It’s like a fairy tale.”
“It has that initial wow factor, but that wears off after a while. Come, follow me.”
We walked slowly up the red-carpeted stairs and into the foyer with columns, a marble tiles floor, and the biggest chandelier I’d ever seen. I was expecting to see a fountain in the middle, but there wasn’t, just a table, a very large vase, and a flower arrangement that defied description.
We turned left through a portico, to where two more men dressed in uniform stood on either side, with another. We stopped, and Charlotte said to him, “Mr William Oldacre and Miss Darcy Oldacre.”
He read out our names by way of introduction to the people milling in the anteroom, but perhaps more for the line of people down the side where it seemed we were to be greeted. Charlotte led us to the head of the line, Miss Emily’s father.
“Mr James Edward Rothstein, may I present William Oldacre and his sister, Darcy.”
It was like greeting royalty, but I was not inclined to bow. Darcy was by now amused by the formality, even though she looked as though she belonged. She was certainly as beautiful in her gown as the others.
He held out his hand for a handshake. “So you are the young man who told Emily she needs to learn proper English before she uses those ghastly social media apps, I think they call them. I have to say I could not agree with you more.”
“Sir, I didn’t really mean anything by it.”
“Well, your words seemed to have had the desired effect, and I thank you. Perhaps before the night is out, you could deliver some more good advice. She won’t listen to us.”
“I think that race is run. She’s not likely to speak to me, and I’m not sure why she asked me to come.”
“She didn’t, I did, but I suspect she’ll either thank me or hate me more.” He sighed. “Us men will never understand women. The night is young, my boy, have fun.”
With that, I was dismissed and sent to Emily’s mother, Theresa, her older sister, Jasmine, her other sister, Kendra, and twin brothers, Samuel and Thomas. That left Emily, who needed no introduction.
It was hard to tell if she was amused or angry. I simply put a frown on my face, thinking it would preclude any conversation.
“Your father has a unique sense of humour, Emily,” I said.
“He does, indeed.”
Darcy took a step back and looked at the pair of us, then smiled. “I can see why he did. I’m Darcy, Will’s older sister. You piss him off, you piss me off, and that you don’t want to do.”
“Not more than I already have?”
“I’ve no doubt there’s a very simple explanation for it, but let me sum it up in one sentence. Try to see what’s in front of you. Actually,” she looked at me, too, “It’s good advice for the both of you. Now, I was promised top-shelf booze, where’s the bar?”
Charlotte had watched the exchange with an amused expression. I suspect she knew every one of Emily’s foibles. “I’ll take you. I think I need a drink too.”
Emily looked at me. “You said you would give your right arm to be noticed. Well, you’ve been noticed. And when I’m done here, you and I have a few things to discuss. And your name is down on my card for the first dance.”
“What makes you think I can dance.”
“You can, so don’t tell me otherwise.”
“What makes you think I want to dance with you?”
“Because when you do, I will answer three of your questions. Anything. And you have to answer just one for me. Deal?”
“This is not one of your little schemes, is it?
She shook her head. “Don’t make me stamp my foot in annoyance William. I promise you, what you see is what you get. No schemes, no tricks, no lies.”
It was too good to be true. This was a rabbit hole I didn’t want to go down, but did I have a choice?
I nodded. “OK. Where’s the bar. This is going to require fortification.
I stayed at the bar, slowly working my way through several bottles of beer that I’d never heard of, while I watched Emily, and the family, finish greeting the guests, and then mingle with everyone on a less formal basis.
There were over two hundred people but the ballroom did not seem crowded. People gathered together in groups, and the Rothsteins dutifully stopped at each for a few minutes. It was interesting to see Emily behave much like an ambassador, a side of her I had never seen.
Every now and then, once she knew where I was, she looked over, discreetly, and smiled.
It was not lost on me what Darcy had said, and the few words we had when I reached the bar were surprising. “She likes you a lot, you know. Knowing you, though, you’ll blow a good opportunity through prejudice or stupidity or even both. I know you like her to William, no one professed their disdain more who does not love their nemesis. Don’t make me have to thump some sense into you.”
She was right, of course. I fell in love with Emily the first time I saw her, knowing that we could never be together, which made it frustrating and annoying, and went a long way towards explaining why I was hostile towards her. If she despised me, it couldn’t go anywhere. Now, here, that façade was going to be impossible to keep up.
Then, all of a sudden, it was time for dancing, the orchestra, yes it was a real orchestra, was playing the first stains of a Viennese Waltz. Perhaps if I just sidled along the bar towards the exit…
“I can dance too, you know.” Emily must have known I would try to disappear. “Many, many painful lessons when I could have been out with my friends. No possible use for it on this earth, but there it is. Take my hand, William, show me there’s more than just a grumpy man under that immaculate tuxedo.”
As they say, the gauntlet had been thrown down.
About twenty couples had taken to the floor and were arranging themselves in a circle, and we all ended up facing each other.
The music started. I bowed to Emily. Emily curtsied to me. She took my hand, did a twirl, and we came together, very close.
Could she hear my heart beating? It was almost racing. Just standing there was perhaps the most intoxicating moment of my life.
Then it began, first one way, then the other. I kept an eye on those on either side, maintaining distance.
“You’re not counting your steps, are you?” We parted, and she came back, close in, and whispered in my ear.
“No. Just making sure it’s the right one.”
Out again, back again, close, going around and around, trying not to get dizzy. It was the one thing that bothered me in classes.
“Is this close enough for you?”
“Is that your one question?”
She frowned. “No.”
Concentration, then. “Ask your first.”
“Have you always been this entitled, bratty child?”
“Yes.”
Well, that didn’t give me much to work with. At least she admitted it.
She went out, doing a twirl, then came back, a smile on her face.
“Next?”
“Why am I here? I’m not in the same stratosphere you are, and it seems pointless. Except if you want to point out to everyone here that I don’t belong.”
“What was it you said one, flying at 30,000 feet without oxygen. Put it this way, you wouldn’t know if you were not there with me. Get ready, I call it the skipping bit.”
I’d forgotten about it. It was not long but brought many a learner undone.
Over, twirl, back, a close hug, then a little separation, hand behind her back, arm on my shoulder.
I thought about that answer. Did she think I was her equal? I certainly didn’t think so.
“You didn’t answer why I am here?
“Because I asked my father to invite you.”
“Third question, “Why would you invite me given our history?”
“Hold that thought, we’re changing partners for a circuit.”
Then, all of a sudden she was gone, and opposite me was one of her friends, whose look told me I really shouldn’t be here. Whatever Emily’s motives were, they were hers alone.
One minute and twenty seconds of utter silence, with a girl who I would never get to dance with within a million years, from a world I could never expect to be part of.
In the end, “Well done Will. Just don’t disappoint her.” And then she was gone, and Emily was back.
“Where you come from does not define who you are Will, and I failed to realise that. We got off on the wrong foot, metaphorically, and I want to change that, starting now. Now I have just one question, and you have to answer honestly.”
The thought of what she might ask filled me with dread.
“It took me a while to work out why you hated me so much. One of your questions proved it, and you think you’re not good enough for me. Most boys pretend to love me so they can get what they want, but they don’t love me the way you do, do they?”
Cornered, with nowhere to go.
Stop, twirl, out, back, together. I wished it would end and I could run away.
“Would it matter what I said?”
“Yes, William, it would.”
“Then no they don’t, and yes, I do, have done so from the first day I saw you. Make of that what you will, but it’s the truth.”
And, then, the dance was done. A bow, a curtsey. She could have walked away. Instead, she held out her hand, and I took it. She was quite literally the most enchanting girl in the room, and for the moment, she wanted to be with me.
She smiled. “Your name is in number two place on my dance card, so there’s no escape.”
“And probably number three.”
She nodded. “Oh, and in case you haven’t realized it yet, for some unknown reason, I seem to be in love with you, too. As my father often says, the night is young, and we have much to explore.”
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
…
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, I came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing down on her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, and sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed like the right time.
It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it was something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked where who, and when.
A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, which was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use-by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me, you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. In the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by a slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, but they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in the new job, the last thing she want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends new life.
We packed her bags, threw out everything she didn’t want, a few trips to the op shop with stuff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me were a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of planes departing, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just to see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
I’m back home and this story has been sitting on the back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.
The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Chasing leads, maybe
—
I gave it about five minutes before I think I started breathing again and then headed back to Jennifer.
Or where I thought I had left her.
She wasn’t there. I think, in the end, it didn’t surprise me. She had been reluctant from the start so if I had to guess, she had done a bunk. This was not her fight, nor mine, but she had a ticket out. Why would you want to come back after being betrayed by the likes of Severin and Maury?
I hope she left the car behind.
Now that I was here there was no point leaving, so I took a few minutes to search the surrounding area, just in case she was still here, just someplace else, and when she wasn’t, I quickly and silently made my way back to the side of the house with the open door from a different direction.
There was another set of French doors, these curtained, and with an overhead light above the doorway, so I kept my distance in case there was a movement activator, another which looked to be a servant’s entrance at the back. Neither door looked to be an easy viable entrance.
The original side door was still unlocked, with no lights or movement inside.
I waited, then opened the door wide enough to slip through. Again, I waited in case there was a silent alarm, then when nothing stirred, slipped through and closed the door behind me.
On the other side of the door, it was quite dark, except now I could see, on one wall, the dying embers of a fire. Someone had been in the room earlier and most likely gone to bed.
It meant the house was occupied.
It also meant I had to be careful.
On the other side of the doors, it was a lot warmer. Again I waited a few minutes, just in case someone came, and, when they didn’t, I pulled out a small torch and turned it on.
In front of me were two chairs and a table, one I would have walked into without a light. The walls had shelves and those shelves were filled with books. Some behind glass doors, others not. There was another chair by the fire, and beside it, a stack of cooks, and a table with had an empty glass and a bottle, and a pair of reading glasses.
The downstairs reading room.
I cross the room slowly, hoping there were no squeaky floorboards, to be expected in an old house like this one. The timber flooring was exposed only at the edges of the room, the rest of the floor covered in a large, discolored, and fraying carpet square.
It was old, like everything else in the room.
I was tempted to have a look at how far the books dated back to but resisted the urge. I was looking for information on the owner.
At the doorway to what looked like a passage, I turned off the torch and peered out. It was not exactly dark, my eyes had adjusted to the low-level light from low wattage lights about a foot above the floor.
Lights to help guide the way at night.
Left, rooms, right, rooms, at the end of the passage a wide doorway leading towards the other side of the house. Larger rooms perhaps.
I turned right and headed towards the front, and they stopped at the doorway to the next room. I’d deliberately walked on the carpet runner in the middle of the passage, and just managed to catch my foot when one part of the floor creaked softly.
The room next door was almost the same as the one I’d entered by, with chairs and shelves but only on two sides. This room had a long window and no French doors.
On one side there was a writing desk, open, with papers scatted on the writing surface. I quickly crossed the room to it, switched on the light, and checked.
Bills. In the name of Mrs. Marianne Quigley. This had to be Adam Quigley’s mother, and by deduction, O’Connell’s mother.
Proof I was in the right place.
Then I heard the squeak of a floorboard followed by the clicking sound of a gun being cocked.
“Don’t move, or I’ll shoot. Hands in the air. And don’t make me ask twice.”
The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.
My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.
Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.
So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.
So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.
I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.
And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.
There was motivation. I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample. I was going to give them the re-worked short story. Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’
Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.
But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself. We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.
One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.
It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected. I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.
I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.
Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.
The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party. I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble. No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.
Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?
But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.
We as authors always like to see two little words in every review, page turner.
Alas, sometimes they’re not, but usually this applied to non fiction simple because they’re reference books. Then another two words apply: boat anchor.
The good stuff is usually over the page.
Page in this instance refers to a leaf in a book, which generally has many pages.
Then the is a page boy, not what you’d find lurking around these days but were more common in days past, but refers to a boy in training to become a knight, or an errand boy for a nobleman.
These days a page boy opens doors and runs messages in a hotel.
Another variation is being paged over the P.A. system, always a major cause of embarrassment because you and everyone else thinks your in trouble.
Of course, before there were mobile phones, there were pagers, and sometimes in the deathly silence of the classroom, it went off. Definitely not advisable to have one on you if you are trying to sneak up on someone. Same goes for the modern equivalent, the mobile phone.
For the person who uses a word processor, you are familiar with pages, and having the software generate page numbers, of course, not for the title page, and a different numbering for other pages like an index, before the story starts.
Complicated? Sometimes.
And many years ago a boss of mine often used to say I needed to turn over a new page, and it did make much sense to me. That might have been because I was young and stupid. But, later on I realised what he was really saying was that I needed to turn over a new leaf.
Kind of strange, but then a lot saying are.
And did I?
Eventually.
And just to end on a high note, Paige is also the name of a girl, I think, and one I’ve decided to use in a story.
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, a place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.
With the improved weather, they settle into a routine, she is getting comfortable with Henry being around, and he is finally getting out of the shipboard routine, and becoming more relaxed, though still wary of making a mistake.
They go for walks along the beach, and gradually, a form of intimacy takes place, holding hands, at first with gloves on.
Then in a totally unscripted moment from out of left field, they kiss. It just happens ‘in the moment’. He apologises, and she just smiles.
Given what she has escaped from, it is a sublime moment that gives her the opportunity, against all odds, that it was possible, one day, she could be happy.
It leads to another unscripted moment, but this time a kiss with more meaning behind it.
Henry doesn’t know how to process this event but goes with the flow. Out of the confines of the town, on a short road trip, they admit they like each other and to not have any expectations that it might go anywhere.
But the ugly truth of her background raises its head with the conversation turning to the future, and Henry puts his foot in it.
As an unexpected result of that feeling he had ruined everything; a hug that, for him, seemed to last a lifetime.
I remember that first kiss, and the moment that led to it, and it left me with butterflies and dread, that eventually it would all fall apart. It was a passing moment in time, and it taught me one very valuable lesson, leave expectations out of it. And that flush of first love, there is nothing like it.
“Love is simply a tenuous attachment looking for a reason to break.”
As a twice-widowed, twice-divorced cynic of marriage, I could have expected no less from my mother.
I’d just explained the latest reason for Marigold’s non-appearance at lunch, without having to tell her the truth, that Marigold hated my mother.
At times, so did I. This was one of them.
I also hated the fact that we had become rich from my mother’s plotting and scheming, what she called strategic marriages and fortuitous deaths.
It left me a target, or so my mother said, and her opinion of Marigold was so low she had said from the outset that she had married me for my money. Hardly, because of a watertight prenuptial she had to sign, one that only a woman who loved the man, not the money would sign.
For that reason, I believed I was the luckiest person alive.
“Let’s face it, you don’t like her.”
“She’s a schemer Rodney, mark my words. She’s up to something, I can feel it.”
I shook my head. “Not accepting your lunch invitation doesn’t mean she’s up to anything. She had a prior engagement, and you always ask at the last minute.”
“My plans are nebulous. I could be anywhere, anytime. Right now, I’m here.”
I shrugged. It was not an argument I was going to win.
I went back to my office after lunch, dejected.
Perhaps there might be something in what she said because Marigold had become a little distant over the past few weeks and oddly secretive about her movements. I thought she was planning a surprise party or weekend away.
Candice, the PA who’d been with me ever since I’d made junior management ranks, followed me into the office.
“I can tell you lunch went swimmingly.” Sarcasm wasn’t her strongest asset, and it dripped off every word.
She hated my mother, too, particularly in the way it affected me.
“She should have been living it up in the south of France with the rest of the meddlers.”
I could just see Marigold in my peripheral vision, and when I looked up, I could see her almost stomping her way towards my office.
Others were familiar with her visits and used to her moods. I wondered what had happened.
Candice left as she came in. She stopped in front of my desk and literally threw her cell phone at me. I caught it just before it caused an injury.
“What the hell is that?” I could see now she was extremely agitated.
“What?”
“On the phone, it was attached to an anonymous message sent to me.”
I swiped the screen, once again lamenting her lack of implementing security on her phone, and a still from a video was sitting on the screen. I pressed the play icon and watched. Three minutes of what appeared to be me with another woman, in bed, in a hotel room. It certainly looked like me. It had a date and time stamp, 9:53, three days ago, when I was in Salt Lake City.
“It’s not me, Marigold.”
“Sure as hell looks like you, Rodney. You care to explain where you were and who you were with, if not with that woman?” It was accompanied by a belligerent look, daring me to have a cast iron alibi.
The thing is, I did. But it was not one I could explain to her. But what was more concerning was the fact there was a video and quite obviously a fake, and that it had found its way to her.
“I’ll go one better, Marigold. I’ll give the phone to the IT tech department, and they’ll tell me who sent the anonymous message and verify whether or not it’s me. You do want me to prove it’s not me, don’t you?”
Judging by the expression on her face, she did not, and it took a few seconds to realize why. My mother’s iron clad prenuptial had only one failing, and it was null and void if I was caught cheating. My mother had told me enough times.
“Of course.” Less bluster now. “I’ll leave it with you.”
Candice watched her leave before coming back into my office.
“What did you do?”
“More like what didn’t I do but apparently did.” She sat down, and I handed her the phone. “Have a look at the video. It’s quite interesting.”
She did, and I watched her fascination turn from surprise to wide-eyed amazement. Then she gave me a look that may have been misplaced in awe. “If that’s you, then you’re leading a secret life.”
“Did you see the date and time stamp?”
“Yes. It’s definitely not you. But it begs the question, do you have a brother or twin you know nothing about.”
“Would you like to ask my mother that question?” Her change of expression told me she didn’t. “That leaves the tech guys down in IT.”
“Oh, lucky you mentioned IT. I got a report this morning about the unauthorised use of the mainframe computer.”
“We know what those guys get up to, using it to run simulations, within acceptable limits. They know that if they break the rules, it’s their loss.”
“This is different. It was only reported because, apparently, while you were practising your sexual skills, you were also down in the computer room. Your pass card was used, albeit an older one that you reported as lost about a month ago. It was supposed to have been deactivated, and it wasn’t.”
“Then I guess I’d better go down to security and find out what it all means.”
Going down in the elevator, I had a few moments to ponder on how quickly my mind had set on the idea Marigold was hatching a scheme that would bypass the prenuptial agreement. Perhaps the continual verbal battering that I could not trust her.
Of course, it didn’t help that she turned up with a so-called anonymous video file of me cheating, just the evidence she needed. Perhaps I would more readily accepted her innocence had she not subtly changed in the last month or so. I put it down to the conversation about children, the fact my mother wanted to become a grandmother, and Marigold’s reluctance to be a mother, a sentiment fuelled by a very bad experience with her own mother. My mother wasn’t exactly a role model either.
And if it was a scheme, why would she readily hand over her phone with the evidence? Perhaps I needed to have an open mind. That meant definitely not telling my mother, though she seemed to have spies everywhere. If I had been even thinking of cheating, she would have sent Boris, her fixer, to stop it before it started.
IT was one of three departments under my jurisdiction, and the current manager was one of my recruits. I’d read about Gabrielle some months before when she was arrested for hacking several government computer systems to prove their vulnerability to foreign hackers and instead of being applauded had been vilified, and sent to computer Coventry. No one would hire her. I tracked her down, spent a few days talking about computers, hackers, and stupid people, and then hired her.
A computer genius of this calibre was impossible to find, and if I did manage to find one, it would cost far more than we could pay them.
“Rod, what brings you to the dungeon.” Gabrielle was always pleased to see me. I had wondered a few times if something else might have developed between us, but I was a married man and it never crossed my mind. There was also a chance her open and friendly manner could be misinterpreted.
“It seems I’m in trouble.” I held up the phone. ” This has images of me, only I know it’s not me because I was somewhere else.” I passed it to her. “I believe this is the first time I’ve seen a deep fake video.”
She looked at the video, with similar facial expressions to Candice. “It can’t be you.” She’d also seen the time and date stamp. “We both know where you were. Let me check it out, and I’ll get back to you.”
When I arrived back in my office, Eric Dorning, the head of security, was waiting for me. Candice simply nodded her head in his direction and shrugged, telling me Eric had not told her why he was there.
“Close the door, Rod. It’s a delicate matter.”
And Seriously, he wanted the door shut? I closed it and sat behind the desk. “What can I do for you?”
“A key card that was believed missing was apparently used to gain access to the computer department. Two issues, one that was not deactivated, and the other, that it was yours, and had an all-access clearance attached to it. That it was lost is, at the very least,8 a suspension, while aspects of how and where it was lost are undertaken. At worst, it could cause dismissal depending on the damage caused to the company. As you are…”
I put my hand up to stop him right there. The fact that my mother was a substantial shareholder and was in some small part responsible for my position in the company, I never asked for special treatment. “I know what you are going to say, and don’t. I am no different from any other employee, and if the course of action on your part is to suspend me while you investigate, then do so.”
“We don’t have to do that.”
“You do. This can’t be kept under wraps, and everyone needs to know that no one in this company should expect or be given special treatment. A short truthful statement about why I’m missing will suffice.”
“Your mother will not approve.”
“It’s not her call. Am I being suspended?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should escort me to the front door and remove my key card and phone.” I put the card and the phone and company car keys on the desk, and stood. I could see Candice observing, and she knew what it meant. She made a face, then headed for the elevator. I deduced that it meant she wanted to see me at the cafe up the street.
It was clear Eric did not want to suspend me because when I was unavailable, he had to report to my immediate superior, Victor Wellman, a man who was bitterly opposed to my appointment. With this crisis, he would have all the ammunition he needed to get rid of me. Eric had said as much on the way down. He said he would call when the investigation was complete.
Candice had two cups of coffee waiting and a puzzled expression. “What did you do wrong?”
“Losing a card key without adequately securing it at all times is a cardinal sin, and in certain circumstances, a stackable offence. I’m guilty as charged.”
“What about the fact that after reporting it missing, they didn’t deactivate it? If there’s blame, Eric is the one who should take responsibility for the current incident.”
“I hardly think any of that matters. Wellman will use this to have me removed. And he’s well within his right to do so.”
“You think he’s brave enough to take on your mother?”
“He’s the only one who is, but it may have unintended consequences. But I’m not going to fight it. I’ve had enough of politics and everything else. I asked for no special treatment.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Take a few days off, see what’s bugging Marigold. I have been missing lately, so perhaps we can catch up.” If she was home. To be honest, I had no idea what she did with herself lately.
I had expected to come home to an empty house.
After leaving Candice to contemplate her future, I took the subway, something I hadn’t done in a long time. Then, it was a reasonable walk to our apartment. I spoke the James, the only building concierge I knew, who was on a rare day shift. It was odd to see the foyer in daylight on a weekday.
Then I went up to the apartment and let myself in. I had expected to be alone, but after I shut the door, I heard subdued voices, followed by laughter. Marigold. And she was not alone.
I followed the sounds up the corridor to the end, our bedroom. I put my head in the door and saw her naked, sitting on a man I didn’t recognise. It was not hard to see what they were doing.
“Revenge sex, Marigold. I can’t say I’m surprised.”
She squealed in surprise, or was it shock?
“When you’re done, pack your bags and leave. You better not be here when I come back. Goodbye, Marigold.”
I left, knowing she would not be able to catch me or follow me. Whether she left or not didn’t matter. I was never going back to that apartment again.
…
It took a week to unravel the conspiracy and see the reality.
The man with Marigold was one of Mellman’s recruits in a plan to get rid of me. He had also recruited Marigold, who had tired of me because I was never home, and it was she who had taken the card key.
Her ‘boyfriend’ was a graphics expert and had been the one to transplant my body and that of a random woman over a recording of him having sex with Marigold. It took Gabrielle a week to work out how he did it and was more appreciative of his talent than she should be.
He had used the card key to get in and was the one responsible for the unauthorised use of the mainframe. He has also erased all the CCTV footage for the time of the transgression.
Wellman was silly enough to send the video to Marigold, thinking it would be untraceable and anonymous. It may have seemed so to a novice like him, but it was easily unmasked by an expert like Gabrielle.
I never did understand why Mellman wanted to destroy my life because it couldn’t just be because my mother had used her influence to get me that job. Not for a few months, anyway, when Eric had told Gabrielle that he had discovered that there had been another candidate for that role, a relative of Mellman’s. Still, to me, it seemed over the top.
I could understand Marigold. Perhaps if she had told me she didn’t want to be married to me anymore, I would have been disappointed, but I would have been sure she got a decent settlement, rather than what she ended up with.
But, in the end, I did get to do something I’d always wanted to do, and that was to try my hand at being a private detective. Gabrielle had brought it up in one of our late-night conversations, the fact we were well suited to handling cases where people were wronged by deep fake videos and anonymously released revenge tapes.
We were both surprised but the number of people who called, texted, or emailed in the week after I posted an advertisement.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 