I was poking around on the gallery on my phone and found this
It was the rear of the club house for a golf course that was adjacent to the resort we were staying at before COVID shut down the country and all travel.
It was a bleak day with rain falling from drizzle to a heavy shower, and I had to wonder what it would be like on a fine summer’s day.
The club house also had space for conventions and weddings, and I could imaging having the wedding in the rotunda as the the sun departed leaving behind shades of yellow, orange and red.
Having a fountain in the wedding photo would be so hard to take either.
Perhaps we could renew our vows one day in just such a location.
It’s a thought.
…
But as for a story…
…
It’s a bleak day with constant drizzle, the sort of day to fuel introspection.
A day to spend in front of a fire with a good book instead of chasing a white ball. The thing is, you never quite know when the weather is going to interfere with the best laid plans.
A week before, the forecast was for clear skies, and perfect blue skies.
Jake was going to meet up with some very influential people on the golf course to discuss business. It was not the sort of business that was conducted indoors, in a conference room, or an office.
But the weather was not going to play ball.
As the murky darkness dawned into a grey soggy morning with constant irritating drizzle, Jake was looking out the window of his room that overlooked the parkland when there was a knock on the door.
There was no way anyone was playing golf in this weather, so he was hoping it was his assistant with the alternate arrangements.
It was the assistant, but with a look of disappointment on her face.
“What news?” he asked.
“McDonald’s PA just called. He had a heart attack last night, and just died.”
And then there those horrible things called crosswords.
There are antonyms and synonyms
Sometimes we use words we don’t know the meaning of because of their similarity with others we do
Then there one or more words that make other words as in anagrams
There are substitute words, words we use around children like fudge instead of, well you get what I mean
There’s no doubt we would be lost without words
Words are to be chosen carefully and thoughtfully
They need to be delivered in an appropriate manner, not in haste, and not in anger
We need to believe in what we’re saying before others will believe it
We need to learn how to express our feelings
We should take advantage of learning English (or any other native language) when at school
We need to start reading as soon as we can and keep up reading as we get older. One should never underestimate the power reading and writing gives us no matter who we are.
Always have a dictionary by your side. It is the most valuable book you can own.
And always remember the power of speech can at times move mountains
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.
It’s always a good thing to get that across especially if you work for an organization that could misinterpret what that opinion is, or generally have an opposing opinion. Of course, by saying your opinions are your own, you’re covering yourself from becoming unemployed, but is this a futile act?
Perhaps its better to not say anything because everything you say and do eventually find its way to those you want most not to hear about it, perhaps one of the big negatives of the internet and social media.
And…
It seems odd to me that you can’t have an opinion of your own, even if it is contrary to that of the organization you work for, and especially if their opinion has changed over time. An opposing opinion, not delivered in a derogatory manner, would have the expectation of sparking healthy debate, but it doesn’t always end up like that.
I’m sure there are others out there that will disagree, and use the overused word, loyalty’. Perhaps their mantra will be ‘keep your opinions to yourself’.
This, too, often crops up in personal relationships, and adds weight to the statement, ‘you can pick your friends but not your relatives’.
I’m told I have an opinion on everything, a statement delivered in a manner that suggests sarcasm. Whether it’s true or not, isn’t the essence of free speech, working within the parameters of not inciting hate, bigotry, racism, or sexism, a fundamental right of anyone in a democracy?
Seems not.
There’s always someone out there, higher up the food chain, with an opinion of their own, obviously the right one, and who will not hesitate to silence yours. But, isn’t it strange that in order to silence you, they have to use leverage, like your job, to get theirs across.
Well, my opinions are in my writing, and whether or not you agree with them or not, I’m sure you will let me know. In a robust but respectful manner.
It’s one thing to put a date in your diary; it’s something else to remember it’s there.
And then it’s something else entirely if you lose the device the calendar is on.
Of course, in this modern day and age, there’s this thing called the cloud, and any and all of your devices can connect to it, so really, there is no excuse.
Is there?
It was one of those things, you know, four inseparable friends at university, all going through the ups and downs of life, love, learning, and success and failure. Two boys, Jake Sever and me, Albert Mendall, and two girls, Gillian Rogers and Melanie Monk.
We had lived separately, together, in relationships, and in the end, as friends. After graduation, there was the party, the celebration, the reminisces, and the parting. There were no romantic attachments, at least not one I was aware of, and each of us had applied for and got jobs in various parts of the country.
We all promised to catch up once we were settled, and all put an entry in their diaries to meet at the Empire State Building on Christmas Eve in two years’ time, a nod to Gillian’s favourite film, and just in case we lost track of each other.
That final farewell was, for me, poignant, particularly with Gillian. We had one of those on-again-off-again romances, it started out well enough but Gillian had always thought there had to be more, and as each succeeding romance of hers failed, for one reason or another, it brought us back together. The last, she believed she had found the one, and when she left, with Derek, the one, I felt more than a little sad. For me, she was the one, and it would be a long time before I found another.
Fast forward a year, and I had had sporadic communications from the others, all pursuing their dreams, their lives taking turns they could never have predicted. Jake has literally married the boss’s daughter, the company he chose to work for a family-owned business. Melanie had gone from being a forensic accountant to a footloose and fancy-free nanny doing the tour of Europe with a wealthy American family with three young children. It was she said the only way to finance her travel bug. Gillian had married the man of her dreams, Derek, and was living in a castle in Scotland.
That left me.
Of the four, I was the one with the most nebulous plans, having taken the first opportunity that presented itself. I could do anything, but what I really wanted was to be a journalist, a stepping stone to becoming a writer, and then, if the planets lined up, a best-selling author. That may have been possible if Gillian and I had remained together because she was my muse and fiercest critic. Without her, that dream had lost its shine.
Now I was languishing at my desk, working for a weekly magazine that was one of the last of its kind in the American Midwest, on the outskirts of Cedar Rapids. I liked the place the moment I arrived, but there had always been a big if hanging over the job and staying there, so I had diversified into becoming an English Literature teacher part-time at first, but now looking very much like my new vocation.
I’d just finished a feature story on the gradual disappearance of reading and writing skills in schools when I realised, I was running late for class. I dropped the story on the editor’s desk, ran out the door, jumped in the car, and sped off, thinking that I would make it with five minutes to spare.
That was, until another driver, also running late, failed to stop at a T intersection, and just seeing the oncoming car out of the corner of my eye and gave me no time to react. I didn’t even have time to say a prayer.
When I woke, I was in unfamiliar surroundings, though the combination of disinfectant, pale-coloured walls, and curtains surrounding the bed were all a dead giveaway I was in the hospital.
I didn’t know why, but a cursory glance showed no visible signs of injury, so I had to wonder if it was something else, like a heart problem. I had palpitations recently, the first time since I had been much younger. It had not been serious then, but the doctors had not ruled out, then, it might return one day. Had that day come?
Inevitably, my waking brought visitors, a doctor, and a nurse.
And not surprisingly it was the first question I was expecting, virtually a cliche, asked by the doctor, “How are you feeling?”
I answered it with a question, “How should I feel?”
He looked almost amused. “OK. Let me ask you another question, and this time, an honest answer, not another question. What is your name?”
An honest answer? Did I have more than one name? That should be easy, except… I couldn’t remember, or was it I didn’t know? Surely everyone knew their name. Or was that the reason her asked, that he knew that I didn’t know or that I could not remember.
He could see that I was having trouble.
“I should know the answer to that question, shouldn’t I.”
“Normally I would expect in normal circumstances you would, but yours are not normal circumstances. You were in a very bad car accident, so bad that we had to put you into an induced coma. It was supposed to be a week, two at the most. Instead, it’s turned out to be nearly a year. To be honest we had no idea when or if you would come out, and when you did, how you would be when we woke you, but loss of memory is probably the best outcome we could have hoped for. Your name, by the way, is Albert Mendall.”
“Then what else don’t I know?”
“Most likely for the past three weeks, once you started waking, it’s been a rather intense time for you. Chances are you don’t remember any of it, but it’s fairly standard for long-term coma patients to take time to recover. We kept you sedated for the last three days, gradually allowing you more wake time, and come to terms with your recovery. All in all, this is the outcome we hoped for. It could have been very, very different. You’ve lost a lot of weight, and you’re going to need a month or two before you will be able to move around. Other than that, you will have time to work on those memories. What is your last memory?”
“Going to work, I think. Going somewhere in a car, that much I can remember.”
“Family?”
“Nothing.”
“Friends”
“I knew people at University, faces but not names. I know what I studied, Literature, but beyond that, not a lot.”
“You were a teacher, in fact, one of your colleagues has been dropping by every week just in case. She’s here now if you’d like to see her?”
“It might jog something, but I hope she isn’t offended if I don’t remember her.”
“I’m sure she won’t be. We’ve kept her apprised of your recovery.”
It made me think perhaps there had been more between us, but I couldn’t remember working as a teacher let alone anyone that I may have worked with. It was going to be interesting if it sparked anything.
Eileen Westmacott did not look like a schoolteacher. When she put her head in the door and asked if it was alright to come in, I thought she was looking for someone else. She looked more like a model, or actress though I had no idea why I thought that.
She came in, crossed to the bed and sat in the chair, perhaps giving me the time to examine her and see if I could remember. If I had known her, I would remember her. I didn’t.
“How are you? Oh, sorry. Typical silly question to ask in a hospital.”
She had a shy manner and put her hand to her mouth as if she wanted to put the words back in. Her manner and her smile lit up the room.
“The doctors tell me I’m fine, except that I have no idea who I am, other than the name Albert Mendall. I’m very sorry I can’t remember you because I feel as though I should. I know this is a dumb question, but were we…”
“We were very good friends, Al, and things were going in the right direction. We were going to have dinner the night of your accident and talk about our future together. I was on the verge of taking a role in a television series.”
“Did you…”
“Yes. I managed that and came back every week to see how you were. Tiring, but in the end it satisfied my desire to be an actress, and harsh enough to make me realise it requires someone more hardened and single-minded than me to pursue it. Teaching ratty teenagers is far easier I can tell you.”
“Did you give it up?”
“No. Just took a break from it, and wait until the series is aired, successfully or a failure. It seems failures are far more common than we’re led to believe. Besides, you gave me a reason to come back home.” She reached out and took my hand in hers.
It was like an electric shock and sent a wave of feelings through me. And a few memories surfaced.
“Oh, God! I did something to hurt you, didn’t I? I can see you, crying. It was me, wasn’t it, and a woman named Gillian.”
“What do you remember?”
“Fragments. I said something really stupid, but I can’t remember anything else, except I hurt you, and you cried. I’m sorry. I rather think now, before all this I must have been some sort of bastard. You said we were going to talk about it the night of the accident.”
“It’s more complicated than that. You were not a bastard. I wanted to talk to you about the acting role, and you said that it might be better if I pursued my dream and put us on hold. You’d just got a letter from Gillian, an old University friend, who obviously meant a great deal to you, and you were going to see her, and I said a few things I regret now, mostly because I think I was the reason why you had the accident. If we had not argued the night before, you would not have stayed up to finish that article for the paper, you were tired, and … well, you know the rest.”
“I don’t remember anything about her other than her name. If she and I were meant to be together, she would be with me?” Another memory popped into my head. “She never seemed to be satisfied and went off with a guy called Derek something or other.”
“Whom she divorced. It was the reason for the letter. She came to see you, I brought her here, and she stayed for a few days, then left. I sent her an update each month but never got a reply. I can send a message to her and tell her you’re awake if you like.”
“What would be the point. I don’t remember her. I don’t remember anything, other than it seems I was horrible to you, and I was pining after a girl I could never be with.”
“I think you are being a little harsh on yourself.”
“I’m so sorry. Perhaps you should come back tomorrow when I’ve had some rest if those memories have surfaced, maybe some others will.”,
She stood. I saw a tear escape one eye and trickle down her cheek.
“You were the only one who believed in me, Al. The only one, and for that, I will always be grateful. And despite what fragments of memory you have, you were never horrible to me, you were probably the only one who was totally honest.” She leaned over and kissed my forehead. “I’m glad your back, and if there’s anything you need, just let me know.”
It was not as if after a year of being ‘absent’, you can leap out of bed and do a quick circuit of the hospital corridors. It took three days to work my way from the bed to a wheelchair, the most time taken disconnecting me for all the monitoring, and IV tubes.
It took another week to get out of the room and venture further afield. The physio visited me every day, working on a regimen that might see me on my feet in a month. A month?
No more memories came, not in the next three weeks, and neither did Eileen. While it made me feel sad, I had to expect it because all I could remember was not being the person she expected me to be, or that’s what I assumed.
The other thing was that I didn’t call her. I went to, several times, but hadn’t I disappointed her? What would be the point of doing it again?
Exactly a month to the day, another woman put her head in the door and asked if she could come in.
I thought she was another physio, or perhaps the hospital psychiatrist because I was sure I would be having issues with missing the world for a whole year.
She sat down in the same chair Eileen had sat in.
But her opening gambit wasn’t to ask me how I was. Instead, she asked, “Do you know who I am?”
First off, the face was not familiar, and yet I knew it should be.
Then I remembered Eileen asking if she should send Gillian word of my walking.
“You must be Gillian.”
“You remember me?”
“No. I think we were at university together.
“We were. We lived together, off and on, for most of that time. In the end, we had an argument, split up, and you came here.”
“You got married, didn’t you? I have had a couple of flashes, one being you married a man called Derek. I didn’t remember the argument. How is Derek?”
“Dead, I hope. I can state with some authority, the grass isn’t greener on the other side. He wasn’t you.”
“Well, sadly, I don’t remember who he was, and even worse I don’t remember who I am now. I’ve been told I was a teacher and a part-time journalist. It’s been a year, they probably think I left town or died. What I feel like right now is like I died and come back with a clean slate. One thing I do know, is I don’t deserve it.”
“There is nothing you remember about us?”
“Nothing. Did I hurt you? I’ve been having a few memories where I don’t think I was a very nice person.”
“No. You were always the kindest and most forgiving person I knew. I’m sorry that you have ended up like this.” She stood. “I should not have come. I wish you well Albert.”
Then she was gone.
Two weeks later the doctors decided I could go home.
It appears I had a home, a small two-bedroom house in a quiet street, bought from the proceeds of a story, well, several stories, I had sold to a magazine, and on the back of it a sizable advance from a book publisher.
In that year in limbo, my book had been published and I wasn’t quite the number one bestselling author yet, but my career, I was told, was only just beginning.
Something I did remember … the follow-up novel to the first.
That was the first surprise.
When the nurse wheeled me out into the pick-up area, Eileen was waiting, leaning against a rather expensive European import.
“Your car awaits, literally. It is your car. The insurance company replaced the one that was wrecked in the accident. Good thing it was this type of car, it basically saved your life.”
“Where have you been?”
“Working out the details of becoming your guardian until you’re back on your feet.”
“I can walk.” I got out of the chair and stood, albeit a little wobbly.
Eileen had come over and taken me by the arm.
“Like I said until you are back on your feet.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. Besides I had to quit my teaching job. They are making a series two and asked me to come back. With a lot more money.”
“Good for you. How long before the departure?”
“A few months. Problems with the other actors. They all thought it would fail.”
She helped me into the car. It had that new car smell, the one that costs a lot of money.
“By the way,” I said, once she was out in traffic, “I remembered two more things, one which might be of interest to you. The first, you played each one of the seven women characters in my next book, taking my ideas of them and becoming them.”
“Which one did you like the most.”
“The one I had a dream about, Mary-Anne.”
“I should hope so, she is the wife of the character you based on yourself.”
She smiled at the thought.
I would remember that portrayal as long as I live, crash or no crash.
“The second, you were not the cause, directly or indirectly, for my crash. Gillian was. She called me that morning while I was in the car, and when I went to pick the phone up, I dropped it on the floor and took my eyes off the road for just a few seconds. It was a few seconds too long.”
“You distinctly remember that, out of everything else?”
“She came to see me two weeks ago. Perhaps she was looking for the old Albert, the one that took her back every time her romance hit a rock, and then happily left when something new came along. I’d called her the day before and told her I was no longer that person, that I had moved on. I was going to ask you to marry me at that dinner.”
She had a wider smile now. “I know. I found the ring when I was looking for something else. The answer’s yes by the way. While you’ve been on vacation, that’s what we’re going to call your time away, by the way, I moved in and did a little redecorating.”
“Anything else I don’t know about.”
“Probably a zillion things, but the most important, you have a daughter, she’s four months old, and her name is Mary Louise, after both our mothers. How does the first day of the rest of your life feel?
There were tears and no words.
She squeezed my hand. “I know how you feel. We’ll be home soon.”
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.”
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 