Tag: Reading

I was going to write a movie review but…

It seems nostalgia got in the way.

It’s school holidays on this side of the world and we decided to treat our grandchildren to a film.  Being 8 and 11, it was always going to be one of those children’s films that we either didn’t understand, had minions, monsters, or bratty children.

This didn’t, but it had a baby elephant with large ears.

Dumbo.

Saw the cartoon version, read the book countless times at bedtime, but live action?  I suspect with the advances in movie technology, anything is not possible, even flying elephants.

Yes, and somewhere in the film was the byline, ‘making the impossible possible’.

I guess only Disney and a handful of others could do that.

But…

What interested me the most was the train at the start, the circus winter home, and the manner in which the great circuses moved from town to town throughout the midwest, and other areas of e continental United States.

I may live on the other side of the world, but the magic and mystery of circuses has fed my imagination since childhood, and the notion one day that I might see the circus arrive, led by the steam calliope and followed by a parade of circus performers and animals on their way to the first vacant field.

And the thought of seeing that huge big top tent.

It never happened.

Except in the pages of a book I received one Christmas when I was about 7 or 8, called Toby Tyler first published in 1880, a boy who saw such a circus arrive, and hating his foster life on the farm ran away when the circus left town.

My only other memory of that story, Toby being called ‘the death-defying daredevil of the lemonade stand’ after being promoted from the concession stalls to bareback horse riding, for reasons I cannot remember.

But, today, seeing the film’s opening, it all came back.

Was it a good film?  For kids, yes.  It has the usual message of good triumphing over evil, and that you should follow your dreams.  For those older people like me, well, it will bring back a few other interesting memories, some of which will not include running away from home to become a circus performer.

And the fact they don’t make circuses like they used to.

 

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 53

Here’s the thing…

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.

…

There was blood spatter along one wall, and more underneath a chair just out from the wall. On the other side of the room was a table with some rather gruesome instruments on it.

I immediately felt sorry for the archaeologist. He must have endured serious pain before dying. It would be interesting to see a copy of the Medical Examiners report. The room had another overlying aroma other than the mustiness.

What did death smell like?

“Do you think this is where Alex and his cronies hang out?”

“Well, I can tell you for sure it’s not Vince’s lair. He has a house back at Patterson’s Reach. Besides, this mall is Benderby’s territory. It’s his security people who look after this place.”

Then that meant Alex or one of the Benderby’s was responsible for the murder of the archaeologist. Clearly, they were trying to get information out of him, not kill him.

“You think we should tell the cops?”

“You’re asking a Cossatino that question. I thought you knew better.”

“I happen to be in good with the Sheriff. It might make a difference.”

“No, I can assure you it won’t. Too much water under that bridge I’m afraid.”

Perhaps I was hoping she was not like the rest. Of course, if I actually stopped for a minute to think about it, it was probably a lot wiser not to say anything, simply because of the questions it would raise, and the grief the Benderby’s, and particularly Alex, would rain down on me.

We had a piece of evidence we couldn’t do anything with.

For now. That might change in the future.

There were also several filing cabinets and a cupboard in the room, but there was nothing of interest in any of them. It was simply a torture chamber. I had to hope I’d never finish up in here.

“Let’s get out here,” Nadia said, “It’s giving me the creeps.”

I’d felt a shudder or two go down my spine too. If it belonged to the Benderby’s and Alex in particular, he had already passed the point of no return. Alex was a bastard, but I didn’t think he could stoop to this sort of behavior. Vince? Maybe. Like the other members of the Cossatino family, excluding Nadia, he was as psychopathic as the rest.

It just goes to show you couldn’t judge a book by its cover. Alex’s boyish good looks hid something far more sinister underneath.

Just as we stepped out of the room and Nadia pulled the door shut, relocking it, we heard a sound coming from downstairs. The acoustics in the passage and stairwells was quite good, enough, at least, to alert us that someone else was in the building nearby.

“Someone is coming?” Nadia muttered.

“Here?” It was obvious where they were coming to, it was just the surprise anyone else would be around at this hour of the morning.

She glared at me. “Where else would they be going, shopping?”

Annoyance.

We quickly moved towards the next room, the door open, and stepped inside, taking a quick look around. There was another room running off it, and we went in there and closed the door. It had a manual lock, not using a key, and she put it in place.

A quick look around the room showed it to be a bathroom and didn’t exactly have the best of aromas. Perhaps stagnant water.

We stood side by side near the door. We could hear footsteps coming up the stairs, it sounded like two people, and then voices, slightly muffled.

“What did you say we’re here for?”

A male voice I hadn’t heard before.

“A map.”

Alex. I’d know that voice anywhere.

A few seconds later I heard him speak again, “Who the hell left these maps out? Who’s been here? They know the rules.”

“No one. I’m sure of it.” The other voice had a tremor in it.

Alex probably left them out himself, but he was not one to take the blame for anything.

“Someone’s been here. The footprints on the floor. They look fresh.”

We could then hear him coming up the passage. Had we left footprints into the other room and possibly this one? I was almost at the stage of holding my breath.

He went to the end, that last room that had been used as a torture chamber.

“You got the key to this room?”

“No. You know that’s not where we’re allowed to go. Your father’s orders remember.”

“What about this room?”

He was standing in the doorway, and I could see the torchlight from under the door.

“There’s nothing here, no one here. No one had been here, Alex. No one knows about this place. You said so yourself.”

“Except Vince. Mall cops dragged him up here one and beat him up. That was a good day.”

Once more he flashed the light around the room, and along the floor, and it seemed our footprints weren’t showing a path to this door. If he was to come in and start pounding on it, I’d have a heart attack.

“Perhaps no one has been here then, except Ed. We’ll talk to him later.”

The light disappeared, and the footsteps receded.

There were no more voices for a few minutes, then Alex said, “Got it. Now let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”

The footsteps and voices receded quickly as they retraced their steps, leaving us, once again, in silence.
Except I swear I could hear my heart beating very rapidly.

“Wow,” She said. “That was exciting.”

“What? We nearly got caught.”

“No matter. I could have used my charms on him.”

She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Instead, I have you.”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

Searching for locations: Vancouver, Canada – 2

This morning we wake up to rain.  Or so we thought.  Taking a closer look out the window of our room on the 16th floor, we notice the rain is speckled with snowflakes.  As the morning progressed the snow got harder until there were flurries.

 Later we discover this is called wet snow by the local Vancouverians, and whilst they winge a lot over the endless rain, to them rain is infinitely better than snow.

To us, by the afternoon, it was almost blizzard conditions, with lots of snow.  Then the only thing is that it does not accumulate on most of the ground so there are no drifts to play in.

Because the weather is so dismal we decided not to go into Vancouver to do some sightseeing because the clouds were down to the ground and then the snow set in.

Another interesting fact is that construction workers do not go off the job if it’s raining, or worse when it is snowing.  Our room overlooks a new apartment complex under construction and the workers battled on through what seemed like appalling conditions.

At four in the afternoon, the Maple Leafs are playing the Ohio Blue Jackets, in Ohio.  It is a game we expect they will win.  Sparks is the goalkeeper, not Anderson, they’re playing back to back games and Anderson’s starting tomorrow.

They win, four goals to two.  

Just before darkness falls, about four thirty, the snow stops and there is a little rain, which melts the snow.

Time to go up to the executive lounge to get some snacks and coffee, then sleep because the next day we’re taking on the Trans Canada highway from Vancouver to Kamloops.

The forecast is for snow, more snow, and just for a change, more snow.

Is there a reason to get out of bed?

I sometimes wonder if there is.

Is that depression speaking, or am I just tired from all the late nights?

Unlike most writers, authors and bloggers I don’t have a day job.  You could say it’s one of the benefits of getting old, this retirement thing, but after a while, not having a reason to get out of bed starts working on your subconscious.

The idea of having a job, and going to work, is a good reason to drag yourself out of bed every morning.  And because of this, the idea of sleeping in takes on a whole new meaning.

You know, I’ll just lie here for a few more minutes, and then I’ll get up.  Having turned off the alarm, the eyelids flutter, and before you know it, half an hour had passed, and you wake up in fright, knowing you’re going to be late.

In retirement, that doesn’t happen.  There is no alarm, there is no guilty pleasure in spending those extra minutes in bed.

Of course, this tardiness, or lack of desire could be because I find I do my best writing in the dead of night, often not getting to bed before 2 a.m.   Last night it was a little later because of a story I’m working on came to life with a new idea.

It had been stagnating because it’s part two and whilst I had an idea about where it was going to go, in the end, we’re off in a different direction, and the words flowed.  You just don’t stop writing when you hit a vein.

But this isn’t always the case.  This morning I have an excuse to stay in bed, but most others I don’t.

Perhaps I should find something else to do, something that will give me that same reason I used to have to get up every morning.

Or maybe I should be more organized in my retirement life, you know, set a schedule and do things according to a timetable.  I was never one for being organized, but perhaps it’s time to start.

Just let me lie here for a few more minutes and think about that.

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 51

Here’s the thing…

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.

—-

We took her car.  It wasn’t a limousine of the sort I’d seen the other Cossatino’s driving around in, but a shabby old compact that had seen better days.  Perhaps it was selected for its camouflage qualities, it fitted in with a lot of other old cars that the general population drove.

No one in this town could afford any better.  Not unless you were a Cossatino or a Benderby.  Alex, for instance, had been given a Porsche on his 18th birthday.  By comparison, I was given a new, but second hand, bicycle.

She had parked in a back street some distance from the hotel, and the several times I checked, we were not being followed.  She had noticed me looking over my shoulder a few times but hadn’t commented.  Not until we had driven several miles.

“Alex has one of his mates following me,” I said by way of an explanation.  “Alex seems to think I might lead them to the treasure, which is about as daft as it can get.”

“He’s clutching at straws.  His old man had found out what he’s doing, not that he has told him he knows, and he’s going out of his way to distract Alex.  Old man Benderby doesn’t think there is any treasure.”

“How do you know what the old man is doing?”

“Talks to my father.  They might be sworn enemies, but that doesn’t mean they don’t talk.  It amuses them to see Alex and Vince go head to head.  It’s a waste of time trying to impress their respective fathers.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone.  At the right time, I’m packing my bags and going back to Italy to live with the other branch of the family, the ones who are not interested in being master criminals.  I just want to soak up the Tuscan sun and drink wine.”

“I’m sure your father would have something to say about that.”

“He has, but I’m not interested in using my ‘wiles’ as he calls them to get men to spill their secrets.  I’ve seen what it’s done to my mother and my sisters.  I’m not a criminal.”

Not now perhaps.  But back in school, she used every asset to get what she wanted.  It won over Alex, and a few others, particularly those who did her schoolwork for her.  She had nearly every boy at school dangling on a puppet string.

I was lucky she never gave me a second look.

“Well, I’m sure you made a lot of boys happy.”

A sidelong glance told me that wasn’t the wisest of statements to make.  Despite the fact it was true, I guess it was a time she’d rather forget.

I changed the subject.  “So when you went away, I’m thinking you went over to Italy?”

“For a while.  My father thought I was getting a little too close to Alex and sent me to what he thought would be purgatory.  I loved it.  Pity I had to come back.”

We’d reached a small area behind a row of shrubs that shielded us from being seen from the mall.  Something else I’d noticed, it was a cloudy night, and off and on the moon would disappear behind a bank of scudding clouds, and then just before we arrived, the moon had completely disappeared.

When we got out of the car, the darkness closed in around us, and it took a minute or so for my eyes to adjust.  The black clothes almost made us invisible.

I watched her as she wrapped her hair up into a bun and secure it with a band.  Dragged back off her forehead, it made her look older.  It also accentuated the fact she had carefully applied makeup, an odd thing to do when about to go running around in a very dirty place.

The parking spot was a long way from where Boggs and I had last gained entry, so did she have a different entry point.

“Ready?” she asked.

“As ever.”

She took off at a quick pace and I found myself almost jogging to keep up.  She was very fit.  I was not.  We cut across another carpark, one of several surrounding the mall, this one giving some cover because originally there had been landscaping.  It was now overgrown and out of control, and we could move through it and no one could see us.

Not that there was anyone else there.

We came out of the garden, crossed a road, and into an inset where there was a door.

The rusting sign on the door said that the outside should be kept clear as it was a fire exit.

The lock, from what I could see, looked reasonably clean, unlike patches of rust on the door itself, and around the edges of the lock.

“I presume you have a key?”

She pulled a keyring out of her pocket with several keys on it, selected one, and inserted it in the lock.

Nothing.

She tried the next key.  Same result.  She tried the last key.

It turned, and the door swung open.  For a door that showed the rust it did, it moved easily and silently.

She stood to one side as I passed through, then she followed me in, closing the door behind us.  A sign on the back said the door was not to be used, except for fire emergencies, and was alarmed.  No power, no alarm.

“Don’t suppose I should ask where you got the key?”

“Best not.”  She handed me a small torch and turned hers on.  I followed suit.  There was not a lot of light in front of us.  It was, however, quite dark.

“Follow me,” she said, and we set off down a long narrow passage.

—-

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 9

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a 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 prioritising.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

An interrogation and a revelation.

 

I think I just about reached that same conclusion just seconds before she uttered it.  But, I didn’t think this was the time to air my own thoughts on the matter.

The question I did ask was, “It appears our service has been compromised.”

She glanced at me almost condescendingly.  “It appears so.  Have you got your cell phone?”

I had it with me and gave it to her.  I had it ready because I knew they would ask for it.  It had a record of orders given, and phone conversations made, before, during, and after the operation.

For a review, or in this case, a search for the guilty.

I watched her put in the passcode, and go to the messages, and bring up the one sent to me, to attend the briefing.  It was all in order, no different to the previous five, with all the right designations and protocols.

“There was no reason to suspect it was anything but a real callout.”

Another glance at the screen, she put it on the desk next to the file.  “No, it looks real enough.”

Thought best kept to myself; how the hell did someone outside our organisation, know so well our inner workings?  I wanted to ask the question but refrained from doing so.

It also explained, now that I thought about it, the reason why the target had said he was one of us.  We had been hunting him so someone else, and enemy organisation perhaps, so they could kill him.  The question was, why?  Had he made a discovery, the evidence he was referring to that a certain Alfred Nobbin might have.

Perhaps a good idea, for the time being, to keep that snippet of information to myself.  After all, this new person in front of me could be one of Severin’s people.

Where I was sitting was not a familiar place to me, though I had been to the building before, which is why I knew where to go for this interview.  AS for the people, everyone I’d met so far, other than the other team members, bar one, I’d known from training.

So, now another expected question from me, or at least, if I was on the other side of the table, it’s one I’d expect to be asked.  “Just who was I working for, if it was not for us?”

Assuming she was one of us.

“That’s what we intend to find out.  Who was the target?”

I gave her the description we’d been given, and a copy of his photograph that had been circulated at the briefing.  I’d kept one of them, and luckily no one noticed it missing.  It was fortuitous that’s I’d copied the photo before I had to give it to her, which was right then.

There was not a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

“So, not one of us?” I asked.

For an interrogation, she wasn’t asking many relevant questions.

She looked up.  “Why would you say that, if your mission was to keep him under surveillance?”

“Which we now know was not sanctioned, so we have to assume that we had been persuaded to find and track one of our own agents.  You look as though you didn’t recognise him?”

“I don’t try to remember every agent we have in the field, here and overseas.  There a few too many for that.  But I’ve got a request out for his identity.  He didn’t say who he was?”

“No.”

“Anything at all that might be useful?”

“That he was one of us, who’d made a mistake, and feared we’d set the dogs on him.”

“Yes.  Someone definitely did that.”

 

© Charles Heath 2019

Searching for locations: Vancouver, Canada – 3

It’s always a given that whatever city you stay in unless it’s overnight, you go on a tour and see the sights.

Even when you’re staying a short distance from the city, you may make the effort to catch a train or bus, then get on the hop on hop off tour.  There’s always one in just about every city you visit.

Vancouver was no exception.

Except…

We arrived in the rain, went to sleep while the rain came down, woke up to the rain, and a heavy dose of jet lag or perhaps it was more that we had spent 24 and a half hours traveling from Brisbane to Vancouver via Shanghai.

We had an excellent view out the window of our room looking towards the shopping mall, and the steady falling rain.

 I felt sorry watching the construction workers on the building site that was the main vista we had to look at.

It could have been worse.  Endless mountains with snow on them.

What to do.  Venture out in the rain and go on the tour, on pop over to the shopping mall and pick up a few boxing day bargains, no, sorry, boxing week bargains.

We have had some experience going on hop on hop off tours in open-top buses in the rain.  And the last time was not a pleasant experience, even though we learned a valuable lesson, not to stand in front of a cannon and yell ‘fire’.  Apparently, that’s how Admiral Nelson lost his arm.

But…

The shopping mall won.

We’d wait and see if the weather improved.  Hang on, isn’t Vancouver near Seattle and doesn’t it rain 300 days of the year?

Not holding my breath.

I feel sorry for the construction workers again.  Still raining, still cold, and still no reason to get out of bed.

Day 2 in Vancouver turned out to be the same as day 1.

Hang on, there’s a development.

We’re on the 16th floor and up at those lofty heights, we can see not only the rain but intermingled with it a few flakes of snow.

Whilst we procrastinate about what we’re going to do, the snowflakes increase into small flurries.

Yep, we’re off to the mall again and go for a walk in the snow.

On the way back we drop into the Boston Pizza, which has a sports bar and there you can sit, drink, eat, and watch the ice hockey, or whatever sort is going at the time.

Today it’s a junior ice hockey tournament, but Canada was not playing.  Just the same, a long cold beer and ice hockey? How close to heaven is that?

I can now cross that off the bucket list.

Day 3, we’re going on a great rail journey, well, we are going to get the train to the city and collect the rental car, a car on the booking form that was supposedly a Jeep Grand Cherokee or similar.

Of course, ‘or similar’ are the words to be feared here because in truth the rental company can throw anything at you, so long as it matches the brief, three people and three large suitcases.

And, you guessed it…

The ‘or similar’ got us a Fort Flex.

Sounded like some place where exhausted soldiers were fending of the Indians in a last ditch battle.

Perhaps one or two too many American movies I think.

Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 8

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a 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 prioritising.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

An interrogation and a revelation.

 

Debriefings were like interrogations, only friendlier.  We were trained to withstand interrogation, so it would be interesting to see how I reacted.   I had no doubt what some of the questions would be.

While I had a few minutes to myself, sitting down behind a bare metal table on a hard plastic and uncomfortable chair, with a warm cup of station house coffee, to consider the briefing.

Target, male, 6 foot 3 inches, 200 pounds, Caucasian, thought to be from either Russia or Bulgaria, but nothing to define his as such.  I had wondered, at the time, what that meant.  When I saw him in the alley I knew, then, what was meant, he looked the same as you or me.

No explanation for why he was under surveillance, but we did get a warning that he might be dangerous if he suspected he was being observed.  Right about that, given team casualties.

Main objective, who he met, talked to, and where he went, every place, every detail to be noted.  The unpredictable explosion threw the whole operation into chaos.

The door opened and a woman, middle-aged, conservatively dressed, walked in, closing it behind her.  She sat in the other chair opposite me.  She brought a file, thin, and put it in front of her on the table.

“Your name is Sam Jackson?”

“Yes.”

No introductions, nothing, just a start on the questions.  No nonsense, but I could see she was very, very angry.  With me, or those who had run a failed operation?

“How long have you been with us?”

“Eight months.”

She opened the file and glanced at the piece of paper on top.  A minute passed before she closed the file again.  “Closer to nine,” she said.

I said nothing.  I wasn’t counting the days.

“How many operations have you been on?”

“Six, including this one.”

“Who assigned you to this specific operation?”

“Couldn’t say.  I got the usual request via text message to attend a briefing at the midtown office.”

“What was the designated operation name?”

“Chancellery.”

For a brief second, there was a quizzical expression on her face, then it was gone.

“Who was running this operation?”

“Director Severin.”

A full three minutes of silence passed.  I thought she was looking at me, the sort of stare that would break a lesser man, but in the end, I think she was looking right through me.  I could not read her thoughts, but if I was to guess, they would be rather dark right now.

Then she spoke.

“You should know that there was no Chancellery on the books, and we certainly do not have a Director named Severin.”

 

© Charles Heath 2019

“Return to sender” a short story

We all make mistakes, errors of judgment, stupidly or otherwise.

I’ve made a few, just like in the words of a song that rattled around in my head for a long time after.

Regrets, I’ve had a few, but there was one that, in the end, I didn’t.

But I guess it took a while to get to that point.

Sometimes it’s hard to work out why, sometimes because it’s simply time, others, well when you look back you realize that it should have happened for so many reasons, but at the time you couldn’t see the wood for the trees.

We were in a bad place.

I’d been spending too much time traveling in a job that I had begun to hate, and I could see our relationship slipping away.  It was not that neither of us cared for the other, or even stopped loving each other, it was simply the stresses of everyday life.

And it was not as if Chloe didn’t have a high-pressure job, the one she had always wanted, and the one, we agreed, nothing would get in the way if she was given the opportunity.

I was happy with that, and for her.  She was as entitled to have her dream job, as I was.  I thought, I think we both thought, and believed, that would be the foundation of a good relationship.

And it was, to begin with.

There’s a point where there is a catalyst, that action, or statement, or person, or moment in time that comes along like a wrecking ball, and sets a series of events in motion, and no one really knows where it’s going to land or it’s effect.

That event?

I came home early and saw an old friend of mine, Roger, leaving our house.  OK, not so much a big deal, except for the send-off.  Still, even then it might not be such a big deal, because I knew Chloe was a very affectionate, touchy feely sort of person.

It used to faze me, way back in the beginning, but she had said and proved, that I was the love of her life, and that others, well, she made them feel special.

I thought no more about it, of course, and I didn’t even mention it, though at the time when I did walk in the door, she seemed distracted.

And I would not have thought about it again until Roger’s wife, Melissa, called one morning, though why she would call me was a mystery, to say that she was planning to surprise Roger in Las Vegas.

OK, I was suitably surprised, thinking that she was suggesting that Chloe and I should both go and make a weekend of it.  We had done it before because Melissa was a travel agent, and sometimes got airline and hotel deals that made it affordable.

I remember saying that as far as I was aware Chloe was in Pasadena doe the week on a conference.

No, she said, Chloe was co-incidentally in Las Vegas and Roger had accidentally run into her.

Should alarm bells be going off, I wondered, when that sliver of memory of him leaving popped back into my mind?  No, it was just me, running around like a headless chook, failing to read her diary correctly.

I simply said, fine, and told her to make the arrangements.

It was going to be a surprise because I hadn’t seen Chloe for two or three weeks, time seemed to pass too quickly these days, and it would be good for the both of us to spend some time together, away from home and the stresses of our respective jobs.

…

I met Melissa at the airport.  Unlike Chloe, she was traveling light with only a carry-on bag.  I was used to moving fast and light with a bag that fitted in the overhead locker.

Sher had secured business class which was a treat because, in this day and age of economics, that perk had disappeared a while back and was only available to the senior staff.

Onto the fourth glass of champagne, she dropped her bombshell, whether deliberate or otherwise I was never sure.

“It was very nice of Chloe to find Roger a job in her company.”

Did she, I thought.  It was the first time I’d heard about it, and my expression must have given me away.

“You didn’t know.”

“Chloe never mentioned it, no.  But it is like her.”  She had also employed members of her family that, in my opinion, wouldn’t get a job anywhere else.

“Odd, don’t you think?  It’s been about a year now.  His company went broke, and all the employees were tossed out onto the street with nothing.”

A year was a long time to forget to tell someone.  “Has it.  Perhaps it just slipped her mind.  She doesn’t tell me everything that goes on, nor do I want to know unless she thinks it’s important.”

Except employing my best friend was important, and it surprised me that he hadn’t told me himself.  He was never backward in bragging about his achievements.  Odd, yes, that he hadn’t told me he’d lost his other job.

…

Melissa had found out the hotel they were staying in, how I had no idea and didn’t ask, and it was simply a matter of telling the front desk clerk their spouses had arrived, and without question, he handed over the keys.

They were staying on different floors which to me made sense.  I wasn’t expecting they would be staying together, but I had an awful feeling Melissa had.

On the floor, I went to the room and knocked on the door.

A minute later the door opened.  Chloe, still in her nightgown, and an expression which lasted a fraction of a second before it registered surprise.

“Tom!”

Any other time, I might have thought she was expecting someone else.

Then my phone buzzed, an incoming message and I looked at it.

From Melissa.  “Lobby, now.”

I looked up, thought how beautiful she still looked, and said, “Hold that thought.  I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Then I closed the door and headed for the elevators.

Once inside and going down, my brain finally registered what it had just seen.  A woman prime for sex with that lustful look she used to have when we were first married.  Yes, she had been expecting someone, only not me.

Yet, in that moment of realization, I wasn’t mad at her or angry.  She was exactly where she was because of me, and my lack of consideration.  I had several opportunities to toss in the job that was clearly causing us issues, and I didn’t.  It was inevitable we were going to end up here.

When I stepped out of the elevator, I looked for Melissa, but she was not immediately noticeable.  Then, a further scan showed she was outside, and not in a good state.  When I reached her, it was evident she had been crying, and she was angry.

“Is it what I think you’re going to say?”

She nodded.  “When he opened the door, his first words were, “Chloe you sly fox, back for seconds?  And then nearly had a heart attack when he saw me.

“I’m sorry.  But did you have an idea this might happen?”

She nodded.

It explained everything, the hints, the sadness, the trip.  Obviously, she had known about it for some time.

I gave her a hug, and she melted into my arms, and we stayed that way until I saw Roger coming out of the elevator, looking around.

“Roger’s coming,” I said.

“I don’t want to see him, much less talk to him.”

“Then I’ll head him off.  Do you want to go home?” Again she nodded.  “Then get a taxi to the airport and I’ll be along in a short time.  I’ll text you when I’m leaving.”

A quick look in Roger’s direction, she headed to the taxi rank, and just as Roger came out the door, her taxi departed, leaving him standing there.

He saw me coming towards him, and to give him credit, he didn’t run.  It would be difficult for him to know exactly how I might react.

“Tom.”

“My best friend, Roger.  I might have been able to cope if it was some random guy, but not you.”

“Look…”

If he was going to try and justify himself, or make excuses, I didn’t want to hear it.  “Now is not the time.  I’m going to take Melissa home, and I suggest you take the time to figure out how you are going to deal with her because I’m not the problem.”

He was going to reply but possibly thought twice about it.  Instead, he shrugged.  “Later then.”

I watched him go back inside.  What I should have done, then, was go back to see Chloe.  The thing is, I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t want the conversation to descend into blame, or worse.  Better I just head for the airport and come to grips with what I was going to do next.

…

As expected, about five minutes after the taxi had left for the airport, Chloe called.

“I’ve been expecting you,” she said.  Her tone was not confident, but a little bit hesitant.

“Sorry.  Roger came looking for Melissa, and seeing him, well, that just threw me.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you?”

“About?”

“Going to Pasadena.  I came here to end it because it made me realize what was missing between us, and I wanted it back.”

“And if Melissa hadn’t played out her worst fears that would have worked.  The world, it seems, works in mysterious ways.”

If I thought about it, I might have had suspicions, but I was not the sort of person to let them get the better of me.  And had it not been for Melissa, my ignorance would have been bliss.

“What is it telling us, then, Tom?”

“That we need to take a step back.  I know that I’m to blame as much as anything else, and although you might find it hard to believe, I don’t hate you, nor am I angry with you.  For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.  I saw the signs and I didn’t do anything about it.  We’ll talk when you come home.”

I disconnected the call.  My voice had broken, and I hadn’t realized just how much it had affected me, suddenly overcome with great sadness.

…

I didn’t go home.

On the plane back, I realized that where I lived was just a house.  It wasn’t mine, Chloe’s success had contributed most towards it, and everything else.  If I was to be objective, there really wasn’t anything of me there.

It was easy to walk away.

When Chloe came home and found me missing, she called, three times before I answered.  I had thought long and hard about what we had together, and whether or not we could get over what had happened.  Perhaps, if she hadn’t lied about where she was, perhaps if it had not been Roger, my best friend, who, by the way, was no longer my best friend, I might have considered we had a chance.

But the trust was broken, and I’d always be wondering.  She was successful, she had everything she ever wanted, and she was a grown woman who had to take responsibility for her actions.

She would always be the love of my life; it’s just I couldn’t live with her.  We spoke about divorce, but it never seemed to happen.  I think she always had the notion that we would eventually get back together.

We parted friends but never seemed to travel in the same circles.  On our twentieth wedding anniversary, she sent me a letter, perhaps thinking it was the only way she could speak to me, I had long since traded my old phone in for a new one, in another country.

I toyed with the idea of reading it, but in the end scrawled on it black capital letters, “Not known at this address, return to sender”.  It was time to move on.

…

© Charles Heath 2021

Is there a reason to get out of bed?

I sometimes wonder if there is.

Is that depression speaking, or am I just tired from all the late nights?

Unlike most writers, authors and bloggers I don’t have a day job.  You could say it’s one of the benefits of getting old, this retirement thing, but after a while, not having a reason to get out of bed starts working on your subconscious.

The idea of having a job, and going to work, is a good reason to drag yourself out of bed every morning.  And because of this, the idea of sleeping in takes on a whole new meaning.

You know, I’ll just lie here for a few more minutes, and then I’ll get up.  Having turned off the alarm, the eyelids flutter, and before you know it, half an hour had passed, and you wake up in fright, knowing you’re going to be late.

In retirement, that doesn’t happen.  There is no alarm, there is no guilty pleasure in spending those extra minutes in bed.

Of course, this tardiness, or lack of desire could be because I find I do my best writing in the dead of night, often not getting to bed before 2 a.m.   Last night it was a little later because of a story I’m working on came to life with a new idea.

It had been stagnating because it’s part two and whilst I had an idea about where it was going to go, in the end, we’re off in a different direction, and the words flowed.  You just don’t stop writing when you hit a vein.

But this isn’t always the case.  This morning I have an excuse to stay in bed, but most others I don’t.

Perhaps I should find something else to do, something that will give me that same reason I used to have to get up every morning.

Or maybe I should be more organized in my retirement life, you know, set a schedule and do things according to a timetable.  I was never one for being organized, but perhaps it’s time to start.

Just let me lie here for a few more minutes and think about that.