Day 83 – Writing exercise

…

It was a mistake.

I knew the moment I walked back into the office and found my key card didn’t work.

The security guards, in fact, were all new, and treated me like I was trying to break in.

The reception staff had also changed.  Uniforms and dour expressions.

The woman I was standing in front of knew who I was, and was pretending not to.

And the moment she mentioned Mr Ainsbury, I knew exactly what had happened.  He had manoeuvred me into being sent to the London office for two weeks while he made his ‘rearrangements’.

The first was to have me shifted from the Executive level.  When I refused to hand over the corner office, he didn’t make a fuss; just a face.

His father would not tread on my toes or be as presumptuous, but I’m sure Ainsbury the elder was shunted somewhere while the son played king of the castle.

This was the result.

I was watching her pretending to look me up on the computer.  It was sad. After all, I could see my new access card sitting on the table, with an older photo of me on it, because I had not been there when the card was made.

A violation of security right there.

I shrugged.

“Don’t bother.  I’m going off to the cafe up the road and have a coffee. Call me when you figure out whether I should be allowed in.”

“I’m sure. ..”

“That you like playing games.  Please, carry on.  Call me.”

I walked off, heading to the door.  I came straight from the airport, such was my dedication to the job.  Now I doubted that dedication was worth a tinkers’ damn.

“Mr Collins.”

Halfway across the door, she called out.  I’m not sure why.  Maybe she had stretched the joke too far.

I turned around and glared at her, then shook my head.  I was no longer in the mood to talk to her, or anyone.

….

There was a small Cafe not far from the building, a place I hadn’t known existed until Dorothy, my invisible but amazingly competent personal assistant, took me there the day before I left for London.  

A heads up, she called it.

A memo was sent to all of Ainsbury’s allies, and her name, being the same as one of them, got the memo by accident.  She printed it, then deleted her copy, completely so Ainsbury would never know.

It basically said Ainsbury would be assuming my role when I left the next day, and that major changes were being instituted.  I was being moved to some eloquent but meaningless titled role and sent downstairs, and Dorothy was being made redundant.

I couldn’t fight it because I had to go.  Ainsbury had created such a mess that if I didn’t fix it, I would get the blame.  He’d been working in tandem with several disillusioned employees I had demoted for incompetence, and now he had struck back.

I could have simply resigned.  I wanted to, but Dorothy said that I should wait until I got back to see the extent of the disaster.  As for her job, she would work for me from home. 

She had set up her office there ages ago when her mother was ill, and IT had never rescinded her access.  I wouldn’t have given similar access, not after the demotion.

She didn’t use that access while I was gone.  These things were monitored, and it was best no one knew.

Now I was back.

And the game was afoot.
…

The coffee was excellent, and the hustle and bustle brought me back to why I loved this city and everything about it.

I used to love the job too, but in the last year, after Ainsbury the elder had three heart attacks and had to start stepping away, the only child got the nod to come in and start learning the ropes.

Ainsbury had never promised me the CEO job, but he did say he would look after me.  It was a handshake, and I believed him.  I sacrificed a lot, and it reflected in the status and worth of the company.  I had shares. I was comfortable, but the trip to London highlighted one very basic issue.

I had no one to come home to.

Or take with me.

For a long time, I convinced myself that I didn’t need anyone, and for formal occasions when I needed a plus one, Dorothy stepped in. 

It was not as if we were romantically attached; she just enjoyed playing a part, and she did it so well that most people thought I was taken.

Now, sitting by myself, I felt something I hadn’t for a long time.  Loneliness.

The waitress delivered the coffee with a smile.  The reception staff in my building could take lessons in politeness from her.

Then my cell phone rang.

I looked at the screen.  Ainsbury.

I shrugged, let it ring until the last moment and then answered by first accidentally dropping it on the metal table with a loud clank, and then taking a second to answer.

“Yes?”

It wasn’t the way to answer the phone, but I wasn’t feeling charitable.

“Where are you?”

Demanding and impolite.

“Ask the front desk staff.”

“What have they got to do with anything?”

“If you don’t know that, then we have a serious problem.  Call me back when you work it out.”

I disconnected the call.

He knew exactly what was going on.

The cell phone rang again.

I ignored it.

He needed to sweat a little.  I’d momentarily forgotten the meeting with one of our biggest clients, the people who had requested the audit in London, and I was supposed to report back to them.

It was a bit difficult when Ainsbury revoked my access.

My cell phone rang again, this time a different number.  The CIO.  He had a similar opinion of Ainsbury, but only shared that with me. 

The walls, he said, had ears.

He was also at the briefing.

“Teddy.”

“Michael.  You’re missing the show.”

“Walter or Susannah?”

“Susannah just handed his ass to him in a sling.  And didn’t raise her voice once.  When she asked him where you were, he told her you’d probably forgotten the meeting, and she then asked him why you were down in the foyer trying to get an access card.  She wanted to know if he had fired you.  The poor bastard had nowhere to hide.  What happened?”

“Changed my access.  He got a belligerent reception clerk to play funny buggers.  I went to the cafe instead.  Now he’s trying to get me.”

The phone was telling me there was another call.

“He’s got the corner office in a reshuffle.”

“He’s got the job too, so he’s the front man for the problems.  I think I’m now head of Janitorial.”

“A promotion then.”

“I’ll be dealing with a better class of people.  I guess I’d better answer the call.”

“Later.”

I waited for the next call, let it ring and then answered almost on the last ring.

“Yes.”

“It’s fixed.  Get up here.”

“No.”

“What?”

“You have the title, Gerald.  That means you’re the man in charge of sorting out the problems.  I sent you the report before I left London, so go do your job.”

“They didn’t want me.”

“Well, that’s not how this works, Gerald.  Now, stop thinking, and go do the job.  You wanted it, and now you’ve got it.”

“I’ll fire you.”

“I’d go see legal first, Gerald.”

Then I hung up.  I caught the waitress’s attention and ordered another cup of coffee and a bagel. 

…

Ten minutes later, the dour front desk security officer came to the cafe and found me.

She was supposed to call. 

She had the look of someone who had got caught in the middle of a turf war and just realised she’d picked the wrong side.

“Sir.  I was asked to deliver your access card personally.”

“That’s all?’

She looked at me oddly.  “There wasn’t anything else.”

I took it, and she left.  I was hoping for an apology, but that was never going to happen.

I looked at it, shrugged, and put it in my pocket. 

My phone rang again.

Busy morning.

Susannah.

“Michael?”

“We’re you hoping for someone else?”

“Given what that crazy fool has done in the last fortnight, it was not beyond the realms of possibility he’d give your phone to one of his sycophants.  How are you, anyway?”

“On the outside looking in.  You’re not happy?”

“What’s going on?”

“Gerald thinks he’s king of the castle.  Probably is now.  His father is not well.  All work, well, you know.”

“I do, unfortunately.  It’s time for us to run away and find something less stressful.”

“Together?”

“Given the morning I’m having, I couldn’t think of anything better, but sadly, there are things to do.  I can’t get any sense out of Gerald, so what can you tell me?  The report from London was cryptic to say the least.”

I could feel her frustration.

“It’s a case of about a dozen conflicting miscommunications, mostly not from my office, nor me.  I haven’t been there.  The breakdown was caused by inferior spare parts, and I’ve instituted an investigation as to how that happened.”

“I heard you have a new title.”

“Part of the new broom and new directives.  I’m no longer in charge or with any authority without a rubber stamp.  I just got an email with my new responsibilities.  It won’t work.”

“Good luck then.  We’ll talk again in a day or so, if not before.  Ainsbury is back, so it’ll be interesting to hear what he has to say.”

So would I.

…

It seemed completely out of character to be sitting at a table with a cup of coffee, now half drunk and cold, watching people walking past purposefully.

Until two weeks ago, I was one of them.

Until two weeks ago, when Finsbury junior came in and told me, ‘As a courtesy, there will be some changes by the time I get back from London, and despite what I might hear, my role was not part of the restructure.

Good to know.  I left for London thinking that Ainsbury junior was just flexing his muscles, and that everything would be fine.

Only it wasn’t.  I’ll give the lad his due; he had completely undefended the whole office, transplanting his cronies into positions of power, and used everyone’s NDA to stop them from spreading the news.

Really, it was just to stop them from telling me.

Thus, when I returned the transformation complete, my access was stopped, my office was gone, and my personal assistant was banished.

Fait accompli…

I guess in that very specific moment when my access card failed, I knew the extent of the damage, and it was going to be irreparable.

Ainsbury junior had just steered the ship straight onto the rocks.  He had already proven twice he had no idea about the business.  It had to be learned from the ground up.  Years of training, years working through the issues, the breakdowns, the troubleshooting, and understanding what was behind customer complaints.  Really listen.

Ainsbury didn’t have the patience. He wanted to be the loudest voice in the room, the one telling everyone what to.  From what I heard while I was away, he had the record of losing the most customers in a day.

That wasn’t a record anyone else wanted.

….

I stayed at the cafe for another half hour, half expecting Gerald to come and get me.  He didn’t, so I went home.

I chose not to look at my phone; in fact, before I left the cafe, I had turned it off.  It was not as if I had to work for a while, and I needed a vacation.  I hadn’t had one for a while, and there were weeks owing.

When I walked in the door, I called HR and told them I was applying for leave, and they told me which forms to use.  After making a tea, Earl Grey, I sat down, filled it out, and sent it to the person I  spoke to.

Next, I looked at the seventeen calls and thirty-two messages Gerald had left me, the messages angry at first, then pleading.

I had a shower and sat out on the balcony with a bottle of beer, watching the ice hockey replay, relaxing while I considered what I was going to do.  I had a resignation letter written, and I had written it on the plane over to London, thinking how much nicer it would be in the Cotswolds.

Dorothy had put the idea in my head, and if I ever did get a cottage there, she would be straight over.  When she said it, the way she said it sent a tingle up my spine.  Now, she was just inside the periphery of my thoughts.

That thought of Dorothy in an awful Christmas sweater made up my mind for me.

I waited until Gerald called me.

“I can’t fire you, but I can make your life hell.”  That was his opening gambit.  The fellow had a lot to learn if he was going to have a position of power within the company.

I didn’t care.

“You do that, Gerald.  When I come back from Vacation.”

“You have no vacation requests.”

“It’s down in HR.”

“It’s denied.”

“Read my contract, Gerald, or better still, get Legal to simplify it so you can understand.”

“What are you talking about?  This isn’t a negotiation.”

“As of now, it is.  What are you offering me to stay?”

“What are you talking about?” 

Obviously, no one else talked back to him or asked questions.

I disconnected the call.  If he stopped to listen just once instead of trying to shout people down, he might realise just how vulnerable a position he was in.

Just the supply of faulty parts was a criminal act and a lawsuit in the making. That, in turn, if it materialised, would hurt the company’s reputation, and in turn, I would be tarred with the same brush.

At the moment, I could see no upside to staying there.  Especially if that was Gerald’s bottom line, getting me to leave of my own volition.  It would be less expensive for him, at least.  That was the inference behind making life hard for me.

One thing it appeared he wasn’t quite across was the fact that my contract specified I would only deal with his father.

It took Gerald ten minutes to call back.  Perhaps he decided to read my contract.

“Gerald.”

“What do you want?”  It came out as if it were a question and a sigh of defeat at the same time.

I’d thought about that in those ten minutes.  I came to the conclusion that my time at the company was done.  No matter what I wanted, I was never going to be in an autonomous position, the sort of authority needed to get problems resolved.

“Nothing, Gerald.”

“Good.  Then I can expect you back in the office after this vacation thing is done.”

“No.  I’m not interested in being the Director of Sanitation.”

“It’s not Sanitation, it’s just a title change, nothing else has changed.  You just report to me for approvals.”

“Someone might, Gerald.  I won’t.”

“The board approved it.  You don’t get to pick and choose.”

I had my laptop sitting on the table.  I switched from the ice hockey to the resignation letter, attached to an email ready to send.  I pressed the send button.

Let the chips fall where they may.

“Actually, Gerald, I do.”

I disconnected the call again and waited.

Seven minutes this time.

“Gerald.”

“You can’t resign.”

“I just did.  I also sent the resignation to your father with a covering letter.  In case you are not fully across what your role entails, it’s not you who has the authority to accept or deny anything to do with me.”

The line went dead.

I could see him frantically dialling his father to plead his case, but it was too late.  I had a receipt notice that Ainsbury the elder had opened the email.

I sincerely hoped it didn’t give him another heart attack.

…

Dinner with Savannah’s was everything I expected it would be.  It was an engagement to test the waters, if we might take things to another level.

We had danced around the proposition a few times, but there was always a measure of reluctance, on both sides.

It was no surprise that after she sat down and got her first or second glass of champagne, she said, “I heard a rumour that you are now a free agent.”

She had an unrivalled network of spies everywhere.

“I haven’t had confirmation from old man Ainsbury, but it doesn’t really matter.  He made two promises, and family will come first.  I had a good run, but it was never going to end well for me.”

“Come and work for us?”

“Are you making an offer, knowing what it would mean?”

She knew my views on dating fellow employees.  Her views were the same.  Perhaps that was the reason for the slight aloofness that hadn’t been there before.

“I am.  And I do.  I have been thinking about it, Michael, very hard.  We’re two of a kind.  We can work together, but we just can’t live together.  It is something I think might have worked while we things were the way they were, but not now.”

“And if I turned down the offer?”

“You’d be a fool, and I know you’re not a fool, Michael.  Besides, I know a certain someone who’s been waiting with bated breath for you to say all those sweet little nothing’s us girls love to hear.”

Dorothy.  We had been together for so long, Susannah had said once, we were like an old married couple.  Perhaps we were, because my first thought the moment I considered accepting the offer was of Dorothy.

I shrugged.

“I’ll let you know.  But, no more talk of work.  Let’s enjoy the ambience, the food and the company.”

…

I woke late the next morning after a relaxing evening and night.  Savannah was everything I had expected she would be, and it was clear she was on a trajectory that I could neither match nor keep up with.

I didn’t want to.

In that same assessment came the realisation she was not looking for a permanent partner; she just wanted to go with the flow, until she had completed her mission.

I didn’t ask what that was, only that by the time she got there, she would own a conglomerate, be the first female President of the United States, or God. 

She still did her own cooking, cleaning, and washing when she was at home.  She was proud of the fact that she could look after herself.

My cell phone woke me.  I’d forgotten to turn it off, or perhaps I still hadn’t broken the work regimen set many, many years ago.

An email from Dorothy with an attachment.

Ainsbury the elder, memo to all staff.  My resignation as of immediately, and the replacement of Gerald, who was stepping down from all roles in the company, has been replaced by Ophelia, his daughter.

Ophelia had shadowed me for a year, almost invisible, but was sharp, keen, and insightful.  I had told him in the email with my resignation that she would more than adequately replace me, and that Gerald needed to be taught a lesson.

Perhaps in saying that didn’t exactly earn me any kudos, but at least he listened.

I called her and congratulated her.  It was well deserved.

Then I called Dorothy.

“You resigned.”

“There was nowhere else to go.”

“You tell him to promote Ophelia?”

“A gentle nudge.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I bought a cottage in the Cotswolds?”

I heard the knock on the door, which was odd because you had to get through the security on the ground floor.  It had to be someone in the building.

“Hang on a sec, there’s someone at the door.”

I pulled on a dressing gown and opened the door.

Dorothy.

“You just said the magic words.”

“How?”

“The same as the last umpteen times.  You gave me a passkey.  You said it was the key to everything.”

I stepped to one side, and she passed through, pulling a small travel case.

“I forgot to ask if you were free.”

“Is it permanent, or just a whim?”

“What would you like it to be?”

“May I be candid?”

“Of course.”

“Then, I would like to spend a few months in the English countryside with the man of my dreams, after which we would get married in a beautiful little village church, and spend a month or so cruising the Greek Islands.”

“And who would this mysterious man of your dreams be?”

She put her arms around my neck and looked into my eyes.  “The same man who is about to ask me a single question.”

Then waited.

“Oh, you mean me?  Dorothy Bain, would you do me the honour of marrying me?  Oh, should I have asked your father’s permission first?”

“That’s three questions.  The first, yes, you.  The second, yes, yes, and a thousand times yes, and the third, you can’t unless you can see and talk to dead people.  God, you’re going to make everything complicated, aren’t you?”

“Me?”

“Oh, forget it.  Just kiss me before I change my mind.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2026

Day 83 – Writing exercise

…

It was a mistake.

I knew the moment I walked back into the office and found my key card didn’t work.

The security guards, in fact, were all new, and treated me like I was trying to break in.

The reception staff had also changed.  Uniforms and dour expressions.

The woman I was standing in front of knew who I was, and was pretending not to.

And the moment she mentioned Mr Ainsbury, I knew exactly what had happened.  He had manoeuvred me into being sent to the London office for two weeks while he made his ‘rearrangements’.

The first was to have me shifted from the Executive level.  When I refused to hand over the corner office, he didn’t make a fuss; just a face.

His father would not tread on my toes or be as presumptuous, but I’m sure Ainsbury the elder was shunted somewhere while the son played king of the castle.

This was the result.

I was watching her pretending to look me up on the computer.  It was sad. After all, I could see my new access card sitting on the table, with an older photo of me on it, because I had not been there when the card was made.

A violation of security right there.

I shrugged.

“Don’t bother.  I’m going off to the cafe up the road and have a coffee. Call me when you figure out whether I should be allowed in.”

“I’m sure. ..”

“That you like playing games.  Please, carry on.  Call me.”

I walked off, heading to the door.  I came straight from the airport, such was my dedication to the job.  Now I doubted that dedication was worth a tinkers’ damn.

“Mr Collins.”

Halfway across the door, she called out.  I’m not sure why.  Maybe she had stretched the joke too far.

I turned around and glared at her, then shook my head.  I was no longer in the mood to talk to her, or anyone.

….

There was a small Cafe not far from the building, a place I hadn’t known existed until Dorothy, my invisible but amazingly competent personal assistant, took me there the day before I left for London.  

A heads up, she called it.

A memo was sent to all of Ainsbury’s allies, and her name, being the same as one of them, got the memo by accident.  She printed it, then deleted her copy, completely so Ainsbury would never know.

It basically said Ainsbury would be assuming my role when I left the next day, and that major changes were being instituted.  I was being moved to some eloquent but meaningless titled role and sent downstairs, and Dorothy was being made redundant.

I couldn’t fight it because I had to go.  Ainsbury had created such a mess that if I didn’t fix it, I would get the blame.  He’d been working in tandem with several disillusioned employees I had demoted for incompetence, and now he had struck back.

I could have simply resigned.  I wanted to, but Dorothy said that I should wait until I got back to see the extent of the disaster.  As for her job, she would work for me from home. 

She had set up her office there ages ago when her mother was ill, and IT had never rescinded her access.  I wouldn’t have given similar access, not after the demotion.

She didn’t use that access while I was gone.  These things were monitored, and it was best no one knew.

Now I was back.

And the game was afoot.
…

The coffee was excellent, and the hustle and bustle brought me back to why I loved this city and everything about it.

I used to love the job too, but in the last year, after Ainsbury the elder had three heart attacks and had to start stepping away, the only child got the nod to come in and start learning the ropes.

Ainsbury had never promised me the CEO job, but he did say he would look after me.  It was a handshake, and I believed him.  I sacrificed a lot, and it reflected in the status and worth of the company.  I had shares. I was comfortable, but the trip to London highlighted one very basic issue.

I had no one to come home to.

Or take with me.

For a long time, I convinced myself that I didn’t need anyone, and for formal occasions when I needed a plus one, Dorothy stepped in. 

It was not as if we were romantically attached; she just enjoyed playing a part, and she did it so well that most people thought I was taken.

Now, sitting by myself, I felt something I hadn’t for a long time.  Loneliness.

The waitress delivered the coffee with a smile.  The reception staff in my building could take lessons in politeness from her.

Then my cell phone rang.

I looked at the screen.  Ainsbury.

I shrugged, let it ring until the last moment and then answered by first accidentally dropping it on the metal table with a loud clank, and then taking a second to answer.

“Yes?”

It wasn’t the way to answer the phone, but I wasn’t feeling charitable.

“Where are you?”

Demanding and impolite.

“Ask the front desk staff.”

“What have they got to do with anything?”

“If you don’t know that, then we have a serious problem.  Call me back when you work it out.”

I disconnected the call.

He knew exactly what was going on.

The cell phone rang again.

I ignored it.

He needed to sweat a little.  I’d momentarily forgotten the meeting with one of our biggest clients, the people who had requested the audit in London, and I was supposed to report back to them.

It was a bit difficult when Ainsbury revoked my access.

My cell phone rang again, this time a different number.  The CIO.  He had a similar opinion of Ainsbury, but only shared that with me. 

The walls, he said, had ears.

He was also at the briefing.

“Teddy.”

“Michael.  You’re missing the show.”

“Walter or Susannah?”

“Susannah just handed his ass to him in a sling.  And didn’t raise her voice once.  When she asked him where you were, he told her you’d probably forgotten the meeting, and she then asked him why you were down in the foyer trying to get an access card.  She wanted to know if he had fired you.  The poor bastard had nowhere to hide.  What happened?”

“Changed my access.  He got a belligerent reception clerk to play funny buggers.  I went to the cafe instead.  Now he’s trying to get me.”

The phone was telling me there was another call.

“He’s got the corner office in a reshuffle.”

“He’s got the job too, so he’s the front man for the problems.  I think I’m now head of Janitorial.”

“A promotion then.”

“I’ll be dealing with a better class of people.  I guess I’d better answer the call.”

“Later.”

I waited for the next call, let it ring and then answered almost on the last ring.

“Yes.”

“It’s fixed.  Get up here.”

“No.”

“What?”

“You have the title, Gerald.  That means you’re the man in charge of sorting out the problems.  I sent you the report before I left London, so go do your job.”

“They didn’t want me.”

“Well, that’s not how this works, Gerald.  Now, stop thinking, and go do the job.  You wanted it, and now you’ve got it.”

“I’ll fire you.”

“I’d go see legal first, Gerald.”

Then I hung up.  I caught the waitress’s attention and ordered another cup of coffee and a bagel. 

…

Ten minutes later, the dour front desk security officer came to the cafe and found me.

She was supposed to call. 

She had the look of someone who had got caught in the middle of a turf war and just realised she’d picked the wrong side.

“Sir.  I was asked to deliver your access card personally.”

“That’s all?’

She looked at me oddly.  “There wasn’t anything else.”

I took it, and she left.  I was hoping for an apology, but that was never going to happen.

I looked at it, shrugged, and put it in my pocket. 

My phone rang again.

Busy morning.

Susannah.

“Michael?”

“We’re you hoping for someone else?”

“Given what that crazy fool has done in the last fortnight, it was not beyond the realms of possibility he’d give your phone to one of his sycophants.  How are you, anyway?”

“On the outside looking in.  You’re not happy?”

“What’s going on?”

“Gerald thinks he’s king of the castle.  Probably is now.  His father is not well.  All work, well, you know.”

“I do, unfortunately.  It’s time for us to run away and find something less stressful.”

“Together?”

“Given the morning I’m having, I couldn’t think of anything better, but sadly, there are things to do.  I can’t get any sense out of Gerald, so what can you tell me?  The report from London was cryptic to say the least.”

I could feel her frustration.

“It’s a case of about a dozen conflicting miscommunications, mostly not from my office, nor me.  I haven’t been there.  The breakdown was caused by inferior spare parts, and I’ve instituted an investigation as to how that happened.”

“I heard you have a new title.”

“Part of the new broom and new directives.  I’m no longer in charge or with any authority without a rubber stamp.  I just got an email with my new responsibilities.  It won’t work.”

“Good luck then.  We’ll talk again in a day or so, if not before.  Ainsbury is back, so it’ll be interesting to hear what he has to say.”

So would I.

…

It seemed completely out of character to be sitting at a table with a cup of coffee, now half drunk and cold, watching people walking past purposefully.

Until two weeks ago, I was one of them.

Until two weeks ago, when Finsbury junior came in and told me, ‘As a courtesy, there will be some changes by the time I get back from London, and despite what I might hear, my role was not part of the restructure.

Good to know.  I left for London thinking that Ainsbury junior was just flexing his muscles, and that everything would be fine.

Only it wasn’t.  I’ll give the lad his due; he had completely undefended the whole office, transplanting his cronies into positions of power, and used everyone’s NDA to stop them from spreading the news.

Really, it was just to stop them from telling me.

Thus, when I returned the transformation complete, my access was stopped, my office was gone, and my personal assistant was banished.

Fait accompli…

I guess in that very specific moment when my access card failed, I knew the extent of the damage, and it was going to be irreparable.

Ainsbury junior had just steered the ship straight onto the rocks.  He had already proven twice he had no idea about the business.  It had to be learned from the ground up.  Years of training, years working through the issues, the breakdowns, the troubleshooting, and understanding what was behind customer complaints.  Really listen.

Ainsbury didn’t have the patience. He wanted to be the loudest voice in the room, the one telling everyone what to.  From what I heard while I was away, he had the record of losing the most customers in a day.

That wasn’t a record anyone else wanted.

….

I stayed at the cafe for another half hour, half expecting Gerald to come and get me.  He didn’t, so I went home.

I chose not to look at my phone; in fact, before I left the cafe, I had turned it off.  It was not as if I had to work for a while, and I needed a vacation.  I hadn’t had one for a while, and there were weeks owing.

When I walked in the door, I called HR and told them I was applying for leave, and they told me which forms to use.  After making a tea, Earl Grey, I sat down, filled it out, and sent it to the person I  spoke to.

Next, I looked at the seventeen calls and thirty-two messages Gerald had left me, the messages angry at first, then pleading.

I had a shower and sat out on the balcony with a bottle of beer, watching the ice hockey replay, relaxing while I considered what I was going to do.  I had a resignation letter written, and I had written it on the plane over to London, thinking how much nicer it would be in the Cotswolds.

Dorothy had put the idea in my head, and if I ever did get a cottage there, she would be straight over.  When she said it, the way she said it sent a tingle up my spine.  Now, she was just inside the periphery of my thoughts.

That thought of Dorothy in an awful Christmas sweater made up my mind for me.

I waited until Gerald called me.

“I can’t fire you, but I can make your life hell.”  That was his opening gambit.  The fellow had a lot to learn if he was going to have a position of power within the company.

I didn’t care.

“You do that, Gerald.  When I come back from Vacation.”

“You have no vacation requests.”

“It’s down in HR.”

“It’s denied.”

“Read my contract, Gerald, or better still, get Legal to simplify it so you can understand.”

“What are you talking about?  This isn’t a negotiation.”

“As of now, it is.  What are you offering me to stay?”

“What are you talking about?” 

Obviously, no one else talked back to him or asked questions.

I disconnected the call.  If he stopped to listen just once instead of trying to shout people down, he might realise just how vulnerable a position he was in.

Just the supply of faulty parts was a criminal act and a lawsuit in the making. That, in turn, if it materialised, would hurt the company’s reputation, and in turn, I would be tarred with the same brush.

At the moment, I could see no upside to staying there.  Especially if that was Gerald’s bottom line, getting me to leave of my own volition.  It would be less expensive for him, at least.  That was the inference behind making life hard for me.

One thing it appeared he wasn’t quite across was the fact that my contract specified I would only deal with his father.

It took Gerald ten minutes to call back.  Perhaps he decided to read my contract.

“Gerald.”

“What do you want?”  It came out as if it were a question and a sigh of defeat at the same time.

I’d thought about that in those ten minutes.  I came to the conclusion that my time at the company was done.  No matter what I wanted, I was never going to be in an autonomous position, the sort of authority needed to get problems resolved.

“Nothing, Gerald.”

“Good.  Then I can expect you back in the office after this vacation thing is done.”

“No.  I’m not interested in being the Director of Sanitation.”

“It’s not Sanitation, it’s just a title change, nothing else has changed.  You just report to me for approvals.”

“Someone might, Gerald.  I won’t.”

“The board approved it.  You don’t get to pick and choose.”

I had my laptop sitting on the table.  I switched from the ice hockey to the resignation letter, attached to an email ready to send.  I pressed the send button.

Let the chips fall where they may.

“Actually, Gerald, I do.”

I disconnected the call again and waited.

Seven minutes this time.

“Gerald.”

“You can’t resign.”

“I just did.  I also sent the resignation to your father with a covering letter.  In case you are not fully across what your role entails, it’s not you who has the authority to accept or deny anything to do with me.”

The line went dead.

I could see him frantically dialling his father to plead his case, but it was too late.  I had a receipt notice that Ainsbury the elder had opened the email.

I sincerely hoped it didn’t give him another heart attack.

…

Dinner with Savannah’s was everything I expected it would be.  It was an engagement to test the waters, if we might take things to another level.

We had danced around the proposition a few times, but there was always a measure of reluctance, on both sides.

It was no surprise that after she sat down and got her first or second glass of champagne, she said, “I heard a rumour that you are now a free agent.”

She had an unrivalled network of spies everywhere.

“I haven’t had confirmation from old man Ainsbury, but it doesn’t really matter.  He made two promises, and family will come first.  I had a good run, but it was never going to end well for me.”

“Come and work for us?”

“Are you making an offer, knowing what it would mean?”

She knew my views on dating fellow employees.  Her views were the same.  Perhaps that was the reason for the slight aloofness that hadn’t been there before.

“I am.  And I do.  I have been thinking about it, Michael, very hard.  We’re two of a kind.  We can work together, but we just can’t live together.  It is something I think might have worked while we things were the way they were, but not now.”

“And if I turned down the offer?”

“You’d be a fool, and I know you’re not a fool, Michael.  Besides, I know a certain someone who’s been waiting with bated breath for you to say all those sweet little nothing’s us girls love to hear.”

Dorothy.  We had been together for so long, Susannah had said once, we were like an old married couple.  Perhaps we were, because my first thought the moment I considered accepting the offer was of Dorothy.

I shrugged.

“I’ll let you know.  But, no more talk of work.  Let’s enjoy the ambience, the food and the company.”

…

I woke late the next morning after a relaxing evening and night.  Savannah was everything I had expected she would be, and it was clear she was on a trajectory that I could neither match nor keep up with.

I didn’t want to.

In that same assessment came the realisation she was not looking for a permanent partner; she just wanted to go with the flow, until she had completed her mission.

I didn’t ask what that was, only that by the time she got there, she would own a conglomerate, be the first female President of the United States, or God. 

She still did her own cooking, cleaning, and washing when she was at home.  She was proud of the fact that she could look after herself.

My cell phone woke me.  I’d forgotten to turn it off, or perhaps I still hadn’t broken the work regimen set many, many years ago.

An email from Dorothy with an attachment.

Ainsbury the elder, memo to all staff.  My resignation as of immediately, and the replacement of Gerald, who was stepping down from all roles in the company, has been replaced by Ophelia, his daughter.

Ophelia had shadowed me for a year, almost invisible, but was sharp, keen, and insightful.  I had told him in the email with my resignation that she would more than adequately replace me, and that Gerald needed to be taught a lesson.

Perhaps in saying that didn’t exactly earn me any kudos, but at least he listened.

I called her and congratulated her.  It was well deserved.

Then I called Dorothy.

“You resigned.”

“There was nowhere else to go.”

“You tell him to promote Ophelia?”

“A gentle nudge.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I bought a cottage in the Cotswolds?”

I heard the knock on the door, which was odd because you had to get through the security on the ground floor.  It had to be someone in the building.

“Hang on a sec, there’s someone at the door.”

I pulled on a dressing gown and opened the door.

Dorothy.

“You just said the magic words.”

“How?”

“The same as the last umpteen times.  You gave me a passkey.  You said it was the key to everything.”

I stepped to one side, and she passed through, pulling a small travel case.

“I forgot to ask if you were free.”

“Is it permanent, or just a whim?”

“What would you like it to be?”

“May I be candid?”

“Of course.”

“Then, I would like to spend a few months in the English countryside with the man of my dreams, after which we would get married in a beautiful little village church, and spend a month or so cruising the Greek Islands.”

“And who would this mysterious man of your dreams be?”

She put her arms around my neck and looked into my eyes.  “The same man who is about to ask me a single question.”

Then waited.

“Oh, you mean me?  Dorothy Bain, would you do me the honour of marrying me?  Oh, should I have asked your father’s permission first?”

“That’s three questions.  The first, yes, you.  The second, yes, yes, and a thousand times yes, and the third, you can’t unless you can see and talk to dead people.  God, you’re going to make everything complicated, aren’t you?”

“Me?”

“Oh, forget it.  Just kiss me before I change my mind.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2026

Day 82 – Necessity of writing

…

Why Writing Every Day Is More Than a Habit – It’s a Lifeline

“We might not think so, but it is necessary to write every day, because there is that possibility that a moment may pass, be forgotten, the mood dissipates, and life itself has gone.”

If those words feel familiar, you’re not alone. In a world that glorifies multitasking and constant motion, the simple act of sitting down with a pen (or keyboard) can feel oddly revolutionary. Yet, the truth is stark: the moments we cherish are fleeting, and the only reliable way to keep them from evaporating into the ether is to capture them while they’re still warm.

In this post, we’ll explore why daily writing isn’t just a creative indulgence—it’s a practical necessity for preserving the essence of our lives. We’ll also share concrete strategies to turn writing into a sustainable, rewarding part of your routine.

---

1. The Ephemeral Nature of Experience

a. Moments are like fireflies

A perfect sunset, a laugh that erupts spontaneously, the quiet after a heartfelt conversation—these are the fireflies of our lives. They flash brilliantly, then disappear, often without a trace. Neurologically, our brains are wired to prioritise novelty over routine, which means the very next day’s distractions can push yesterday’s feelings into the background.

b. Memory is selective, not exhaustive

Psychologists tell us that memory works by reconstruction, not perfect recording. Each time we recall an event, we rebuild it, filling gaps with assumptions. Without a written anchor, we risk losing crucial details or, worse, remembering an event in a way that never truly happened.

c. Mood is a moving target

Emotions are volatile. The exhilaration after a marathon, the melancholy after a breakup, the quiet contentment of a rainy morning—each is anchored to a specific mental state. Once that mood fades, the nuances of the experience can dissolve, leaving us with a vague impression rather than a vivid recollection.

---

2. Writing as a Time‑Capsule

When you write, you create a portable archive that survives beyond the fleeting moment. Here’s what that looks like in practice:

What Happens	Without Writing	With Daily Writing
A brilliant idea arrives	Quickly forgotten or muddled	Captured in its original clarity
A raw emotion surfaces	May be suppressed or misinterpreted later	Preserved in authentic voice
A conversation that mattered	Recalled only partially, filtered by bias	Recorded verbatim or paraphrased, preserving intent
A subtle observation (e.g., a child’s habit)	Lost in the daily blur	Noted, ready for future insight or storytelling

The result? A personal chronology that you can revisit, analyse, and even share. Over time, these entries transform into a narrative of who you were, who you are, and where you’re heading.

---

3. Benefits Beyond Memory Preservation

a. Mental Clarity & Stress Relief

Writing forces you to externalise thoughts, turning mental clutter into concrete words. Studies show that expressive writing reduces cortisol levels and improves mood within 20 minutes.

b. Creativity Muscle Building

Just as you train a bicep by lifting daily, you train creative muscles by writing daily. The more you practice, the easier it becomes to generate ideas, see connections, and experiment with language.

c. Goal Tracking & Accountability

When you log daily actions, you implicitly set a benchmark. Seeing a streak of entries can be a powerful motivator to keep moving forward—whether that’s personal development, a writing project, or habit formation.

d. Emotional Intelligence Development

Putting feelings into words sharpens your ability to identify, label, and manage emotions, which is a cornerstone of emotional intelligence.

---

4. Overcoming the “I Don’t Have Time” Excuse

If you’ve ever said, “I’ll write tomorrow,” you already know how quickly tomorrow turns into next week, then never. Here’s a step‑by‑step blueprint to make daily writing inevitable:

Step	Action	Time Commitment
1. Set a Micro‑Goal	Write one sentence about today.	1 minute
2. Choose a Trigger	Tie writing to an existing habit—brush teeth, morning coffee, bedtime.	N/A
3. Keep Tools Handy	Use a pocket notebook, a notes app, or a voice recorder.	N/A
4. Use Prompts	“What made me smile today?” or “What did I learn?”	2‑3 minutes
5. Celebrate Streaks	After 7 days, treat yourself to something small.	Variable
6. Review Weekly	Read past entries, note patterns, add reflections.	10 minutes

Pro tip: If you miss a day, don’t see it as a failure—use it as data. Why did you miss it? Was the trigger weak? Adjust, then jump back in.

---

5. Different Formats, Same Purpose

You don’t have to be a novelist to reap the benefits. Choose a format that feels natural:

1. Bullet‑point Journal – Quick, structured, perfect for busy days.
2. Free‑write – 5–10 minutes of stream‑of‑consciousness; great for unlocking subconscious thoughts.
3. Letter to Future Self – Write as if you’re speaking to yourself a year from now; adds perspective.
4. Micro‑Story – Capture a moment in a 100‑word narrative; sharpens storytelling chops.
5. Voice Memo – Record a 30‑second audio note while on the move; ideal for commuters.

Experiment for a week with each style. The one that feels most effortless will become your default.

---

6. Real‑World Testimonies

“I used to forget the little things that made my kids’ lives special—like the way they sang when they were five. After committing to a 2‑minute nightly note, I now have a library of moments that I can revisit on tough days. It’s like having a secret stash of love.”
— Mia L., mother of two

“My freelance business stalled because I kept losing track of client insights and project ideas. A simple daily log turned my scattered thoughts into a searchable database that boosted my proposals by 30%.”
— Raj P., graphic designer

These anecdotes illustrate a universal truth: the habit of daily writing is a catalyst for both personal and professional growth.

---

7. Your First 7‑Day Challenge

Ready to test the theory? Here’s a simple challenge that takes less than 5 minutes a day:

Day	Prompt
1	What did I notice today that I normally overlook?
2	Describe a feeling that surprised me.
3	Write one sentence about a conversation that mattered.
4	Note a small win, no matter how trivial.
5	What scent, sound, or taste stood out today?
6	What did I learn about myself?
7	If I could give tomorrow a gift, what would it be?

At the end of the week, read back through the entries. You’ll be amazed at how much richness you captured in such a short span.

---

8. Final Thought: Write Before It Vanishes

Moments don’t wait for us to be ready. The sunrise doesn’t pause for a late alarm, the laugh of a loved one doesn’t linger for a perfect photo. Writing daily is the bridge between the transitory and the timeless. It’s not just a habit; it’s a safeguard against the erosion of our own stories.

So, pick up that notebook, open a new document, or hit “record.” Let the ink—or the keystroke—be the anchor that keeps your life from slipping away unnoticed. Your future self will thank you, and the world will be richer for the records you leave behind.

Write today. Your moments deserve it.

---

If you found this post helpful, feel free to share it, comment with your favourite daily writing prompts, or let me know how your own writing practice evolves. Let’s keep the conversation—and the memories—alive together.

Day 82 – Necessity of writing

…

Why Writing Every Day Is More Than a Habit – It’s a Lifeline

“We might not think so, but it is necessary to write every day, because there is that possibility that a moment may pass, be forgotten, the mood dissipates, and life itself has gone.”

If those words feel familiar, you’re not alone. In a world that glorifies multitasking and constant motion, the simple act of sitting down with a pen (or keyboard) can feel oddly revolutionary. Yet, the truth is stark: the moments we cherish are fleeting, and the only reliable way to keep them from evaporating into the ether is to capture them while they’re still warm.

In this post, we’ll explore why daily writing isn’t just a creative indulgence—it’s a practical necessity for preserving the essence of our lives. We’ll also share concrete strategies to turn writing into a sustainable, rewarding part of your routine.

---

1. The Ephemeral Nature of Experience

a. Moments are like fireflies

A perfect sunset, a laugh that erupts spontaneously, the quiet after a heartfelt conversation—these are the fireflies of our lives. They flash brilliantly, then disappear, often without a trace. Neurologically, our brains are wired to prioritise novelty over routine, which means the very next day’s distractions can push yesterday’s feelings into the background.

b. Memory is selective, not exhaustive

Psychologists tell us that memory works by reconstruction, not perfect recording. Each time we recall an event, we rebuild it, filling gaps with assumptions. Without a written anchor, we risk losing crucial details or, worse, remembering an event in a way that never truly happened.

c. Mood is a moving target

Emotions are volatile. The exhilaration after a marathon, the melancholy after a breakup, the quiet contentment of a rainy morning—each is anchored to a specific mental state. Once that mood fades, the nuances of the experience can dissolve, leaving us with a vague impression rather than a vivid recollection.

---

2. Writing as a Time‑Capsule

When you write, you create a portable archive that survives beyond the fleeting moment. Here’s what that looks like in practice:

What Happens	Without Writing	With Daily Writing
A brilliant idea arrives	Quickly forgotten or muddled	Captured in its original clarity
A raw emotion surfaces	May be suppressed or misinterpreted later	Preserved in authentic voice
A conversation that mattered	Recalled only partially, filtered by bias	Recorded verbatim or paraphrased, preserving intent
A subtle observation (e.g., a child’s habit)	Lost in the daily blur	Noted, ready for future insight or storytelling

The result? A personal chronology that you can revisit, analyse, and even share. Over time, these entries transform into a narrative of who you were, who you are, and where you’re heading.

---

3. Benefits Beyond Memory Preservation

a. Mental Clarity & Stress Relief

Writing forces you to externalise thoughts, turning mental clutter into concrete words. Studies show that expressive writing reduces cortisol levels and improves mood within 20 minutes.

b. Creativity Muscle Building

Just as you train a bicep by lifting daily, you train creative muscles by writing daily. The more you practice, the easier it becomes to generate ideas, see connections, and experiment with language.

c. Goal Tracking & Accountability

When you log daily actions, you implicitly set a benchmark. Seeing a streak of entries can be a powerful motivator to keep moving forward—whether that’s personal development, a writing project, or habit formation.

d. Emotional Intelligence Development

Putting feelings into words sharpens your ability to identify, label, and manage emotions, which is a cornerstone of emotional intelligence.

---

4. Overcoming the “I Don’t Have Time” Excuse

If you’ve ever said, “I’ll write tomorrow,” you already know how quickly tomorrow turns into next week, then never. Here’s a step‑by‑step blueprint to make daily writing inevitable:

Step	Action	Time Commitment
1. Set a Micro‑Goal	Write one sentence about today.	1 minute
2. Choose a Trigger	Tie writing to an existing habit—brush teeth, morning coffee, bedtime.	N/A
3. Keep Tools Handy	Use a pocket notebook, a notes app, or a voice recorder.	N/A
4. Use Prompts	“What made me smile today?” or “What did I learn?”	2‑3 minutes
5. Celebrate Streaks	After 7 days, treat yourself to something small.	Variable
6. Review Weekly	Read past entries, note patterns, add reflections.	10 minutes

Pro tip: If you miss a day, don’t see it as a failure—use it as data. Why did you miss it? Was the trigger weak? Adjust, then jump back in.

---

5. Different Formats, Same Purpose

You don’t have to be a novelist to reap the benefits. Choose a format that feels natural:

1. Bullet‑point Journal – Quick, structured, perfect for busy days.
2. Free‑write – 5–10 minutes of stream‑of‑consciousness; great for unlocking subconscious thoughts.
3. Letter to Future Self – Write as if you’re speaking to yourself a year from now; adds perspective.
4. Micro‑Story – Capture a moment in a 100‑word narrative; sharpens storytelling chops.
5. Voice Memo – Record a 30‑second audio note while on the move; ideal for commuters.

Experiment for a week with each style. The one that feels most effortless will become your default.

---

6. Real‑World Testimonies

“I used to forget the little things that made my kids’ lives special—like the way they sang when they were five. After committing to a 2‑minute nightly note, I now have a library of moments that I can revisit on tough days. It’s like having a secret stash of love.”
— Mia L., mother of two

“My freelance business stalled because I kept losing track of client insights and project ideas. A simple daily log turned my scattered thoughts into a searchable database that boosted my proposals by 30%.”
— Raj P., graphic designer

These anecdotes illustrate a universal truth: the habit of daily writing is a catalyst for both personal and professional growth.

---

7. Your First 7‑Day Challenge

Ready to test the theory? Here’s a simple challenge that takes less than 5 minutes a day:

Day	Prompt
1	What did I notice today that I normally overlook?
2	Describe a feeling that surprised me.
3	Write one sentence about a conversation that mattered.
4	Note a small win, no matter how trivial.
5	What scent, sound, or taste stood out today?
6	What did I learn about myself?
7	If I could give tomorrow a gift, what would it be?

At the end of the week, read back through the entries. You’ll be amazed at how much richness you captured in such a short span.

---

8. Final Thought: Write Before It Vanishes

Moments don’t wait for us to be ready. The sunrise doesn’t pause for a late alarm, the laugh of a loved one doesn’t linger for a perfect photo. Writing daily is the bridge between the transitory and the timeless. It’s not just a habit; it’s a safeguard against the erosion of our own stories.

So, pick up that notebook, open a new document, or hit “record.” Let the ink—or the keystroke—be the anchor that keeps your life from slipping away unnoticed. Your future self will thank you, and the world will be richer for the records you leave behind.

Write today. Your moments deserve it.

---

If you found this post helpful, feel free to share it, comment with your favourite daily writing prompts, or let me know how your own writing practice evolves. Let’s keep the conversation—and the memories—alive together.

Days 80 and 81 – Writing exercise

…

It was like watching a train wreck happening in real time.

But that was the current state of my older brother Roger’s life, firstborn and heir to the family fortune.

I was the youngest sibling, Sam, last born and heir to nothing but the name, Winterbourne, which in reality counted for very little.

In between four girls was the second son, Edward, and he was the harbinger of everything that was going wrong, and had been for some time.

Why?

Because he honestly believed that he should be the son and heir, not Roger, simply because Edward was more like our father, and Roger was more like our mother.

They looked like brothers, same size, same hair, same build, but that was where the similarities ended.  Roger wanted to be an actor, not a lawyer, and Edward followed in fathers footsteps.

Nobody cared what I wanted to do, and simply left me alone.

But, in truth, the issues that started the family express on its way to a certain disaster began when our mother died.

By that time, we were all past school, the girls married, bar one, Roger in the throes of getting married to his prospective wife, Edward drinking, gambling, and womanising as was his so-called birthright, and I was spending time managing the estate.

Everybody was reasonably happy, except father never quite got over the loss of our mother.

That wasn’t so much the catalyst as the revelation that Edward decided he wanted the girl Roger was about to marry.

Of course, if that was the only issue, the train could have stayed on the tracks.  It was the fact that she got herself entangled in Edward’s messy life, and Roger found out.

..

Roger was never one for self-assertion.  Or defending his position or his possessions, not that he treated Bethany as a possession.  He was not like that.  Edward was always taking his things and never returning them.

Now he wanted to take his girlfriend.

I had told Roger to propose to Bethany, but he prevaricated.  He was like that, as his mother was.

I told him more than once that he who hesitates generally loses, but he had this faith in the fact that things would always work out the way they were supposed to.

God did not work in mysterious ways.

I walked in on the argument that erupted in the drawing room.

Two stags stare each other down.

“So, what’s the difference of opinion now?”

Roger always backed down before it got confrontational, but this time he had the bit between his teeth.

“Tell this useless idiot to back off on Bethany.” Roger always had a problem when angry in speaking his words, stemming from having a bad stutter when he was much younger.

Edward, making fun of it, hadn’t helped.

I looked at Edward.  “Are you that low that you’d do that to your brother?”

“She doesn’t like him.  She told me so.  If it wasn’t for Dad leaving the keys to the castle to him, she wouldn’t waste her time.  Not that he could run the place.  Dad would be better off leaving it to me.”

And there it was, that was a long-standing argument that held no water with inheritance laws, finally out of the box.  He’d been alluding to it for years.

“So, what exactly does that mean, Edward.  Is she going to come here and tell him herself because there are matters that need to be resolved?”

I was not sure what the arrangements were, but the match had been forged between families just before mother had died and was to be fulfilled before father died.

It had been an agreeable arrangement between the families and had come to the point where the wedding was announced, and everyone was looking forward to it.

Except…

Bethany walked into the room.

She stopped at the door and looked first at Edward, which elicited a complete change of expression, Roget, probably the angriest I’d ever seen him, which fuelled another change, then to me.  “What am I going to tell whom?”

“I can’t cope with any of this.  The wedding is off,” Roger was barely able to speak, the angriest I’ve ever seen him, and then stormed out of the room.

Bethany looked at Edward, “What have you done?”

“I told him the truth, and he couldn’t handle it “

“What truth?”

“That you love me, not that simpering idiot.” 

There were only fifteen steps between her and Edward, the only person in the room who wasn’t angry.  I blinked and almost missed it.

She punched his lights out.

Literally.

Then went after Roger.

I crossed the room to where Edward was lying on the floor, completely out of it.  I was sorely tempted to get a bucket of ice water and throw it over him.

Instead, I just shook my head.

Impetuous Edward.  Like a great many things that ran around in his head, a lot of it was his imagination. I suspect he mistook her kindness towards him as affection. She most likely said she loved him as a brother-in-law, and he heard what he wanted to hear.

In that moment, I wanted to strangle him.

…

At the bottom of the garden there was a stream, with a rotunda when mother used to sit and read, or towards the of her life, paint.

A lot of her paintings adorned the walls, and the one she did of Zeus, my childhood dog, still hung in my room, a reminder of days long gone.

I wandered down there now, as I did when everything got a little too much, to talk to mother, believing that she was nearby and would hear me.

I was not surprised to see Bethany there, looking very unhappy.

She looked up when I reached the bottom of the steps.

“Sam.”

“You’ve found my hiding spot.”

“It’s very peaceful.”

“Mother’s favourite place.  Father built it for her and forbade any of us from coming here, so she had her own refuge from the monsters.”

“Monsters?”

“Us children.  There were seven of us, and all with our individual quirks.  Some more than others.  May I?”

She nodded.

I joined her but sat on the opposite side, a habit formed when my mother said I could join her.

“I had no idea you had such a hefty right hook.”

“Neither did I, but he deserved it.”

That he did.  “How are you?”  I asked.  I think I already knew, the red, teary eyes and woebegone expression.

“Not good.  Roger won’t talk to me.”

“The Edward effect, I call it.  Edward has always ragged on him, all his life.  Edward inherited all of the bad traits from my father’s side of the family, very much like Uncle William, that generation’s black sheep.”

“I did not say those things to Edward.  I have no idea how he could think that.”

“Edward hears what he wants to hear and imagines the rest.  He’s angry that the inheritance goes to Roger, and I suspect that jealousy has only intensified, given his gambling debts.  It isn’t going away any time soon, not unless father does something about it.”

She sighed.  “It’s a mess.  I have no idea how I’m going to tell my parents.  I swear I have not had anything to do with Edward.  I have no idea how he could even imagine I would prefer him.  He’s a bully, at best.”

That was being kind.  Very few of the girls in our sphere would have anything to do with him.

“Well, there has to be a wedding.  Everything is arranged.  That means something must be done about Edward, and my father is going to have to sort it out.  Let me see what I can do.  Don’t tell anyone just yet.”

“Are you sure.  I’ve never seen Roger this upset.”

“Believe me, this is nothing compared to some of the terrible things Edward has done, to all of us.  I think once his father learns of his behaviour, it’ll come to an end.”

…

Of course, there was no guarantee that anything would be done.  My father had tended to ignore Edward and hope the problem would go away.

Even so, after talking to Bethany, I decided that I would try to see my father and get him involved.  Edward just might sit still long enough to be given an ultimatum, if only to leave Bethany alone.

Roger needed to have time to settle into a relationship that didn’t involve wrestling with his brother and the dissections and enmity that came with it.

Someone had to get the train back on the rails.

At this time of the day, if he was not in the city attending to business, he would be in the study.  I was never quite sure what he did in there. Mother told me once that it was where he hid from her and his parenting responsibilities.

I wasn’t going to tell her she’s had almost done the same, leaving it to boarding schools and a bevy of servants and nannies to look after us until we were old enough to make our own way.

When I reached the study doors, McCallister, one of the farmhands, was standing outside.  He was one of the nice ones, having taught me to ride a horse and a lot of the work that went into running an estate.

More than once, I said that he should be running the place, but he was always content just to come with me.

“Are you in trouble?”

Dumb question, he was the one who usefully dragged the recalcitrant hands before the master.

“‘Tis Master Edward, sir.  I was asked to bring him here.  Never thought I’d see the day say Master Roger would hot him, but there it is.”

There it was, indeed.

I knocked on the door, waited until asked, and went in.

Edward was lounging in the chair opposite the desk, not very well.  Roger had made his point in no uncertain terms. Roger was standing further to one side, as if the distance between them was a matter of one of the others’ safety.

Edwards kept a wary eye on his brother.

Father was standing behind his desk and looked more forbidding than I’d ever seen him before.  If it had been his expectation that the children would be able to sort out their problems between them, he was sadly mistaken.

“If you’ve come to state the obvious, don’t.”

“I was going to say that I’ve spoken to Bethany and she does not harbour any feelings towards Edward, no matter what he may think or say.  I’m not going to state the obvious, but this whole affair needs to be resolved now, once and for all.”

“It is.”

There was a finality in those two words that I could literally feel.  The air in that room, it was so thick you could metaphorically cut it with a knife.

Edward was silent.  He was looking down.  There was something about him I’d never seen before

Fear.

Outright fear.

Our father looked at him, the Roger the me.  “Edward will be leaving with William.  He’ll be going back to South Africa with him.  I’ve paid his debts, and there will be no arguments, no whining and no more of this rubbish that has done nothing but sully our good name with our neighbours, our friends, and business partners.

“I am glad your mother isn’t alive today to see what a wretch you are, Edward.  We gave you every chance in the world to make something of yourself, and what did you do?”

Another knock on the door.

Uncle William.  Alleged black sheep of the family, but I think I got it wrong.  He was here to turn the black sheep into a human being.

“Peter, Roger, Sam.”  Then his eyes reached the wretch.  “Edward.”  He shook his head.  He looked up at his brother.  “I would not be as forgiving, but then you were always the softy.”

He grabbed Edward by the shoulder and dragged him to his feet.  “I’ll make a man put of him, either that or put him in a box.”  I’d never seen Edward so shaken.  “Let’s go.”

“I need to get some stuff, Uncle.”

“Where you’re going, you don’t need stuff, just your wits.”

They left, and the door closed behind them.

My father glared at Roger.  “You need to get your head out of your rear end.  Go and sort out the mess with your young lady.  Go.”

Roget almost ran.

That left me, and a man in a frightfully bad mood, and wondering what it was that I had done wrong.  My father was back to being his scariest best.

He almost fell into his chair, exhausted.

“Keep up the good work, Sam.  At least someone in this place is interested in keeping it running.”

“Yes, sir.”

He waved his hand in my direction, towards the door.  “Be off with you.”

I got as far as opening the door, almost escaping, when he said, “Sam.”

I stopped and slowly turned, waiting for the bollicking. “Find yourself a nice young lady and marry her.  Your mother always liked the Princeton girl.  What’s her name?”

“Annie.”

“Annie.  Im sure I’ve seen her here.  She’s not wishy washy like Rogers girl, but he is wishy washy anyway, so they’ll make a good pair.  Hmm.  Off you go then.”

I went out and closed the door before he thought of something else.  He may have appeared to be lost in grief, but he didn’t miss anything.

Or my oldest sister couldn’t keep a secret.

“Sam.”

Annie’s voice came down the passage just as she came into sight.  “I hear Roger finally snapped.”

I went down to meet her.  “Father’s back.  I think our secret romance is no longer a secret.”

She smiled, taking my hand in hers.  “It was never a secret, was it, McCallister?”

He was walking past, his guard duty done.  “No, miss.  Not since you two moved in together in the gamekeeper’s cottage.”

I wanted it to be a secret, but he was right.

“Edward?”

“Leaving with Uncle William.”

“Purgatory then?”

“Reform school.”

“Then the weddings back on?”

“How did you know it was off?”

She looked me up and down, and simply smiled that angelic smile of hers, the one that reminded me of my mother. 

Some might say there was light at the end of the tunnel.

Others would say it was an out-of-control freight train heading straight for us.

Me, I’d just simply say the train wreck was averted, and tomorrow, well, that was ready for us to face the next disaster.

…

©  Charles Heath  2026