The time approached nine in the evening. Three days had passed since the bus pulled out of the terminal in Toronto. He needed to find somewhere to park for the night, and that would be tough at this hour of the day. Previously he’d stayed in Vancouver’s best hotels. Impossible on this occasion, they were far too public. He needed to find a quiet B&B, except didn’t know of any.
Arriving at the station he waited as the other passengers slowly collected their hand luggage and gradually filed off the bus. He looked outside and watched, and then watched some more.
“That’s it, Matt. End of the line,” shouted the driver.
The Englishman had managed to strike up a mild rapport with each of the friendly drivers on the long journey across the country.
“Joe,” he called out. “You don’t know of any half decent B&B’s do you? Somewhere quiet, slightly out of the centre.”
“There’s hundreds,” answered Joe, and paused to think. “No, I’m probably not the best person to ask. Never stayed in one of them, sorry.”
Matt thanked him and picked up his luggage before deciding to head downhill from the station, towards the harbour. There should be a few places around there.
Walking through the wide city streets, dominated by the high-rise buildings on either side, it didn’t take Matt long to recall exactly which part of town he was in and the direction he needed to go.
Finally he came to Canada Place, where the cruise ships docked alongside the shell-shaped roof outside the Pan Pacific Hotel, a residence he’d stayed in once before a year or so ago. His room had an ocean view, as they called it, which provided a panoramic vision of the bay. Just getting up in the morning was a sheer joy. You could look across the water to West Vancouver, rising up from the bay like a green mass, dotted with houses built into the hillside.
To the left a new convention centre was being built, he remembered, and below sat the terminal where the cruise ships would load and unload their human cargos on almost every day of the week. Every few minutes there would be the sounds of seaplanes, either landing or taking off from the water of the bay in front of the hotel. Most would carry tourists on sightseeing trips around the area or to nearby destinations, such as Seattle or Victoria. Matt was thinking about flying tomorrow. For now, all he needed was a room for the night.
He spotted the porter on duty outside the hotel, and asked about B&B’s close by. The porter was, like all Canadians he had met, unbelievably polite and extremely helpful. The West End Guest House, he had said, was good value. It was a block away from where they were but likely to be busy.
Matt walked up the driveway to the pink fronted building, and entered the guesthouse to be greeted by the reception area.
“Just got off the bus,” he told the man at the desk, “I’m desperate for somewhere to rest my weary body for the night. You were personally recommended,” he said with a polite smile.
The man was tall and thin, the long nose disguised by the good head of longish blonde hair surrounding his head. He had a pebble sized birthmark on the right side of his chin.
“Brit eh?” said the man.
Matt nodded enthusiastically.
“You lot never plan,” continued the man as he started to pour over the reservations register.
“That’s how we lost the empire,” chirped Matt cheerfully, forcing a wry smile to appear on the man’s face.
“I’m Greg,” he said. “And you are one very lucky, lucky man. We‘ve got one cosy double left!”
Matt laughed as he completed the form. It had been a long time since he’d done that.
“You’re a star, Greg.”
“I’ll show you the way,” offered the blonde-haired man, picking up a room key. “Up the stairs here to the second floor, Mr Durham.”
“Matt,” he replied. “I prefer to be called Matt.”
“Here for long?” asked Greg.
“No, passing through. Working my way across Canada,” he answered.
A few minutes later and they had arrived at the room.
“Have a good night, Matt,” said the Canadian.
“Thanks, Greg. I really do appreciate this. Good night.”
The small room was adequate; double bed pushed up against the large window, tight wardrobe against a desk which opened out and he could work from. The en suite had been fitted with a modern power shower, more than good enough for one night. Matt didn‘t bother to unpack, just put the laptop on charge and took a long, long time to clean his body.
Climbing between the luxurious Egyptian cotton sheets of the firm bed he repeated the phrase in his head, determined to ensure it would not escape from his tired mind. Sumac Pacha, Beautiful Mother Earth.
As soon as his head hit the pillow, Matt slept as though he had never slept in his life before.
Sitting at the desk, Matt opened the file on the computer and waited patiently for the system to load. It had been a brilliant breakfast, his first hot meal for days. Greg had wandered across as he was about to tuck into the fried eggs and asked to join Matt while he finished his coffee.
They shared some pleasantries on the weather, Matt’s views on Canada thus far, and then Greg asked the question he’d always intended.
“Where are you staying tonight, Matt?”
“Are you propositioning me for the evening, Greg?” he had replied dryly, and the Canadian laughed aloud at the humorous quip.
“No, no,” he said. “You’re not my type.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“I’m supposed to be having dinner here with my fiancée tonight,” said the Canadian, “She’s got this friend, a really nice girl called Jenna. Anyway it seems the poor thing has had a hard time at work lately and, sisterhood thing and all, she wants her friend to tag along with us to help take her mind off things.”
“You’d like me to balance the table,” said Matt, “a blind date.”
The Canadian sat back and peered disappointedly at the Englishman.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he finally said. “It’s a crap idea now I think about it. I would have chucked in the meal though, if you’d been interested.”
Matt returned Greg’s steady gaze with a visibly amused expression, careful not to refuse the offer completely out of hand. It was a free meal, after all.
“How about if you had the room for another night, on the house?” asked Greg, clearly desperate to avoid having his planned romantic evening spoiled and hoping the Englishman would negotiate.
Matt was trying to decide if he was really in a position to turn down a free dinner and accommodation for the night. It was not beyond the realms of possibility he would end up sleeping rough before long. How ugly could this woman be anyway?
“And a sandwich at lunchtime,” he offered.
“Hell, I’d even chuck in an extra slice of bread,” replied Greg.
“Done,” said Matt.
Having accepted his host’s gracious offer, Matt knew it meant he would have to work hard for the rest of the day. Sumac Pacha appeared on screen. Matt pressed enter and waited for the cursor to reappear.
“This better be right.”
He typed in Beautiful Mother Earth, pressed enter again, and waited. A new icon sprang into view with the initial M. Matt double clicked on the mouse and the initial gave way to reveal an unfamiliar word.
Milieu
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
He double clicked and this revealed a man’s bespectacled face.
“My name is David Laverick,” the face said.
Dave’s image started the presentation by telling the reader his place of work. His job was to monitor intelligence of the most sensitive nature.
“What you will learn,” said Dave, “will send repercussions across the globe. The threats posed by international terrorism are nothing compared to what I am about to reveal.”
He had certainly caught the reader’s attention. After this brief introduction the screen opened up again and a vast, seemingly never ending, list of individual files ap
peared.
“This is going to take forever,” Matt mumbled.
Each file led into a series of others. There were minutes of meetings, sub-group meetings, short and long meetings. Some contained briefing papers, numbered scenarios, and lists of locations from all around the world. Matt’s heart sank looking at the sheer volume of material.
Matt decided he needed to understand what the word Milieu actually meant. He opened up a blank document, typed in the word and clicked on thesaurus. Environment, was the first word to catch his eye, followed by surroundings, background and setting. Beautiful Mother Earth resembled something of an environmental phrase, he reasoned. Perhaps this is the context in which the word was being used.
“Right, nothing else for it but to start from the beginning,” he mumbled again and proceeded to click on the original briefing paper and set of minutes, both dated two years ago.
The briefing paper referred to a number of research projects currently underway, sponsored by esteemed sources such as The Food and Agricultural Organisation of the United Nations, relating to the growth of the world’s population. Their estimates suggested potential increases of between three and six billion people over the next fifty years.
As the world population expanded food shortages would become increasingly severe, conceivably with the numbers of malnourished reaching three billion. Unless population growth was able to be ‘controlled’ then the natural resources required to produce sufficient food supplies, (such as water, fertile land and fossil energy) would be exhausted within three decades.
Matt found the content of the studies to be both fascinating and truly alarming, reminding him of the interview he’d watched on the television in his hotel room in Toronto. There were many similarities between these papers and the issues the man on the screen had attempted to raise. He scrolled the pages of the reports to try and identify the various authors and noticed one of the names to be Professor Elliott Anderson. He was the one and same man who had been interviewed on the television. Making a mental note of the name, Matt continued to work through the research.
The first set of minutes turned out to be a meeting of the security services of each G8 member state held behind closed doors in Moscow, and chaired by the representative of Russia. G8 meetings brought together the heads of Government from the USA, UK, Germany, France, Italy, Canada, Japan and Russia. As he read on, it soon became clear this wasn’t a normal G8 meeting involving the hundreds of politicians and officials who usually turned up to these international gatherings. This was very secret, involving only a limited number of people. The single agenda item involved a discussion on the merits of bringing in China and India to the group, as these were fast developing economies.
After an apparently heated debate it was eventually agreed the American representative would approach the Chinese and Indian Government representatives, through designated intermediaries. One had asked for some other national states to be considered. The prevalent view was a membership of ten was as big as could be handled.
Matt inspected the list of attendees. Hank Scurrelli was from the USA. Bill Francis, Canada. Chen and Tanaka represented China and Japan. Then there was Armande and Bertolli from France and Italy. Kohler was German and Palyenko from Russia. The name of James Kimber appeared, though he was not designated to a named nation state.
None of them meant anything to Matt until he got to the end, when one particular name leapt up from the page. John Tillman, Head of UK Covert Operations Group. Matt had no idea such a Department existed. Tillman was very definitely a Government employee, working within a unit hidden from the naked eye of the general public.
One by one he continued to work his way through the documents following the ever more complex and detailed trail of this specific group’s deliberations on the issues at hand, a fascinating path of debate and decision making which took him all day as he had supposed it would.
Matt had only ever had a passing interest on green issues. Now he had a better understanding. The greater number of humans living on the world the greater the demand upon the planet’s finite resources, and the faster they were expended. Global warming, caused by mass consumption of fossil fuels, had been the issue to catch the media’s attention. He now realised the real problem lay in over-population. Somehow, the growth and gluttony of mankind had to be subjected to restraint. The only question was how.
After some absorbing hours he checked his watch and saw it was twenty past four in the afternoon. He decided to view one final piece of the complicated jigsaw before taking a break, a presentation by the American called Scurrelli. After this, he would try to find an internet cafe to do some online research of his own.
Scurrelli didn’t formally introduce himself to the group and Matt concluded he was already known to the others. The American set the scene.
“Every piece of research has arrived at exactly the same conclusions,” he stated. “World population growth is out of control and will exacerbate with each passing year, further deteriorating the imbalance between supply and demand of basic commodities.”
“Already, marine stocks are perilously low and world land-based food production is struggling to meet current global demands. The world’s environment is at breaking point, threatening civilisation as we know it,” he continued.
Scurrelli highlighted those studies which talked of a thirty year window of opportunity for mankind to mount an effective response to the looming crisis.
“In reality, gentlemen,” he said. “We have nothing like this sort of time scale,” and then he went on to set out an anticipated sequence of events.
Not long into the future, probably within ten years, nations could expect sharply increasing prices for basic commodities. This would cause population unrest, particularly in the West as people’s standard of living was eroded by increasingly higher costs of living.
Between ten and fifteen years global shortages would begin to show as a problem the Governments of the world were struggling to resolve. Food, energy and even water prices would become so prohibitive rationing would have to be introduced. World production would fall leading to swathes of company closures, creating mass unemployment. With insufficient revenues collected from diminishing industrial bases, Governments would be unable to fund sustainable support packages for their unemployed, or have sufficient monies to counter the expected surge in crime and criminal activity.
Somewhere after fifteen years social cohesion would start to erode, then completely collapse. Civil breakdown would ensue. Mass unrest would lead to violent disturbances within each of the G8 states, who would topple in a domino effect.
All this will happen because the global environment could not sustain the needs of an ever expanding world population.
“We do not have fifty years to act,” he told the collected audience. “More likely, it is less than ten.”
To date, three potential solutions had been considered by G8 Governments, Scurrelli had advised. The first involved a ‘natural’ culling process of indigenous populations of the developed world.
The elderly and the infirm were to be the primary target groups. Logan’s Run was the metaphor he had likened it to. This would be achieved by denying citizens life-enhancing drugs, on the basis of cost. It was believed any initial bad press would be superseded by the eventual indifference of the healthy majority. However life expectancy rates were on the increase and, as population life spans continued to grow, this option was unlikely to control or reduce numbers to manageable proportions within the agreed timescale.
Option two was to impose birth restrictions, limiting fertile women to one lifetime pregnancy, as they do in China already. In the cases of the disadvantaged and criminal classes there would be measures to prevent child bearing completely, through a comprehensive sterilisation programme. It would be impossible, however, for each member state to have sufficient manual resources to police the system effectively. This would lead to a growing underclass of illegitimate children running around the neig
hbourhoods of each member state.
A third option was to toughen sanctions against rogue states and intensify resource shortages to third world countries. This would prevent their economic development and result in increasing numbers of regional conflicts, costing the lives of millions through violence and starvation. Such measures could be effectively ‘managed’ by the G8 Governments. The concern here was the process would be both too slow and have too little impact.
There’s nothing earth shattering here, concluded Matt, nothing which wasn’t already in the current public domain.
The premise of overpopulation was little different from the scenario the expert tried to discuss on the television interview. Granted the civil liberties brigade would have much to say about withholding life enhancing drugs, but the debate is already raging amongst the developed world where cash resources are finite. And the idea of limiting the size of family units is an idea already gaining ground in the west. As for the third world no-one really cares for the starving millions much because, if they did, the developed world would have sorted those issues out decades ago.
Certainly, there was nothing from what he had read so far which could cause these people to cruelly torture then murder Dave. And it certainly didn’t seem reason enough to pursue Matt to the ends of the earth. For what is in these statements, surely not?
Matt could feel his eyes tiring and decided to tuck into the sandwich that Greg had brought up earlier. He returned to the small screen. Scurrelli was summarising.
All G8 Governments had been briefed, he advised, and the only aspect upon which they were all agreed is none of the options presented to them were in any way feasible.
“Gentlemen,” Scurrelli concluded. “Time is against us. Whilst the leaders of the globe fudge and fiddle the world continues to burn, so it falls to us to provide direction and take a lead. For if they will not act then we must, before all control to the levers of power is lost. No less than the future of mankind is at stake and we must respond.”
The American moved his presentation on to describe progress against one of the measures currently in place, the development of detailed intelligence on individuals.
Citizen data was being compiled from a range of sources including Government and medical records, banking details, travel patterns, electronic mail, recordings of mobile and landline telephone conversations. Anti-terrorism tactics had been the explanation given to political masters as the purpose behind these breaches of civil liberties, and the activities had so far remained unchallenged. Analysis of the data was ongoing and it was hoped, within another thirty six months or so, all citizens will have been effectively categorised by the original deadline.
Matt leaned back in the chair, stretched his arms upwards and yawned. He wanted to continue as it seemed to him an important point in his research had been reached. But he felt drained, mentally exhausted even. He decided to take a break, see if he could find an internet connection and try and trace this Professor Anderson guy. Perhaps he could shed some more light on the subject. If nothing else, having to listen to a voice would give his eyes some much needed relief.
Matt muttered at the ringing phone. It was Greg checking he was still alright for tonight.
“Yeah, I’m up for it,” he replied. “I just need to nip out for a few minutes to do a bit of last-minute shopping.”
He returned to the screen and looked for the next file in line, entitled Affirmation. Later, he decided.
It took Matt almost half an hour to find an internet cafe. He paid his fee, bought a coffee and settled into the nearest available seat. Typing in the name of the person he was trying to locate, the instant response caused his jaw to drop.
‘Respected academic mown down by hit and run driver,’ said the headline, and Matt could scarcely believe the news as he read through the article. The professor had been returning to his car after a late night function in town when he was hit by, what police described as, a substantially built vehicle travelling at high velocity given the extent of the injuries from the impact. It was almost certain, the report added, Professor Anderson would have died instantaneously.
Matt was incredulous. It was only a few days ago he had watched the man being interviewed on television. Indeed, the next stream mentioned his appearance on that particular show. Some sort of sixth sense prompted Matt to type the name of the interviewer into the search engine. Within a few seconds numerous entries appeared bearing the interviewer’s name, Beverley Krantz.
He wasn’t sure why he continued to work his way through them but he did, finally stopping at an item reporting an awards ceremony in New York with accompanying colour photograph. Ms Krantz was stood in the foreground clutching her award, surrounded by a number of other people.
Matt scanned along the long stream of names in the caption underneath, linking each one to an individual face above. The second to last name made Matt gasp.
Hank Scurrelli.
Immediately his eyes rose to the picture to put a face to the name. He was a somewhat tall, thin man looking to the inch an exact replica of Count Dracula. Krantz and Scurrelli clearly knew each other, and well enough to pose together for a photograph.
Professor Anderson wasn’t the victim of an accident. He was taken out, murdered. Tonight would have to be Matt’s last night in Vancouver, he concluded.
“Victoria,” he whispered, “first thing, tomorrow.”
The minute hand clicked into place to signal eight o’clock had arrived when Matt entered the bar area. He saw Greg perched on a stool, anxiously checking his watch.
“I didn’t think you were going to come.”
“A deal is a deal,” replied Matt, smiling.
Greg suddenly bounced from the stool and brushed past the Englishman. Matt looked into the wide mirror above the bar to see two figures in the reflection. The Canadian approached them and Matt turned.
The taller of the two was dressed in a dark grey pencil skirt topped with a bright white blouse, looking an exact replica of Diana Ross in her heyday. Matt half expected her to break out into a motown chorus of ‘ain’t no mountain high enough.’
The second was smaller, a few inches shorter than Matt. The part Caucasian, part oriental features of her face were showcased by strikingly dark coloured almond shaped eyes. Long brown hair tinted by golden streaks surrounded the smooth, flawless skin of her cheeks tempered with the lightest application of make-up. The wide belt fixed around her waist emphasised prominent hips, while the open necked sweater tucked into her trousers clung gracefully to her svelte frame. Matt had always been struck at how Canada’s mixed race society appeared, on the surface at least, to be more relaxed than in the UK. He wondered which of the women was to be his companion.
“Matt, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Althea,” introduced Greg and the coloured woman held out her hand. “And this is Jenna,” he added.
The woman’s slim lips widened into a smile, causing her almond shaped eyes to twinkle under the artificial lighting.
She was different to what he’d expected, not that he knew exactly what to expect; except he had formed a picture in his mind of being introduced to a sullen, sad and deeply unhappy individual. Jenna appeared a little shy but far removed from the image he had conjured up in his mind. Matt was pleasantly surprised.
“Hello, Matt. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” she said nervously. “When Greg told me you were here for the one night and feeling a little lonely, I thought it was the least I could do. It’s never much fun being gooseberry.”
Matt’s sideways glance caught Greg’s sheepish grin. He briefly considered giving the Canadian his fiercest scowl, to emit some sort of dark displeasure. It would have been a churlish and pointless action. Jenna was, after all, more than presentable. Her obvious reserve meant he could expect a subdued rather than raucous evening, but it was only for an hour or two. A nice girl, he had concluded. This shouldn’t have surprised him. Almost every Canadian he had met so far on his journey had been unbelie
vably nice. It was almost as if it was a national trait.
“What can I say, the man’s an absolute star,” replied Matt.
With the ice sort of broken, a hugely relieved Greg ushered the group towards their seats at the round window table. Matt could sense Jenna remained a little apprehensive about the evening’s arrangements though he wasn’t about to let it bother him too much.
“So what brings you to Canada?” asked Althea as she sipped at a glass of white.
Matt paused for thought, his mind rapidly searching for some sort of believable story.
“I used to run my own small business, in the North East of England,” he began. “While it was a lot of fun, I was working all hours God sends and not making a huge amount of money. So I sold up and decided to use the proceeds to try and fulfil a lifelong ambition of travelling the world, while I’m still young enough and have the energy to do it.”
He could see they were interested.
“At the end of it all I hope to write up the stories of my travels, some sort of independent tourist guide, and see if I can get it published. Try and make a small fortune. If nothing else I should have a lot of fun, or die happy in the process.” He shrugged nonchalantly, the deadpan delivery amusing his companions.
“Wow,” said Althea, “what a fabulously unique idea. Why start with Canada?”
“There’s something about the open spaces, the contrasts in geography between each state, and the unbelievable range of wildlife. I find it compelling. You seem to have every natural phenomenon of the globe locked up into this one big country; Sumac Pacha.”
“What did you say?” asked Greg and Althea in unison, bemused by his ending words.
“Beautiful Mother Earth,” chipped in Jenna.
Matt turned to look at his partner for the evening, surprised by her unexpected contribution. He had tried to impress his dinner colleagues by showcasing his shallow knowledge of Canadian history. Jenna’s intervention changed everything. Rather than feel irritation, Matt was impressed. Her few words broke the slender uncertainty between them and, for the first time, both held their gazes. There was real contact between them now.
“How did you know that?” he asked.
“I studied some history at High school briefly, The Native Peoples of the Americas. The phrase sort of stuck.”
He smiled warmly and she responded by returning in kind, her almond shaped eyes now openly relaxed to his presence.
“Wish I had the courage to do what you’re doing,” she added, fully engaged with the Englishman’s tale.
Matt’s story was sort of true. He didn’t want to prolong this topic of conversation much beyond what he’d already said however. Once a person had started down a path of making stuff up on the hoof it became increasingly harder to keep track of everything. He hurriedly began to think of a way he could sidestep the line of conversation.
“To be honest, it’s actually very self indulgent. Not at all courageous when you compare it to other more demanding vocations of life such as the armed forces, inner city teaching or medicine for example.”
“Like Jenna you mean. She works as a children’s nurse,” said Althea.
“Really,” enthused Matt, his mind joyously celebrating the sudden opportunity to turn the conversation. “You see, it’s people like you Jenna who deserve admiration and respect, because of the selfless dedication your job requires. How long have you been doing this now?”
“I qualified just over five years ago. If it’s okay with you, I’d rather not talk shop on a night out,” she said politely.
His heart briefly sank. Then he remembered.
“Quite right, Jenna; work should be a no go area over an evening meal. Let’s talk about happier events. When is the date exactly, Althea?”
Fortunately it was a subject she was bursting to talk about. With Greg regularly adding some additional insights, the pair covered the next forty five minutes in colourful detail about the forthcoming ceremony. They planned to wed at the end of the tourist season, after October. As the happy couple virtually exchanged vows before them Matt and Jenna sat politely and quietly, her eyes making oft and sparkling contact across the table.
When the conversation did eventually move on to subject matter which could involve them all, Jenna’s personality increasingly came to the fore. Matt discovered her to be surprisingly bubbly and energetic, and both smart and funny. As time ticked by, he found himself becoming more and more settled in her company.
By the time it had turned eleven, the two near newlyweds were ready to retire for the night, judging by the constant peering at their watches. Jenna showed no signs of wanting the evening to end. Within a few more minutes the soon to be wed couple made their excuses to leave.
Her almond shaped eyes gave Matt the nicest smile as he tipped the red wine into her glass before refilling his own.
“They seem to have deserted us,” he said.
“I’ll try and cope with the situation if you will,” she replied. “That is, unless, you’ve had enough of me by now.”
“Not at all, far from it.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “You’re not just being polite?”
“Totally and unquestionably, with a ‘may God strike me down with a sudden bolt of lightning’ type of certainty,” he said with a warm smile. And he meant it, causing her to smile even more broadly.
“Do you like it here, in Vancouver?”
“Yes I do. In fact there isn’t a part of Canada I’ve come across I haven’t liked so far, and there’s still so much to see. The place is just so enormous, not forgetting the cruises you can do from Canada Place. At this rate I’ll be over sixty before I start my world tour.”
She laughed. It was open, warm and gentle.
“I should warn you. Stay too long and this Government will automatically nationalise you, it’s their way of expanding the population,” she said, and he grinned.
“I could think of worse things in life.”
A temporary silence fell between them. Neither found it uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry by the way,” he said, “for raising work at the dinner table. It was a pretty thoughtless act on my part,” forgetting the reason why Greg had asked him to attend.
Her brow furrowed at first, and then quickly dismissed whatever thought she had in her head.
“That’s ok. It’s been a tough week, that’s all.”
He gently pried for an explanation. She generalised, at first, before slowly opening up.
Matt had this image in his head whereby young sick children were admitted to hospital with symptoms of things such as measles and chicken pox and, after a brief and happy stay, they were promptly returned to the loving bosom of their families fully recovered.
The reality was totally different, and Matt was humbled to discover some of the real medical conditions of her patients. The level of care and treatment each patient required was equally fascinating. He listened intently as she described the life or death responsibilities even she, a ‘mere’ nurse, could be faced with during her daily duties. And then there were the emotional attachments formed to patients, not unsurprising given the nature of the job.
Jenna described a recent example of a baby born with horrendous terminal ailments she had nursed up to death. She began to waft her hand in front of her eyes in an effort to hold back emerging tears. Fumbling into her bag to locate a paper tissue, she lightly dabbed it against her eyes. Despite all the experience she still found it hard. This was the second fatality of the week.
Matt never gave it a second thought. He moved into the next seat and gently eased her head against his shoulder for comfort, which she gracefully accepted.
“I’m being silly,” she said, slightly sniffling. “Trust me to spoil a good evening.”
“Not at all,” he replied gently, “I’ve been trying to think of a way to get close to you all night. Never considered making you cry would work,” he joked.
She wanted to laugh, succeeding only in splutt
ering out a few tears. It had touched Matt deeply as he’d listened to her words of dedicated care. Jenna’s descriptions had opened his eyes to an aspect of life’s tapestry he had forever taken for granted in his previous existence.
Jenna explained how she lived alone in Vancouver. She had re-mortgaged just before interest rates crashed, so had failed to derive any financial benefit. When she wasn’t doing her normally weekly shifts she worked overtime to help pay the bills. When she wasn’t working overtime she did housework. Once the household chores were completed Jenna crashed out, trying to recover enough energy for the next working week.
Her circumstance lent little time for a social life, which is why she seemed intent on making the most of the evening. Matt was happy to participate. He had been expecting only to have to be polite for a couple of hours over dinner, now he was fully engaged.
“So what did you do before you became this high powered businessman?” she asked.
“A truly boring, unimaginative and personality bypassed Civil Servant, for more years than I care to remember,” he said.
“It could never have been that bad, surely,” she laughed.
“Oh yes it was,” he insisted. “There were so many sets of instructions we had to consult another rulebook to see if the first set of instructions were still valid.”
Jenna giggled out loud. Her almond shaped eyes gazing directly into his as she covered her mouth to stop her laughter making too much noise, in the now empty restaurant area.
“Well at least you didn’t have to think too much.”
“Which was the problem,” he said, “independent thinking was forbidden. It was considered treasonous to have original thought. How anyone can happily allow themselves to have their lives dictated each and every day is totally beyond me.”
She laughed some more, keeping her eyes fixed on his.
“You’re not a rules man then, the settling down type. Not content to amuse yourself with the everyday domestics of life we mere mortals have to endure.”
He smiled at the observation.
“No. Not really. Life’s too short to confine yourself to a routine existence, surrounded by household duties and snotty faced children. You probably think I’m selfish,” he added after a brief pause.
“We can’t all be the same,” she replied with a generous smile.
“What about you, Jenna? What does the future hold for you?” he asked.
“One day,” she replied, “when I’ve found the right man to provide me with a nice big house full of healthy, energetic kids. You know, all those responsibilities you seem to want to avoid in life,” she teased.
Matt wasn’t in the least offended. If anything, Jenna had expressed her vision of the future in such warm and cosy terms he could almost see the attraction.
Before they knew it the time had reached half past midnight. Matt apologised for keeping her up to this hour and set about ordering a taxi using the phone on the reception desk.
“Couple of minutes,” he said, on returning, “if that’s alright,” and she thanked him.
“Is it too much to ask about you’re next port of call?”
“Victoria. Just a quick visit though then I’ll move on. If I don’t keep moving I’ll never be able to fit the whole country in before the money runs out.”
“You could always find work there,” she suggested. “The demand from employers for seasonal staff at this time of year is huge, particularly in Victoria. It could help you to build up some cash for the rest of your journey. Who knows, the longer you’re here the more you might want to stay.”
Matt couldn’t decide if Jenna was asking him to hang around or if she was trying to be helpful. The arrival of a set of headlights onto the drive cut short his deliberations.
“I’ll escort you to the cab,” he offered.
The stroll was relaxed, as they exchanged meaningless small talk to fill the time. He opened the cab door for Jenna and, as she turned to say goodnight, he lifted her hand to his lips and lightly kissed it.
“Tonight has been a real pleasure,” he said, and she smiled appreciatively.
“I’ve enjoyed it. You’ve been a good friend and perfect gentleman tonight.”
He felt slightly embarrassed. Back in the UK no-one had ever been able to accuse him of being a good friend, even less a gentleman.
“You do realise the next time I see a nurse I’ll think it’s you, haunting me into returning to Vancouver,” he said, and she laughed loudly.
They stood for several awkward seconds before he plucked the courage to lean forward and kiss her cheek. He stepped away as she lowered her svelte frame into the car. Matt was about to close the door when Jenna’s face suddenly re-appeared. She placed a piece of paper into his hand and then reached up and hugged him before re-entering the cab and lowering the window.
“Perhaps we’ll meet again some other day, when you’re not playing gooseberry,” she quipped, and it made him smile.
“Good night, Jenna,” he said as the window closed and the vehicle moved slowly away down the gravel drive.
Her departure brought home the isolation and loneliness he felt. This was to be his future. A few snatched hours of human companionship, here and there and only every now and again. But it could never be any more than that.
Chapter Ten
Victoria
The Milieu Principle Page 9