I raced home and called Megan at work, the relief in her voice palpable as we discussed when we would tell our parents about the baby. I ended the call and sat back on our tatty sofa with a self-satisfied grin on my face. Things were finally going my way. Then my thoughts switched to Malcolm, and I immediately felt less optimistic. His state of mind was still fragile after the burglary, and the last thing I wanted to do was send him spiralling back into a depressed state. It would be a difficult conversation, but one I needed to have sooner rather than later. I decided to head over to the store after lunch and get it out of the way.
An hour later I pushed-open the front door at Video City.
“What are you doing here, young man, can’t keep away from the place?” Malcolm joked.
I laughed nervously and said we needed to have a chat. His smile instantly faded. He locked the front door and suggested we talk in his office. I followed him in and we took up our familiar positions either side of his desk.
I bit the bullet.
“Malcolm, there’s some good news, and some not-so-good news.”
I told him about the baby and he seemed genuinely delighted. With a broad smile he reached across the desk and shook my hand.
“I’m so pleased for you both Craig. You and Megan make a smashing couple and I’m sure you’ll make great parents,” he said warmly.
Now the not-so-good news.
“The thing is Malcolm, there is no way I can afford to support Megan and the baby on what I earn here. I know you’ve done everything you can but we both know that the money isn’t there to increase my pay any further.”
Malcolm nodded slowly in agreement.
“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just spit it out. RolpheTech have offered me a job and I’ve accepted it. I’m sorry but I’m afraid I’m leaving.”
He sat back in his chair and appeared to be letting the implications of my resignation sink in. I felt like a cheating husband who’d just told his wife about an affair.
“You okay, you hear what I said?”
A grin slowly broke across his face and developed into a deep belly laugh. It was not the reaction I’d expected.
“Oh Craig, you have no idea how happy you’ve just made me,” he said with too much joy for my liking.
It crossed my mind that perhaps Malcolm thought I was a complete idiot and had wanted rid of me for months.
“Well I’m glad you’re so pleased about it. And there was me fretting about telling you when I needn’t have worried,” I said bitterly.
“No, no. You misunderstand, let me explain.”
“I’m listening.”
Malcolm adjusted himself in his chair as if he was about to read the news.
“A few weeks before the break-in I received a letter from some company called Blockbuster. The letter said they were looking to acquire existing video stores as part of their UK expansion program. They wanted to know if I was interested in selling the business, and if I was, it would be worth my while speaking to them.”
“You never mentioned anything about it to me,” I said indignantly.
“There was no point. I wasn’t interested in selling to them or anyone else, but that was before the break-in. You must understand that my head wasn’t in a good place after it happened, so I wrote back to them to see what they’d offer for the business.”
“And?”
“They made me an offer, a bloody good one too. It was still nowhere near what my collection was worth, but it was enough for me to do something constructive with whatever time I have left on this planet.”
“So when were you going to tell me?”
He let out a sigh and continued.
“I didn’t accept their offer. A condition of sale was that I had to release all my staff as they wanted to bring in their own people. So if I took their money, you’d be out of a job, but I couldn’t do that to you. Truth be told, I’m a sentimental old git, and you’ve kept me going when few others gave a toss — and if you hadn’t been around, then I doubt I’d even have a business to sell.”
Malcolm’s confession lingered in the air for a moment as my anger turned to guilt.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I said.
Malcolm smiled.
“Don’t be. When I declined the offer, they said they’d leave it on the table for three months in case I changed my mind. I’ve still got time to accept it, hopefully with your blessing?”
“If you think it’s the right thing to do, then go for it,” I replied with some relief.
I left Malcolm to write his acceptance letter and headed home. Everything was falling into place and as I skipped up the stairs to our flat, I offered a silent prayer that this sudden turn of good fortune would continue.
12
Megan and I attended our first baby scan at the hospital and we sat nervously in a crowded waiting room. Eventually a dumpy nurse called Megan’s name. She led us into a room with a treatment table in the centre, next to a trolley laden with medical apparatus and a small monitor. With a reassuring smile, the nurse asked Megan to lie on the table. She then asked Megan to lift her jumper before smearing my girlfriend’s tummy with translucent gel as I gripped her hand.
Reaching over to the trolley, the nurse picked up a probe, and pressed it against Megan’s tummy. She moved it in slow, deliberate strokes while staring intently at the black-and-white monitor ahead of her. After what felt like an eternity, the strokes stopped, and the nurse smiled.
“Found you,” she said to herself.
She made a few subtle changes to the position of the probe, and further checks to the screen, then turned to us.
“Baby is doing fine,” she said.
We stared at the black-and-white image on the screen as the nurse pointed out the baby’s tiny, but healthy heartbeat. Megan looked at the screen and then back at me.
“It’s our baby,” she croaked.
I swallowed hard.
“I know.”
It was all I could say. Our imaginary baby was now real.
We took the bus home, and Megan sat with her hands perched protectively on our little bump. Countless visits to Mothercare ensued, with Megan fawning over prams and cots we couldn’t afford. One unforeseen benefit of Megan’s pregnancy was that it gave us a common purpose and galvanised our relationship. Our pre-pregnancy arguments, which had been increasing in frequency, were forgotten, as our entire focus turned to the baby.
We decided on the name Jessica if it was a girl, and Joshua if it was a boy, and both names met with Malcolm’s approval as I sat in his office on my final day at Video City. The store was closed, and workmen were already stripping the place bare, so I was there out of sentiment rather than for any practical purpose.
“They don’t hang around,” I said.
“I know. I only signed the contract two days ago, and the money hit my bank account this morning. Technically, we’re squatters now,” he chuckled.
I handed my keys over to Malcolm and picked up a carrier bag containing four years’ worth of tat I’d left in the store.
“So what’s next for Malcolm Franklin then?”
“My options have been compromised, but I’m sure I’ll find something to keep myself occupied. Hell, might even rekindle my modelling career,” he replied with a broad smile.
We shook hands, and with a promise I’d keep him up-to-date with news of the baby, I left Video City for the last time.
The following Monday was my first day at RolpheTech. Brian greeted me on my arrival and took me up to the staff room, where he introduced me to my new colleagues. Promptly forgetting everyone’s name, I then had to sit in Brian’s office and watch the company induction video, which featured some wooden acting and questionable production values. Highlights of the hour-long video included a demonstration of how to sell a pen, and role played scenes about objectionable customers. Just when I thought I couldn’t be any more bored, Brian handed me a test paper to ensure I’d thoroughly absorbed all the information in the v
ideo. I passed on that occasion.
After my morning tea break, Brian partnered me with Clive — a dour man with lank hair, bad skin, and glasses that were too big for his face. What Clive lacked in charisma, he more than made up for with his knowledge of computers. I stood and watched him as he served customer after customer, confidently answering every single question posed. He seemed to know the exact specification of every computer, and I had to admit I was impressed. I spent the rest of the week shadowing Clive, and I soon realised that behind his dull facade, he was actually an exceptional salesman. Rarely did a customer approach Clive and leave the store empty-handed.
At the start of my second week, Brian allocated a section for me to look after and I was allowed to serve customers without supervision. Based on Clive’s strategy, I spent every free minute learning about the products to an almost obsessive level. The sales flowed and by the end of the week, even Clive congratulated me with a limp handshake. I was thoroughly enjoying the job and slowly getting to know my new colleagues. Having spent so long working alone with just Malcolm for occasional company, it made a welcome change to be part of a team.
My first payslip arrived, and much to my delight, the sales commission was better than I had expected. That little extra was just enough for Megan and I to put down a sufficient rental deposit on a bigger flat, so we decided to go hunting for a new home that weekend.
Saturday came, and we headed into town to trawl the estate agents. After an hour of dealing with a variety of contemptuous, arrogant suits, we retreated to a cafe with our meagre collection of suitable property details. We listed the pros and cons of each one and whittled our options down to two flats; one converted from a large Edwardian house, and the other in a modern, purpose-built block. Thankfully, both properties were managed by the same estate agent and we returned to their office to book viewings for both properties that afternoon.
At two o’clock we arrived at the modern block of flats, just as a silver BMW pulled up. A stereotypical estate agent in his mid-twenties exited the car and strode towards us with his hand extended.
“Mr Pelling and Miss Franklin I assume?”
We both nodded, and he introduced himself as Simon from Brooks & Co. We shook hands, and he opened the door to the communal hallway. The tiled floor was a grimy shade of grey and the walls were probably once white. Our first impressions weren’t particularly positive as Simon unlocked the door to the flat and invited us in. Those first impressions didn’t improve once we crossed the threshold, and we toured the flat with dwindling enthusiasm. Every wall was badly decorated with woodchip wallpaper, painted an insipid shade of pale green. The beige carpets were worn and dotted with grubby stains. An overriding smell of cheap air-freshener and piss hung in the air. The thought of our child crawling across those filthy carpets brought our viewing to an end with a polite, “Don’t think this one is for us.”
We went back outside, and remaining optimistic, Simon promised that the second flat would be more to our liking. We didn’t have a car and the second flat was almost a mile away, so I told Simon that we’d get there as quickly as we could, but as Megan was pregnant, we couldn’t rush.
“Don’t worry about it, take your time,” he said with a smile — and then promptly got in his BMW and drove off.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the second flat where Simon greeted us outside the grand Edwardian building. Seemingly oblivious to the scowl on my face, he opened the main door which led into a huge hallway that reminded me of Tessa’s house. Shaking the memory from my mind, we entered the flat and it couldn’t have been more different from the one we’d just viewed.
The enormous sitting room had a high, corniced ceiling and a tall bay window which flooded the room with light. Every room had stripped oak floorboards, the walls painted in warm sandy shades. Both the bedrooms were cavernous, and the kitchen even had enough space for a small dining table. The flat was stunning, and Megan could barely contain her excitement as she soaked up the finer details in the sitting room.
“It’s perfect,” she cooed.
“I knew you’d like it,” Simon replied smugly.
“Oh Craig, don’t you just adore this fireplace?”
At that point, I was more concerned that perhaps we’d misread the cost of the rent. Megan ran her hand over the marble mantelpiece and gazed dreamily around the room.
She then turned to Simon, and in her most grown-up voice, she said, “I love the period features. Is that dildo rail original?”
He looked at me as if seeking permission to point out Megan’s faux pas. I shrugged and shook my head.
“Um, yes, I believe it is,” he replied.
Megan obviously loved the place, but I thought the flat seemed too good to be true at the quoted rent. I broached the subject with Simon.
“Obviously we like the place, but the rent seems a little on the low side for a property of this size. Is there a catch we’ve overlooked?”
“Ah, well there is a reason the rent is so low. Two reasons if I’m being honest.”
“I’m listening.”
“Okay, the first issue, which you may have already noticed, is that there isn’t any parking.”
With precious little chance of us being able to afford a car for the foreseeable future it wasn’t a problem for us.
“And the second reason?”
“Cards on table. If the owner doesn’t find a tenant within the next two weeks, it’s highly likely his mortgage company will repossess the flat. He lost his job and we’ve been trying to let the place for almost two months at a higher price, but with no luck. We only dropped the rental price this morning as a last resort.”
I looked across the room at Megan.
“We’ll take it,” she said with no consultation.
As we were paying clients, Simon generously offered us a lift back to the offices of Brooks & Co. to complete all the paperwork. It would take a few weeks for all the references to be processed, but with a sizeable deposit cheque in hand, Simon assured us the flat was ours. Megan was ecstatic, and I was relieved. All I had to worry about was paying for the place once Megan’s wages dried up. That was a problem for another day, so I put it to the back of my mind.
I got to work on Monday in a determined mood. My previous payslip had demonstrated that if I applied myself, the money would follow. So I approached my section as a man on a mission for commission. Unfortunately, Monday mornings were the quietest part of the week, so my mission was quickly derailed with only a handful of customers venturing near my section. With boredom mounting, I had little else to do other than dust every product and every shelf, twice. I ensured all the price tags were present and correct, then I checked the latest stock list for any new lines due for delivery that week.
The morning dragged-on until my rumbling stomach turned my attention to lunch. I was considering my options when a nasally voice came across the tannoy.
“Staff announcement. Craig Pelling to the manager’s office. Thank you.”
I was immediately a fifteen year-old again and being summoned to the headmasters' office. The same butterflies and the same desperate rummaging through my mind as I tried to recollect what I might have done wrong. I couldn’t think of anything, but that didn’t stop the anxiety as I clambered up the stairs to Brian’s office. By the time I approached his door, I’d convinced myself that I was about to be fired. I pictured our little family living in a grotty bedsit in an equally grotty neighbourhood.
I knocked on the door and waited for fate to kick me in the nuts again.
13
Brian called me in, and I opened the door to find him stood behind his desk in the process of putting his jacket on.
“Thank god, I was about to come and find you,” he said urgently.
“What’s wrong?” I gulped.
“I’ve just taken a call from the head of personnel at your girlfriend’s company. He could only give me some brief details, but apparently they found her unconscious in the toilets and she
’s been taken to hospital,” he said anxiously.
I stood frozen, unable to speak.
“I’ll run you over there now. You need anything before we go?”
I couldn’t process what Brian was saying and remained frozen until he put his hand on my shoulder and spoke again.
“Craig, we’ve got to go, now,” he ordered firmly.
Snapped from my temporary trance, I followed Brian down to the staff car park. We jumped into his car and he sped away before I could put my seat belt on.
We made the two-mile journey to the hospital in less than five minutes. Brian dropped me off at the main entrance and told me not to worry about work, and to call if I needed a lift home later. I was already out of the car as I thanked him. I crashed through the doors into the reception area and approached a po-faced woman sat behind a large desk.
“My girlfriend, Megan Franklin, was brought in this morning, but I don’t know anything else. Can you help me?” I gasped.
The receptionist slowly lifted a pair of glasses to her face and studied the computer monitor in front of her. She hit a few keys and looked back up at me.
“Your name sir?” she said flatly.
I gave her my name, and she told me to take a seat while she made some enquiries. I reluctantly found a seat and after ten minutes of impatient waiting, I was about to badger the receptionist again when a tall, forty-something man in brown cords and a white shirt approached the desk. He spoke briefly to the receptionist who nodded in my direction. He turned and walked over, taking a seat next to me.
“Mr Pelling?” he confirmed.
“I’m Dr Renwick. I understand Miss Franklin is your girlfriend. Is that correct?”
I nodded, and before I could get a question out, he stood and suggested we talk in his office.
I followed him along an endless corridor, trying to keep pace with his lanky strides that implied Dr Renwick didn’t want to engage in conversation until we reached his office. He eventually stopped and opened a door, holding it ajar for me to enter. The room was claustrophobic, with barely enough space for the desk, a few filing cabinets, and the couple of chairs it housed. Closing the door, the doctor asked me to take a seat in front of his untidy desk. He took a seat opposite me and rifled through some paperwork before sitting back in his chair with a pensive look on his face.
The '86 Fix: A 1980s Time Travel Novel Page 7