Veering off Course (The Navigation Quartet Book 1)

by Chris Cheek

  “All sorts of things – life, what we did when we were kids, that sort of stuff.”

  “Well, I never did. First, you upset my mum and dad by choosing to go out on the one day in the week when they come to see us, then you stay out until God knows what time in the morning. And you come down here the next day expecting me to believe that you were talking all night.”

  “What do you think I was doing?”

  “I told you! I think Alan Foreshaw took you off to a club and got you off with some woman. I know his influence of old – he’d do anything to do me down!”

  David started to laugh; he knew that it was the wrong thing to do, but he couldn’t help it. The whole scene was so bizarre, especially in view of what had actually occurred.

  “You might think it’s funny but I don’t. I slave here night and day, keeping you and the kids and trying to run a nice home. And all you can do is throw it back in my face and laugh at me.” Tears started.

  David reached out to her. “Mona, love, don’t cry. You’ve got yourself all worked up about summat and nowt. Once and for all, I did not go to a club with Alan last night. We stayed in the pub and then went back to the hotel. I did not go with any woman last night. Understood?”

  Mona turned to face him. The venom in her voice as she spoke took him aback. “You’re a liar, David. Something happened last night. I know I’m right, and you won’t convince me otherwise, even if you stand there and tell lies until you’re blue in the face.”

  David’s face fell. How did she know? How could she?

  “You see! It’s in your face! Get used to this, my lad! You don’t get any food cooked in this house until you tell me the truth. If you want any breakfast, you’d better go to the bus station canteen!”

  “All right! If that’s how you want it, I’ll go.” David got up and went towards the hall. “But if you can’t trust me enough to believe me when I’m telling the truth, then it’s a bloody poor do, that’s all I can say.”

  “If so, you’d better stop talking in your sleep!”

  The front door slammed as David left the house but he had heard her parting shot, and it made his stomach turn over.

  ***

  The bus station canteen was crowded when David arrived. It was getting on for lunchtime, and it usually got quite busy as early- and late-turn staff overlapped. A gang of the lads crowded round the notice-board, laughing and joking.

  “Hallo, Pete. What’s up?” David asked.

  “Hello, David. I thought you were on a rest day.”

  “I am, but I’m in the doghouse with the wife, so I came out to get some peace and a bit of breakfast.”

  “Oh, dear. Like that, is it?”

  “Aye. What’s all the fuss about, then?”

  “Oh, it’s the coaching lot. Apparently, we’re getting some work on a new London service this summer. They’re looking for volunteers to drive on it.”

  “Oh. You interested?”

  “Not me, lad. Too much like hard work, driving up and down the bloody Ml all day and every day. Besides, the wife’d never stand for the overnights.”

  “Overnights?” asked David.

  “Aye. There’s a London sleep-out duty every night, apparently. Anyway, must dash – I’ve got the 1230 to Huddersfield. See thee.”

  “Aye, tarra, Pete.”

  David ordered his breakfast and sat down, reflecting that it was somehow inevitable that the subject of a London service should crop up today.

  “Hello, young man. Sworn at any little old ladies lately?”

  “Me? What?” He looked up to see Len Hedges. “Oh, it’s you! Hello, Len. Sorry, I was miles away.”

  “And what’s your excuse for being here on your rest day? Mine is that I had to come into town for some shopping.”

  “I’m in the doghouse. A night on the tiles, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh dear. Bad, is she?”

  “She’ll come round.”

  “Good. Now, I’m glad I’ve seen you. What about this London service?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you going to apply?”

  “I hadn’t thought of doing.” The alarm bells were sounding inside him. Surely, this was being sent to tempt him. Regular overnight stays in London? What would that do for his resolve?

  “I think you should. It would be bloody good experience for you, David lad. Think of it: you’ll have done the lot – buses, coaches, local, motorway, London. You’ll be well-qualified for the future. Mind you,” Len finished with a laugh, “you’d have to make sure Mona didn’t think you were going for the night life.”

  “Oh, bloody hell, no. Anyway, they tell me you can’t afford the beer in London.”

  “You’re right, there. The wife’s nephew told me that it’s nigh on fifty pence a pint dearer down there in some pubs.”

  “Bloody hell! Well, that proves it, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t be applying for the sake of the boozy nights!”

  “Aye, you’re right there. But seriously, think on, lad. There’s nowt like all-round experience to fit you for future promotion.”

  “Great, Len, thanks. I will think about it seriously.”

  He could not help but chuckle. Regular trips to London, overnight stays, possibly regular visits to Alan... It was enough to defeat the strongest resolution.

  He set off for the depot and immediately put his name forward.

  ***

  David’s application for the London service was well received and he left there feeling more cheerful than he had done for several weeks. It was quite a pleasant day for March, so he decided to walk at least part of the way home through the park.

  On his own for the first time since leaving the house that morning, his mind inevitably returned to the events of the previous night. His reactions were still confused and contradictory.

  He could remember every detail of the evening: the awkward start in the pub; the flood of reminiscence; the walk back to Alan’s hotel; going up to the room and lying on the bed; pressing his leg against Alan’s, and holding him in his arms…

  The memory sent shivers down his spine; surely feelings like that, so warm and exciting, could not be wrong? They were a part of him, weren’t they? Part of who he was, which he had been suppressing all his life. He had to own them.

  Despite the fact that nothing had happened in the end, last night had been a watershed, a turning point. How could he simply carry on as if nothing had happened? Impossible. And now the London business, cropping up the very next day. That had to be heaven-sent, didn’t it? He could meet up with Alan and decide what to do. Thoughts of Alan brought David’s mind back to the previous night – his touch, that first kiss...

  He emerged from the park at the same moment as the Beckett’s Hill bus drew around the corner. He boarded it almost without thinking and was immediately plunged into conversation with George, the driver.

  ***

  Mona was about to leave the house when David got home. “Oh, hello,” she said. “I was going to fetch Tommy.”

  “I’ll come with you if you like.”

  “That would be nice.”

  Kevin was in the pushchair, chattering away happily. David and Mona walked in silence. After a few moments, they both started to speak at the same moment. David gave way and let his wife speak first.

  “I’m sorry about this morning, love,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me. It was Alan coming back, I suppose. I always was a bit jealous of you two, and last night brought it all back. You woke me this morning, talking in your sleep about two birds you and Alan had pulled, and taking them back somewhere... I just saw red, I suppose. Especially when it’s been so long since you’ve ... I mean we’ve ... well, you know.”

  David did not react for a moment; he was too busy breathing a sigh of relief about what he had said in his sleep. Then he spoke. “I’m glad you’re all right now. I couldn’t understand what you were on about earlier.” He started to chuckle. “But I can tell you what I was talking about in
my sleep, because Alan and I had spent most of the evening reminiscing. I’d lay you odds that I was thinking about those two lasses in your class. Do you remember? Tracey and ... um ... Sharon?”

  Mona saw the joke too. “Oh, that I do!” she said. “Tracey Merrion and Sharon Morley. God, what a pair! Didn’t you and Alan take them to Blackpool one year?”

  “We certainly did, and a rum weekend it was, too.”

  “Oh, well. That explains it, love. I am sorry.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s over, now,” David responded.

  By this time, they had reached the school. Young Tommy came charging out to meet his daddy and the family pottered off up the road.

  ***

  David and Mona spent a pleasant evening in front of the television. Mona was pleased to notice that he seemed more relaxed than he had for a long time. Obviously, the whole business had cleared the air a bit.

  David, meanwhile, was happy to allow the television to divert his thoughts away from The Situation, as he had come to call it. He had not yet raised the London business with Mona; he knew that it had to be done that evening, but he was waiting for the right opportunity. It came as they were washing up the supper things.

  “Did you get any news when you were in town?” Mona asked.

  “Aye. We’re getting some coaches next month, apparently. A new service to London. They’re asking for volunteers to drive it.”

  “Oh, that sounds interesting. Are you going to have a go?”

  David breathed another sigh of relief. “I thought I might. But I was a bit worried about the overnights. Would you mind being on your own for a couple of nights a week?”

  Mona thought for a moment. “Not really. I mean it’s not so very different from when you’re on lates, is it? I’m always asleep when you get in from that last Leeds duty.”

  “True. I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

  “Well, there you are then. Besides, it’ll be a change. You’ve been very restless lately.”

  “Also true. And Len Hedges seemed to think it would be good experience. He wants me to put in for an inspector’s job next time round.”

  “No! Really? But that’s great news! Do you mean to tell me, David Edgeley, that you’ve sat there all evening knowing all that and not said a word? I don’t know.”

  “I don’t like to boast.”

  “Don’t be daft, lad! Now come here and give us a kiss.”

  ***

  When they got to bed a few minutes later, Mona snuggled up to her husband. This time, he relaxed into her embrace and she was not rebuffed. Consequently, Mona went to sleep a good deal happier than she had of late.

  David lay awake beside her and listened as her breathing settled into the rhythm of sleep. He suspected that his wife would not have been so pleased if she’d realised that he had only managed to have sex with her tonight by thinking about Alan rather than her. He told himself that trying to compare the two experiences was unfair and impractical, but nevertheless the comparison was made.

  He realised just how much he had preferred Alan’s company to Mona’s. It was true in all sorts of ways: the hardness of his body to the softness of hers; Alan’s responsiveness compared to Mona’s passivity, and – much to his own surprise – a desire to be a receiver as well as a giver. Goodness, where had that come from? But he knew now that he wanted that, and soon. He needed to feel Alan inside him, to express a decade of affection and friendship with physical love. Another part of him was shocked at his own thoughts.

  This process was like the steady closing of a vice as the feelings and emotions that had passed through his mind from time to time all day bore in on him again.

  He had a growing conviction that there could be no going back, no more hiding behind a wife, no more pretending that fatherhood was proof of his masculinity, whatever that was. He was, at the very least, bisexual. He was attracted to both men and women, but probably preferred men. The consequences of that would have to be faced in the end.

  His conscience flared up again. Even if he was bisexual, there was no reason to act on it. He had made certain vows and promises when he married Mona, and he had a duty to the two children she had borne him. There was no getting away from that. He was not a free agent and to pretend otherwise was idle nonsense.

  He shivered uncomfortably, but quickly remembered once more the sensations from the previous night and how it had felt being in Alan’s arms. It made him feel warm inside, enabling him to drift off into an uneasy sleep.

  Chapter 8

  Alan

  Alan was disturbed from a deep sleep by his mobile ringing. He shook himself awake and grabbed the instrument before the call went to voicemail. He did not recognise the number but saw that it was local.

  It was the hospital. His aunt had had another stroke and was now in a deeper coma. He should get there as soon as possible.

  He rang reception to arrange for a cab, before throwing himself into the shower and into some clothes. He made it into reception in less than ten minutes, at the same moment as the cab pulled up outside.

  Once inside the vehicle, he forced himself to calm down. He didn’t know why he was rushing; if she was in a coma, it would make no difference to Auntie Mary whether he was there or not. But somehow it was important to him: it mattered that he should be there for her passing, to mark the death of his only living relative.

  He grimaced. Truly alone at last.

  He had spent most of the previous day at the hospital. Waking up after his night out with David, he had been unable – or unwilling – to think about what had passed between them, or what it meant for him. He had bustled about, checking e-mails, talking to his boss even though he was supposed to be on leave, and generally keeping his mind occupied.

  But the afternoon had been a different prospect. He sat with his aunt for most of the time, holding her hand. He relished the occasional awareness in her eyes or slight squeeze of her hand that meant she knew he was there and appreciated it.

  He owed this woman so much. Her special version of tough love had been difficult to cope with at times, especially for a moody teenager. But, despite the fact that she had been brusque and occasionally dismissive of his emotions, she had always made him feel secure and valued. That had meant a lot – it still did – which was one of the reasons he now felt as if his emotions had been through a shredder.

  Alan had embraced his sexuality after an initial struggle and was now at peace with it. His aunt had strongly disapproved of that side of his life on religious grounds but had never judged him for it or treated him harshly. They simply did not talk about it.

  He told himself that it was ridiculous to feel as raw he did. It was inevitable that he should feel sadness at her imminent passing, but the gut-wrenching loneliness that steadily overtook him as the evening wore on was surely an overreaction. Here he was, a successful young man with a brilliant career ahead of him, a nice flat in London and a wide circle of friends. Why should he feel so lonely?

  The inevitable conclusion crashed in on him after a couple of hours sitting there. It was nothing to do with his aunt, but everything to do with Davy. In truth, he had known it all along but had been unwilling to face the fact; it was much easier to file the issue under the heading ‘too difficult’.

  Bringing out the question again and airing it was not going to solve anything; it was back to this business of feeling whole. For one night six years earlier, and for an even briefer few minutes last night, Alan had known what it was like to feel complete, to be connected to another human being not only physically but through shared experiences, emotions and dreams of the future. The prospect of never feeling like that again, of never holding the only person he had ever truly loved in his arms, was almost more than he could bear.

  For the rest of his visit Alan sat at Auntie Mary’s bedside, his mood bleak and his eyes wet with unshed tears, cursing the fates that had brought him to this point in his life. Eventually he left the hospital and went back to the hotel. It was we
ll after midnight before he finally fell asleep – and only then because he had consumed too much whisky.

  Now, the following morning, as the taxi approached the entrance to Sedgethwaite District Hospital, his mood was little better. The only glimmer of consolation was that, with his aunt’s death imminent, he could get out of this godforsaken little town and return to his own life. Maybe then he could start to rebuild it.

  He paid the cabbie and set off for the ward. He arrived with a few moments to spare and held his aunt’s hand again, but this time only long enough to feel the life force drain away from it.

  He stayed long enough to complete the formalities, before leaving the building as quickly as possible. Its particular brand of 1970s’ brutalism had not softened over the years, and its appearance was now dilapidated and uncared for as scarce resources were focused on what went on inside. He would be profoundly grateful if he never had to set foot in the place again.

  Once outside, he wondered what to do next. The hospital had given him a list of undertakers and he decided to sort out the funeral arrangements. If he could do that today, he could go back to London tonight and only return on the day of the funeral…

  But then he remembered that life was not that simple; Sedgethwaite had not finished with him yet. There was Auntie Mary’s Will to find and execute, the house to clear and sell, and his own demons to face in going back there – not least his memory of the last night he had spent there as a teenager with David.

  He set off towards the town centre with a view to going to the undertakers but could not help feeling that it was a little premature. His poor aunt was barely cold. No, it could wait, at least until after lunch.

  He looked up and saw a bus coming along, showing the destination Town Moor. Situated at the northern edge of the built-up area, bordered on one side by the post-war Beckett’s Hill housing estate, this huge area of common land rose steeply to a ridge which had spectacular views in two directions: southwards back over the town, or northwards across a broad dale stretching towards the slopes of the northern Pennines.

  On a whim, he sprinted to the nearby stop and hailed the bus. He bought a ticket to the terminus. He had a vivid memory of countless walks on the moor with Davy as a boy, chasing butterflies, looking for fantasy elephants, playing hide and seek. He particularly remembered them using the Moor as an alien planet which they explored in a fantasy born of their love of old Star Trek episodes. They had hidden for hours from their alien pursuers amongst the limestone outcrops and small copses.