by Stan Mason
‘Well you’ve got my number,’ she persisted jokingly, like a film starlet to a film producer. ‘Call me if you need me.’
She left the office with a delicate wave of her hand... a gem of an assistant and a very humane person. In the early part of the day, some people adopted a solemn tone when they spoke to him. Others approached him with pity showing in their eyes. But Erica knew exactly how to treat him. HE made a mental note to recommend her for promotion in due course. He remembered the world of his mentor when he had first arrived at the bank. Banking wasn’t about money. It related to understanding people and communicating with them. He swivelled his chair around, staring at the equipment in is small domain. Time management was an important theory he practiced at the bank so that he could leave at five o’clock to be reunited with his beloved Jennifer. Getting home had been the most exciting part of the day. As he opened the door of their bungalow, they would hug and kiss each other until she warned him that their evening meal was burning in the oven. They would laugh and still go on hugging and kissing. There were so many burnt-offerings at meal times that he was beginning to enjoy the taste of over-cooked food. Later on, they would discuss the events of the day and how they had coped with them. Life with Jennifer had become bliss. It was delightful, filled with pleasure, worth living for, and sheer ecstasy., They had created a paradise in which they were Adam and Eve. Now there was numbness and loneliness, ostensibly lasting to the end of his days. Ge came back to reality at the sound of a knock on the door. Tom Cushing, one of his closest friends, entered the room and closed the door behind him.
‘Sorry, old man,’ he began, sitting in a chair opposite his colleague. ‘Haven’t seen you since the funeral. ennifer was a wonderful person and I miss her... despite having to watch the pair of you billing and cooing like lovebirds every time I saw you together.’
Charles slumped back heavily in his executive chair. ‘Who would have believed it, Tom? A dog slips his lead, a truck driver comes over the top of a hill, and she’s gone! It’s not fair!’
‘Tell me about it,’ retorted his friend. ‘Life’s a bitch!’
There was a long silence before Charles spoke again. ‘I want to confide in you, Tom,’ he continued hesitantly, ‘but I don’t want anyone else to know.’
Cushing’s face became serious and he placed his right hand over his heart as a pledge of secrecy. ‘You can trust me. What is it?’
‘It sounds crazy but I woke up early this morning to see Jennifer standing at the foot of the bed staring at me. You’re going to say that I was dreaming but I wasn’t. I know I wasn’t. To make it even more authentic, she spoke ot me saying that she and the baby are all right.’
Cushing crossed his legs and stared at his colleague boldly. ‘You’ll hate me for saying this, Charlie, but you’ve been through a hell ova rotten time. I doubt whether you’ve had a decent night’s sleep since it happened. You’re completely exhausted and stricken with grief. That much is obvious. I know how much you loved her. It was a marriage in a billion, It was always Jennifer and Charlie... no one else mattered. What I’m saying is that you’re in a poor mental shape. You take tablet to help you and fall asleep. When you wake up, you’re drowsy and the dream’s still hanging in there with you. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It happens to a lot of people. It’s nothing to worry you either. She wasn’t there, Charlie. There’s no such things as ghosts... except for those who believe or pretend that they exist.’
‘But it was real. I told you, she spoke to me!’
‘Dammit, Charlie! I’m sorry to have to say this but she’s dead and gone. Look, my friend. Maybe I should spend a few nights with you at your place, just to make sure you settle down.’
Charles eyes him coldly with little respect for the offer. ‘I don’t think so,’ he returned staring at the far wall as though day-dreaming. ‘It’s my problem. I’m going to have to work it out for myself.’
They continued the conversation for a while and then Cushing left. Charles started bleakly at the blotting-pad in front of him, realising he had doodled a large truck speeding along a road. He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, inhaling deeply a number of times to clear his head, The horror of the accident went right through him like words through a stick of rock. The silence was broken by Erica Wild who thrust open the door forcefully and burst in breezily.
‘Can’t I get any peace from you?’ he complained with a tiny smile curling at the corners of his mouth.
She carried a folder which contained a large wad of papers uncomfortably under her arm. ‘Contrary to any opinions you might have of me,’ she told him bluntly, ‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘Oh, Heavens!’ he exclaimed with amusement. ‘You never fail to amaze me. What is it this time?’
‘I take it you won’t eat in the Manager’s Dining Club today, Right?’
‘Right!’
‘I thought as much. That’s why I’m going to suggest that you go home right away and take this work with you, so you can lose yourself in it. Then you won’t be troubled by telephone calls or visitors... or me. Now isn’t that a good idea?’
‘You’re right,’ he retorted. Where good ideas are concerned, it is contrary to my opinion of you.’
She laughed at the repartee between them. ‘Well in anticipation of a comment of that nature, I decided to punish you with payment in kind.. I’ve collected some of the most toughest, difficult, most complicated and utterly miserable work I could lay my hands on. I did it deliberately to remind you what one African chief said to another when the Royal straw hut went up in flames. “People who live in grass houses shouldn’t stow thrones”.’
‘Get out of this office with those awful puns!’ he chided, tongue in cheek.
She placed the folder on his desk. ‘I’ll have you know I’m immune from the threats of despots who haunt the corridors of this ancient building... and also of modern tyrants who suppress subordinates such as myself under the guise of being bankers!’ Then, cheekily, she offered him a salute in American style, placing her angled hand towards her temple and pulling it away sharply before leaving the office.
He shook his head and smiled feebly. She was a remarkable character, totally incorrigible, but worth her weight in gold. Erica Wild could see the sense in it, working him non-stop in the environment with which he was so familiar; it was the tail wagging the dog!
***
In theory, working at home was a practical idea. He could leave the telephone off the hook and become absorbed with the casework without interruption. In practice, the theory was defective. Civilisation always found a means of distraction in one form or another. He opened the front door and memories which would always be mobilised in his mind flooded towards him with waves of sadness and self-pity. He considered the advice of the relative at the funeral who had suggested that he ought to sell up and live somewhere else. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea in the long run. He could feel Jennifer’s presence in every room as though she was walking and moving with him in an invisible form. In a macabre way, the thought should have pleased him but the effect was too unsettling. It was like living in a strange new world even though he was familiar with the rooms, the chattels and all the furniture.
He poured himself a drink and sat down in the room he had made his office, then he opened the first file prepared by his assistant. She hadn’t been pulling any punches when she had told him that the cases were tough. It was her intention to influence his mind away from his personal dilemma and she had set the pattern to ensure it happened that way. He engaged himself in the work and almost two hours passed before he paused to rest. He leaned back in his chair and pressed the switch on the telephone answering machine to check the recorded messages.
‘Hi, Charles,’ came the first one from Tom Cushing. ‘I’m coming round this evening. I know you’ll turn your nose up but what are friends for? See you later!’
&nb
sp; There was a bleep from the machine as it passed on to the next message.
‘Mr. Roach. This is Rossiters the upholsterers. We’ve repaired your footstool. It’s ready for your collection.’
The machine bleeped again before continuing its run. This time the sound was very faint and Charles’s ears perked up as soon as the transmission began. For a moment, he stared in bewilderment as the weak whisper of the words became audible and his blood ran cold in his veins.
‘Love you! Love you always!’
It was Jennifer’s voice or at least he believed it to be so, and they were the final words she uttered to him after being knocked down by the truck. Surely no one could be evil enough to play a sick joke on him! Someone with a twisted mind or a warped sense of humour. He played the message back over and over again and then began to search every room in the bungalow. It was illogical because he had no idea what he might find but the action was compulsive. After all, she had been standing at the foot of his bed this very morning. Perhaps she was there now! It was too strange to be true. ‘Love you! Love you always!’ The phrases kept rolling around in his mind incessantly. She had uttered them with her dying gasp... no one else could have known them! He poured himself another drink almost in despair, having cast the case papers aside to dwell on the matter but he arrived at no sensible conclusion. It was a mystery because his mind was playing tricks. Eventually, he went back to the work he had completed, having written reports on some of them to his superiors. Moving to his computer, he created a new file before starting to type. After finishing the first paragraph, he leaned back for a moment to consider how to proceed effectively. As he sat there, with his hands off the keyboard, the cursor commenced moving on the screen and a sentence appeared on its own.
‘Love you! Can’t appear any more. Not enough strength. Will speak with you soon. Love, Jennifer!’
Charles’s eyes remained fixed on the screen as he read the words over and over again. It was impossible for anyone to have rigged the machine to turn out a message on a new file. His blood turned to ice Jennifer, without a doubt, was somehow still alive in the bungalow. She could no longer appear to him but was able to speak. It was more frightening that death itself! He rose with a surge of enthusiasm, running into every room shouting: ‘Jennifer, I’m here... I’m here! Speak to me!’ A resounding silence echoed around the place. There wasn’t the slightest rustle or whisper to be heard. It was becoming increasingly apparent that any conversation with the dead was one of their own choosing!
***
Jim Purdy had been driving vehicles for over twenty years. He had never been involved in a traffic accident in all that time, with the exception of a single incident when a careless driver had crashed into the rear of his truck at a red light in Oxford some years earlier. Driving vehicles was all he knew... all he cared to know! However, in his wisdom, he decided to start his own haulage business. He had purchased a large lorry but his lack of business acumen left a lot to be desired. When working for someone else, it always seemed that they were making huge profits, despite the fact that they often made a mess of it. During breaks, many work colleagues had worked out calculations on the back of an envelope as to how much in rewards their employer was earning. Purdy had fallen into the greed trap. He planned ambitiously to cull the profits for himself working on his own. In the real world, fierce competition entailed paring prices to very low levels to win orders, thereby reducing margins and making it difficult to operate cash-flow, let alone earn a profit. Added to that were the problems of vehicle breakdowns, traffic delays, non-payment of debtors, pressure by creditors, keeping proper records and illness. Worst of all was the spectre of the bank from whom he had borrowed money to buy the truck and to provide working capital. The scenario was a recipe for disaster when related to a truck driver who operated a ‘one-man’ business.
Following his return from Cornwall, Purdy didn’t go to Consolidated Stores for his next load. Nor did he travel to Newcastle. Despite being autocratic, refusing to allow any one to interfere with the decisions he made, his mental condition was so confused that his wife forbade him to leave the house. It was the first time she had ever voiced an opinion in terms of his driving operations. After his violent outburst, accompanied by floods of tears, she left him on his own for a while and then brought him a hot drink. In a short while, he lay fully-dressed on top of the bedclothes. It took her some time to undress him and deliver him between the covers but she managed to do it on her own. Every two hours, she looked into the room to check that he was all right but there was nothing to fear for he slept like a baby. He awoke seven hours later and stumbled into the front room in his underwear to find his wife watching television.
‘Gordon Bennett!’ he uttered tiredly, giving way to a loud yawn. ‘I should be on my way to Newcastle!’
‘You would never had made it,’ she told him bluntly. ‘I warned you before about overdoing it. Long distant driving without sleep is dangerous!’
‘Any messages?’ he asked hopefully, looking for more orders. As he ignored her comment and issued a loud yawn.
‘Only from the bank. They want to see you as soon as possible. They said it was urgent.’
‘The bank!’ he growled irately. ‘That’s all I ever hear! The bank! The bank!’
He returned to the bedroom to dress himself and then went to the kitchen to make himself a drink. He knew it was pointless to ask his wife to do anything for him as she watched one of her favourite soap programmes. After quenching his thirst, he combed his hair and looked briefly into the front room again to deliver his message.
‘I s’pose I’d better go to the bank and sort them out,’ he told her. ‘I shouldn’t be more than an hour.’
His mind became clearer as he left the house and he ambled at a regular pace towards the bank. He now felt sufficiently rested to be able to make a long-haul delivery to a distant city. He needed to explain to the bank manager that he was back on track with a full order book and that he owned a vehicle in far better shape than those of his competitors. How he hated to have to face that ugly bank manager, Mr. Williams! The man had never shown one iota of interest in his business or any sympathy during poor trading periods. He had no heart, no soul, no compassion. All he wanted was his money back! And the cost of servicing the loan seemed to grow like topsy each month. At that rate it was never going to be repaid. It was highway robbery... not the sort of deal expected from a reputable bank. In addition, they had added insult to injury by telling him to find financial accommodation elsewhere. They didn’t want his business! He was puzzled as to the reason why they didn’t want it, taking into account all the interest he was paying additionally in late charges for non-payment.
On arrival at the bank, he announced himself at the Enquiry Desk and sat waiting for the bank manager to become available. It mattered little how he geared himself for such meetings; there was always a kind of vacuum in the bank which gave him a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had never won a battle in this arena. Despite his efforts to get the manager to see his point of view, he had never succeeded, There had been warnings and he had virtually threatened by one bank employee after another that they would pull the plug on his business if he didn’t toe the line. What did they know? None of them had ever run a business! He sat quite still in a state of fear realising that his aspirations and ambitions, as well as his house which he had offered as collateral for the loan, could be snatched away from him for ever.
As the fangs of worry bit into his hopes, the manager’s door opened and the tall discriminating figure of Mr. Williams appeared to beckon him inside.
‘Sit down, Mr. Purdy,’ he began in a very clinical manner. ‘There are two things I wish to discuss with you. One is official; the other’s personal.’
‘Personal?’ The truck driver failed to comprehend the remark.
‘I don’t need to tell you the seriousness of your financial
position,’ he went on. ‘The non-payment which you agreed to in the contract you signed is now becoming a monotonous and regular occurrence. The loan was a short-term arrangement which is supposed to be repaid over an agreed term. However, due to the terms in that contract, heavy charges are made if you fail to commit to the conditions. In your case, each month it gets higher.’
‘Well you shouldn’t make such heavy charges,’ returned Purdy in a weak defence.
‘They’re made as a punishment and to advise you to get into line, Mr. Purdy. The bank has already asked you to look for financial accommodation elsewhere. Have you made the effort?’
‘I haven’t found anyone yet to take me on. Lenders are wary to lend when other banks don’t want the business.’
‘Are there any other funds available to you?’ asked Williams trying to help the man. From insurance policies or other investments. Perhaps a loan from a relative or a friend?’
The driver shook his head slowly. ‘I’ve racked my brains but there’s no one... nothing... only this bank. We’ve mortgaged the house to the hilt. There’s nothing left.’
The bank manager clasped his hands in front of him and stared at the other man’s face. ‘It can’t go on like this. with the best will in the world, the bank can’t support your business when you can’t make it pay yourself. I said I would talk to you on a personal basis, not as a bank manager but as someone watching on the sidelines who can see the situation far better. Each month you struggle bravely to support your business and your family. But it’s not good enough because you’re not making enough profit. You’re losing the battle and it will get worse the longer you go on. Why don’t you give up the business and consider working for someone else. You’d earn a monthly wage and eventually get back on your feet again. You could sell your vehicle to repay a part of the loan. If you don’t your business is going to founder in a very short time.’
Purdy was appalled by the suggestion. ‘Do you know how hard I worked to have my own business?’ he countered vociferously. ‘I scraped together everything and worked around the clock to make it work.’