The Reunion

by Gould, R J

  David moved on to contemplating the meaning of ‘Justice’. Surely Roland deserved what he got? But despite an internal struggle to make the case, he couldn’t accept that cruelty merited death.

  David then considered ‘Truth’, or perhaps more to the point, lying. Bridget had lied to him when she’d first told him the story of Roland’s death. The way she’d described it second time round could be equally untrue. Perhaps she had a compulsion to lie and a third version would be forthcoming. He dismissed this as unlikely – anyone would be reluctant to tell a virtual stranger she had murdered her husband.

  There was no reason not to start a relationship. Or was there? Was ‘Morality’ at stake?Did he have a moral duty to turn her in? And what about ‘Fear’? Should he be concerned that she might murder again? Murder him.

  Justice. Truth. Morality. Fear. Concepts philosophers dedicated their lives to considering. He’d done so when half-asleep in a matter of minutes and had reached a conclusion. He’d call Bridget tomorrow after work to put her mind at rest and arrange to meet. Just the two of them, no children around.

  With decisions about Bridget and the café sorted and with the signing of the papers with Jane a formality, that only left Mary and Rachel to deal with. Enough for one night – he could sleep peacefully.

  ~

  The next morning, a cold and grey January day, a weary David journeyed to work. He barely had time to sit at his desk when his phone rang and the name flashed up on the display. “Good morning, Mary.”

  “Hi David, can you pop in for a minute?”

  “Sure, I’ll come now,” he replied, disappointed he wouldn’t be able to chat with Jabulani first.

  “Great. I’ll make some coffee.”

  He strode in, having planned a professional, detached dialogue. Mary greeted him with a watery smile as she stood by the window pouring the coffee. He smiled back as he sat down. Part of his brain wasn’t sticking to the plan. He couldn’t help but notice how attractive she was. He resisted the temptation to cast his eyes down from her striking face to her striking body. She was looking at him looking at her; he was in danger of giving the wrong signal.

  “Quite an evening wasn’t it,” she began.

  “It was that.”

  “Did you get home OK?”

  “Yes, I enjoyed the walk; it calmed me down a bit.”

  “Look I’m sorry…” “I hope you don’t think…” Their statements collided, to be followed by a few seconds of silence in anticipation of the other person taking the lead. Then they laughed together.

  David was first to speak again. He explained that her understanding that he had separated from his wife was correct, but he had met someone else since then, a woman he was very fond of…No, not yet, but they were on the verge of starting a relationship.

  The atmosphere became more relaxed as they chatted. David let it be known that despite the police intrusion he had enjoyed the evening with her.

  “Maybe the raid contributed towards the fun,” Mary suggested. “How come you knew some of the police there?”

  “It’s a long story, but nothing important.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t like to think we were employing a criminal!”

  There was another pause ahead of David spurting out an unplanned statement. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this Mary, but I think you’re an extremely attractive woman. Quite beautiful.”

  “That’s nice of you to say that.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “I always miss out on the good guys, that’s my life story.” She went on to chat about past partners who resented what she admitted was her over-assertiveness. During these relationships disagreement and argument was the norm. Recently she had gone for men who were compliant, but their submissiveness drove her up the wall and she abandoned them as dull lost causes.

  “Which category would I fit in?” David asked.

  “I think neither. I respected you when you answered me back the other week, I deserved it. And I thought your nicknames about my dress sense were quite funny…”

  “They weren’t mine! How did you find out about them?”

  “I have ears, idle chat in the kitchen spreads you know. But David, there’s a sensitive side to you, I like the combination.”

  “Thanks,” David said with sincerity combined with a guilt-ridden sense of a wasted possibility.

  Mary stood, walked around her desk and faced him. “There are a lot of things about how I behave to deal with. I think I’m all the better for meeting you.”

  She extended her arm and placed it on his shoulder. She moved closer still and planted a kiss on his right cheek. “I hope you don’t mind that.”

  “Not at all.” The feeling of her lips on his cheek lingered as he walked back to his room. It took quite a while to get Mary and all her stories about partners off his mind. He wondered how many there had been. Certainly more than his clumsy fumble with a girl during his first year at university followed by over twenty years with Jane.

  There was a lot of work to catch up on having been out the office for two weeks. He switched on his computer and then commenced to work through the spreadsheets that he hoped to abandon in the not too distant future.

  He was in the kitchen at lunch washing up his sandwich container and mug when Jabulani came in.

  “Back in your boss’s office again this morning I see, David. You are a dark horse indeed.”

  “Sshh Jabulani, not in here.”

  “There’s more of an onion in you than meets the eye.”

  “Please not here, the walls are incredibly thin. Come into my office.”

  Despite being in the confines of his room with the door closed and speaking in a whisper, David had no inclination to talk about Mary. But Jabulani had noticed the slow dance and the first kiss. And having observed the second kiss, Charlie, Mitch, Dee and Freddie were ensuring that gossip was endemic across the finance department.

  “Typical of that lot. Still, they work in School Bus Transport so I suppose they need something to spice up their lives,” David complained.

  “True enough, but I’d like to know what’s going on.”

  “She’s a bit fragile and vulnerable at the moment,” David said in an attempt to lay all responsibility with Mary.

  “It’s more than that, she likes you man, I can see it. And you seem pretty keen on her, too.”

  “Bridget is the one for me, Jabulani,” David asserted, declining to tell him the woman who he loved had confessed to murder. And that indeed he was attracted to Mary.

  They talked about the gig. David was full of praise about the performance – the singing, the dancing, the musicianship, and the way the band had engaged the audience. Jabulani and Farai had been kept behind by the police after everyone else had been allowed to leave, questioned about what they knew of the pub owners. There was little to contribute. Jabulani’s brother had visited several venues in an attempt to get bookings and this was the first to sign them up. They would have received £150, barely enough to cover costs, but at least a start. What with the arrests they didn’t get paid.

  “We didn’t know we were performing in a place that sold drugs. Anyway, we’ve got some other gigs now; I hope you’ll come along to one.”

  “I’d love to.”

  “Of course I’ll make sure Mary’s invited too.”

  “Get lost Jabulani!”

  ~

  Early afternoon David picked up a text from Rachel asking him to collect her after a Fiddler on the Roof rehearsal. He set off a little before six and met her on the wall in front of the school gates as usual. A boy was sitting next to her, they were holding hands. As he approached they stood and walked towards the car. Rachel opened the front passenger door. The boy was tall and lean with straight blond hair down to his shoulders.

  “Hi dad, this is Joe, alias Lazar Wolf.”

  “Hello Mr Willoughby.” Joe had a welcoming face.

  “He’s my boyfriend and a star in this musical of ours. Lazar Wo
lf’s the second most important male in the show.”

  David was glad to meet her boyfriend though wondered what the couple’s agenda was. Joe made it clear. “I’m here to apologise for my behaviour the other week. I don’t make a habit of getting drunk and nor does Rachel. It was the end of term and we’d been to someone’s birthday party and things got out of hand. It won’t happen again, I promise you.”

  “Well I appreciate you talking to me, Joe. Thanks.”

  Rachel shifted to get into the car but Joe took hold of her arm to stop her. “One thing though, Mr Willoughby. I love Rachel – I’ll do whatever I can to make her happy.”

  How does a father respond to that? Bridget, Mary, Jane, Jim, there was no reason why two sixteen year olds should be excluded from the mess called love.

  “I’m glad to hear that. Well, we’d best be heading off now, I’ve had a really busy day. Nice to meet you.”

  David could do nothing other than watch as Joe pressed Rachel against his car where they entwined for a protracted kiss.

  “He’s nice isn’t he dad,” Rachel said as they departed.

  Well at least he’s not a murderer, David thought. He’d call Bridget as soon as he got home.

  The Reunion – R J Gould

  Chapter 28

  David was an accountant and accountants plan meticulously. They research to get the facts exactly right. They take notes and rehearse what to say. They are guarded against making false claims. He would have liked to have spoken to Bridget from the heart not the head, but years of doing things a certain way couldn’t be swept aside overnight. Maybe down the line, when he was running the coffee bar, he’d grow a pony tail, have his ears pierced, get a tattoo, and be spontaneous. But for now he was David the Accountant so he worked out a precise script for the forthcoming conversation. He decided on a light touch, using humour to make her feel at ease.

  With the handwritten prompts by his side he dialled her number. He was nervous, a lot was at stake. “Hello Andy, is Bridget around?”

  “No, she’s setting up an exhibition at work. She said you might call and told me to let you know she’ll ring back tomorrow evening.”

  “Alright, but please make sure you remember to tell her.”

  “Of course I will,” Andy replied in an ‘I’m not stupid’ voice. “Must go. Bye.”

  The impasse continued the following day. David was about to call Bridget mid-afternoon when he received a text.

  Hi. Setting up this event a nightmare, back v.late tonight, will def. speak tomorrow. Sorry. B xx

  Possibly the most important conversation in his life again put on hold.

  On his return home after work he opened the thick A4 envelope sent by his solicitor. He was informed that the terms of the financial settlement with Jane had been scrutinised with due care and attention and were correct. All that was needed were signatures and then the redistribution of assets could commence. This was it – the beginning of the end of twenty or more years together with Jane, now referred to as ‘the other party.’

  David double checked the content. All correct, though wading through a document that listed everything they had accumulated and seeing one of two names against each item was a soul destroying experience. The final decisions had been made when Jane had visited a couple of weeks beforehand. They’d stood in each room taking it in turns to select. This part of the separation had been the hardest, for Jane as well as him, as they examined the things they had once shared.

  ‘I think I’ll have the sideboard.’

  ‘In that case I’ll take the sofa.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘That one.’

  ‘OK I’ll have this.’

  It had been far less traumatic dealing with money despite being of higher value. Bank accounts, shares and ISAs were just bits of paper – they were distributed with a fifty-fifty split. The house would remain under joint ownership with Jane contributing a third of the mortgage repayments until Sam reached the age of eighteen when they would sell and split the net income after repaying the balance still owed. Finally, as long as Jane remained employed, she was required to contribute towards child maintenance.

  Along with the documents was an invoice from his solicitor for work to date. David wrote out a cheque for £2,326.58 and enclosed it with the signed papers and a covering letter. As an act of great generosity the buff envelope had been provided free of charge, but the cost of the postage was itemised in the bill. He baulked at having been charged twenty pence per sheet for photocopying and fifty pounds for each telephone call, however brief.

  With that out of the way David countered the wretchedness of the task by looking forward.

  The café.

  He’d already done some research. Just before the Christmas break he’d surveyed work colleagues to test whether a market existed. When he collated the returns of a questionnaire he’d prepared, there was universal agreement that those not drawn to the bars frequented by the very young would stay out after a meal or a film if only there was somewhere decent to go.

  David had also investigated how to attract daytime customers bearing in mind every shopping centre was already full of coffee bars, virtually all of them part of a franchised chain. The same colleagues had been given a second questionnaire the next day, David deflecting curiosity by explaining that it was for his son’s Geography project.

  Would you like to see more independent coffee bars on the high street?

  Do you currently shop at the coffee bar chains?

  If an independent coffee shop opened would you switch?

  Every response was ‘yes’, ‘yes’ and ‘probably’. Not much help.

  Although his market research could in no way be regarded as analytical or conclusive, it was clear that to have a chance his café would have to be different – a venue and not merely a coffee bar. A venue with music, films, poetry readings and art exhibitions. A place where at lunchtime you could get interesting homemade sandwiches; in the afternoon upmarket cakes and pastries; and in the evening a glass of good quality wine sitting at the same table as someone ordering a coffee.

  He googled ‘how to set up a café’ and was confronted with scope to access a staggering 192 million websites. He browsed through the eleven on the first page after having made a mental note that there could be 17,454,545 pages on the topic.

  He wanted to find out how people had gone about setting up coffee bars and which commercial organisations supplied them. Lists seemed to work for him so he constructed a new one.

  1. Should he buy or lease a property?

  2. What size of premises was needed?

  3. Where should he locate?

  4. What staff training would be needed?

  5. Who were the best suppliers of furniture, coffee machines, food and drink?

  He browsed and took comprehensive notes until approaching 3.00 am. He was pleased with the night’s work but now sleep was needed. He’d love to have Bridget with him. He could show her his new list.

  The Reunion – R J Gould

  Chapter 29

  Work the following day began in Mary’s office as they set about preparing budgets for the next year. He could feel the warmth of her body and smell the subtle fragrance of her perfume as they sat side by side. He struggled to focus on Bridget. Yes, he wanted Bridget (despite the murder), though Mary was a worthy reserve. At home he waited for Bridget to call. Rachel and Sam were in good spirits, their school examinations had kicked off successfully. The three of them were eating raspberries and yoghurt when the phone rang.

  “It’ll be for me,” David declared, taking hold of the receiver and dashing out the room. He took his prompt sheet out his trousers pocket as he walked. “Hello Bridget, I’m just going upstairs.” He went into his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

  “Hi David. Sorry I’ve been out of contact for a couple of days. We’re launching a new artist and he’s obsessive about how his work’s displayed. He keeps changing his mind.”

  David ha
d thought long and hard about his first statement. He’d revised it several times before coming up with something light and humorous, but also filled with passion. It was perfect.

  “You know how fond of you I am, Bridget. I don’t care how many men you’ve murdered – I still want you!”

  There was a pause without laughter from the other end of the line.

  David broke the silence. “Bridget? Are you there?”

  “I expected a little more sensitivity, David. It wasn’t easy plucking up the courage to tell you.”

  “It was a joke.”

  “Not a very funny one.”

  “Oh.”

  “I spend a lot of time thinking about what I’ve done and the last thing I need is that sort of comment. Apart from my father you’re the only person I’ve ever told, I hope you appreciate that.”

  “Yes I do.” David was frantically scanning his prompt notes in search of something to improve the atmosphere. He reached a line that would do the trick.

  “I’ve done a lot of research about the café. It’s really exciting.”

  “Don’t change the subject. Do you get what I’m saying? I can’t have you joking about what happened. Not now, not ever.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry.” This statement was off script. In fact the piece of paper with his notes had dropped to the floor and might as well stay there. Probably for ever because this was shaping up to be a final conversation.

  There was an awkward silence, David speechless. Bridget introduced a glimmer of hope. “Look, let’s meet up to talk things through, it’ll be easier than a telephone conversation.”

  David was barely listening. The unstoppable march towards a relationship had come to an abrupt end and he would be informed of this when they met. He tried to sound upbeat. “Good idea, I’d like that. When?”

  “Sometime this weekend. You’re going to have to come here though because I can’t leave Kay. She’s gone down with a temperature. Something’s going round at school and if that’s what she’s caught it’ll take a week to clear.”

  “Poor thing,” David said, in the hope that Bridget might appreciate the concern for her daughter. “Do send her my love. When’s a good time to come over?”