Arden

by Nick Corbett

  There is the sound of motorbikes. Their hearts freeze.

  “There’s no other way to do this,” says Joe. He puts his hands to his mouth and shouts. “Luke! Luke! Luke!”

  “Is that him?” Elias asks, pointing towards the main boardwalk.

  Someone is flashing a torch at them. The motorbikes approach, very close, their headlights beam across the quayside. Joe pushes Hannah and Elias to the ground to avoid being seen; he falls on top of them.

  “We’re going to have to run for it,” he gasps. “Come on, get up, run.”

  The three of them scramble to their feet. They run as fast as they dare in the darkness, along the main boardwalk. By the time they reach the torch, they’re gasping for breath.

  “Three singles for Cyprus is it?” enquires Luke jovially, a bodiless face illuminated by the torch. His demeanour suggests a day trip on the Thames.

  “Turn off your torch!” orders Joe. “We’re being followed. We need to go immediately!”

  “Okay mate,” replies Luke. “The steps are just over there, come aboard. We got a call, we’re all ready to go.”

  They climb up the narrow steps to board the enormous floating edifice. As soon as Joe is on deck, Luke grabs his arm.

  “So, is this Elias?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Luke clenches his fist. “Well done.”

  “We’re not safe yet. Let’s go.”

  Suddenly, Luke’s father, David appears. “Shall I cast off ?” he asks calmly.

  Joe doesn’t have time to ask any questions. “Yes! Yes! Go! Go! We’re being followed!”

  “Take a seat please everyone,” replies David coolly. “As soon as we clear the walls, I’ll accelerate hard. You need to hold on tight!”

  Joe, Hannah and Elias scramble to seats on the deck. They stay low, not daring to look overboard. The motorbikes are on the boardwalk, beneath them. The engines of the yacht roar into life. The huge vessel lunges forwards. Within seconds they are level with the marina entrance. The open sea before them is black, mercurial. BANG! A gunshot. They all hit the deck. BANG! Another gunshot. The engine screams. The yacht propels forward like a speedboat, at an incredible speed. It disappears into the black abyss. Joe, Hannah and Elias have to wedge their limbs between items of furniture, so they don’t roll away.

  Later that night, when the yacht is many miles away, in the open Mediterranean Sea, the friends stand together on the upper deck. The salty air blows in their faces. They yell triumphantly, punch the air and hug each other. When they have celebrated enough, the friends make themselves comfortable on deckchairs, talk about their tumultuous day.

  “I feel as if I’m in a dream,” says Hannah. “I’m still expecting to wake up any minute.”

  They discuss practical details.

  “We’ll enter Pathos harbour at dawn,” explains David.

  “Then we’ll get a taxi to the airport and fly back to Heathrow.”

  “From there, we’ll get on a tube train, go home, put the kettle on, have a nice cup of tea,” adds Luke.

  “Or have a pint,” says Joe.

  “I have got some questions,” says Hannah. “About tickets and passports, or rather the lack of them.”

  “I’ve got tickets for everyone and a passport for Elias,” says Luke.

  “I haven’t got my passport, Luke,” says Hannah.

  “Don’t worry, my cousin’s the Foreign Secretary. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  Hannah decides to trust Luke; he’s never let her down before and, anyway, there is nothing else she can do. She turns to Luke.

  “Who does this yacht belong to? It’s incredible.”

  “A toothpaste tycoon, Nick Mathers. Thankfully, he doesn’t ask too many questions. He wanted his yacht moved from Beirut to Pathos, that’s what we’re doing.

  They enjoy a simple late-night meal together. Shortly afterwards, they go to bed, exhausted. Each is given their own birth and a bathroom, with a degree of luxury they could only ever have dreamt about. Joe sleeps deeply for a few hours and then he finds himself awake. Sleepily, he pulls back the curtain over a porthole above his bed. There is a grey, choppy sea. A faint pinkish line under steaming clouds marks the horizon. The first glimmers of dawn. Splash! Initially he is too sleepy to give the sound another thought. He lies back on his bed. Splash! What could it be? Various scenarios go through his mind.

  Are the crew throwing themselves overboard?

  Splash! There it is again. Curiosity gets the better of him. Wearing his boxer shorts and tight Manchester United T-shirt, he goes on deck. David is standing there alone, in a long dressing gown, wind swept, pointing out to the side of the yacht. All Joe can see are circling white gulls. Suddenly, a great shape springs up out of the water.

  “Whoa! As big as a whale!” Joe yells.

  “Dolphins!” shouts David.

  For almost half an hour, David and Joe watch the spectacle of dolphins escorting them towards land. They would fetch the others, but they don’t want to miss any of these spectacular dolphin dives. The dark green outline of mountains is coming into view. The fresh sea-salt air is already mixing with resin-scented pine forests.

  9 Chequers

  It is Friday morning, the end of March, the last year of the Twentieth Century. The cheerful sound of Scottish folk singing echoes through the offices of the Regeneration Company. Jock is singing in a rasping yet musical voice. Sketching on his drawing board, he is in a happy little world of his own. On the other side of the office, Joe sits at his desk, admiring the view out of the window. A new e-mail pings on his computer. He pulls an unhappy face. It’s from his boss, Vernon Flemel, recently returned from a long placement in China. He is requesting an urgent meeting at midday. Joe wonders what it’s about.

  Is this going to be another rollicking?

  He imagines how the meeting will go.

  “It’s this article of yours in The Times,” says Vernon. “I didn’t agree it. Self-aggrandisement just won’t do. It’s not all about you, Joe. It’s all about me!”

  Joe imagines being assertive.

  “I agreed it with the public relations team when you were in China. I’m not taking any crap from you over this!”

  Vernon would blow a gasket if Joe spoke to him like that, so he tries a softer approach.

  “Look Vern, it’s all good publicity for the company.”

  Vernon laughs, spitefully. Joe goes for the nuclear option.

  “You can stuff your job where the sun don’t shine, I’m leaving!” Joe comes back to reality with a shudder.

  Jock is shouting at Joe.

  “Time!”

  Joe looks at the clock; it’s dead on twelve. He adjusts his tie, makes his way towards Vernon’s office. Before entering, he looks up and notices the fresh paint above the doorway. The damaged plasterwork has all been repaired. Joe knocks on the door, enters Vernon’s cubicle. The office is pristine, not a single piece of paper, not even a paper clip can be seen. It’s like an immaculate rabbit hutch, although Vernon does have some interesting photographs of cities and copies of classical paintings on the walls.

  “Ah, Joe! Do come in. Make yourself comfortable. Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine thanks, Vernon. How was your stay in China?”

  “Remarkable! Planning these new settlements for the Chinese government, it’s incredible. I’ll be giving a presentation to everyone next week.”

  “I’ll look forward to that.”

  Vernon looks apprehensive. He’s biting his bottom lip. He runs his hand through his flop of dyed black hair, flashes a glare at Joe.

  “Congratulations on your article in The Times!” Vernon bites his lower lip again, harder, before continuing. “I understand it created quite a stir?”

  “Er, yeah.”

  Vernon waves his hand in the air. “We’re both very busy, Joe, so look, I’ve got some good news for you. I’m offering you a significant promotion.”

  Joe’s ears prick up. “Really?”
<
br />   Vernon continues. “I’m inviting you to be the head of the urbanism team.”

  Vernon can’t stand making direct eye contact. He looks to the side of Joe’s head. It’s as if he’s addressing some imaginary person. Joe finds this unnerving; he makes a quick sideways glance, just to make sure no-one else is there.

  “The urbanism team?” asks Joe, hesitantly. For a split second, the two men make direct eye contact, then Vernon looks again to the side of Joe’s head.

  “Yes, urbanism is so now, it’s part of my rebranding,” he continues.

  The sound of Jock’s singing is heard as he passes the closed door. Vernon frowns, mumbles his thoughts out loud.

  “Some dead wood will be cut.”

  Joe looks startled. Vernon realises he shouldn’t have said that, he looks frightened. He pulls himself together.

  “There’ll be winners Joe, and you can be one of them!”

  Joe wants to leave the hot, airless room. After a moment’s reflection, he decides to play along with Vernon for a little while.

  “Can I ask what the salary package will be?”

  “I’m offering you a fantastic opportunity, Joe. It’s a great career move. I’m giving you the opportunity to manage your own team. This is something you need to get under your belt.”

  Joe presses his point. “But there’d be a salary increase, wouldn’t there?”

  Vernon looks disappointed. He briefly makes eye contact but then his eyes narrow, gaze drifts sideways, bites his lower lip even harder.

  “Most staff won’t be getting an increase this year,” he hisses.

  Joe opens his mouth, no sound comes out. He tries again.

  “Will there be any other benefits? Will my contract of employment be any different?”

  “It will be different, Joe. It’ll be a much more professional contract. You won’t be paid overtime anymore. The modern world doesn’t work like that. Oh, I should say there’s also one week less annual leave, and you’ll need to give four months’ notice to quit instead of one.”

  Joe’s face drops. Vernon continues.

  “Don’t worry about the details, Joe. You won’t miss a week’s holiday. You’ll be having a good time here with me. We’ll travel. You’ll be involved with new settlements in China!”

  Again, Vernon bites his lower lip, his nose curls into a snarl, perspiration drips from his forehead. He presses his chin into his neck, giving the unflattering appearance of multiple chins.

  Joe is silent, thoughts drifting.

  Has Vernon ever taken a holiday?

  He looks as if he needs one. Jock’s singing drifts past the office again. It’s too much for Vernon. He springs up from his chair, claps his hands nervously. Joe stands up too.

  “Do you want to give me your answer in principle now, Joe?” Direct eye contact is being made and it is placing an enormous strain on Vernon. He is anxious for Joe to leave his office.

  “Why don’t you sleep on it?”

  Before Joe can give an answer, he’s being shown the door.

  “Let me know in the morning then,” says Vernon, ushering Joe out. “I do have others who’re interested you know?”

  As Joe walks down the corridor, he resolves that he will leave the Regeneration Company, but in his own timing. He returns to his desk, looks sad, weighed down. He decides to go for a walk, grabs his jacket. As he passes Jock’s desk, the old Scot looks at him, concerned.

  “Is everything okay, son?”

  “Yeah, well, nothing to worry about. Well, I’ll tell you later. I need to get some fresh air.”

  Joe walks out of the office leaving Jock scratching the back of his head.

  Joe is hungry, he gets a beef sandwich, with horseradish, from a deli bar on Kensington High Street. That done, he walks up the street towards Holland Park. The fresh, spring breeze rustles the last of winter out of the trees. It has become a warm, sunny day. All the nationalities of the world seem to be on the high street; so many different accents and languages. Many people are sitting outside pavement cafés. Joe navigates his way along the pavement. He weaves between businessmen in suits and elegant ladies, hands full of colourful shopping bags. Some youths dressed in sports gear are hanging around a Ferrari, casually parked on double yellow lines. Everyone is happy to be on the street, to watch, to be watched.

  Every now and again, Joe nods to someone he knows. He passes a group of people being escorted up the high street by a council official. They have come from provincial towns, on a study tour, jittery and excited. They are learning how the improvements to Kensington High Street have been implemented. The council officer points to a lamp column.

  “It’s designed to avoid light pollution, it uses white light so true colours can be seen at night.”

  A very stately elderly lady, a Kensington resident, prods the officer.

  “You’re causing an obstruction, move along!”

  Joe turns off the high street, enters through the ornate gates into Holland Park. The park is full of people, walking, playing games, sitting, eating their lunch. Joe heads for his favourite place, the rose garden; there is usually a free bench there. He wants some peace and quiet to plan his exit strategy from work. Suddenly, someone grabs his shoulders forcibly from behind. For a moment, he thinks he’s being mugged.

  “Argh!”

  “Hey Joe, it’s me!”

  “Eh? Luke! Don’t do that!”

  Joe catches his breath, breathes deeply, recovers. He’s glad to see Luke.

  “How you doing Joe?”

  “Okay, Luke, how you doing?”

  “Great thanks! Have you got time for a coffee?” Luke is pointing towards the café in the middle of the park.

  “Yeah, I’ve got time, that’s a good idea.”

  The two friends stroll over to the café. The place is very busy. They are fortunate to find an empty table outside. The other dozen or so tables are all occupied. The atmosphere is open and affable; almost like a garden party. Joe and Luke gossip about the characters sitting around them. There is a whole pack of dogs sitting and lying nearby. Their owners socialise over drinks. Most of the dogs are well behaved. A couple of them jump up at each other; loud chastisements from their masters. Luke points out the group of nannies, he winks at Joe; some of them are very attractive. Behind them sits a group of older men playing chess. There is a small group of spectators gathered around. Luke points to them.

  “Have you seen the grand masters? Look, the porter from our apartment block is playing with them.”

  Joe muses that Luke uses the word apartment rather than flat. Then he recognises the old man with the red face and bushy side-burns.

  “I’ve got something to tell you,” says Luke.

  Joe leans forward, elbows resting on the table. He gives Luke his full attention.

  “Go on then.”

  “I heard Elias play last night, at the Barbican. He’s become quite a celebrity. The Prime Minister’s wife was there. I got to speak to her, briefly. She’s very friendly, a big fan of Elias.”

  “Oh. Who did you go with?” asks Joe, covering up the hurt at not being invited.

  “Serena, and her parents.”

  “Ah, was Elias good?”

  “Yeah, everyone in the orchestra’s excellent.”

  Joe wonders how Luke could tell that everyone in the orchestra was excellent. Then he muses.

  After all we’ve been through, couldn’t I have been invited too?

  Joe and Luke have met up fairly frequently since their Cyprus mission, almost a year ago.

  “Elias really looks the part in his tuxedo,” says Luke.

  “How’s he getting on, staying with Serena’s parents?”

  “Fine, they’re mad about him. We drove him back last night. He says hello by the way.”

  “It would have been nice to have been invited to the concert.”

  “Yeah, I’m surprised he didn’t tell you about it. He asked about you, wanted to know how you are.”

  Joe can’t
be bothered to be offended anymore. “I’ll give him a call, perhaps we can meet up in town at the weekend.”

  “Let me know if you do.”

  “What, like you let me know about things?”

  “Sorry!”

  After a discussion about Elias and the progress he’s making, Joe decides it’s his turn to share some news.

  “I’ve got something to tell you, Luke.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’ve leaving my job. I’m thinking of leaving London too.”

  Luke spurts his coffee back into his cup. “What?”

  Joe hands Luke a napkin. “Sorry, was that a shock?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Will you go back home?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “How could you leave all this?”

  “I don’t live in Kensington, remember, I live in Clapham."

  Luke thinks for a moment. “Do you want to go back home because Hannah’s there?”

  Joe looks puzzled. “Well, I suppose that might be a part of it.”

  “You should definitely make a move there.”

  “Hmmm.” Joe considers the possibility, before continuing. “You know when we fed the homeless people together? There was that lanky lad, going off to Cornwall.”

  “You mean, Phil?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. I felt envious about his new adventure. Then there’s Elias, starting a new life in London. I think it’s time for me to start something new. I can’t remember the last time I saw my grandad. That’s bad isn’t it? He’s getting on.”

  Luke nods sympathetically. “I know what you mean. I can’t believe my dad’s seventy. So, when do you think you’ll leave?”

  “In a month.”

  “Can you really go so soon, just like that?”

  “I can’t think of any reason why not. I’ve got to pay my rent to the end of the month, give a month’s notice at work; then I’m free.”

  “I’ll miss you,” says Luke and then his eyes light up. “Hey, I’ve got to drive my dad’s old Bentley back home for him; it’s being serviced down here. If the timing’s right, I might be able to give you a lift home in it.”

  “It’d be great to travel home in style.”