Don't Tell Meg Trilogy Box Set

by Paul J. Teague

  We were short of staff in the office, one of those bugs that does the rounds. One of the studio operations guys, Dennis, had come into the office when he clearly should have been at home with his head in a bucket. He was one of those people who struggle into work however ill they are, thinking that it’s somehow like a knight’s oath of allegiance to turn up at the office every day.

  This is how the zombie apocalypse will begin. Some silly bugger like Dennis Williams will struggle into work, eyeball hanging onto his cheek, flesh decomposing on his body, and inform us all in his zombie voice that it’s important to take work seriously and not throw sickies every time you’re running a bit of a temperature.

  So our numbers were severely depleted and I’d had to ditch my regular duties in the newsroom to cover for the complete lack of broadcast assistants who normally did the running about on the radio station.

  On that particular day it meant having to meet Steven Terry, clairvoyant to the stars, and babysit him while he sat in our remote studio which linked him up to other radio stations in our network.

  He was promoting his new book Past & Present: My Life Seeing The Future and was doing the rounds recording a series of interviews with radio presenters from around the country via our tiny studio.

  I had no interest in the man whatsoever. I’m a newsman through and through. I want to know the truth, what’s real and what’s being concealed from view. I have no interest in ghosts, Tarot cards, the supernatural or fortune telling, other than if it’s where it rightly belongs, and that’s in fiction books or films.

  I resented having to sit with Steven Terry, clairvoyant to the stars, when my more pressing issue was who was going to be presenting the next day’s breakfast show. The regular presenter had had to make an emergency dash to the loo in the middle of that day’s paper review and hadn’t returned, leaving the next presenter to pick up ten minutes before her own show was due to begin.

  As Steven Terry sat there wittering away about the gift he’d been born with, how he didn’t realise he was different from anybody else until he was nine years old, and why he felt it was the purpose of his birth to share his gift with anybody who had a credit card or bank account, I tried to figure out which member of staff could be moved where to keep the radio station on air.

  I was a bit rude to him in all honesty, quite obviously dismissive of his gift and impatient to be done with him and get back up to my desk in the office.

  He had six interviews in all, each slot fifteen minutes in duration, so it had taken almost two hours out of my day. I texted Meg as he droned on in the background explaining how he saw things that others didn’t. I wish you could see how to fill in this bloody rota, was all I could think. I was going to be back late that night, there was no way I was leaving the office on time. I switched my phone to silent, remembering that any vibrations or beeps would be heard on air. Meg texted me back saying that it was fine with her. She’d go out for food with a friend after she finished work, and she’d see me later in the evening.

  At last Steven Terry finished his interview slots. I closed his microphone, turned off the power in the small studio and stood up to leave. He might have been good at seeing things, but he didn’t notice that I wanted to get rid of him so that I could return to my real work.

  He just sat there, looking at me. I sensed a clairvoyant moment coming on. I braced myself to dispatch his nonsense quickly, much as I did when the Jehovah’s Witnesses called at the front door. I would deliver an assertive ‘No thank you, you’re probably a very nice person, but I’m not the slightest bit interested in what you’re saying,’ and see him on his way.

  He caught me completely off guard.

  ‘Meg is in danger, do you know that?’

  I couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d stood up and punched me.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Someone called Meg is very close to you, I sense danger in her life.’

  My mind worked fast. How did he know about Meg? The fraud, he’d been watching me text her.

  ‘Been watching me on my phone have you?’ I smiled at him, waiting to see his face when he realised I’d rumbled his trick.

  ‘I can see things very clearly for you, Peter, it’s very rare that my precognition is so strong.’

  I retained my cynical journalistic snarl, but he’d caught my interest. Why would he claim that Meg was in danger, even if he had caught a glimpse of her name on my phone?

  ‘I take it you’ll give me more information if I get out my credit card and make a payment for your consultancy services?’ I asked, perhaps a little hostile bearing in mind he was a guest of the radio station.

  ‘Peter, I don’t want or need your money. I’m concerned about Meg. Is she in danger?’

  ‘No, of course not!’ I replied.

  ‘I see three things very clearly,’ he continued. ‘It really is my gift in life to help people, Peter. I have to tell you this, even if you think I’m a complete charlatan.’

  He was dead earnest, there was no smirk or showbiz gleam in his eye.

  ‘I see very clearly that Meg is in danger. I can’t tell how or why, but it comes from her unhappiness. She’s very unhappy, Peter. Did you know?’

  Of course I knew, it tormented me every time I saw her. But danger? From where? Her work could be a bit tumultuous at times, I’d seen it for myself the first time we met, but it wasn’t dangerous, more hazardous or unpredictable.

  ‘You both have a terrible journey ahead. You in particular, Peter. I see fear, worry, torment in your future. You will have to make a difficult decision, it will shape the rest of your life.’

  Again I thought it through. He’d caught me on the hop, I hadn’t expected this. My scepticism kicked in again. A difficult decision could refer to anything. The IVF treatment, for instance. Or I might have to trade my preferred summer holiday dates with somebody else in the office. It could be anything. I turned towards the door. I’d heard enough.

  ‘Wait, Peter!’ Steven grabbed my arm, it was urgent. You wouldn’t normally do that with a stranger.

  ‘Please listen, I know you think this is nonsense. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it so clearly. Meg is in danger, you have a difficult decision ahead, you’re going to have to let something very precious go. And there’s a third thing.’

  He didn’t look as if he wanted to tell me the next prediction but he’d got my full attention now.

  ‘You’re going to hurt each other,’ he began. ‘There’s a lot of love in your relationship, but in spite of that, you’re going to hurt each other. I feel so much love in this relationship, it’s very strong, but you will deeply wound each other nonetheless.’

  I looked at him. What do you do when somebody tells you something like that?

  ‘I’m sorry, Peter. One of my trials in life is deciding what I tell people. I see this so clearly, I have to tell you. I’m sorry I can’t give you more detail, but you can change things, you can alter the future.’

  ‘I appreciate you sharing it with me,’ I replied, ‘but I am very doubtful about this. I’m a journalist, I pick holes in stories for a living.’

  He nodded.

  ‘I know, I understand, but I hope this will help you, Peter. Please let it guide you at least. Take care of Meg, please make sure she’s okay.’

  ‘I will,’ I said, anxious to terminate our conversation and get back to my desk. He’d shaken me a little, but as I escorted him to the reception area to sign out and leave the building, all I could think to myself was, what a load of old bollocks!

  ‘He’s good that Steven Terry,’ said Pam, the receptionist. ‘I went to one of his events once. He was completely accurate, got everything right about me and John.’

  ‘I just don’t believe it I’m afraid, Pam,’ I replied. ‘They know exactly which buttons to press and they never give any real detail.’

  ‘He knew that John was poorly, even told us it was cancer. There’s something about him, I think he’s for real.’

&
nbsp; I smiled at Pam. Her husband, John, had died two years ago. I didn’t want to rain on her parade. If she believed there was some mystic quality to the man, I had no wish to take that away from her.

  I shouldn’t have been so dismissive. I forgot what Steven Terry had told me almost instantly, there was so much crap to deal with back in the office. But if I had listened more closely, if I’d been willing to hear what he was saying, I’d have known the truth sooner.

  Meg had been with another man and eventually, as Steven had predicted, it would place her in mortal danger.

  I was out stone cold. A combination of a few beers and three-times sex had knocked me out completely. At the age of thirty I might have been able to stay awake a little longer, but on the day of my fortieth birthday I was flagging by 1:15am, and Ellie and I had drifted off to sleep.

  We were rudely awoken by the fire alarm.

  ‘Pete, Pete, come on, we’ve got to leave the room.’

  Slowly I came to my senses. Ellie, not Meg. We’d had sex. Three times. It was good. Great. I was naked. She was moving, trying to find her bra, without success. And there was this deafening sound. What a noise that thing made, there was no missing the alarm at the OverNight Inn. That was their snug-at-night guarantee up the Swanee for starters.

  ‘What a bloody racket!’ I said, desperately trying to force myself back into full consciousness. I saw Ellie pull on her lacy undies and felt a pang of indecision. The previous night’s activities had been fun, would we stretch them to the Saturday night too? The last time we’d made love it had felt as though it was over, but now, seeing her only in her underwear, I was fired up again. She was hot, that was for sure.

  The fire alarm carried on, it was making my ears hurt. I’d hoped that it would be a false alarm. Probably some arsehole smoking or vaping in their room.

  ‘Ellie, wait, we need to take care how we leave the room. Don’t want anybody from work spotting us.’

  ‘You’re not ashamed are you?’

  She looked at me, accusatory at first, then couldn’t help her smile.

  ‘Not at all,’ I smiled back. ‘It’s my fortieth birthday today, I can’t think of a hotter way of seeing in a new decade.’

  Except perhaps by having sex with my own wife? I didn’t mention that one to Ellie. I think we were both trying to figure out if it was going to happen again. We were keeping our options open – like relationship cheats do.

  Our clothes were all over the place. If ever there was a post-coital scene, this was it. Ellie had amazing post-sex hair. Nothing like the films where they seem to get their locks attended to by a stylist while they sleep. We both looked like we’d had sex three times after one too many drinks.

  I could hear doors opening and slamming outside the room and the murmuring voices of other guests asking ‘What’s going on?’ and ‘Probably some bloody smoker couldn’t hang on until the morning.’

  Ellie and I quickly located and pulled on our clothes. I combed my hair with my fingers, allowing Ellie to untangle her long hair with my brush. I thought back to the sex, getting horny again at the thought of it. For a moment I was tempted to suggest that we stay back, make love again, ignore the alarm, and slip out when the flashing lights turned up outside. But Ellie seemed to want to go, so I didn’t mention it. Maybe it was best, they’d probably come checking all the rooms before the firefighters got there. I didn’t particularly want Jenny from reception to catch me in the middle of a sex act.

  ‘I’ll check the corridor first,’ I suggested to Ellie. ‘If it’s clear, you go outside and head for the assembly point. I’ll follow afterwards. It sounds like it’s dying down a bit now.’

  Ellie nodded and moved closer to me. She kissed me on the cheek.

  ‘Happy birthday, Pete. I really enjoyed last night. It’s just what I needed, you’re a nice guy.’

  She smiled at me.

  Just what I needed, she’d said. She was right, it was what we both needed. There’s no such thing as meaningless sex, it certainly means something in the heat of the moment. Sex with Ellie was hot, exciting, passionate, but it wasn’t love, it wasn’t what I had with Meg. What I’d had with Meg. Ellie had got it exactly right.

  So we had to slip out discreetly. The secrecy and subterfuge began the moment we stepped out of that door. It had to remain our secret, no drunken revelations to friends or hushed conversations with best pals, this betrayal of our partners had to stay between us. Private, a one-time thing. The knowledge was only dangerous if somebody else found out. That was never going to happen as far as I was concerned. My working life didn’t bring me into contact with Ellie or her social circle, so that wouldn’t be a problem. Just don’t tell Meg. Don’t ever tell Meg. She didn’t need to know.

  ‘Okay, you’re clear to go.’

  Ellie slipped into the corridor, and straight out of the fire door, which was directly outside my room. Thanks to lovely Jenny for putting me right at the end of the long corridor. It made the walk of shame minimal, it would be dead easy to conceal the fact that Ellie had been in my room.

  I gave it a few minutes. I could hear that somebody was making their way down the long corridor knocking on doors and making sure the rooms were clear.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked as I emerged in mock-dazed confusion.

  It wasn’t Jenny, that was good, it was some guy I hadn’t seen when I checked in.

  ‘There’s no fire,’ he said. ‘Not that we can see. But we have to evacuate to be on the safe side. Probably a guest having a crafty fag in their room.’

  I pushed the bar of the fire door, then remembered my mobile phone. I’d probably missed loads of messages since I’d been in Newcastle, at least a fully charged mobile would give me something to do while shivering outside.

  ‘Can I just grab my phone?’ I asked as the man made his way along the doors.

  ‘Not really,’ he replied, ‘but do it fast and nobody will know.’

  I was in and out of my room in no time at all. When I re-emerged, the man was standing outside the room next to mine opening and shutting the door as if he was testing it. I could see his name badge, he was called Derek Walker.

  ‘You heard anything out here tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘No, nothing, just the normal comings and goings. What’s up?’

  ‘This door was prevented from closing with a bit of cardboard. It opened when I knocked on it.’

  ‘It was open earlier,’ I offered. ‘Didn’t see anybody in there, though. It’s all been quiet next door.’

  ‘It’s funny,’ Derek continued. ‘This room is unoccupied. It’s a late arrivals room, one of the last to go. It must have been a cleaner.’

  With that, he made sure the door was pulled firmly shut then indicated that it was time to leave. I pushed through the fire door and walked straight out into the pouring rain.

  Discovering Meg’s brief affair was the first time I’d given any real consideration to what Steven Terry had said. It all came flooding back to me as Martin Travis sat there in our first counselling session, stroking his beard and no doubt thinking that he might like a crack at my wife too.

  Steven’s words rang through my mind as Meg explained to a caring, considerate and sensitive Martin Travis how she’d had a sexual encounter with another man. She’d certainly hurt me alright, Steven was bang-on about that. I had to rush out of the consulting room and throw up. I just made it to the toilets in time. I’m not sure that the potpourri in Martin’s office would have masked the smell of that.

  I entered the room again, white and suddenly very weary. I’d seen my face as I left the toilet, I looked like I’d seen a ghost. What do you say after you’ve heard your wife reveal that piece of news?

  ‘How does what Meg said make you feel?’ asked Martin as I sank back into the sofa, further away from Meg this time.

  ‘Sick, Martin, as you can see it makes me feel quite sick.’

  ‘Uh huh, uh huh, understandably, Peter. Anything else?’

  He insisted on
calling me Peter. Meg called me Pete, I called me Pete, Martin called me Peter.

  ‘Pretty darn angry actually!’

  ‘Pete, calm down. I’ve said I’m sorry, I’ve apologised. I felt ... so damn lonely. You’ve been so remote since the IVF began, I feel like you’re not there anymore. It only happened once. We were talking, it started with him just listening to me ... It meant nothing, it’s over, it was just a terrible mistake. I don’t even know why it happened ...’

  I didn’t understand at the time how those words would come back to me over the following weeks. It meant nothing. I didn’t get it when Meg was saying them to me, but I wised up after I’d slept with Ellie. It certainly meant something while it was happening. But it really did mean nothing in terms of what we wanted for our relationship. We wanted it to work, Meg’s infidelity would hurt us terribly, but it didn’t have to finish us. Steven Terry didn’t have to be right. Yet it meant everything to the wounded party. Me. It was the end of trust and naive abandon. How could anything ever be the same after Meg confessed that?

  ‘Who was it with?’ I asked. Did I even want to know? Probably not. I’m not a violent man, but at that moment I really wanted to get it out of my system. Hitting Martin would have been a start.

  ‘It’s often better not to find out the details,’ Martin began. ‘For many people that can be too hurtful.’

  ‘You don’t know him,’ Meg chipped in. ‘He’s not from my work either, I won’t see him again.’

  ‘How do you feel about Meg now that you know this, Peter?’ Martin asked.

  I looked at her. I was trying very hard not to cry. I didn’t mind Meg seeing me cry, but I didn’t want Martin to see it.

  ‘I feel like I can’t express how much I love her, even though I also hate her right now. And I know it was my fault that she did it. I’m angry and hurt and jealous at whoever got to sleep with my wife. But I feel angry that we let it get to this. I want my wife back, I want our marriage back. I don’t want it to end.’