At the bottom of the page there is a montage of our three surnames: Cohen, Quinn, Holmes, and for the first time I see where the name CQH Advertising comes from.
I stare at the name for quite a few minutes, not understanding.
Richard Cohen changed the name of Cohen Advertising to include my name, after I had been promoted to partner. He did that for me? I can’t believe it.
Suddenly I feel terrible. Terrible that I ran away from the firm, and simply abandoned it in the hope of making the jump back to W1.
I’d left him and all my colleagues at the company in the lurch, as they were preparing for the Olympics in 2016.
And then I realise the truth. The other James, whose job in advertising was the one that I stole when I took over from him - he must have returned to Cohen when he returned to this world and then carried on from where I left off.
My heart is racing and I’m excited as the obvious dawns on me!
I’m still a Director at CQH! I have a job! All I need to do is persuade Richard and this Rachel Holmes woman that I should be un-retired and brought back into the business.
It’s not exactly as if I’ve forgotten anything… as far as I’m concerned, it’s only been almost a month since I was last in the office. By now we’ll have new customers, new projects, new revenue streams, but I’ll soon be able to come up to speed with all of those.
The big question is, why I am only a sleeping partner? Is that because James 2 lost it completely, became a drunk and could no longer fulfil his role? If so, there may be a bit of a challenge ahead in persuading Richard that I’m good for the job. That I haven’t lost it. That whatever I managed to achieve during the year I was there, I can do so again. He just has to give me a chance.
But how do I get to meet him? The firm is closed, just now, the switchboard not manned, and I don’t know where Richard lives or what his phone number is…
But he is the Mayor. I know where the town hall is!
Then another idea dawns on me.
Caroline.
She picks up on the third ring.
“James! How are you?”
“Sober. And back. And I’ve got plans!”
“That’s great. I would like to hear them.”
“Then why don’t you come over?”
There’s a moment’s pause.
“Are you sure? You know what happened last time…”
I remember. It would be hard not to.
“I’ll let you decide. But if you come, you must promise not to take advantage of me.”
She laughs, and hangs up.
So, maybe she is coming, or maybe she isn’t, I don’t know.
There’s a knock on the door.
Wow, that was fast!
Unfortunately, when I open it, it’s just dinner on a tray.
I take it in, and devour it.
Then, just in case, I do another quick round of the apartment to make sure everything is clean. It’s then that I realise I could be in trouble. I haven’t done both the mandatory virus tests today that I must do. I did one this morning, but I should do another one just in case Caroline turns up.
I do it, then follow the instructions in the box again, telling me how to register the result on line. As expected, it’s negative. I decide that from now on, I’ll do it first thing in the morning, and last thing at night when I clean my teeth. It’s going to have to become part of the routine of my new life.
As I plonk myself down in front of the laptop, I wonder for a second, just what the hell I’m doing? Why all this effort?
An image of Sarah flashes in my mind. It’s immediately accompanied by a dull pain in my chest, and an overpowering sense of loss.
I know the feeling.
It’s a magnified feeling of how I felt a couple of times when a couple of girlfriends I loved split up with me when I was younger.
Far worse. But recognisable as being caused by the same thing.
A broken heart.
This time, however, I’m a grown-up. I have to force myself to accept reality.
Sarah is married to someone else.
In this world, I am single.
Alone.
And for the sake of my son, I have to move on. I have to find a new life.
I close my eyes. Make a resolve. A deep, firm decision. Then open them.
This is the start of a new life.
The future is going to be what I make of it!
--------------------
Realising that with all my rushing around, I may be a little sweaty, I decide to dip into the shower and then spruce up a little, just in case Caroline comes.
A few minutes later, I am standing naked in the shower, washing, and thinking. As I soap myself down with some of the apartment’s expensive rose scented ‘British’ soap, I notice that my scar has now completely gone.
Which is brilliant. It shows that my genes are still becoming dominant over those of James 2, the other me.
Unfortunately, as I start to pay the other skin on my arms some attention, I notice a few brown spots on the back of my hand.
I take a close look.
What? Aging spots? I don’t know what they’re called, but they’re almost definitely the first signs of my skin getting older.
As I stare at them in disbelief, and try, unsuccessfully, to wash them away, a horrible thought hits me for the first time… by jumping forward in time from 2013 to 2021 into the decrepit, unfit body of James 2, I have lost eight years of my life! My body has aged by eight years! And even though my mind, me, might be eight years younger, that doesn’t mean a thing. I’ve been robbed of eight years of my life!
Shit.
Suddenly, I am angry.
Not only has fate screwed around with my life, but it has also shortened it.
Stepping out of the shower, I towel myself down and study myself in the bathroom mirror.
For the first time, I notice some other tell-tale signs of ageing.
My biceps are perhaps a little smaller, less pronounced. More flabby.
The ‘jowls’ on my jaw are drooping a bit more than before.
My stomach is larger.
My firm, strong, ‘worked-out’ breasts, are perhaps edging a little more away from Mr Universe, towards Mrs Man Boobs.
I run my hand through my hair, and am shocked to see that it is a little thinner.
Am I going bald?
SHIT!
I can’t stand it anymore.
I turn away from the mirror, and pick up my clothes, then move through to my bedroom, and choose the best clothes I’ve now got in my government funded wardrobe.
Lastly, now fully dressed, I splash on a little cologne that I find in the bathroom, another perk that comes gratis with the room and is designed to impress whichever dignitaries stay here.
Just then, there’s a knock at the door.
Chapter Forty Six
A second date
.
Caroline glides into my apartment the moment I open the door.
As she passes, her perfume lingers in the air.
Expensive.
Exquisite.
Sophisticated.
Not too much. Not too little.
Just right.
I follow her in.
She spins round in her chair, a twinkle in her eye.
“Wow… Is this the same apartment?” she asks, laughing.
“You threatened me. Behave or be out. I listened.”
“Good, but, just for the record. Behave, yes. But not too much.” She smiles again.
“Caroline…”
“James, it’s good to see you again.” She says, cutting me short, before the conversation gets too serious. “And I mean, it’s good to see you, James.”
I thank her, offer to take her jacket, which makes her smile again, and then ask what she wants to drink. “Water or Tea?”
“Ah…,” she says. “Well, now I know it’s definitely you, why don’t you look outside the door in the hallway. I may have
left you something there. Perhaps…”
Following her instructions - after all, she is the Home Secretary - I return to the front door, open it, and find a few cardboard boxes sitting in the hallway outside.
Moving them inside onto the floor in the hallway, I open the lids and discover a treasure trove of beers, wines, a few bottles of champagne, and some spirits.
Pulling out the two bottles of champagne and some beers, I return to the lounge.
Caroline is already sitting comfortably on the sofa.
“Aren’t you worried that you’ll tip me over the edge back into alcoholism?” I ask.
“No, I’m not. The Professor and I are here to help you, but we can’t hold your hand. You’re a grown-up, James. Like I said, I’m a good judge of character, and just by looking at you, and hearing you talk, I can tell you’ve turned the corner. To be clear though, James 2 - the other you - would never be entitled to a Blue Pass. If you become him, you’re toast. But so long as you stay you, I don’t mind you drinking, because I know you won’t drink to excess. There’s a difference. Now you know what you’ve got to lose, and the dangers, it’s up to you.”
I nod.
“Got it. So, I’m guessing its champagne for now then?”
“You’ve guessed right.” She says, her eyes studying me intensely as I pop off the cork and pour two glasses. I can feel her eyes watching. It feels a little like I’m being stalked by a beautiful tigress.
I hand her the glass, do the obligatory clink of crystal, and then I toast her.
“To the future. May it bring what we craft from it.” I say.
“And may the future bring us back to our past.” Caroline replies.
“So…” Caroline says, exhaling and visibly relaxing against the back of the sofa. “How are you?”
I know what she’s asking. She wants to know how do I feel about things, now that I know Sarah is married.
“Did I tell you we met?”
“No.” she replies. But I know she knows.
“She’s married. In love. She’s made her choice very clear. That door is closed.”
Caroline doesn’t say anything. She just nods.
“And?” she eventually asks, as I sit beside her and drink some more. “What about your son? Will she let you see him?”
“I don’t know. She never said anything. For now, I think the best thing to do is to leave it while she gets her head around what’s happening. I’m hoping that if I don’t push her too much about us… that I accept there is no ‘us’, then she may, hopefully, allow me to spend some time with Kenneth. But I imagine that’ll be a decision she’ll have to discuss and then make with her husband.”
“I think that’s a good way to approach it. Back off for now, for a few weeks. Then maybe try gently broaching the question again, if you don’t hear from her.”
Now it’s my turn to nod.
“Anyway, you’ll be pleased to hear that, since I may be stuck in this world for a while, I need to start thinking about how to sort my life out.”
I smile at her.
As I look at her, for a fleeting second, I think of Sarah. Perhaps it’s guilt. But I consciously shut out the thought. There’s no point in perpetuating my own misery in this world now by dwelling on her. I can’t have her. She’s off limits. In this world, that’s never going to be.
“Which…” I continue, deliberately moving on, and banishing thoughts of Sarah, “is why I called you. Do you know the Mayor?”
“Richard Cohen?” Caroline’s eyes open a little wider. Her eyes twinkling slightly brighter than before. “Your partner at Cohens?” she asks, sitting herself up straighter.
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“Not intimately. But yes. I see him probably once a month. He’s the Mayor of London. Our paths cross regularly.”
“Do you have his number?”
“Yes. It’s on my SP. Do you want it?”
“Please…”
As she leans across to her wheelchair to retrieve her small handbag, she turns slightly and asks, “So, are you thinking of getting back into advertising?”
“According to Richard’s website, I’m still a sleeping partner at Cohen’s new firm, CQH Advertising - Cohen Quinn and Holmes. I want to speak with Richard and find out why I’m not active, and discover if they’d ever let me re-join as a full partner.”
Caroline is busy fiddling with her phone device. I can see her flicking through various screens, working the keyboard quickly with her fingers.
“There,” she finally announces. “I’ve sent your phone several numbers from my address book, both private and business. I’d suggest you call him on the private one. Not many people have that number. He’ll pick up.”
“Thanks. I was wondering… if I ask you to, would you put in a good word for me… vouch for me, if needed, and give some official explanation why I’m a good bet for now. That I’m not James 2?”
“Are you going to tell him everything?” she asks.
“I don’t know. It may be simpler just to tell the truth for once.”
“Perhaps, James, but I’d request that you don’t tell any more people than you need to. Your presence here just now needs to be on a need-to-know basis. And not everyone will believe you.”
“Exactly. Which is why, the backing of the Home Secretary, should I deem it necessary, may help keep me out of the loony bin, and get me back into my office.”
I lift up the bottle, and wave it at her gently. We’re coursing through the bottle at a fair pace. She nods.
Outside the weather is looking pretty grim. It’s started pouring heavily.
“Music?” I ask.
“Why not. I’ve had a rough day.”
I’m just about to ask her what type of music she wants to listen to, when she says, ‘Dinner Jazz’.
“Fine… let’s see if we’ve got any…” I reply, standing up and moving towards the HiFi near the wall.
“James, can I show you something?” she asks, then proceeds when I nod.
“You just need to open up the music LT on your phone, enable the Blue Tooth connection and connect it to your in-room internal sound system. Then just search for the music you want on your phone and play it over the speaker… Come closer, let me show you…”
So, I move closer to her, and she starts playing with the screen on her phone. She shows me how to manipulate the phone’s connectivity, how to search for the music, and then how to play it.
As I sit beside her, I can feel the heat from her body against my shoulder and arm. Although I’m looking at the phone in her hands, my attention strays momentarily from looking at the phone, to noticing the rise and fall of her breasts, her exposed cleavage demanding my attention.
“The phone, please?” she says, quietly, and then laughing.
“Guilty.” I reply. Then pretend to refocus on the phone.
--------------------
Over the next few hours, the sexual tension in the room builds. Now I have shown James 2 the door, the connection between the two of us has been restored, and there’s an almost tangible sexual chemistry between us.
We dance around the flame.
The flame gets hotter.
In spite of the elephant in the room… we talk. About Caroline’s life. Her experiences in government… several times perhaps mentioning a little too much… but deliberately pulling back, on occasions, and not finishing a sentence or avoiding an answer, and instead offering a smile, when governmental confidentiality obviously trumps.
We drink some more.
And some more.
At one point the phone rings, and Caroline picks it up, sees the name on the screen, and makes a face at me… “It’s the Prime Minister!”
I make a face back, impressed, and offering to stagger out the room so she can slur her words in private if she wants… but she makes a ‘sshhh’ signal with her finger over her lips, and I slide back onto the other end of the sofa, and feign non-interest, but with both hands cupping my ears an
d making it very obvious I’m listening.
She laughs.
“Doug,… It’s late, and I’m drunk. What’s up?” she asks, having taken the call.
I hear a voice, but not any words…
Caroline nods, says a few words more quietly, and then agrees to something happening in several days’ time. In the afternoon around 3 pm. Then she hangs up.
“He’s worse than me,” she says, dropping her phone on her seat in the wheelchair. “A workaholic. Never stops. I’m meeting with him and Angela Merkel to discuss the ‘thing’ I can’t talk to you about which I mentioned, or didn’t mention, to you the other day. A possible light at the end of the tunnel. Or at least, the great-white hope of a way out of this pandemic. She’s coming to London. Talks then dinner. Do you want to come?”
I almost choke.
“What? Me? Meet the Prime Minister? And the Chancellor of Germany?”
“Why not. You can be my Plus One.”
“I don’t know… I mean, yes…” I stutter.
“Good, then that’s a date. Anyway, how about a gin-and-tonic. That’s the second bottle of champagne we just finished. There’s none left.”
I comply. Would be rude not to.
In fact, we have several.
Then the inevitable happens. After a bout of laughing about something we both find funny, Caroline edges slightly along the sofa, leans towards me, and rests her head on my lap, moving my hand to rest on her stomach, and then holding it there.
It happens very naturally.
I put my glass down, and then stroke her hair with my other hand, as we continue to talk, the physical barrier between us now broken, and with each of us very much in the other’s personal space.
At one point the conversation dries up… and stops, and for a good few minutes we just relax together on the sofa, listening to Kenny G playing some dinner jazz saxophone in the background. Neither of us feels any pressure to talk.
“I know you love Sarah. And always will.” Caroline whispers. “And that’s okay with me.”
I look down at her, her blue eyes open and staring up at me from my lap.
“We’re both alone, James. It’s not just you. The ’18 has made billions of people across the world lonely.”
Am I Dead? Page 30