by Tim Heath
His thinking was becoming more hopeful; he was desperate for a way out but had felt crippled from doing anything up to now. He knew though he had to do something. His life was a farce, a fraud. His family saw him as this prominent businessman, and that is what he allowed them to think as he shielded the rest from them––and yet he knew the reality, and the truth saddened him to his very core. That phone call from Robert only proved the point. How had Robert got his number in the first place? For whom did Robert work? The thought that there was even the hint of a government agency that wasn’t tainted by Gamble employees was too impossible to consider. And yet in that call, Robert had told Brendan how he indeed felt, as if Robert knew everything about him. What was all that? Brendan had seen Robert's photo, and he knew they had never met before.
Brendan was now pacing around rather excitedly, and the desire for fresh air was strong. He picked up a jacket, as rain threatened, and forcefully left his office, walking out of the building in such a way that it told everyone who might need him not to bother trying if they wanted to keep their job.
Around the side of the office building was a large park with paved pathways randomly working their way across and around the lush green patches of grass. Flowerbeds sat empty now, but in springtime, they were alive with colour. There was a time when Brendan would go there at lunch time and walk around. He had fond memories of meeting his wife there in their early years when they had lived a lot nearer but those days had long since gone for one reason or other. A few joggers were working their way around the circular path at different speeds. Two dog walkers talked together as the seven or eight dogs they seemed to have between them strained forward. It was just how Brendan had remembered it, just why he loved to come there. It was a haven in the midst of the madness. Here he could think, walk and plan. Only here, outside the office, did he feel safe. He knew it was a strange thought but a true one nonetheless.
And with his mind at rest, his thoughts clearer, he knew that he wanted to talk again with Robert Sandle, and not just to speak but to know everything. Working out how to get in contact with him would prove another challenge, but he felt sure that before long Robert would again make contact with him and this time he’d be ready to listen.
19
Jessica had spent the whole afternoon getting herself ready; such was her excitement at the prospect of once again being with her Tommy, as she had always called him. She’d splashed out a bit and had got her hair done yesterday, cut just below her shoulders in the way that Tommy had always said she looked most beautiful. She’d also bought a striking red dress that was as elegant as it was sexy, designed to turn heads but there was only one head she was interested in, and she hoped he would love it.
How she missed all this––the dressing up, the preparation. Getting ready for some significant date, even if in the past it had just been to see a film at the cinema, she’d always loved to make an effort. She felt it was in her genes to look good around other people. Things had moved on now though. Their lives had changed, and somehow Tommy Lawrence was a football manager. Tonight they were having dinner at an exclusive London restaurant that usually had a twelve-month waiting list, but they had been fitted in with a week’s notice. After that, they were off to Leicester Square and a film première, the full red carpet treatment, though it wasn’t one of the biggest Hollywood blockbusters––maybe one day that would be the case. It didn’t matter now, just the thought of the evening together sent a warmth right through her body. Sitting in her underwear in the privacy of her bedroom, she spent thirty enjoyable minutes carefully painting her toenails. She pulled on her stockings, the delicate silk feeling good against her now smooth legs which she had spent a painful morning waxing down to the last hair. It would all be worth it just to see Tommy’s reaction.
Tommy Lawrence was also at that moment making an effort. Having showered and freshened up, he pulled up his designer trousers over his favourite CK boxers and put on a casual, loose-fitting jacket, the light grey accenting his blue eyes perfectly in the dim light of his bedroom. He remembered how much Jessica loved gazing into his eyes, the eyes she always found so captivating.
Tommy picked his keys and phone up and was out of the door in a moment. He wanted to pop by the local florists before getting in the hired car, a beautifully streamlined stretched Jaguar XJ8. The lady behind the counter who’d got Tommy’s order ready was taken aback by the man who walked in, such was the transformation from the track-suited individual she’d seen some six hours earlier. He smiled at her, realising the thought that must be going through her head.
She typed up the order into the till and Tommy paid the total, not too worried by how much they had cost because they looked perfect, the white lilies were Jessica’s favourite.
Tommy struggled a bit to pick them all up, careful not to mark his new suit and the lady helped him with the door, a smile on her face as if to say; Somewhere there is one fortunate lady. In reality, though it was Tommy who felt the lucky one.
When he got back to his house the car had arrived, and he tapped on the window, the driver getting out and opening the rear door for him. Tommy laid the flowers on one of the seats and sat in another. A vintage bottle of champagne sat chilled in a bucket, this being Tommy’s most expensive purchase of the evening, but even spending £500 on the bottle didn’t matter as he’d be drinking it with Jessica––his Jessica, as he had always thought of her.
The car pulled away slowly, Tommy starting to feel butterflies in his stomach for the first time in ages. How good it would be to see her again but how sad it was also that there had been all that bad history since their last meeting. He put those thoughts far from his mind; tonight was not the night for such thinking. Soon they’d have to talk about it, he was sure, but tonight was about falling in love again, which Tommy knew wouldn’t be hard, as deep down he’d never actually fallen out of love in the first place. Tonight was their new start, the beginning of life again as he would know it. Tommy had been given this second chance, and now was not going to mess things up. He had a job he loved, money was not an object, and finally, he could have the one thing he wanted above all others, a loving relationship and this with the one person with whom it was possible––Jessica Ponter. Tommy just sat back and enjoyed the journey. Each corner and twist in the road his adrenaline grew, every time the car slowed his heart raced at the thought that they were there before the car picked up speed again and he realised there was a little way still to go. His pulse was racing, tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He laughed at himself.
“Tommy, you old fool. You’re the wrong side of thirty and your as nervous as a schoolboy on his first date!”
Robert Sandle had been walking around the little village for about thirty minutes, enjoying the fact he could fill his lungs with clean, country air, as well as enjoying the quietness. He’d gone into the village store and spoken with Norman that morning, and they’d arranged to have a drink at the local pub later on that day after Norman had finished up at the shop. Norman had said how a few customers had spotted things in the paper about Robert, but nothing much was said. Norman, off his own bat, had pointed out at the time that on the day of and before and after the bombing, Robert had been in the village and that he, therefore, couldn’t have been there or responsible in any way for it. The villagers kept themselves to themselves regardless. If Norman was happy with the outsider, as they still considered Robert, then they were also fine with him. What went on in London might as well be happening in another country. London cared very little for them, and so they cared very little in return.
Robert had felt great peace at this form of acceptance, though he knew favour was only a momentary thing and that he could just as soon be unwelcome if he was to put a foot out of line.
Robert had been to the pub on a few previous visits, though not since his latest arrival. He assumed that his absence would be a cause for complaint by the publican. Robert was unsure how he could make much of a living from such a small farm
ing community.
As Robert walked into the small front area to the pub that night, there were quite a few people dotted around the place and the noise coming from the back told him there were also others that he couldn’t see. The regulars had all noticed his arrival, though it wasn’t quite the place that went silent at the sight of a stranger, not that he counted as a total stranger anymore anyway. Robert glanced around but couldn’t see Norman anywhere. Assuming that he must still be closing up the store, he went and sat at one of the empty stools at the bar.
To his surprise, the landlord was in quite jovial spirits and came over smiling when he asked him what he could get him. Robert ordered a beer, and he was part way through it when Norman strolled through the door. Several of the drinkers raised a hand from a distance to greet him, and Norman acknowledged them with a slight nod of the head. He came to rest next to Robert, who helped him onto the stool.
The landlord came over with a drink for Norman; typically he knew what most of his customers drank in the small village. Robert pulled out a note and paid for it. Norman was thankful but knew he’d have to return the favour which would probably cost him more money, which he just didn’t have. He didn’t let the thought take root though and gladly took a sip of the drink, after what had been another long day.
They sat there in relative silence for a couple of minutes, each man just taking occasional sips of their drinks while looking at nothing in particular. For Robert, not understanding the old guy sitting next to him, it became an awkward silence and not being able to bear it any longer, he broke the quiet first.
“So business has been slow then?”
“Yep.”
“Do you get much outside trade nowadays?”
“Nope, not really.”
Norman took another sip of his drink. It was becoming painful, and Robert felt most uncomfortable. He sat there and thought about things for a minute. Robert figured the guy spent most of his life on his own. Norman worked in the shop by himself and lived alone so merely sitting in the pub among other people, with conversations going on around him must be a nice change in itself. Robert figured he probably gained some enjoyment out of just being there as if he was part of every conversation, part of their lives. Apparently, they all regarded Norman highly. This realisation helped Robert endure the next hour a lot better but he was also supported by the landlord, who regularly came back for further drink orders, something Robert sorted out each time, much to the joy of old Norman. The drinks were helping Robert a lot as well, and the landlord would stop and chat more and more until another customer needed him and off he went again.
It was getting late, though the place showed no signs of winding down for the night. In the far corner, a small TV played the last few minutes of some game that was on, and quite a few of the men were sitting in an arc around it, shouts of joy and frustration regularly rising but they were civil enough. There was a few woman around too, mainly older ladies, three of them now grouped talking while their husbands watched the game. On the far side, a younger woman sat on her own, though the chair at her table had a coat on the back indicating that one of the men in the crowd had probably arrived with her. She sat quietly drinking, having been watching Robert all night, quite taken by him. Robert had noticed her earlier in the night and thought she was an attractive woman, but now he was lost to most things, slurring his words slightly as he hunched over his drink and talked openly to Norman, not particularly caring if the old guy was even paying attention.
“You see, Norman, I know how you feel, you know.” He paused, focusing more now on each new phrase to come out of his mouth. He knew he’d had too much to drink but it had been quite a month, quite a week and he was glad to have some company.
“You see, I’ve been alone all my life.” Somehow he’d managed to stress the word alone, and Norman turned his head a little more towards him as if to tell Robert he was listening, not that Robert now needed any encouragement as he ploughed on.
“I’ve always been alone. Even since birth. I don’t even know my parents! You see some scumbag of a human being if you can call them that, took my parents’ life when I was only a baby. So I grew up in what was called care though it was lack-of-care as they did nothing for me.” He paused to take a sip but realised it was finished. He knew enough to refuse a top-up and pushed his glass away from him as the landlord attempted to pour yet another whisky.
“I don’t know what it is not to be alone, you know?” He almost smiled at his statement, as if lost in this drink-induced nonsense that he was now speaking.
“It’s the job, you see. It pushes everyone away from me. You know I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be with a woman, Norman? Oh, I bet you have too?” He was unaware that he was speaking a little too loudly now, and a few people turned their heads slightly, but this didn’t stop him. Norman just sat there, listening but not reacting. He finished up his drink and started to get up.
“No, don’t go Norman, I’m sorry.” Robert was now starting to sound quite pathetic. Speaking for the first time in ages due to Robert’s over-active tongue, Norman simply said:
“It’s late, and I have work to do early tomorrow morning. Good night, sir and thank you for the drink and…conversation.”
He turned, struggled to pull on his coat and was off and out into the night. Robert sat there and asked for another drink which the landlord was only too keen to pour. Robert had earlier thrown him his money to pay for the drinks, and it was far more than it should cost, but then he wasn’t going to tell Robert that, he was just glad for a good night’s takings and he’d found the additional company a relief.
Robert was again on his own. Loneliness it seemed was his ironic lifelong companion, but he knew nothing else. Robert had yet another sip and looked up as a roar went up from the group around the television, men smiling and hugging one another. It looked fun from a distance, but it wasn’t Robert’s thing. Maybe deep down he was just a loner? Perhaps he pushed others away, making himself alone?
He noticed that the table where the attractive brunette had been earlier was now empty, but the coat was still there on the back of the other chair; presumably, the guy was still watching the game. Robert felt quite low again now, but with all the drink in him, it was hard to tell what was him and what was the alcohol speaking. And besides, he suddenly really needed the gents so got up and made his way around the side of the bar and down a narrow corridor, turning at the end to the left where the two small toilets stood opposite each other, tightly tucked away, common in such old buildings. Just as he was about to squeeze himself into the gents’ toilet, the ladies’ toilet door opened and out came the brunette, who stopped and just stood there right in front of him, a smile now crossing her face.
“Well, hello,” she said, deliberately coming forward just slightly. Not seeming to notice they were already in a tight enough space due to the building’s design, she was gently pressing against Robert's chest. Robert didn’t know what to think. Maybe she was further away from him; it was hard to tell due to the amount of alcohol he’d drunk. She stroked his cheek very slightly. Her hand felt warm and gentle, and it sent a shudder through his body, the hairs on the back of his neck now standing on end. He just stood there in silence, his head spinning slightly and she reached down and held his hand in hers for a moment. She then pulled it up, putting it very deliberately onto her left breast, although layers of clothes separated it. At that moment, with his senses suddenly heightened, it felt almost electric, and he pulled his hand away as if out of fear of being inappropriate.
“It’s all right,” she said quietly, almost whispering the words, but nothing was making much sense to him at that moment. She pulled his hand back onto her breast again, before sliding her other hand very deliberately down the front of his trousers. Robert was too surprised to stop her. After a few seconds, he unconsciously pulled away. She didn’t seem to mind though and just smiled at him before turning away, adding:
“We’ll have to see more of each othe
r, you know, and get better acquainted!”
Robert again didn’t know what to say but didn’t need to as she walked back down the corridor, disappearing around the corner. Robert turned, still unsure as to what had just happened and rushed into the bathroom.
When Robert walked back into the bar a minute or so later, it was clear that there must have been some disagreement. The landlord and two quite large men were only just managing to drag out an obviously drunk but colossal man who was shouting things and threatening someone back inside the pub. Robert feared for whoever had crossed the guy. A couple of minutes later the three men walked back inside slowly as if used to this nightly routine.
“Who was that?” Robert said to the landlord, who was straightening his shirt which had got a little misplaced in the havoc.
“Oh, that pleasant beast was ‘Small Sam’ as we like to call him. Samuel Taylor to everyone else. Not a pleasant fellow most of the time and especially not when he’s had too much to drink. Old George over there only spilt a little bit of his drink onto Sam’s trouser leg, and he nearly tore his throat out for it. We’re used to it but you know I can’t cope by myself. Still, how could I ban him? He would kill me! I’m just glad that I’ve got these guys to help me out––what would I do if they weren’t here?” It seemed a genuine question. Robert glanced up as the guys picked up the chairs that had been thrown over, replacing a few ashtrays onto the tables, though smoking had long been against the law.
The landlord cleaned the worktops for a few minutes with a dirty looking rag that hung above the far end of the bar. When he came over again to Robert’s section, removing the row of empty glasses, Robert said: