Meet Me at Pebble Beach: Part One – Out of the Blue

by Bella Osborne

  ‘What? You’re dumping me because of an argument over the washing?’ he said, with a chuckle.

  ‘Nope. I’m ending the relationship because it’s pointless. We’ve been muddling along for a while now and …’ she realised her manager was hovering at her shoulder ‘… hang on, Jarvis.’ She tilted her head up.

  ‘Is that a personal call?’ Nigel asked, his grubby tie flapping dangerously close.

  ‘Yes. Yes it is,’ she said, with a broad smile. Oh, this was going to be so much fun. ‘So if you could give me a minute that’d be great.’ She shooed him away with a flick of her wrist.

  ‘Jarvis. Our relationship has run its course. I’m sorry but I think it’s for the best. I won’t be coming back tonight.’ She’d already decided that she’d book herself into the Grand Hotel for a few days while she worked out her next steps.

  ‘But …’

  ‘Oh and don’t worry about my stuff. You can give the lot to a charity of your choosing. I’m making a whole new start so I won’t be needing it. Find someone who appreciates your planning and tidying skills. And be happy because you deserve to be. Take care, Jarvis. Bye.’ She ended the call. There was a touch of sorrow in her heart. They’d been together for almost two years and she was fond of him, but she knew she was doing the right thing. They’d only annoy the crap out of each other for a few more years, end up loathing each other and then split up anyway. She was just speeding up the process. This was the best decision for both of them.

  She spun her chair around to face Nigel, who appeared to be simmering gently by the colour of his face. ‘Right, now. How can I help you?’ she said, in her most pleasant telephone voice.

  ‘Shall we go into my office?’

  ‘Yes, let’s,’ she said, propelling herself from her wheelie chair. Nigel stalked off. ‘Hang on,’ she said, snatching up her winning ticket. The last thing she needed was to lose that. She put it carefully in her back pocket.

  She entered the office and shut the door behind her.

  ‘Have a seat,’ said Nigel, his jaw tight. Regan sat.

  ‘Regan, you really are skating on thin ice. You do the bare minimum and your attitude—’

  ‘Actually, Nige.’ He looked like he’d been whacked in the face with a dirty dishcloth. ‘Can I call you Nige?’ He didn’t respond. She leaned forward. ‘Nige, I’ve been meaning to tell you a few things for quite some time. Firstly, you really are an irritating little man.’ He started to bluster and she held up her palm to stop him. ‘This is a pointless little carbuncle of a company and you are the tiniest, most meaningless barnacle on that carbuncle.’ She was probably mixing her metaphors but she didn’t care, she was on a roll. ‘I have spent the last three years slaving my guts out,’ okay, slight exaggeration, ‘for no thanks, very little pay and a cheap mince pie at Christmas. Well, today that all stops. I don’t give a crap about my job, this company or you. So you can stick your boring, shitty, low-paid job right up your bottom hole because I don’t need it any more.’ She stood up and relished the look of total shock on Nigel’s face. ‘In case you didn’t get that: I quit. And lastly, you really should change that tie occasionally. It’s very unhygienic. Bye.’ She left the room and did a Bridget Jones style sashay across the office. It felt good. Better even than all the times she’d imagined it in her head – and that was quite a few; mostly when she was meant to be working.

  She patted the ticket, which was still safely in her back pocket. She was going to go to her dad’s. She wanted him to be the first to know about her Lotto win, and she wanted to see his face when she told him. Partly because her dad didn’t react to anything, so this would be a big test. Plus, she was planning on getting totally wasted on the most expensive cocktails available and she’d need someone she trusted to get her back to her luxury hotel.

  I hope they have those big suites you see in films, she thought whilst she filled an empty printer paper box with the contents of her desk. She swiped the stapler, because they could hardly sack her for nicking it, and she wanted some sort of memento from this chapter of her life. She picked up her lottery wish list and nestled it reverently on the top of her things – she was going to need it. There wasn’t a lot to show for three years and, for a moment, it felt a little sad. She straightened her shoulders; that was all going to change. From here on out she had money to sprinkle like fairy dust on her life. It felt amazing.

  She scanned the office. Almost all heads were down; everyone was busy working. They were oblivious to the massive life-changing event going on in their presence. There was no sign of Alex. She left a Post-it note on the cake box, which read EAT ME, and grinned to herself. She’d call him later. Maybe he could join her after work for cocktails.

  ‘Bye, losers!’ she hollered, then she strode out of the office, out of the building and into her new life.

  Well, she would have done if she hadn’t had an altercation with the bloody revolving doors. Trying to get through with her box was more than tricky. She got the box wedged and the door jammed. She reversed back out, ignored the sniggering receptionist, and tried again. Halfway round she heard someone call her name.

  ‘Regan!’ It was Alex and he was waving frantically at her. She staggered out into the street clutching her box and waited for him to join her.

  Alex flew out of the revolving door looking puffed. He took a second to get his breath.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he asked.

  Regan jolted backwards in puzzlement. ‘I’m ditching this shithole and starting my new life. I told Nigel to stick the job up his arse and change his filthy tie. You should have seen his face.’ She snorted at the memory. That was a picture she would savour for a very long time. ‘Oh and I’ve told Jarvis we’re over. It was going to happen sooner or—’ The colour was draining from Alex’s face and it made her pause her story. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Regan …’ He shook his head. Well, it was more of a wobble.

  ‘What?’ He was acting very strangely and he was delaying her starting her celebrations. She thought she’d try a cosmopolitan cocktail first – she’d never had one and had always wondered what they were like. Then she would order lots of expensive champagne.

  Alex held a lottery ticket aloft. Regan peered at it. ‘Oh, did you win something too?’ He couldn’t have shared the jackpot, because she’d already seen on the website that there was just one winner. And it was her – eek!

  Alex was shaking his head. He really didn’t look very well. He took a deep breath. ‘You’ve not won the lottery.’ He swallowed hard.

  Regan grinned at him. ‘Yes, I have.’ She pulled the winning ticket from her back pocket. ‘We’ve both checked the numbers.’

  He shook his head; his expression was solemn. ‘That is not your lottery ticket.’

  ‘Yes, it is. It was locked in my desk drawer.’ She frowned at him. He wasn’t making any sense.

  ‘This is your ticket. I switched them,’ he said, his face ashen. ‘I have your spare desk key. The ticket you have does have the right numbers but it’s for next Saturday’s draw. I bought it this morning.’ Regan’s grin vanished and a wave of nausea swept over her. She opened her mouth to speak but she had no words. ‘I was getting you back for the coffee. It was just a joke. A prank. I didn’t think—’

  Regan was shaking her head like a bobble head strapped to a racehorse. ‘You’re lying.’ Her stomach felt like a washing machine on spin cycle. The sounds around her were muffled, like she’d been immersed in water.

  ‘Check it,’ he said, calmly, and pointed to the ticket she was clutching. She studied the lottery ticket that she thought had changed her life. She blinked at the date. He was right – it was dated for next Saturday. The realisation of what she had done hit her. An icy sensation went over her like she’d just done the ice bucket challenge. She had walked away from her job, her boyfriend and all her possessions. All because of a stupid prank. She slowly looked up. Her whole body started to shake uncontrollably. ‘You bastard!’ she yelled, d
ropping the box of office stuff and launching herself at Alex.

  The force of her sent him flying backwards into the revolving doors and she followed, screaming like a banshee with its hair on fire. She pummelled him with her fists whilst he held his arms over his head to try to protect himself. ‘I’m sorry!’ he shouted. Regan grabbed his head and began banging it on the glass, the momentum of which started to turn the revolving door.

  ‘Ow! Ow! Ow!’ hollered Alex, each time his head hit the glass.

  ‘You fart-brained shitbungle!’ yelled Regan.

  Someone grabbed Regan from behind and hauled her off Alex. With her arms still flailing she turned around to have a go at whoever had interrupted her. ‘Woah!’ said a broad-shouldered guy. ‘You need to calm down.’

  ‘You need to keep out of this,’ snapped back Regan.

  ‘I’m a police officer.’

  ‘Then arrest him. He’s ruined my life!’ She spun back to have another go at Alex but he had managed to push the revolving door round so he was trapped in the middle section, where he was safe from her assault. ‘Argh!’ she beat her fists on the glass in frustration making Alex wince like a trapped animal.

  Inside the security guard was heading towards the doors. ‘Come on,’ said the police officer, who wasn’t wearing a uniform. ‘You don’t want to get arrested.’

  ‘You need to arrest him.’ She shot the police officer a glare, but stopped short when she noted his stony response. She was in enough of a mess. He was right – she didn’t want to get arrested, although at least she’d have somewhere to sleep tonight if they locked her up. The thought was a sobering one.

  Chapter Five

  Regan watched the police officer picking up her scattered items and returning them to the box. It was like watching someone else’s life scattered across the pavement – fragments of her minor achievements that had now been rendered completely useless by Alex’s practical joke.

  ‘Come on, let me buy you a coffee,’ said the officer, standing up.

  Her whole body was trembling with shock. She watched Alex scramble out of the revolving door into the safety of the lobby and speak to the security guard. He still looked scared but he was telling the guard he was all right. She wanted to kill him. She’d never felt like that in her life before. She hadn’t known she was capable, but right now she wanted to do Alex serious harm.

  The police officer took hold of her arm. ‘Come on,’ he said, giving her a tug to make her walk. She reluctantly dragged her glare away from Alex and walked in step.

  Regan was in a daze. Her life was ruined. Everything wiped out. And for what? Payback? A laugh? She turned on her heel and began heading back to the office.

  ‘I am going to kill Alex.’ It was the only solution.

  ‘Hang on,’ said the copper, with a firm grip on her arm, making her swivel round. He was surprisingly strong. ‘You’re looking at an actual bodily harm charge. He’s not worth it.’

  ‘He’s worth doing time for murder,’ said Regan, wrenching back her arm in frustration.

  ‘I tell you what: seems like you need something stronger than a coffee, so I’ll buy you a drink. You tell me exactly what’s happened. And if you still feel the same, I’ll hold him still for you. Deal?’ He gave her a cheeky grin. If her world hadn’t just imploded she’d have found it cute, but right now it was simply annoying. ‘I’m Charlie, by the way.’

  ‘Regan,’ she said.

  ‘From King Lear?’

  She frowned. Had there been a recent adaptation on the telly or something? ‘Yeah. That’s right.’ It wrong-footed her enough that she stopped resisting and found herself being towed along by Charlie, who was still gripping her hand.

  In a nearby bar she regaled him with the whole sorry story, accompanied by animated arm-waving for full effect. When she reached the end she felt like she’d hit the bottom of a well.

  ‘What can you charge him with?’ she asked, hopefully.

  Charlie pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘I’m pretty sure there’s nothing he could be charged with. He’s done nothing against the law.’

  ‘But …’ her voice faded. She knew he was right. ‘It’ll be all round the office by now.’ She cringed at the thought of the water cooler gossip.

  ‘He may keep it to himself.’

  ‘That’s not how offices work. It’ll be the biggest thing since Chris got a beard trimmer in the secret Santa draw.’

  ‘Didn’t he like it?’

  ‘No, she didn’t.’ Regan stared at the small glass of brandy and large coffee Charlie had bought her.

  ‘Life has a funny way of making you look at things differently.’ He leaned forward a little.

  ‘Oh yeah. It’s shitting well hilarious.’ She shook her head. This guy was no help. Regan downed the brandy and when it hit the back of her throat she grimaced. She noted the slight tremor was still there in her hand as she returned the glass to the table.

  ‘You might not see it now, but this might end up being the best thing that’s ever happened to you.’ Yep, this guy was nuts.

  ‘Charlie, I’m sure you are a well-meaning person, and I guess looking out for members of the public is your job, but I fail to see how losing literally everything in approximately ten minutes could be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

  She picked up her coffee, appraising Charlie over the rim. If she hadn’t felt so miserable she would have been far more appreciative of his easy good looks and stubble-swathed jawline. He was having a rummage in the old printer paper box, which now contained everything Regan had left in the world. He pulled out her lottery wish list and managed to give it a quick scan before she hastily snatched it off him.

  ‘I saw this when I picked up your things. There’s some life-changing stuff on this list. What’s stopping you doing those things anyway?’ he asked.

  ‘Erm. Oh, let me see,’ she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘The lack of ten million quid for a start.’ Just saying the amount out loud made her feel sick. She’d lost ten million pounds. She couldn’t imagine anyone else on the planet had lost so much money in such a short space of time. A little voice in her head unhelpfully pointed out that she’d never actually had any winnings, but that wasn’t the point; she had genuinely thought she’d won the money – and now every single penny was gone.

  ‘You don’t need money to enjoy yourself,’ said Charlie, taking a long sip of his coffee.

  Regan was too tired to argue. Her whole body was fatigued. She wanted to curl up in a ball, but she wasn’t going to do that in front of a complete stranger – she still had her pride, if nothing else. ‘I need to get back to my car. And then …’ Then what? She stared at Charlie.

  ‘Is there a friend or a family member who could be with you?’

  Cleo sprang into Regan’s head, but she was thousands of miles away living her hashtag-best-life. A life Regan had thought she was about to share. Next, she thought of her dad. She didn’t want to bother him; but what choice did she have?

  ‘I’ll drive over to my dad’s.’

  ‘I can give you a lift.’

  ‘No, don’t worry. Turning up in a cop car is the last thing I need.’ She forced a brief smile.

  Charlie’s forehead puckered for a second, and then it was gone. ‘I’m off duty. No cop car. You promise you won’t go after that Alex guy?’

  ‘I promise,’ she said, begrudgingly. She finished her coffee. ‘I should get going.’ She had absolutely no need to get going – other than that she needed a bloody good mope away from this kind stranger.

  ‘Sure thing. Look …’ He opened his wallet and pulled out a card. He took a pen from her box and wrote his name and mobile number on the back. ‘This is a group that might interest you. Help you focus on the here and now and what’s good about it.’

  Regan read the card. ‘Mantra – mindfulness for beginners? It’s a full mind I’m suffering from – it’s full of how quickly my life has turned to shit.’ She could see he was trying to help. ‘B
ut thanks. I’ll think about it.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ said Charlie, which was unexpected.

  Regan narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I might.’ She was feeling dogmatic.

  ‘We’ll see. Anyway …’ he got to his feet. ‘Nice to meet you, Regan. Take care of yourself.’ He held out a hand to shake.

  The odd formality of it made her smile. ‘You too, Charlie. Thanks for not arresting me back there.’

  ‘What? Oh, my pleasure.’

  She watched him leave. The feeling of being totally alone swamped her and she quickly picked up her box and left.

  Regan hurried through town clutching her belongings like her life depended on it. When she reached the market, it was in full swing: stallholders shouting out the day’s best bargains; elbows out enabling others to get to the front; busy people swerving in and out on their way to somewhere important. The burger van hissed as a fresh batch went on the griddle and a chill wind blew through the stalls, making all the coverings slap about wildly. Everyone and everything had a purpose. Apart from her. She was surrounded by bedlam and yet she’d never felt more alone in her life.

  Regan wasn’t sure if it was the brandy, but her head started to swim. The noise, the bustle and the smell were all too much. She was going to pass out. She reached for a stall, but she wasn’t close enough. Her legs buckled and she dropped her box, but someone grabbed her securely around her waist and kept her upright. She shook her head to clear it.

  ‘You’re not well. You need coffee,’ said a kind voice.

  ‘Kevin?’

  She was about to protest but the feel of something wiry under her fingers pulled her concentration. Elvis was standing the other side of her, his head under her hand. He looked up, his sad eyes appearing concerned.

  Kevin and Elvis guided her out of the main thoroughfare and to the Hug In A Mug coffee shop. Kevin took her inside.

  ‘Customer,’ he called. ‘You’ll be all right now,’ he said, and he scuttled out of the door before Penny appeared.

  ‘Hey, what’s happened to you?’ asked Penny, coming from behind the counter. Regan didn’t know where to start: from nowhere, the tears started to pour. She had always been irritated by crying – in her mind it served no good purpose. She didn’t believe those people who said you’d feel better after a good cry. It made your face blotchy and your nose run and quite often it gave you a thumping great headache to make you even more miserable.