Authors: Michael Cameron
Ghost
Ghost
Michael Cameron
Copyright 2015 Michael Cameron
Published by Michael Cameron
License Notes
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Table of Contents
Other books by Michael Cameron
He noticed the red Ford out of the side of his eye in the car park. Despite the car appearing familiar, he thought it nothing more than an unlikely coincidence.
Robert Page pulled his sporty little Fiat 500 into a space, switched the engine off and took a CD from his bag. Carefully he pressed the disc into the player and watched it slide into the console with just the gentlest touch of persuasion. He had about thirty minutes until the kids were dropped off and it was time to meditate. Well, it was time to try and meditate, in as much as you can in a car beside a busy park.
The therapist had recommended the CD, supposedly it would help him to relax.
“It’s all about thinking of the moment you are in now, not the past or the future but the present and if your mind wanders, don’t beat yourself up, just bring yourself back…”
In therapy for a few months now, to his surprise, it was working. For as long as Page could remember a voice spoke to him, in his head… not weird shit, but his own voice, talking to him…conversations with himself. At first he thought it was his ‘conscience’, but the voice for the most part was negative. It spoke with such presence that sometimes Page even spoke out loud in response. Since arriving when he was a young adult it stubbornly remained, neither reassuring nor supportive, it was entirely destructive, easily reinforcing negative views of himself and furthermore, supporting these views with a host of evidence. Over the years, the voice had come to haunt him, causing Page to believe that it was in many ways responsible for, or contributed to, the complete fuck ups he experienced in relationships, in work and his family life.
How the hell can I silence the voice long enough to meditate
? Page didn’t know but was determined to try. A start at least.
Page moved his seat back, reclined it, closed his eyes and listened intently as the male voice on the CD told him to “
relax, breathe and focus
.” There was a hint of a waterfall on the soundtrack to help create a mood but it just made him want to pee. As the track progressed he followed the instructions and tried hard to block out the surrounding noises. The calm and tranquillity of the present was shattered when he briefly blinked and saw her. Thoughts rushed at him so quickly and so intensely that he almost struggled for breath. It was her. The red Ford wasn’t just a coincidence after all, it was hers. After all this time, there she was, Lucinda Harris.
#
He dropped his gaze and all thoughts of meditation were gone. Switching the CD off he sat in silence, eyes now closed and heart beating so loudly it pounded inside his ears like a bass drum. Hardly daring to breathe Page slowly opened his eyes and without moving his head looked to the right to where she stood, not ten feet away from where he was.
In five years her appearance had not changed. Tall, long reddish blonde hair, dressed immaculately in jacket, jeans and knee length boots, elegant and beautiful. For a moment he thought sweetly of her, about to call out her name he stopped as he noticed the car beside hers pull out. She regarded the driver and smiled before fixing her hair, straightening her clothes and getting into her own car. Page lowered his eyes, a flood of memories threatened to overwhelm him. He sighed, he knew what that look meant.
Silently, he watched the red Ford and the gleaming silver Jaguar saloon move slowly out of the car park and in a moment or two, they were gone.
Well, a Fiat could never compete with a Jag I suppose
. He had no idea if she saw him or not, though it was probably irrelevant as she had only reluctantly responded to a miniscule percentage of his drunken texts or emails over the years.
It was one of those moments where Page was trying to compute what had just happened but he could not quite get the thoughts to join up quickly enough. Eight years earlier, in exactly the same space in that same car park it was his car she had sat in, holding his hand whilst she laid her head on his shoulder and asked him to love her forever.
Even the voice in his head was confused and had decided to shut the fuck up.
In the intervening years since he last saw Lucinda Harris, Page had finally managed to get some sense of normality into his life, but even so, she had been unfinished business as far as he was concerned. He glanced at the space where she once stood then returned his gaze to his CD player… the voice on the meditation track was saying “
you should now be feeling entirely calm”
“What the fuck would you know?” said Page and switched it off.
He was jolted from his daze by the arrival of his children. As he got out to greet them he tried to compose himself as best he could whilst hugging them and ruffling their hair. Once he had gathered them into the car, they put on their headphones and left him to drive home in silence. Page’s mind was still full of what had just happened and he remembered eight years earlier. He had such vivid memories that it was like pressing play on a movie and sitting back to watch the show…
#
Lucinda Harris was a lawyer. They first met when she was part of a delegation for a meeting with his Government Minister boss. Page remembered that he simply could not take his eyes off her recalling even the tiniest detail, like her blouse lifting an inch as she reached over for coffee revealing just the barest glimpse of her back. As the meeting progressed Page was supposed to be intervening with prompts and questions in support of his boss but he found himself instead just watching her whilst trying hard not to be noticed. She was intelligent and beautiful and he thought her so far out of his league he was happy just to be in the same room as her. Occasionally though, she caught his eye and there was something in the way she looked at him that made him curious.
Page himself had recently separated from his wife. He was newly single with a high profile job and now found himself with a seemingly never ending circle of women around him. He had led a relatively sheltered life up until this point but he was now enjoying the company of others and he was not in the least bit shy in accepting the attention which came his way.
Although he hated the notion of one night stands, that hadn’t stopped him indulging, and each morning after, the voice in his head appeared and whispered to him how pathetic he was for his lack of self-respect. The truth, though, was that Page simply enjoyed the company of women and for whatever reason they seemed to find him easy to talk to. There was no difference between the married ones or the single ones and more often than not it was them making all the running, and he was quite happy to let them. Having grown up in a relatively conservative home in Northern Ireland and now having a flat in London, it was as though he was experiencing life for the first time. Yes he would make mistakes, but… “So long as no one was getting hurt.” He answered the voice and carried on regardless.
Page worked hard, putting in long hours every day writing speeches and briefing notes for his boss. He specialised in Northern Irish politics, enough to make anyone need an escape valve or two. So after a long day in the office, he liked nothing better than to join his friends at a little Portuguese restaurant on the Albert Embankment called Piccolo where the food was good and the wine flowed freely. Depending on energy levels, a trip up to the clubs of Soho would usually finish the night off. Page would smile wryly when his friends pointed out various women in bars and clubs and said to him “she’s not your type, she’s single” and more often than not, they were not wrong and before too long Page was cornered by yet another woman telling him he had lovely eyes and was so easy to talk to.
But all of that seemed a world away now that he was in Belfast sitting in front of Lucinda Harris, high-flying lawyer and yes, he knew that she was different and he knew she was married, but even in his wildest dreams he could not imagine what the next few days would bring
A day or so later Page had travelled from Belfast back to the London office. As usual he and his boss faced a day of back-to-back meetings beginning after 8 am and likely not to end until 10 pm, so it would not be a Soho night, but hopefully he would get to the pub at least. Mid-morning he grabbed a coffee and sat down to check his e-mails when he spotted one from Lucinda and ignoring all the other urgent messages, he clicked it open immediately. “Hi Robert, just thought I would let you know that I’m in London next week with my boss for a conference. Maybe if I can escape and you are not too busy you might buy a girl a drink?”
“Fuck me” said Page, more than once in quick succession. He read the e-mail again and when he got to the last word he said “Fuck me!” One thing that Page could not do, no matter how hard he tried, was to play it cool. He replied instantly,“That sounds interesting, look forward to it.”
He attached his mobile number for good measure and waited for the response. A few hours later, in between meetings he checked again, still nothing. The other thing he couldn’t do was patience and so a little later he sent another email. “Meant to ask, what day will you be coming over?” It seemed legitimate enough to ask.
“
Don’t be so bloody desperate”
said the voice,
“And you can shut the fuck up!”
#
When he arrived in the office the next day, her reply was waiting. She would be there the following Tuesday and she would text him to make the necessary arrangements.
How legalistic
he thought, as he smiled and read it again for the fourth time.
When Tuesday came Page was quite nervous, bordering on anxious. He was wondering where to take her in order to make the best impression, assuming that they would enjoy a drink together and possibly dinner. This was a woman about whom he knew nothing. He hadn’t had so much as a two line conversation with her and had no idea what her expectations where when it came to wining and dining. However, on a positive note, it was she who made the first move so there must be something about him which appealed and maybe that would be enough for now. Throughout the day she texted two updates, nothing flirtatious, sadly, just “On board now” and “I’ll text when I get to my hotel.”
Unusually for him, Page managed to restrain himself and played it straight in his replies, for which he commended himself.
He was just out of the shower and poured himself a good splash of twelve year old Glenfiddich when the phone beeped, “Sorry, but my boss has asked me to join him for dinner. I’ll get away as soon as I can.”
For fuck sakes!
He thought and slumped down onto his sofa.
“No problem”he lied. After brooding for a while he decided to dress and headed downstairs to the hotel bar next to his apartment block. It was better than sitting at home waiting alone. After a few hours and with not a beep from his phone, he called it a night and headed back home. He assumed she had made other plans and although annoyed, he thought a few more whiskies would help him get over it, maybe there would be another time.
Big Ben chimed midnight close by and while he sat cradling his glass his phone finally beeped, “So so sorry, I just couldn’t get away, is it too late or can I still see you?”
“Oh in the name of all that is fucking wonderful!” he said. As he jumped up, spilling half the glass over his pink shirt (pink was his ‘pulling’ colour he often joked).
Christ, I’m slightly pissed… I need, coffee, mouth wash and a shirt.
He was about to text back when he decided to live dangerously and just ring her instead.
“So, it’s not too late?” She answered with a smile in her voice.
“No, not at all, I had given up on you and was thinking of heading to a club…”
“
Fuck! You are truly pathetic
” said the voice.
“I’m back at my hotel, The City Inn. Is that near you by any chance?” She said.
“Excellent, you are five minutes away just across the river. I could meet you halfway?”
“Great, give me a few minutes and I’m on my way”.
In an instant his mood changed, as he quickly got ready and headed towards the lift, he smiled again. Coffee drunk, mouthwash applied and clean (pink) shirt on he was again slightly anxious.
Thank God for Glenfiddich
he thought as the warm air of the London streets greeted his arrival on the footpath.