Authors: Matthew Reeve
He didn't, but
nodded polity and returned to his breakfast. The wedges of toast were just
about enough to forgive Caroline for her decision for grapefruit - but only
just.
Caroline on the
other hand appeared grateful, even keen of the fruit before her. She sipped her
tea between each bite and followed it up with a slice of toast. She hadn’t even
buttered it. Perhaps the speed at which she ate was just relative to John’s,
which stood out in contrast to his slow pace. He began to eat in a further
unhurried manner, forcing a situation whereby she would have to call the taxi.
She stood to take her plate to the kitchen as, with eyes clamped shut, John
devoured the rest of his grapefruit in one large scoop and downed the remainder
of his cooled coffee. He grabbed his slice of toast and followed Caroline out
into the kitchen, taking bites which left a trail of crumbs in his wake.
‘Caroline, I’m
running a bit late,’ he said, waving the half eaten toast as an indicator to
the truth of this statement. ‘I’m going to run upstairs, get ready, and say goodbye
to the kids.’
‘You said work
could wait.’
‘Yes well, I
want to get it over with. And I want to see the kids, cherish every moment.’
‘Ok,’ said
Caroline. She dropped the plates and cutlery into the bubble filled sink.
‘Could you
please do me one small favour?’ he said with a feigned expression of innocence.
‘Call the taxi for me? Leave it five minutes and then give them a call. I won’t
be long getting ready.’
‘Just this
once. You’re paying. Although I don’t know why you can’t just drive. And if
you’re not feeling right, then don't go in today.’
‘I don’t want
to drag this out any longer.’
‘Go and see the
kids. The taxi will be waiting.’
‘Thanks
princess. I love you.’ He kissed her on the mouth. At first it was just a quick
harmless smacker to distract her from the absurdity of getting a taxi but they
soon slipped into it. They stepped into each other, savouring the warmth,
filling the void of absent kisses. They broke apart, Caroline’s eyes remained
closed.
‘I don’t know
what you got up to these last couple of weeks,’ said Caroline, before opening
her eyes. ‘But you’ve never said so much with your kisses as you have since you
got back.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘I love you too.’
John returned
her kiss before running out of the kitchen to the stairs. ‘If you could get
them to drop me right outside the office, that would be great,’ he called as he
hit the first step and began to climb, the image of his wife rolling her eyes
at this request bringing him close to laughter.
The cacophony
of footfalls of the two manic children getting ready for school somehow
increased. Jessica fled at speed from bathroom to bedroom fully dressed but
dragging a soaking towel behind her. Jennifer, still in her nightclothes, paced
solemnly into the bathroom. She didn’t say a word but at least gave her father
a look to acknowledge his presence. John smiled at the near stranger his
daughter had become before returning to his bedroom. He sat on the bed and
continued to listen to the sounds of morning rituals play out around him. Water
began cascading within the bathroom, another loud bang came from the direction
of Jessica in her bedroom, and the glugging pipes kicked off, indicating
Caroline had drained the sink. He finished the rest of his toast and sat on the
bed with his eyes shut. The water from the bathroom stopped and footsteps from
the bedroom played past his door and began to fade like departing raindrops as
they descended downstairs.
He would go to
work on the off chance any answers were held there. He didn’t know what to expect
but any potential for clues had to be investigated; be it from his new
colleagues, himself or even Bartley and his team as they swooped in to kidnap
him yet again. From downstairs came the sound of Caroline’s voice as she spoke
on the phone; a voice always louder than when speaking one to one with somebody
in the same room.
Fifteen minutes
later, showered and dressed, he was saying goodbye to his family. As he did it,
the shroud of fear that this could be the last time dawned on him. As did the
knowledge that the unpredictable future would entail this feeling whenever he
said farewell to them. For all he knew, each time could really be the last; the
kisses and forced waves of the kids truly were something to cherish. The
hooting of the taxi as it pulled up struck his heart; it was the indicator that
the vehicle to take him into the unknown was here. Heading to work could be a
bad decision. And not in regards to the reaction of his new boss. The car
bibbed again and John gave Caroline one more kiss, full on the lips, in front
of the kids. He ignored their gagging sounds - he and Caroline didn’t care.
They broke apart and made their goodbyes for the day.
‘I’ll give you
a call when I get in, let you know what’s going on,’ he said. ‘And be good you
two. Have a good day at school.’
‘Impossible,’
said Jennifer.
‘Bye Dad,’ said
Jessica.
‘Bye bye,’ he
said and turned to the front door. The brown Ford, with a sticker on the side
that looked like a bird in flight, sat at the end of his drive. The driver, all
beard and bushy hair, waved at him unenthusiastically to acknowledge his
custom.
‘John,’ said
Caroline. ‘I’m sorry, but please, promise me you will call and return straight
home from work. I hate seeing you leave. Can you believe there were ever times
I appreciated being left alone. I’ll never make that mistake again. I really
truly love you.’
‘And I love you
too.’ They kissed once more and he headed up the drive towards the taxi. He
scanned the outside to see if anyone was waiting for him, on edge and ready for
arms to grab him and force him into a clandestine vehicle. But he made it
calmly to the taxi, opened the car and slid in without event.
‘Where to?’
asked the driver.
John looked out
the window back to his house. Framed within the doorway was Caroline who waved
to him, and then, as if fading into focus either side of her, came Jessica and
Jennifer. Jessica waved but both gave longing looks which indicated they wanted
him home just as much as Caroline did. He waved back, praying he would fulfill
their wish.
‘Wherever she
said,’ John told the driver, who glanced at a clipboard, put the car into gear
and began pulling away from the house. The rip of this voluntary departure tore
through John with a wrenching slice that he actually greeted. When he returned,
he really would make this marriage work.
‘So, you come
waltzing in here, 383 hours late for work, a glazed look on your face as if
someone slapped you with a frying pan on your way through the showroom and all
you can say for yourself is: I sell garage doors? Well, let me tell you
something, you don’t anymore. You know where the exit is, I suggest you use it
one last time.’ The overweight, bald headed boss, who gave no indication to
John as to what his name was, pointed to the office door. He had not even bothered
to stand from the moment John walked in.
‘I’m leaving,
just answer me one question. Was I a good worker?’
‘Were you a
good worker? Amnesia set up residency inside your head since you vamoosed 427
hours and 14 minutes ago?’
‘A lot has
happened these past two weeks.’
‘It certainly
has. The world of garage door installation is an ongoing business. No time to
rest, a continuous cycle. We have been inundated. What makes things worse is
that, yes, you were an excellent liaison between client and engineer. Superb in
fact. And then you blow it by disappearing off the face of the planet for two
weeks. I only buzzed you in so I could make visual confirmation you didn’t have
a tan - that you hadn’t buggered off to the Costa del Sol for a fourteen day
jolly up at my expense without the common decent courtesy to forewarn me or
offer your resignation beforehand. It’s slick John, slick. You’re a no gooder.
My judge of character radar must have been on the blink when I hired you. I
knew you were too good to be true. I said to Mike, he’s too good to be true. An
intellectual had wandered through the door. And you know what, you turned out
too good to be true, just like I told Mike. Slick’
John had tuned
out most of this. He was taking in the surroundings of the office in which he
had apparently held employment for at least six months, with the distinct
possibility of never understanding how he got here. Yet on some level, it all
made sense. This could have been a decision he would have made.
Fleetsquare
Industrial Park spread out from a single junction like tributaries from a
river. The crusty remnants of buildings, each brown bricked with huge yellow
doors along their sides, faded into the distance whilst being swallowed by the
constricting vein of roads. He was glad Caroline had specified to the driver
which one he worked at. The board at the entrance had claimed over one hundred
industrial units were held within and whilst almost half appeared to be empty,
most thrived with various enterprises from manual jobs (plumbers, electricians)
shops (electrical wholesalers) and miscellaneous (at least three cake
distributors had been past just in the initial driveway). The thought as to
which his imposter had chosen to set up camp grew stranger as the taxi pulled
further into the site. Surely he had remained something to do with accountancy,
but an accountancy firm wouldn’t have offices in the middle of an overly manual
laboured industrial site. He had always been fascinated by the internal
mechanisms of cars, but would he really have ended up working as an engineer or
at tire changing facility? The circumstances surrounding the departure from his
previous job hadn’t fully been cemented but it certainly seemed to revolve
around getting away from Kerry, for Caroline’s sake as much as his. Perhaps it
was a further selfish gesture on his part, leaving Alfred and Sons being the
easiest and cowardly way to leave Kerry. It wouldn’t have surprised him.
The deeper they
had got the larger the units became, some containing gigantic metal doors larger
then John’s house. Eventually the taxi turned down a minor street within what
was practically a self-contained maze-like village of industrial units. As they
pulled up in front of one in particular, a large van emblazoned with Garage
Doors inc. drove away. Garage doors were strapped either side like flattened
wings.
More questions
reigned regarding his newly chosen profession, but as he got out of the taxi,
it was relief that filled him. Relief that the driver had delivered him here,
and not in to the arms of Bartley as he had feared twenty minutes into their
journey.
They had left
Skinningrove and headed to the outskirts of town, passing the timber yard and
sugar factory which stood either side of the A43 where it opened out into
countryside. The two buildings stood like battlements, beacons to those
entering town indicating they had arrived, and a symbol to those leaving that
from here on out civilisation ceased. Either way, coming or going, you had to
navigate that familiar smell of caramel and wood shavings in the air. They had
headed west, neither he or the driver talking. The partition between them was
open yet the driver seemed to have no need or want of chitchat and John had
rested with his head against the window. The sight of chained horses became
common as they passed through the expansive fields of Yorikham.
Caroline had
indicated there was some distance to travel to his new work location but it
wasn’t until they began passing signs for Newham that he realised which
direction they had been heading. Newham had been the first train stop towards
home on the day of his escape, one stop east from Bressingham. John had sat up
straight, his forehead leaving behind a greasy smear on the window as it peeled
away. His eyes focused on the driver who nodded his head in time to a low
playing tune on the radio. He was knocked out of tune as they passed over the
increasing amount of speed bumps that bordered Newham. Acceptance that the taxi
driver was taking him to Bartley had set in quick. He stared at the driver
through his windscreen mirror for the rest of the journey, unsure whether to
mention Bartley’s name. The driver gave occasional glances towards John who did
nothing more than stare back. They were growing closer to the complex with each
passing minute, and John was shocked at how willingly he was allowing it to
happen.
They were soon
on the outskirts of Bressingham, passing urban housing and streets full of
shops and restaurants, each signposted with Arabic writing. They were in the
outer rim of town, now circling to the north before the taxi pulled onto the
A21, aiming for the heart. The Arabic signs merged with Polish, before
increasing amounts of English shops began cropping up outside the car. A
signpost indicated only two miles to the town centre and just as John accepted
he would be in custody again unless he took action (jumping from the car,
sprinting away from a town he had done once before) the taxi had pulled off
into Fleetsquare Industrial Park. John had noticed the sign at its entrance,
knowing he was probably the only person to have ever experienced overwhelming
relief when pulling into this particular estate. His breathing calmed as they
headed further in, his eyes still flashing towards the driver who was no doubt
relieved to soon be rid of this particular customer.