Author: Alexander Fawn

She was nervous about the upcoming appointment.

After many months of working on her idea, it was obvious that she would need help with putting it all into place. There were so many aspects to what she had in mind. Some of it, she realised, she could not do herself. It would require professional people to set it up. There would need to be a great deal of negotiating between parties. Apart from all this, it would need financial backing to get it started. Put simply, she had the idea but not the money. That was the only reason she would be visiting the offices of the firm that specialised in making money available for innovative projects, such as hers. After considerable research, she had come up with the most prestigious company in the city.

On the day, she was ushered into the plush office of the venture capitalist. He was the businesses top professional, with many years of experience of assessing projects for both their merit and their potential for growth. He was going over her proposal when she entered. He asked her to take a seat while he went over some of her submitted paperwork.

She sat patiently for a few minutes, before he spoke.

He looked up with raised eyebrows. “Let me just clarify, if you don’t mind?”

She shook her head, smiling. “No. Not at all.”

“What you seem to be proposing is to radically change the way customers make purchases. Is that correct?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“I see. The idea being that a prospective shopper uses their home computer to locate a seller of some sort, say a store or a supermarket, that has a website that sells the kind of product the shopper is interested in. Is that right?”

Nodding, she goes to say something

He holds up his hand, saying, “Please bear with me.” He continues. “These companies that provide products, or even services, would need to have the facility built into their website to allow a search of what they are able to offer.”

He glances up. She only nods.

“If the person finds the thing they want, they then identify it, pay for it with some form of bank card and arrange for it to be collected or delivered.” At this point he gathered up all of the paperwork and returned it to the folder. “Have I summed all this up correctly?”

“You have, thank you.”

He sat back in his chair with an apologetic expression on his face. “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he said, “I just can’t see a thing like this getting off the ground.”

She was in her early twenties when they appeared.

It happened behind the chemist shop in the high street. This being one of several places for the homeless to bed down for the night. It was her favourite spot where six large skips were lined up on one side of the alley, providing five sleeping places, gaps between the containers. This was a preferred spot as it allowed a degree of privacy as well as giving some protection from the wind that often coursed down through the passage. Only one other nook was taken, meaning that it would be a relatively quiet night. She had been sleeping rough for as long as she could remember. On this particular night, like so many others, she was high on dope. Nothing unusual about that. In fact, she been doing drugs for most of her adult life.

She had run away from home when she was not much more than a girl. She didn’t finish her schooling. Street life was appealing at first. She certainly made lots of friends very quickly. There seemed to be a common bond among them. However, the attraction of her newly chosen lifestyle gradually wore off and a sense of resignation took over. Of course, the lack of proper hygiene together with a shortage of decent food had taken its toll. She had long given up any notions about getting clean or returning to any kind of meaningful life.

She was preparing to settle down for the night, when it happened. Wrapped in her blanket, she was sitting up, leaning forward to take a last minute look around. Although it was difficult to see, some distant movement caught her eye. The passageway was now quite dark, with only the streetlamps from the main road giving off a slight glow. She watched for a moment or two before she could make out three people walking slowly towards her. Well, not just people; a family. How strange, she thought. What appeared to be a couple and a child were gradually coming closer. They seemed to be talking to each other, but they made no sound. Likewise, their footsteps were silent.

When they reached her sleeping spot, they stopped. The parents stood looking around at the surroundings. In what light there was available and with them now being so close, she was gobsmacked to see that they were her own parents! They seemed to be quite young, but they definitely were her mother and father. The young girl, however… she wasn’t sure.

Then, quite suddenly, the mother crouched down beside her daughter and seemed to be explaining something to her. After this, she raised her arm and pointed to the woman between the bins. The child followed her mother’s directions and peered in at the down-and-out, who was now sitting up and staring out from the space in disbelief. At first, it was just a frown as she peered in, then the tears began to flow.

As she peered in, the other stared out.

They cried together.

They had never hit it off with their new neighbours.

It was quite common to hear them shouting at each other during the evening. They seemed to be all smiles when she met them in the street, but she knew it was just a front. In the main, she and her husband had as little as possible to do with them. That all changed, especially for her, the day the husband from next door came ringing her doorbell. It came about because she had put in an online order for an item she hadn’t managed to buy locally. She had been out on the morning the parcel was delivered. When she got back she found it sitting by the front door. She was quite excited because the item in question was a particular hair shampoo and conditioner that she liked. It always left a wonderful fragrance. For some strange reason local shops had none in stock.

If this was her order, it had been thoroughly padded. It was larger than she was expecting, but she took it inside with the intention of using the shampoo right there and then. She would make a cup of tea first, then take it into the shower, thoroughly wash out the old product and use the one she liked.

Once she was settled with her tea, she tore off the outer wrappings. It was a cardboard box, she opened it and there were a number of items, tightly packed with bubble wrap. There was nothing that looked like a bottle of shampoo. She had always leaned heavily towards curiosity and today would be no different. She began unwrapping things. She found a small box containing a hypodermic needle, a very small bottle that had no label, probably poison, she thought, a large roll of extra wide masking tape, and a square package containing a large folded plastic drop sheet.

Although she had her suspicions, she went looking for the address label. There it was, it was hard to read but it said number nineteen, not seventeen. This had been meant for their noisy neighbour. It had never been part of her relationship with her husband to keep things from him, but this time it would be different. At least, this would be the case for the time being. She went out again and returned having safely disposed of all items.

As expected, on the following morning, soon after her husband had left for work, the doorbell rang. She opened it to find him standing there smiling nicely.

“Ah! Good morning,” he started, “I was wondering if my package was delivered to you by mistake.”

She stepped forward and glanced at both sides of the front mat.

She said, “No. Sorry,” and closed the door.

Their son had always liked drawing.

His parents had encouraged this by continually providing sheets of A4 paper and as many coloured crayons as his heart desired. For a ten-year-old he was surprisingly talented. He was particularly fond of sketching buildings, mainly houses. On this occasion he was depicting what was obviously his home. The distinctive bay windows were recognisable features. He’d been working on it for some time when his father came into his room and looked over his shoulder, a thing he often did. This was partly through curiosity, but mainly because it gave him the opportunity to provide encouragement. Smiling, he recognised the house immediately. The boy, suddenly aware that his father was watching him draw, looked up.

“Do you like it?” the boy asked.

“Yes, I do. It’s great!” replied the father.

“Do you recognise it?”

“Of course, it’s our home.”

The boy nodded.

“The house is really good, and I can see you standing in the front garden,” said the father with a praising tone. He hesitated before asking, “Who are the people standing by the front door, they don’t look like mummy and daddy?”

“No. They’re not.”

“Oh! Who are they then?”

“Lodgers.”

“Lodgers?”

“Yes. I’m renting out the back room.”

As hobbies go, it was harmless enough, until he hit on the formula that is.

For more than two decades he’d been mixing up and enjoying his own jars of relish. He’d always loved the stuff, using it to perk up some of the plainer foods like bread and butter, water biscuits and his favourite, rice cakes. Over the years his list of ingredients grew from half a dozen to more than two dozen items, some of which he bought while others came from his small garden. He was always experimenting with different quantities, ratios and combinations, so that any batch he produced was different from any other.

On the occasion in question he had been in the kitchen for more than an hour, stirring a bowl of thick sauce made up of tomatoes, spring onions, capsicum, apricot and pomegranate, all being mixed with lime juice, apple cider vinegar and olive oil. This was added to with sultanas, orange pieces, corn kernels and dates. The coriander, chilli powder, curry powder and dry mustard came next. Finally, like every other ingredient used, carefully measured amounts of brown sugar, ground black pepper and sea salt were sprinkled in. During this time, the stirring had not stopped and he was glad to finally pull up a chair and just sit staring into his creation. He was sure he would get three jars out of this batch.

Then, walking across to the cupboard, he did something quite unexpected. He opened up, and after gazing along the several rows of herbs and spices, took out three at random and added them willy-nilly to the mix. So haphazard was this last minute addition, that he didn’t even add the items to his current recipe. Had he realised at the time that he had created the strongest loved potion known to mortal man, he would have updated his notes.

The full awareness of what this spread was capable of bringing about, didn’t come to his attention until the young couple that rented the house across the road stopped by for a cuppa and some of his famous relish. Within minutes they were holding hands under the table and simply couldn’t stop smiling at one another. The fact that they got married on the following weekend seemed to clinch it. However, it took a visit from his spinster aunt a few days later to remove all doubt. After helping herself to liberal portions of his topping she left with a spring in her step and called two days later to say that she and her widowed neighbour were flying to Paris and would probably marry there.

When he received an email saying that his girlfriend would be back from her exploration company’s three-week field trip late the following afternoon, he set about tidying the house and preparing an evening meal. Naturally, he put out a plate of her favourite crackers, with a small tureen of relish next to it. He was really looking forward to seeing her; it had been a long time for them to be apart.

When the time came, he heard her opening the front door. He jumped up and crossed to the cupboard. He put the container of unique garnish back in the cupboard and took down an earlier batch.

He just couldn’t do it…

It was their regular haunt, they had always caught up there after work.

It was so handy, less than five minutes for both of them coming from their offices, just a couple of blocks apart. It was a nice, family-owned café that had been there for years. It would be a fifteen minute break before catching their bus at the stand across the street. It was always the quiet end of the day and they had always managed to find their regular table. Outsiders, seeing her there now, would probably find her behaviour strange, but the ritual had history. They had first met there. It had been a lunchtime during the midday rush. They met in the queue, talked about coffee and ended up sitting together.

That’s how it started. They were both in their first jobs, both keen to talk about their work and what they wanted to do with their lives. She remembered the day he’d suggested that they maintain that time and place as a sort of custom, and thought back to how readily she had agreed. There was a mutual understanding that the original encounter was such an important turning point in their lives, it should be respected, commemorated.

Nobody would have thought twice about it when he’d taken a day off with the flu, but it wasn’t the flu. Meningococcal disease took him in less than twenty four hours!

Now, it’s only the people behind the counter that know why she occasionally dabs at her eyes with a napkin.

 

He sat down with his son’s manuscript; the first chapter of his long-awaited book.

As a father, he was very proud, of course. He was delighted that his boy, a schoolboy, should embark on such a project, and one that was completely outside of the school curriculum. He began to read…

Chapter One

The Discovery

The man in the heavy blue duffle coat; blue because ‘Harry’s Smartware Emporium’ on the corner of Tudor Road and Plantagenet Street had run out of black, got out of the midnight blue, two-door hire car, rented from the ‘Self-drive Corporation’ at the end of Lancaster Street during the early hours of the morning as a result of his own silver-grey four-door saloon car being in for repairs, resulting from a road accident that wasn’t his fault.

Straightening, he carelessly crushed the paper cup that had held his Long Macchiato with his usual double hit of espresso, purchased only minutes ago from the ‘Happy Butterfly Café’ next door to “Mister Chin’s Chinese Takeaway’, and tossed it into the gutter.

He knew the man he was here to see was damaged goods and decidedly dodgy. Not damaged in the way some common kitchen utensil might get damaged if the owner used it inappropriately to prise the lid off a container of instant coffee, not the sort of damage that left the thing bent a little, no, more like the kind of damage the would be brought about if a twelve-ton steamroller went straight over something made of a very brittle plastic, like a small measuring cup; that kind of damage.

Despite this, he…

The father stopped reading and looked up.

Shrugging, the boy said, “Of course, it’s not quite finished yet.”

“Erm…”

The boy goes on, “There’s an interesting piece coming up where he tries to walk across a roundabout.”

“Yes, well, on the subject of roundabouts, I see in this… traffic lights, junctions, crossroads, detours, roadworks, and all manner of things slowing you down.”

The boy brightens. “As a matter of fact, there is an incident involving a detour.”

As he continues to read his father whispers, “I’m sure there is.”

The invitation card called for suit and tie.

This sort of clothing wasn’t at all fashionable in his world. His ambiance was more like tracksuit and slippers while manipulating things on a keyboard. The fact that he was a hacker was not widely known, not even among his friends. With his day job paying for all his necessities, he only regarded his evening pastime as a hobby. Over a number of years, he had become very good at what he did. In fact, he often surprised himself with what he could do. He had been to places within the internet that people simply couldn’t go. On occasion, he had felt that others were somehow aware of his presence. Naturally, it had occurred to him that the gentleman who had approached him in the shopping centre with the plain envelope may have knowledge concerning what he thought were his clandestine evening activities.

He had been given two days to present himself at the address provided on the card; sufficient time to rediscover his best suit, tie and shoes. It was also time enough for him to come to terms with the fact that he was perfectly willing to go along with whatever was about to transpire.

At the appointed time and place, outside the main entrance of one of the cities most prestigious buildings, the man that had given him the invitation smiled as he approached. With his finger to his lips the man shook his hand and guided him silently, through to the elevators. They entered one, and after a long ride up, came out onto a long hallway. He was led to a side door. His chaperon entered and announced their arrival.

It was a large boardroom with a central table. A number of professional looking people, both men and women of multicultural appearance, were seated.

On entering, they all rose.

It was obvious that his world was about to change. Whoever they were, and whatever he was about to become part of, he was very comfortable with the fact that he was the newbie.

When his cat died in November he had no one to talk to.

He stands, cup in hand, looking out at a spot near the back fence. He had never been much of a gregarious person, but shooting the breeze with his little mate had kept him going somehow. Was it him, or his sense of belonging? He wasn’t sure. There were others, of course; other people that were there in his life, available for conversation. Those that would happily ask how he was doing, or did he need something, kind neighbours. Even the friendly postman that delivered twice a week would stop and talk about the weather and how well his moped was running. He knows people mean well, but none of them can replace the friendly chats that he had enjoyed with Arnold. Although it had never been anything other than a one way kind of thing, he felt that his loving friend had understood him, had known what he was thinking or how he felt. Most of the time they would just sit together, just sit, saying nothing.

He had gone quietly, in his sleep. That’s how he found him all those empty months ago, curled up in his basket, not moving. Wrapping him up and burying him in the garden had been such a hard thing to do. He recalled how he’d spent an age in the shed looking for the longest piece of bamboo to use as a marker.

It is easily seen from the kitchen window. In the mornings, sipping on his first cup of tea, he looks out at it and nods. He pays his respects to a friend that he misses. A companion that was always there for him… after she, his loving partner, had been taken from him a few years back.

He likes to watch as the stick slowly lights up with the morning sun… and he gives thanks.

He had only met up with his companion recently.

Apparently he had come way down country, just for a spell. He seemed to be a bit strange, but they’d shared the room for a couple of days and the company was good. As for himself, he sat on the window ledge looking down into the street. He was anxiously waiting for the woman to appear. She had been out doing her regular morning shopping for food and he was getting hungry. The newcomer was still fast asleep on the couch. Finally, he saw her crossing the road and entering the building. She was a large woman and obviously struggling with two full shopping bags. Just the site of it made him even more ravenous. Here comes our elevenses, he thought.

He went over to his roommate and gave him a prod. He just twitched a little and went back to sleep. He heard the drone of the elevator, the jangle of her keys, he heard her coming in and putting the bags down in the kitchen. Any moment now, she’d be coming into the room. He was now quite heady with excitement. Surely, the newcomer could smell that!

He poked him again; still nothing. He didn’t seem interested in a midmorning snack.

Maybe, he thought, that’s just the way mosquitos are from up north.