Scratching the Surface.

For six months, Simian Hayes has been sober and regularly attending AA meetings. To the outside world, he seems to have regained control and is slowly rebuilding his life but he is alone and tormented by guilt. Unknown to him, there is someone willing to lead him out of the darkness. One afternoon Trudy, a new acquaintance, asks him why he came to the Costa Blanca. This question awakens distressing memories and Simian is faced with a choice. In an instant he realises, that to move forward, he must confront the past. After moment's hesitation, he pushes his fear aside and tells Trudy how he came to Spain and what happened when he got there.

SCRATCHING THE SURFACE

By

JEAN-PAUL

Copyright©2015 Jean-Paul

Smashwords Edition

First of all I want to say a big thank you to Sabine, for all her hard work formatting this E-book and also to Katrina, for her thorough proof reading of the manuscript. If you are interested in learning more about me and my books then please visit:

www.jean-paul.eu

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, Businesses events and incidents,

are either products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or actual events, is purely coincidental.

Warning!

Certain parts of this book are politically incorrect and others sexually explicit, so if you are under the legal age of consent, or of an easily offended disposition, I recommend you not to read it.

CONTENTS:

Chapter I - The call

Chapter II - The void

Chapter III - On the beach

Chapter IV - Courage and wisdom

Chapter V - Questions

Chapter VI - Old, fat and useless

Chapter VII - Undone and Unsaid

Chapter VIII - Legacy

Chapter IX - No Time to Waste

Chapter X - Confession is good for the Soul

Chapter XI - Funeral Pyre

Chapter XII - Panties off

Chapter XIII - Out of the Underworld

Chapter XIV - Cunning and Powerful Adversary

Chapter XV - Speak as you find

Chapter XVI - One Simple Touch

Chapter XVII - Wise Words

Chapter XVIII - We’re all Confused

Chapter XIX - Crapittos

Chapter XX - Out with the Old and in with the New

Chapter XXI - Love in the Ruins

Chapter XXII - Children of the Moon

Chapter XXIII - Fresh Start

Epilogue

For

Anita and Sabine

Dedicated to the former for reasons she will never understand and the latter for reasons, I hope she never forgets.

Chapter I

THE CALL

Deep in the dream world, far out on a rolling ocean of yesterdays, Simian Hayes was subconsciously analysing the past. When through the mist of consequences, the tolling of the alarm bell, summoned him back to shore. For a few minutes he lay in the half-light gathering his senses, until he forced himself out of his cosy bed. Whilst still half asleep and rubbing his eyes, he padded across the cool tiles to the ensuite.

Even in the stark light of the bathroom mirror, he decided he looked better, and that six months on the wagon, were having a positive effect on his appearance. With a steady hand, he smeared fresh shaving foam into his skin, before shaving away the stubble. When he was smooth he rinsed the remaining soap from his ears and neck, before towelling off his face. Again he gazed at his reflection and held the stare, this was something he hadn’t been able to do for a long time.

An hour later after drinking the first coffee, smoking the first cigarette and watching the first depressing news on the telly, he was in the city. It was a sunny morning and strolling passed the Goya Hotel, heading towards the school, he realised he felt good about himself and just about everything else. This state of physical and mental well-being, was new to him. Sometimes it struck him, that as if by some miracle, he’d been given an opportunity to start afresh. When he reminisced, as he often did lately, he became determined not to waste this chance.

The advice from the fellows was to get out and do things which had nothing to do with drink or drugs. To occupy his time gaining experiences which enhanced his new state of being. This was why, for the last three months, he’d been attending Spanish classes twice a week. It was a win-win situation, because not only was he meeting people, he was also learning the language and this was important, because he’d chosen to stay in Spain. In his opinion it was essential to at least have a basic grasp of the language, so as not to end up like the ignorant immigrants, who couldn’t even count to twenty, or recognise the colours of the rainbow.

An Irish woman called Trudy, was one of the people he’d met, she’d started talking to him on the very first day. The kindness she’d shown had eased the awkwardness he always felt amongst strangers. Now three months later, they were well on the way to becoming friends and this regardless of his belief, that platonic relationships between men and women were illogical. This was due to the overriding penis effect. In Simian’s opinion, unless the guy was gay, he always arrived at the point, where his knob made him forget about his morals, principals, ethics and good intentions and then, driven by his dick, does his best to get into his girlfriend’s knickers.

At present this conviction is irrelevant for Mr Hayes, because he’s deliriously happy with simply being able to talk to someone and above all, to remember the conversation the next day. It is in the throes of one such dialogue that we meet our hero and his new female friend, together under the sun on a terrace, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes and simply passing the time of day.

Trudy carefully placed the cup back on its saucer, before posing the question she’d been summoning the courage to ask since first meeting Simian Hayes. We’ve known each other for three months now, and you’ve never really spoken about yourself, or how you came to be here. I’d like to hear about it… The sound of her voice prompted him to turn his attention from the flow of traffic and look her in the eye.

An embarrassed chuckle escaped his lips before he asked, What, you want to hear about how I ended up on the Costa, are you really sure about that? On the surface he appeared calm, but inside he’d been both dreading and hoping, she’d ask this very question. Simian truly wanted to get to know her and to do that; he understood he was going to have to open up. Otherwise, they’d soon be spending their coffee time, talking about the weather, or the price of onions, or the state of the nation. Before too long the coffee wouldn’t be very interesting and eventually they’d end up making excuses, before not bothering at all. Because that’s how it always ends up when there’s no bond. However regardless of this realisation, he also struggled with an internal conflict, Trudy was the only person he knew outside of the circle and he was apprehensive in case she didn’t understand. In his mind he feared that after he’d slit open his gut, she wouldn’t want anything more to do with him.

Once again her voice derailed his train of thought, I’m very sure, she continued with a hopeful smile, there’s something about you that makes me want to know more. I can’t put my finger on it, but you exude a certain calmness, you appear so serene.

This made him laugh as he thought, God grant me the serenity! In an instant his mind transported him to the inner circle and the recitation of the serenity prayer, a part of his life, which Trudy knew nothing about.

Like a bashful child she stared at him with a reproachful expression and asked, Why are you laughing at me?

A twinge of discomfort pulled at his heart because he may have embarrassed or hurt her, so he quickly tried to calm the waters, Oh I’m definitely not laughing at you, I’m laughing at myself more than anything. To prove it, I’ll tell you about myself and when you’ve heard my tale, then you’ll understand. Before I begin I must ask you to bear with me, because I’m not very good at telling stories and I don’t like talking about myself.

For a second he paused, reflecting on why he’d decided to take the plunge, then before he could stop, he continued, This isn’t something I’d normally do, but on the other hand, you’ve also got something about you, something honest and pure. A certain look, which makes me believe you truly want to know. I have no inkling what your motives are, but something makes me want to believe, makes me want to give of myself to you. After taking up his glass, Simian took a sip of Vichy Catalan, inhaled deeply, exhaled and began.

"I can remember this particular day as if it were yesterday, or better still this morning. It was spitting rain and I had an appointment in the city. Before going I’d just eaten a Chinese, you know the usual thing, rubbery noodles with indefinable meat, in a glutamate sauce. When I was done I raised a hand to summon the waitress, who was dressed in a short black skirt and a white cotton blouse. After paying the bill, I drank my strange tasting liqueur, before leaving the ornamental interior, and stepping into the greyness of the early afternoon. By the time I reached the car, the shower turned to a downpour, so I headed through the deluge towards the West End.

The tick-tack-tick of the indicator stopped, as the stalk automatically clunked back into neutral position. The tyres whirred and the steering wheel vibrated, as I rolled down the ribbed concrete ramp leading into the cavernous belly of the underground car park. Once under cover, the relentless pitter-patter instantly disappeared, I turned off the wipers, relieved that the heartbeat rhythm of the blades, skimming over the windscreen had stopped.

After stating my business to the mechanical voice, which interrogated me over the intercom, I was granted access. The wasp coloured barrier was raised and in search of a parking space, I drove through the dusky squealing echoes of the gloomy labyrinth. With the vehicle nestled in a safe spot I killed the engine.

A metallic ticking came from under the bonnet as the motor cooled, I checked my reflection in the rear view mirror and adjusted my tie. Next I opened my briefcase and checked the contents, before taking the key out of the ignition and leaving the secure warmth of the interior. Outside the cool stale air, gave me a clammy welcoming embrace as I walked round to the passenger’s side. After opening the door I leaned in and pulled out my worn, black leather bag.

In the gloom my footfalls echoed as I crossed the concrete, casually I reached behind me and pressed the remote device. In the next second the vehicle secured its doors and peeped once, confirming it was prepared to repel borders. With each step across the car park, I sensed the familiar tension in my gut. By pressing the illuminated green button, I summoned the lift and whilst waiting I checked my watch. There were still almost twenty minutes left until the appointment.

Inside facing the mirrored wall, I was confronted by my reflection. Back then I was a typical citywide boy, dressed in a pin striped, single breasted, three piece suit, white shirt and red tie. I remember thinking,’ would you buy a second hand car off of this man?’ before baring my teeth to check my smile, there were no chunks of meat or paprika caught in the gaps. Satisfied with my dental hygiene, I examined my rather large nostrils. There were no flakes of dried snot, caught like flies in the web of nasal hairs, only the darkness leading to my brain.

By the time the lift ascended the two floors to the foyer, I’d checked all the possible areas, which might let me down, and decided I was ready to do battle.

The doors slid open and I stepped into the brightly lit foyer, I squinted for a second as my eyes adjusted to the glare. Once accustomed to the brightness I looked from side to side, as if checking for traffic. To my left, the security guard in his peaked cap was behind his desk, whilst to my right, rivers of rain, ran down the towering glass façade. I took a breath and headed across the Carrara marble to the directory board, the heels of my Loake Brogues tapping out my progress. I already knew where to go, nonetheless I thought it wise to check, so I studied the names of the businesses, until I came across Sharky Inc. Satisfied I was heading for the right place, I took a few more steps towards the row of lifts, one of which, would hopefully be whisking me up, to another signed contract and another commission cheque.

There were still fifteen minutes to go. In the next moment I glanced at the floor numbers lighting up as the elevator made its descent. Somewhere far away a telephone was ringing and I sensed a vibration in my jacket. It took a few moments to realise it was my mobile. With a sigh I fumbled in my pocket and pulled it out, imagining it to be my wife Amelia, she loved to call and ask me to run some errand or other on the way home.

In the second it took to check the number I had all sorts of thoughts. It could be my wife, or the office, or more inconveniently some overworked, under paid, telephone sales rep. trying to flog me insurance, or a new flat rate, multi surf, all inclusive, please read the small print package, for my communication device. If my luck was in, a wrong number, or if it was really in, an old flame calling to say, I’d been right all along and to beg my forgiveness.

But sadly it was nothing so beautifully banal, and I remember how in total innocence I said hello and waited for the person on the other end to speak.

In the next moment a female voice introduced herself by saying, Hello my name is Sister Frank and I’m calling from the Cardiff Royal Infirmary. Am I speaking to Mr Simian Hayes? The voice was smooth and compassionate.

In the non-committal tone of a consummate professional, I told her she was, so she went on, Can I ask you where you are Mr Hayes and if you’re driving at present? The softness of her sympathy became tainted with the edge of obligation.

In answer to her question I told her I was in London and that I wasn’t driving. Time was ticking by and I sensed myself becoming irritated as once again I checked my watch, thirteen minutes to go.

With a muffled thud the lift arrived and the doors swished open. Mr Hayes are you able to talk? the sister continued, as the passengers streamed out into the foyer, jostling by me with barely a sideward glance.

Instinctively I stepped back, to allow room for handbags, laptops and umbrellas, whilst telling her that I could talk but was in a hurry. As I spoke I wondered, what could she possibly want with me? In the next instant my gaze followed a young woman in a tight fawn skirt, wiggling her way across the marble to the lifts at the other end of the hall. With The heels of her shoes click clacking, and her long blonde ponytail, swinging to and fro like a pendulum as she went.

Sister Frank broke the spell by saying, Your father is Mr Alexander Hayes, of 9 Van Field Close Castle Park Caerphilly is that correct? As she put her question, I detected a slight waver in her coolness and my stomach knotted. Claws of impending doom, scraped up my spine making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

A strange taste filled my mouth as I told her that it was correct, and whilst waiting for her to continue, my saliva disappeared and my lips stuck to my teeth. After a pause, Sister Frank dropped her news like a neutron bomb; Mr Hayes your father was admitted into the A&E this morning after having suffered a massive heart attack. I’m sorry to have to inform you, we were unable to resuscitate him; he died at one thirty this afternoon.

Ms Frank’s voice, faded into the distance as I stared at the closed lift doors. From the impassive polished steel, my gaze dropped to my feet, then by force of habit back to my watch. Its finely crafted, Swiss made hands, informed me it was two fifty-five. There were five minutes left to my appointment, and as I digested this information, I realised almost one and a half hours, or eighty five minutes, or better still to make it further off in the great scheme of things, five thousand one hundred seconds had passed, since my father had drawn his last breath. To bring things back to the banal, fifty-five minutes had elapsed, since I’d left the Great Wall Chinese Restaurant, after enjoying spicy beef and red wine. Well the beef had been good if that can be said of Chinese food, but the wine had been bad, full of anti-freeze or some such crap. My wine had been full of crap, my father was dead and I was just standing there…just standing there, I was just standing there…."

At this point Simian paused as he relived those agonising endless seconds. After swallowing hard and glancing briefly at Trudy he continued. "Ms Frank’s tone of concern, compassion and ultimate dedication, yanked me back to the present, back to reality, back to consciousness, to the need to function, to react, to be present.

I’d been silent too long for her liking, so she spoke again, Mr Hayes… Mr Hayes… is everything alright Mr Hayes? Mr Hayes…. The note in her voice was almost pleading. After taking control of myself I told her I understood, I could hear myself stammering, my lips were sticking more and more firmly to my teeth and my usually confident diction, quavered as I struggled to keep up appearances.

The black tide rolled on relentlessly as she continued, Mr Hayes, we don’t usually give out this sort of news over the phone, but there was no other way and seeing as you’re not local…and your number was highlighted in your father’s phone… I’m very sorry Mr Hayes.

Now she’s apologising I thought, she didn’t need to apologise. It wasn’t as if she’d caused his heart to go into overdrive, and almost explode under the pressure, before finally stopping forever. The need to lash out was building within me, however, reason got the better of fear and a new voice spoke within. ‘Stay calm she’s only doing her job, she’s also at a loss, she’s also struggling.’ I sighed and turned my gaze to the glass façade, the rain was easing.

Whilst glancing at my infernal wristwatch, I told her she had nothing to apologise for. By this time my thoughts were on another level. My father was dead and I could do no more than look at my bloody watch, and worry about that fat, bald, whinging and waffling client. Who at that very moment, was ten floors above me in his oversized, overprized, egocentric, ergonomic office, waiting to sign some useless policy, which at the end of the day was no more than a fucking tax deduction. At that moment, I concluded my life was a waste of fucking time and effort. Useless, absolutely fucking useless, my time, my life, relentlessly ticking away, second by second and at the end of it, what the fuck for? To end up dead after a massive heart attack, or sitting in a corner of an old people’s home, confused and dribbling for the rest of time.

For some reason I asked if she needed me to identify his body and after a brief pause she told me, Well there’s actually no need for you to do that Mr Hayes, but it would be good if you could come as soon as possible, to start making arrangements. I suggest you bring someone with you. If you’d like to speak with me when you arrive, I’ll be here until about three in the afternoon. A cool stream of relief flowed through her words, because she instinctively knew she hadn’t lost me. Mr Hayes was still with us, it was touch and go for a little while, but he was back and very soon, she’d be able to hang up. The uncomfortable call would be ended and if I had a nervous breakdown in the foyer of this faceless, nameless building, it would be none of her concern.

Also relieved that the end was approaching, I told her I’d be there in the morning and thanked her for the call, then I asked myself, Why did I thank her, she’d just given me the worst piece of news I’d ever had.

Okay Mr Hayes I’ll see you tomorrow and once again please accept my sympathies, Goodbye. Now it may have been my imagination, but her voice seemed to speed up as the conversation drew to a close. Bye-Bye, Bye-Dee-Bye! Now quick let’s get the hell out of here, before Mr Hayes loses the plot. An instant later the beep, beeping of the dialling tone replaced Sister Frank’s compassionate tone and I was alone again.

The moment the call disconnected, the screen lit up and the phone started ringing again. The display informed me it was Greed from Sharky Inc. With a shake of my head I pressed the answer button and raised the device to my ear. To be honest I felt like saying, Ah Greed I’ve just been thinking about you. You gluttonous bastard, you miserable excuse for a human being! But I didn’t. Instead I told him what had just happened and accepted his condolences before hanging up.

After slipping the mobile back into my jacket, I sighed deeply before lurching across the marble, like a robot with a low battery. The walls seemed to be closing in; the floor was turning to sludge beneath my feet and the air to treacle in my lungs. Images of the Lyle’s golden syrup tin and the poor old lion, lying poleaxed by a swarm of bees popped into my head. What a beautifully strange and complex place the mind is. I tried to pick up the pace, because it was most definitely time to leave.

In the concrete crypt, I hurried to my parking place. When I was in range, I pressed the remote and the hazard lights blinked, informing me that my refuge was ready and waiting. Inside and seated, I settled back into the leather, loosened my tie and struggled out of my suit jacket, which I laid on the passenger seat. Next I rummaged in my pockets for my cigarettes and lighter. The need for nicotine and ritual was paramount, quickly I put the filter tip between my lips it was time, to float off to Marlboro Country. First the flick, followed by the crunching click and the Zippo flamed.

After lighting up I puffed and inhaled deeply. As I exhaled, I stared blankly through the billowing smoke at the mute concrete wall, desperately trying to make sense of the news. For a few moments my mind struggled to condense the facts into bite sized pieces, small crispy nuggets of information combined with emotion, to be easily consumed and digested, before being stored away for future reference.

A burning between my fingers made me glance at my right hand, the cigarette was burnt down to the filter. The glowing ember had reached my skin, proving once again, that time waits for no man, not even one who’s just lost his father to the reaper.

Disappointed my smoke was over, I stubbed the butt in the ashtray. This isn’t something I usually do, preferring to flick them out of the window, to avoid ash and the stink, of a thousand moments of self-deception. Not yet satisfied, I teased another hit out of the packet, flicked, clicked, lit, puffed and inhaled, before sliding the key into the ignition. There were calls to make, so I slotted the mobile into the hands free and keyed the office into the quick dial before the digits flew into the ether. Whilst the call was being connected, I fired up the engine and my ultimate driving machine roared into life. First I shifted into reverse and eased her out of our temporary home, then into first, before crawling out of the car park like a Mafia hit squad.

By the time the vehicle emerged from the cool dry depths into the grey light, the irrepressibly optimistic and upbeat voice, of the company receptionist, filled my ear as she went through her obligatory repertoire. One so indelibly engrained in her work psyche, she was compelled to spew it, even though she knew it was me on the other end of the line; Good Afternoon Stitchem and Company, Jennifer Calmers speaking, how can I help you?

At that moment I was passed all help, so I just said Hi, again I heard myself and concluded I sounded calm and in control.

In the next instant she spoke, Hi Simian… that was quick even for you, did he sign? As usual Jen’s tone was warm and inviting, like a snug bedroom on a stormy night, just a shame her looks, didn’t match up to her dulcet tones.

The time had come for the newsflash; so I told her that because of a call from the Royal Infirmary, I’d cancelled and then I went on to say that my father died that afternoon. As the words left my lips, it occurred to me how strange it was, that I could manage to pass on this earth shattering information, without faltering, or even more to my disdain, without actually feeling anything. At this point I should’ve been snivelling, like a six year old with a broken bike.

After a sharp intake of breath she continued, Oh my God that’s awful, are you OK? Even though she must’ve been shocked, in an instant her tone became motherly and compassionate, as her protective instincts came to life.

Mechanically I told her I was alive and on my way home. Of course, this wasn’t how I wanted to appear, because I love my father, or should I say, loved my father! Suddenly I wondered did I still love the man, or was this emotion already diminished to the love of a memory? Was this right, was this real, was this happening, was I even talking to the middle-aged spinster? Or was I in bed next to my demanding and occasionally irritating wife? Deep in R.E.M. land just before waking up and continuing my stint, on the treadmill of production and consumption? If I’m honest at that precise moment, I didn’t have a clue!

With surprising ease Jennifer slipped into the standard rhetoric demanded by such situations and told me, Of course… of course you poor thing, take as long as you need, do you want me to get your appointments cancelled?

Well yeah! I thought, as she asked me this painfully obvious question. Odd how people lose a few I.Q. points in times of traumatic stress! The next pearl of wisdom, will probably be that I should have a nice cup of tea.

Nonetheless I kept my sarcasm to myself and told her that would be a great help, but in all honesty, at that precise moment, I didn’t give a fiddler’s fuck about my appointments. As I spoke I only wanted the conversation to end, because the place I was in, was darkly surreal and I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was inching my way across very thin emotional ice.

Leave it with me hon, she continued, I’ll get it sorted… Oh I’m so sorry for you Simian, if there’s anything I can do, you let me know… As had happened with Sister Frank, I detected the relief in her voice, as she realised the conversation was coming to an end. Whilst we wound the chat down, I understood that once she hung up, she’d be straight on the phone to the other departments, broadcasting the news. The men would shake their heads, thinking, poor bastard and the women would start clucking and strutting like hens in a coup. By the end of the evening, Dad’s death would’ve seeped through the echelons of Stitchem and Co.

In an effort to end the conversation and banish the images, I told her I was fine and I’d be in touch. I remember thinking, this is almost done, one more call and I’ll be incognito. Far out, far away, lost at sea and unsure if I’d ever see the shore again.

To my relief, she took the hint being as relieved as I was to bring matters to a close. No worries Babe... Beep-beep, beep-beep the dialling tone signalled that Jen was gone, disconnected. For a moment, I wondered how it would be when we saw each other again, would we endure a brief awkward silence, or would we both try and paper over the deep crack, which had suddenly appeared in the life and times of Mr Simian Hayes.

Before making the last call I lit another cigarette thinking, I’ll probably smoke twenty by the time I get home. As I puffed and inhaled I keyed in Amelia’s number, after no more than four rings the call was connected.

In the flow of traffic, people like me were on either side, all heading in different directions, in their upholstered metal caskets. I remember staring out of the driver’s window and thinking, today I am not like them, today I am deep in reality and none of the red lights, or emissions, or drudgery, mean anything to me. Today is not like any other day and tomorrow will not be like any other day. My world, my galaxy, has been swept into confusion and I am somersaulting in space, after being catapulted into a black hole of bereavement.

It was unusual that I should call at that time and I detected uncertainty in her voice as she asked, Hey Babe is everything OK? How come you’re calling so early? There was something unreal about her tone and it made me think, so many years had passed since we’d stood at the altar back in Caerphilly making our vows. The memory of me, in a ridiculous top hat and tails and Amelia all in white, like a fairy-tale princess came to mind. Since that morning we’d travelled through time together, and in that precise moment, I wondered why we’d bothered.

Regardless of what I was thinking I had to carry on, so I passed on the information. To my shame I was once again able to talk about my father’s death, without the slightest hint of drama, it was as if I were telling her the car had failed the M.O.T., or the washing machine had broken down.

The shock was plain and I held the receiver away from my ear as she exclaimed, Oh my God… how did that happen… are you OK…where are you… what are you doing? I’m not sure whether it was because of my cynicism, or my confused state, but in my ears her words were a tad too in character, a couple of notches short of genuine and I wanted to stop, but the ball was rolling and so regardless of how she sounded, I replied with practicalities.

With the same calmness, I told her I was fine and on my way home and also that I had to go to Wales the next day. In the next moment I asked if she could take a little time off, because I needed support. To be honest, going on past experience, I wasn’t expecting much in the way of support, however, I knew if she was with me, she could drive. This was important, because I’d already decided I wasn’t going to go through this nightmare sober. I also knew, if she accompanied me, she’d have all of the information first hand, so at least I’d be spared the ordeal, of trying to recall the events in minute detail just to satisfy her endless curiosity.

To my relief after a slight pause she told me, Of course I’ll get time off…. how did it happen? I sighed and thought, good that’s that out of the way, because there was no guarantee she would’ve tried to get time off. Amelia was a workaholic, she suffered from the need to please her superiors and to achieve, achieve, achieve and oh yes, on top of that, to achieve!

Once again in the tone of a complacent mechanic, I told her he’d died of a massive heart attack and looking back, I could just as well have been telling her, that the tyres were bald and the handbrake wasn’t tight enough.

In a soft voice she told me, I’ll be home as soon as I can and don’t worry about tomorrow… As she spoke I remember thinking, oh don’t you fret, I’m not worried, what can there possibly be to worry about. It’s all over now baby blue, my old man has passed on to the wild blue yonder and I’m here in the desert…no nothing to worry about here, everything’s just hunky-dory!

To try and end the conversation, I told her I’d see her at the house, but even as I said it, I knew I didn’t really give a shit if I saw her later or not. Because even in my hour of need, I had the foresight to know, her compassion would be disappointing, somehow empty and at the end of the day, meaningless.

I wanted to hang up, but before I could, she continued by telling me, I’ll bring us something to eat… see you later. As she spoke I could almost feel the lack of sincere interest in my plight and I knew, that later on, she’d call again, asking some banal question about the food, just so she could find out what state I was in.

When the call was finally over, I turned my attention to the road and marvelled at the complexity of the human mind. Throughout the twenty minutes I’d been navigating my way through the city, I’d been running on autopilot. If I’d been asked any detail about the journey, apart from the cigarettes or the calls, I wouldn’t have been able to recall a single one. Whilst I’d been processing the new and overwhelming information, carrying out conversations and smoking, my mind had also enabled me, to steer safely through London traffic, without having the remotest inkling of where I was, or what I was doing.

By the time the calls were finished, I was on the outskirts of the city, heading towards Lower Early in Reading, to the place I called home. The rain had stopped and the skies were clearing. Intense freshly liberated rays of sun blinded me, so I reached down to the centre console for my sunglasses. After fumbling for a second, I managed to put them on and one thing was very certain, regardless of my expensive, Tortoise Shell Wayfarers, I definitely didn’t feel cool!"

Chapter II

THE VOID

With a tremulous hand Simian took his water glass, raised it to his lips and drained it in one gulp. After placing it back on the table he reached for his cigarettes and went through the usual ritual. Then through a cloud of blue smoke he stared at Trudy and smiled, And, have I bored you enough yet, or I should I continue?

For a moment she was silent then after shifting in her seat she said, I’m very sorry to hear about your father and what a terrible way to get the news.

I don’t know, I think I’d rather have it like that, than be called into the hospital without knowing why, I mean is there a pleasant way to get unpleasant news? he replied before taking another puff.

A look of understanding crossed her face before she asked, Are you sure you want to carry on, in a way I’m sorry I asked?

This show of compassion touched him, If you want me to continue I will, you know…I think it’ll do me good, you’re the first person I’ve told this to.

With a smile she urged