With his car parked, Lewis made his way to the security point, pass in one hand, rucksack in the other ready for searching. All standard procedure at the huge warehouse that was like a small city. Its vast proportions dominated the landscape in this corner of Avonmouth.
‘Morning.’
‘Morning.’ He smiled at the smooth-skinned, smiley-faced man in front of him who had spoken over his shoulder. A newbie, he suspected, as no one who had been here a while and knew the ropes had such a joyful demeanour. That, and he hadn’t seen him before.
‘I was hoping to bump into you, actually,’ the man now turned to face him, speaking with a familiarity that was a little unnerving.
‘Oh yeah?’ He wondered if the bloke were new to his section or had been drafted in by management. Either way, Lewis was riled, it was the last thing he needed, a change to his routine,a new initiative, more forms to fill in, or – the worst thought of all – having to train someone, engage with them. He wasn’t keen on interacting with strangers. Jeez, he wasn’t that keen on interacting with people who weren’t strangers, not when his head was still so scrambled with grief and what he longed for most was solitude.
‘It’s Lewis, right?’
‘Yep.’
‘I’m Chen.’
‘Alright,’ he offered by way of greeting, racking his brain, trying to recall if and where they had met before.
‘What I’m about to tell you, Lewis, will be surprising, unsettling even.’
‘What you talking about?’ He took a step backwards. The guy was right about one thing; he was already unsettled.
Chen began to speak, quickly, fluidly, sincerely, never breaking eye contact, his body relaxed, his manner assured with an undertone of urgency.
‘I’ll get to the point,’ Chen smiled at him. ‘The one thing I need to tell you, Lewis, is that I have never and will never tell you a lie…’
Never a violent man, Lewis listened to Chen spout his bullshit about time and felt his fingers flex into fists, quietly confident that, if they hadn’t been on his work premises and he didn’t need this job, the one bit of stability in his topsy-turvy life, he’d have shoved him hard and watched him fall on his arse. The prick! Did he look like the kind of person who would fall for such a scam? Not that he could figure out the bloke’s angle – what was he after, money? Or maybe it was a hoax, considered funny when it was anything but. Who would put him up to such a thing? Gus in packing, possibly, or Mario in logistics, they both liked alaugh. Not that this was amusing, not even remotely. It bothered him, bothered him all day.
Driving home now after his shift, how he hated the lift in his sprits and the bunch in his gut at no more than the imaginary possibility of seeing Jane, touching Jane, feeling the presence of Jane.
What had the bloke said,fifteen minutes,my God! Fifteen minutes with her! What would he do, when would he pick?
It would be an easy decision. He’d choose the time before she got sick. Before pills, lotions, potions, pillows, medicine, rubber gloves, disposable aprons, tubes and the sincere words offered by medics invaded their bedroom and wrapped them in gloom. Before their room took on the slightly chemical smell of chemotherapy and he had no choice other than to tend to her like a nurse and not a lover. Before she lost the roundness to her cheek and the twinkle in her eye. Before he had to lift her diminished frame from the bed to the bathroom and back again. A journey of a few steps that left them both exhausted, beaten and so very sad. A marathon no less.
The traffic light turned red, and he stopped the car, hating the bloom of tears that threatened. No, there was nothing funny about anything Chen had said. It was like handing a starving man a lunch box with nothing in it or giving a poor man an empty wallet. It was cruel and made him want to punch the steering wheel. He might have done so too, if he wasn’t in busy traffic and could have been confident that it wouldn’t damage his motor.
The lights changed and he trundled home, wanting to arrive, but dreading, as he always did, the opening of the door into the darkened, quiet hallway.
Standing in the kitchen, Lewis tipped the tin of spaghetti hoops into the saucepan and watched the thick orange/red sauce start to bubble, just as the toast popped up.
And bingo!
His bloody phone rang. He turned the gas ring off and answered the call.
‘Hello, Margaret.’
‘Hi, love, it’s me, Margaret.’
‘Yep.’ He took a deep breath, deciding in that second to forgo his planned supper and go straight to bed. He was tired. Too tired for spaghetti hoops.
‘Work all right?’
‘Yeah, you know, nothing to report.’
‘I got a postcard today, from my cousin, do you remember me talking about Linda and Jeff?’
‘No, I, not really.’
‘They were at school together in Hartcliffe. Anyway, she got in the family way, and they married when they were ever so young. Her dad, my dad’s brother, my Uncle Gavin, do you remember Gavin at your wedding? He was the one with the toy cat on the parcel shelf in the back of his car.’
