I keep on chipping away and remoulding this but find it difficult to be objective or to put it another way at times I feel that I can't see the words for the dictionary.

Your comments would be most welcome

 

"Winter, spring, summer or fall
all you have to do is call
and I'll be there…
waiting."

He didn't even think about it as he left the office for the very last time.  Why should he?  It was later than intended on Friday night and his only concern beyond next week's work schedule was tomorrow's golf. 

He hadn’t been aware that the fog was forming as the office juniors had hit the door at about 5:30 pm and two seconds.  How they managed to turn off their PC's, gather their belongings and say their goodbyes so swiftly was beyond Mal.  He didn’t even look up as they hurried by his door laughing in expectation of what the weekend might bring.

Even now as he crossed the bridge the fog continued to churn on the surface of the river before rising and seeping erratically beyond the water’s edge.  At least visibility was less confusing here beyond the innumerable lights of the town.  Free from any other traffic he accelerated the crimson red BMW 520 tdi along the length of the riverside road knowing that the only fixed speed camera was behind him and the traffic cops rarely made a spot check around here.  Let’s face it they weren't going to catch anyone tonight.

It was then that the mobile, perched in a hands-free kit, illuminated before bursting shrilly into a hopeless rendition of Nights In White Satin.  He didn't even like the tune, he never really had but it was the kids who had insisted he got a ringtone for Christmas and it was one of the few titles on the list he had actually heard of. 

He pulled the mobile free from the socket and jabbed it into his ear.

‘Yep.’

Shit.  If only he had checked the number first.

‘Ah yeah, hi.  No, not at all, been working late.’  That was the truth and had been for nearly twenty years.  ‘I really am busy at the moment.’

He didn’t even see the youth appear from out of the shadows and approach the pedestrian crossing nor the glint of headlights in the eyes of the black Labrador at his side.  It was too late to brake let alone stop as the kid yanked the dog back onto the pavement.  Mal glanced briefly into the mirror.  Vague shapes crossing the road quickly receded into the gloom. 

‘Fucking twat.’  Mal sighed heavily.  ‘No not you,’ he sighed again. 

He hadn't even considered the consequences when he had agreed to meet for lunch.  Susannah Applow was prettier than most, not too young and probably reminded him of Natasha when they had first me.  Maybe she was less bright, more pushy yet he had been flattered when she had made the suggestion; but it was only a stilton ploughman's and a bottle of Bud Light and a lettuce leaf and sparkling mineral water or something like that for god’s sake.  And now she wanted to have dinner.

Yes of course he wondered at times.  There had only been Natasha for the last twenty years or so, but even she knew his curiosity was nothing to be worried about.  Let's face it having an affair needed time and effort, much more than Mal could ever give, and worse than that Susannah was in need of commitment. 

‘I've got to go.’

Mal drove pass the limp flags and welcome boards at the entrance to the housing estate.  Almost home.  Loosening his tie he flicked open the collar button.  He was feeling tired now, his eyes sore.

‘Really I have to go, I’m nearly there.’

On pass the barely visible street sign for “Old Oak Lane leading to Birch Way, Poplar Close and Aspen Drive (cul-de-sac)”.   Not that there were any trees here amongst the newbuilds apart from feeble exotic specimens, acer and eucalypti mostly, already shorn of foliage in the late October chill.

‘I told you I've got to go.’

God she was making him feel tired.  His eyes tended to feel the strain when driving in the dark these days especially on a night like this when street lamps, headlights, fog lamps and every building along route merged into a bewildering glare.  His head was beginning to throb too.  It had been a long enough week and he could really do without this at the end of it. 

‘I have to go.’ 

Mal hung up and tossed the mobile into the black leather passenger seat.  The car lurched heavily over a speed bump nearly dislodging the suit jacket from a hangar above the rear door.

Nights In White Satin bleeped into life once more.  I've got to change that damn tune thought Mal as he picked up the phone and checked the display.

Christ he was going to have to be straight with her, but he was virtually home and it could wait until next week.  Call her into the office and give her some project; recognition and responsibility that's what she really needed. 

Mal killed the call and switched off the mobile.

He turned right into Aspen Drive.  Here there were only five houses, Executive Tudor style, each set further back from the road and where the greenery had had time to mature.  The fog seemed thicker then ever, trapped within the cul-de-sac amidst the trees.  The only visible light cast by a solitary street lamp, an ineffective glow that failed to even illuminate the pavement beneath. 

He didn’t even notice the figure loitering in the shadows until he was just ten feet away.  It was completely still, hands wedged deep into jacket pockets, the fog hanging closely to the hooded head, peering with intent through the privet hedge to Number 3 Aspen Drive home to Mal Seaton and family. 

The figure lingers still.  Silent and unmoving, even as the car draws level, ignoring the rattle of diesel and the whirr of the passenger window as it steadily lowers.

‘Hey,’ calls Mal leaning towards the open window.  ‘Lost your dog?’

The hooded figure turns purposefully in the other direction.  Mal slows but does not stop and watches in the rear view mirror as the figure, hands still firmly stuffed in pockets, is quickly and fully enveloped in the fog.

Mal swung the car beyond the opened wrought iron gates into the centre of the road before reversing back onto the gravel drive.  He knew what Natasha would say.  You ought to test the alarm sometime.  She’d be right you can never be too careful not even around here.  The crunching noise of shingle under car tyres reminded him that the passenger window was still open.  He pushed a button in the armrest of the door and for a brief moment a mini whirl of vapour became trapped like a stranger’s breath above the passenger seat and then it was gone.  He flicked another switch and waited for the garage door to rise slowly outwards and upwards.  In the rear view mirror he could see both sets of golf clubs waiting ready for the morning.

Mal shivered slightly as he stepped out of the garage, jacket draped over shoulder, the moist air cool against his face.  He gazed upwards into the swirl.  This better clear overnight or someone was going to be in trouble.  The muffled sound of a dog barking in the distance distracted his glance towards the open gates but he could not see anything beyond. 

Ahead he could hear the click of the front door being unlocked and could see the shadow of his wife behind the frosted pane.  She was waiting, patient as ever, keeping out the cold.  Quickly Mal pulled the mobile from his trouser pocket to check that he had turned it off.  No chance of an embarrassing interruption this evening.

The door opened and she was standing there.  Natasha smiled wearily, leant forwards and pecked Mal on the cheek as she lifted the jacket from his shoulder.

‘Another late one.’

‘How we get to eat.’

‘It is Friday.’

Mal shrugged and walked down the hallway leaving Natasha to close the front door.  She stifled a yawn.  It had been a long week at home, at the school and she didn't even want to think about the other matter.  If only they could get a break, just a few days away from the kids and the house.  Her sister had said she would look after them and surely they were old enough to be trusted. 

But there was Mal?  Didn't like holidays, never had.  Would spend the week before trying to do the next two week's work, spend hours in the hotel each day answering e-mails (you've got to keep on top of them he would say), and then when it was all over for the year he would complain for the next fortnight that things had fallen apart and he would have to work late for the next month to catch up.

At least they were playing golf tomorrow.  Mal insisted it was how she had kept her figure when so many of her friends had sagged or bloated as they passed some point in their thirties.  She rather saw it was how she kept her marriage; it was a shared pastime something that gave them each other's company.

She rubbed the loose skin beneath her eyes, Mal had already disappeared into the living room, and yawned again.

‘Ciao.’  Mal raised an open palm.  None of the kids looked up.

Katie, the eldest, was sat watching one of her soap operas whilst simultaneously reading gossip about the very same actors in a celebrity chat magazine.  Dexter laid spread across the tan leather sofa idly attached to his iPod uncertain whether he felt lethargic, frustrated or simply in need of a cigarette.  Michael a chunky child of seven lay on the carpet sharing a bag of balti-flavoured crisps with Holmes a plump Jack Russell.

‘It’s only your father.’  Mal shrugged, perching on the edge of the seat before pulling a bound report from the briefcase.  Rummaging once more he retrieved a pink highlighter and then settled back into the armchair just as a particularly volatile argument on the TV turned one step louder.

Mal did not bother to look up when Natasha entered the room carrying a dinner tray laden with lasagne and fries.

‘Ta,’ he said lifting the paperwork higher to allow the tray to be slid onto his lap.
Natasha flopped into the armchair alongside and sipped distractedly at a cup of lemon tea.  She hated how mealtimes had come to this.  When was the last time outside of Christmas Day when they had all sat down together?  But there was no point in complaining now was there, it was nearly time for her to go to bed.

‘They just don't get it do they?’  Mal waved the paperwork irritably as he picked at the remaining fries with his fingers.  No one replied.  ‘Do they ever?’

It was then that the telephone began to ring.  A sharp, strident demanding tone.

Mal didn't even think to look up, nor did any of the kids as the tone rang again.  None of them noticed the brittle hesitation in Natasha's face as it rang once more.

‘How long ago was it?  Six months,’ continued Mal as the phone demanded to be answered for the fourth time.  ‘And did they listen?’

‘Hello?’ said Natasha softly.

‘No of course they didn't.’ Mal slapped the paperwork against the arm of the chair before wiping a finger across the plate.

Natasha returned the phone to the receiver.

‘Who was it?’

‘Wrong number,’ she replied and sipped more tea.  The end of the matter, she glanced around.  Mal had resumed reading; Dexter continued to be bored whilst Michael had torn open the crisp packet and was now licking salt from the wrapper.  Everything was as normal. 

Only Katie had noticed the disquiet in her mother as she paused besides the telephone.  Recently she had asked her friend Mia if there were any tell tale signs before her parents had split.  Rows she had said, simply that, and throwing cutlery she had added laughing. 

Natasha leant forwards and lifted the tray from Mal's lap.

‘Pudding?’

‘Please.’  Mal turned the page and sighed at the sight of a complex graph.

‘Any spare?’ called Michael as Holmes took over licking the empty crisp wrapper.

And then the telephone began to ring.

Natasha stopped in the doorway, the dinner tray wavering visibly in her hands.  The telephone rang again.  Katie watched as her mother stumbled, a fork fell from the tray, and waited to see how her father might react.

The telephone rang once more.

‘Isn't anyone going to answer that damn phone?’

‘Hello?’ said Natasha.  An instant click, the line cut dead and the purr of the dialling tone.

‘Mum?’  Katie rose quickly.  ‘Mum?’

‘Hey, what's going on?’ asked Mal as he turned to see his daughter comforting his wife, her hands gently held around her waist and shoulder and felt that pang of jealousy he had experienced before at their candid intimacy.

‘Those calls again.’  Katie hugged her mother closer and felt her whole body tremble.  ‘She should call the police.’

‘No, I don't want to,’ Natasha sobbed quietly into Katie’s shoulder.

‘Why not?’  Katie glanced over her shoulder at her father.  ‘Tell her to, dad.’

Mal averted his gaze.  He hadn’t given that Susannah his home number had he?  No, he was sure about that.  For Christ sake he wasn’t that fucking stupid. 

‘They wouldn't do anything anyway,’ he replied standing.  ‘It'll only be one of your wretched kids trying to wind up teacher.  Come here,’ he beckoned and both his wife and daughter acquiesced. 

Natasha bowed her face into Mal's neck and breathed in heavily.  She could still smell the aftershave applied so many hours ago.  Mal was right; there was no need to call the police.  She knew for sure that it wouldn’t have been one of the children, more likely Anthony Pears a seedy little supply teacher who had been standing in for the term.  Too often she had felt him leering at her from behind a pile of essays in the staff room.

He probably wanks off about you in the staff toilets laughed Melinda the one colleague she had felt able to confide to.  Not the most reassuring suggestion she had ever received, although more than likely true.  If she had been sure it was Pears she would not have bothered getting the police involved, a few carefully chosen words would have easily scared the shit out of the little creep.
 
No, she was more concerned it was Philip.  Yes Philip Barton, who she had met and loved in just her third week at Uni only to dump him before the Christmas vacation.  How rapidly had her circle of friends changed as each term had passed, but Phillip had always been there in the background, always hopeful that they would get back together. 

Even now more than twenty years on it seemed the same.   A moment of nostalgia one dull afternoon had lead her to adding her name to Friends Reunited.  Within hours she had received an email from Philip.  She had replied with her own potted history of marriage, kids and jobs, but there was something in the tone of his subsequent emails that had disturbed her.  It was almost as if he had continued waiting in hope despite all of the years that had passed.  How many times had she told the kids to be careful when they were online and now she felt so foolish to have given away so many private details.  And how the hell was she going to explain this to the police when she couldn't even own up to Mal.

‘Oh god, you haven’t.’ 

Natasha looked up to see Dexter covering his nose and mouth with both hands, Michael chuckling loudly, whilst Holmes sniffed at the air.   Leaning forward Dexter cuffed his younger brother round the back of the head before clamping his hands back against his face.  'Can't you tell him?'

‘Git.’  Michael lunged back. 

Dexter leapt from the settee coughing excessively.  ‘You're disgusting.’

‘What’s going on?’ Mal snapped pulling away from Natasha.

‘He's farted,’ coughed Dexter pointing an accusatory finger. 

‘Didn’t.’ An innocent shrug.

‘Tell him Dad.’

‘Grow up the both of you.’  Mal slumped irritably back into the armchair and picked up the report.  Natasha knelt to retrieve the fork, hands still shaking. 
 
'Oops,' chuckled Michael letting rip again just as Dexter clambered onto the settee.

'You're not funny,' Dexter shouted.
 
'For Christ’s sake,’

‘Mal,’ hushed Natasha.  ‘Language.’

‘Can’t I get any work done in this place?' snapped Mal.

Instantly the boys froze still.  Holmes too.  Each silent, heads downturned.  They recognised the change of tone in their father’s voice.  They knew when it was time to stop. 

And then the telephone began to ring.

'Right.  I've had enough of this.'  Mal stood sensing the eyes of his whole family were watching and waiting for his response.  The telephone rang again.  'I don't know who you are, but don't you ever phone this number again.'  He paused, expecting a click, surprised at the pace of his heartbeat as he listened to the reply.

'Damn.'  Mal didn't even have to look at his wife to know she was crying once more.

'Who was it?' Katie asked quietly.  Mal slowly placed the phone down.  'Dad?'

'That was Aidan.' 

'Aidan?'

'Yes Aidan Charles.'  He could see the blank expressions.  His family really did not understand at times.  'Mr Charles is the goddamn chairman of the company.'

Mal paused, but no one replied.  He turned to Natasha aggravated by the tears that were now openly running down her cheeks.  'He never phones here.'

There was silence.  Mal glared around the room ready to lay the blame and suddenly pointed his fingers with a fierce intent.  'Right I've had enough of you two.  You think it's funny?'  Dexter arched his eyebrows.  Michael shook his head.  'Well you can damn well go to your rooms.'

'Mum?' they both pleaded but knew that there was no option.

'I mean it.  Now.'

Dexter made the first move and skulked out of the room.  He didn't care; he was bored anyway and fancied a sneaky smoke.  Michael and Holmes obediently followed.

‘Let’s talk,’ whispered Katie as she guided her mother towards the kitchen.

Alone, peace at last, Mal slumped back into the armchair and began to think.