It's been a while since I was on GW. Due to government and charity work pressures, I haven't had sufficient time, but now I'm a little bit more free...so I can have some fun again! Hope I'm not forgotten...GW certainly isn't!

All the best...mish x

He scrunched it up. Every element of energy absorbed into the pulp profiling a pathetic perfunctory past. It had made a little sound. A light call of recognition, but Simon refused acknowledgement. He’d pressed it tight, embedding into his palm; the folds overlapping erratically, without logic. Origami practiced by a drunk. He stared, drawn hypnotically to its form, as if a latent power exuded. Maybe once.

So tiny; a white rose head in his hand. A stationary beauty. His fingers closed over and it vanished. Contents extinguished; its life no more. A simple trick by slight of hand. His mouth sloped into a slight sneer. A hand that had been capable of much more…

When she’d requested a private meeting, he thought she’s suspected. Something in her voice. A gentleness, he’d not heard before. With a touch of regret. Just a whisper, but sufficient to indicate her fluency in facts.

Lunchtime. The restaurant had been packed. Simon wanted seclusion, away from interrogative eyes, but the meeting’s timing had prevented such privacy. Waiting, he watched others surreptitiously, slipping sideways glances from behind the menu. Couples touching with tentative affections; prickly pin-stripes doing deals, ladies who lunch scanning the room voraciously for their next meal ticket. All peacocks preening and posturing with pompous delight.

“Hello, thanks for coming.”

Wrapped up in his supercilious surveillance, Simon failed to notice her approach. As usual, she leapt into her overpowering tone of effusive excitement.

“Sorry I was late, just had a couple of things to sort out.”

“No problem,” muttered Simon, masking signs of anxious wanting.

“I thought I’d see you here instead of the office. Somehow, it didn’t feel right to do it there.”

“Do what there?” questioned Simon, almost feeling sure of the answer.

She looked down, then to the left. Her breath came out heavier. Simon recognised her unease. He hoped release would unburden her.

“Look, you’re a great sales executive. You really came in on target, but things are changing. Market consolidation means there’s less players, but also opportunities are shrinking. Times are getting tougher. We’ve got to streamline to stay ahead, you know what I’m saying.”

Mary smiled broadly, the mouth that once appeared warming now waned its inner glow. A red rip on a fraudulent face.

“I…I…don’t understand?” stuttered Simon.

“Oh come on, you know how it is in this business, last one in, first one out. I feel bad about this, as I took you under my wing, saw your potential. But business is business. Anyway, you’re what, 24, 25? Good track record, decent degree, know the tricks, you won’t have to wait long. That phone’ll soon be ringing. So, what are you having? They do a great seared scallops…”

Simon was caught, transfixed by her nonchalance, her dismissive demeanour denoting her denouncement that he was nothing more than work fodder, and that scallops were more worthy of her attention. He wanted to speak, to say the words that spiked cruelly like cactus needles on his tongue. But a mute state gripped him. The waiter glared expectantly, his pen poised to pad.

“Simon, you gonna order. You know I can’t be late, got the Board meeting this afternoon. I’ll order for you. He’ll have the…”

“Wait!”

Simon heard a man’s voice, loud, powerful and defiant. The man was shouting. Mary stopped abruptly and stared suddenly embarrassed by Simon’s interjection.

“You’re letting me go!”

“Of course…I thought you…”

“You’re letting me fucking go!”

“Simon, I thought what I said was obvious, now order and don’t make a scene.”

“You don’t even know who I am, do you? After all this time. And you still don’t have a clue.”

Mary looked confused. This wasn’t how she’d planned things. A nice little get together, and then get lost, as per her usual modus operandi.

“I’m sorry…?”

“No, I’m sorry…for spending 3 years of my life with a heartless bitch like you.”

Simon grabbed his coat, his actions uncoordinated, and he collided with other diners as he left at speed. The restaurant’s ambience had become oppressive, claustrophobic; on departure, he felt all eyes were upon him.

“Don’t be like this, you’re not a child?” Simon span round, confronting Mary who had followed him out, eyes streaming salty hot tears, he shouted:

“No, but I was once!”

His voice shaking; breaking apart his hopes on every syllable. Mary regarded him, cold eyes made for business, a ‘shaft as soon as look at you’ stare, that had stood her well in the dog devour dog world of high pressure sales.

“We were all children once, Simon, you’re not making any sense.”

“Life doesn’t make sense,” replied Simon, now calmer. Realisation had set in. A finality he dared not let enter his mind had somehow inveigled in by stealth; a cheap crook looking to destroy his possessions.

“I’m only letting you go,” said Mary, exasperated, concealing quickly her discomfort at being unable to read anything Simon was displaying, “You’re behaving like this is about something else? I’m only letting you go.”

He listened, the brusqueness, the icy disdain that crept into her clipped voice. She had no idea at all. Probably, never even thought about it. Just another process; a quick off-loading and on to other things. More important things.

“AGAIN!”

He said it, and stared at her, praying for some reaction, a flash of recognition, anything that could define a semblance of humanity in her selfish soul. But her cold eyes narrowed, a mean smirk defaced her chiselled features:

“What the hell are you talking about? Have you gone mad?”

Words of closure. He knew then it was over. All the fantasies he’d had. All the moments he’d imagined reunion. Now, but fragments, shattered; mirror pieces each reflecting a reality not quite whole.

“You don’t really know.”

His eyes darkened, as he recited the contents he’d lived with for 5 years:

“St Thomas’ Hospital, London, 17 July 1982.”

It all came back, thrusting forward through the murky depths of her mind. Through the godless grime that made up her life after it happened. A date and place eradicated from existence reincarnated on Simon’s spoken word.

Mary shivered, cold slowly slithered through her, as memories stormed the outpost on the far reaches of her consciousness. It had started a really cool party. Her best friend Kirsty had arranged everything. She wanted it to be an ‘unforgettable 16th’. Ambition accomplished.

“Hey Mary, try this one.”

She’d persisted a lifetime in rendering it to silence, but still his call echoed relentless. Laughing, she knocked back the drink, to the familiar cheers of “Go for it!” She woke, groggily to the same sounds, same cheering; different room. Faces lurched, elongated and surreal around her. She sensed movement. Her body was moving, but she couldn’t move. Gradually, her vision focused. She saw him. And felt him. Deep inner pain, as he ravaged her brutally. Opening her mouth, she screamed. His tight balled fist came towards her and darkness was her sanctuary.

She had the child. Her strict Catholic parents, who never discovered the truth behind her pregnancy, would not have accepted abortion. They were distraught enough by her loaded revelation; Mary couldn’t make them suffer further.

Simon could see her expression. Mary looked at him with utter contempt and hate. She couldn’t bear to share the same air with him. He moved forward, and she recoiled.

“You despise me, don’t you?”

Mary was numb. Unable to believe that Simon was the product of that night. Terrified to confront the past, she backed away, edging down the narrow alley.

“Am I so terrible?” called Simon watching her retreat.

His voice, she’d never realised. It was the monster’s voice. His eyes, the same sinister eyes that enjoyed stolen views, delivering her ignominy; her shame. She’d never noticed the similarities, till now.

“You've let me go twice, there won’t be a third.”

Screaming, insane with hurt, Simon charged Mary, pushing her against the wall. Sudden shock made her vulnerable, and she lost the usual strength she carried. His hand forced her head back, slamming it hard on the brick. For a second, her eyes flickered, and then her body thudded to the floor. Simon could see twists of crimson matting in her blonde hair.

Struggling to speak, Mary, whispered, “Simon, you don’t understand. I had no choice…”

Simon glared, droplets of pure hatred glistening in his dark eyes. “I understand, Mother. You had a choice, but you just wanted to throw me away.”

“No it wasn’t…” But Mary’s energy dissipated before she could finish. Without remorse, Simon turned away from the lifeless lump that graced the ground.

Opening his hand, it was still there. The birth certificate hadn’t vanished as he’d thought. Simon threw it, with precision towards a destination designed to receive it. The bin welcomed the deposit. After all, it was only another piece of rubbish.