Bound For The Dark Side, Chapter Three (standard:drama, 3450 words) [3/3] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Dec 28 2005	Views/Reads: 3019/2169	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Barbara Blandford is a happy and powerful young woman, but increasingly things are turning against her, reviving memories of an unhappy childhood

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showing up at every unwanted moment like a key-holder unlocking all her 
stored up memories. 

Barbara could never forgive her father, inside she knew it. As a result
mother probably felt increasingly uncertain and alone, and although she 
was prepared to give her as much support as she was able, in the end 
she too, had a life. 

*              *             * 

David Hutchings, lean bespectacled chairman of the Partridge-Hutchings
Partnership, cast a keen eye over the rear yard from his vantage point 
in the penthouse of the five storey office block that formed the 
headquarters of his company. As he did so Hutchings caught sight of a 
white Ford Cortina maneuvering into a parking bay below. The dark 
haired young woman who alighted, brief case in hand, instantly 
commandeered his attention. He turned to fellow director Roland 
Weismann, his index finger singling her out, ‘That young lady, Miss 
Blandford – I believe she's been with us one month?' 

Hutchings acknowledged the affirmation, ‘I'm more than satisfied with
initial reports of her progress. We as a rapidly expanding organisation 
should have plans for her, make her feel an integral part of the team 
before another consortium does. With her educational background we did 
well to acquire Miss Blandford.' Hutchings removed his spectacles 
pensively, ‘We need to prime those young shoulders for more 
responsibility at an early stage – call Charles and Siegfried, have 
them make themselves available, along with yourself in my office at 
eleven thirty.' 

Weismann frowned, with his red face and bulbous nose he might have been
judged comical had the effect not been offset by a distinguished crop 
of silver hair. But he was also shrewd, and the chairman's enthusiastic 
backing for a youngster of whom he'd presumably little knowledge struck 
him as strange and in his memory, unprecedented. Weismann turned, 
preparing to comment but Hutchings had begun dictating a memo. 

It was approaching noon when Barbara received an unexpected summons to
the executive suite of the Partnership. Tentatively she left her desk, 
one of many set out military fashion across the advertising section 
floor, and dressed in a smart knee length beige suit she made her way 
to the top floor, and the executive suite. 

‘Come in Miss Blandford,' Hutchings rose, indicating a vacant chair at
an oval oak table, around which sat four other figures. 

‘I'll begin by acquainting you with my board Miss Blandford, before
explaining exactly why you're here.' The chairman, who she reckoned to 
be in his early forties wasted little time in introducing them. Despite 
her surprise and a little apprehension she remained alert, coolly 
profiling each one of them. 

‘I'll not beat about the bush,' Hutchings began in Oxbridge-like tones,
‘our time is at a premium and we're a go-ahead organisation, which is 
why we've singled you out for immediate advancement. Should you of 
course be prepared to accept the challenge at such an early stage.' 

Barbara dusted down her skirt, crossed her legs and thought she
perceived a cool glance from Hutchings' red-headed secretary, 
introduced as Dawn Shelton. 

‘In a nutshell Miss Blandford, we're more than impressed by your
qualifications and the first rate start you've made. Our company is 
rapidly acquiring a major name in market research and we believe we'll 
benefit from what you obviously have to offer. That is why we're 
coordinating a plan whereby you spend approximately two months with 
each of our section leaders; Consumer Research, Financial Accounts, 
Contracting, Advertising, Buying, Planning and so forth, to provide you 
with an in depth knowledge of our organisation, following which, in a 
year or so if all goes well, you'll be ready for a role in a senior 
capacity – interested?' Hutchings gave her a long glance then looked to 
the others for their confirmation of his proposal. 

There were mandatory nods and grunts though Weismann was noticeably
non-committal, while Barbara, more than pleased endeavoured not to show 
it, attempting instead to weigh each of them up. Dawn Shelton had been 
taking notes, but now, faced raised in her direction there seemed an 
expression of resentment, for whatever inexplicable reason. 

‘Thanks, I'll be pleased to accept,' Barbara flashed a smile, though it
turned to ice as she fixed Shelton with a momentary piercing stare. 

Barbara stayed on until seven that evening before leaving the building,
she'd assigned herself diligently to her work spurred on by the 
unexpected opportunities offered by the board of directors. But now she 
had an appointment in its way equally surprising, though of a different 
nature. As she pulled out of the car park onto the busy trunk road her 
thoughts turned to the brief conversation she'd had with Mark just 
prior to lunch. He'd been bursting with enthusiasm over the flat they'd 
been offered in Atkinson Street, on the outskirts of Chelmsford. 
Pleased that he'd seemed to have come up with something at such an 
early stage Barbara had readily agreed to meet him, though such had her 
devotion been to the tasks at hand she'd failed to realise the 
encroaching time. 

At best, her endeavours were likely to leave her ten minutes late, but
she trusted that Mark would excuse her for that. She spotted him 
waiting in the side road opposite the house, sitting in his car, arm 
extended from an open window, cigarette between his fingertips. 

He jumped out on her arrival, slim, some five inches taller than her;
she thought he looked terrific in his pale yellow cotton shirt, flared 
white striped trousers and platform shoes. 

‘Hi babe,' he smiled a greeting, his fair hair ruffled by the breeze
making him look deceivingly unkempt, ‘I like the beige suit, aren't you 
the executive?' 

‘Guess so,' she said, hanging onto her good news for a while longer and
then sliding between his arms as he swung round to face the terraced, 
redbrick house.'Top floor, love, we're really lucky to get this place 
so soon. I mean...' 

‘Hey hang on, I haven't seen it yet,' she said, scanning the upper
floor. 

A mock frown deepened his brow, ‘Is it so important?' 

‘Considering it's our first home? No,' she held on to him as they
examined the outside in the evening sunlight, ‘Oh what a day.' 

He glanced at her and this time the frown was for real, ‘Mother giving
you grief?' 

‘I can handle it, but no there's something else,' breaking into a smile
she tapped him on the arm, ‘come on then, let's size up our first 
home.' 

*                    *                     * 

Dianne Blandford had never felt so frustrated and isolated, yet it
wasn't solely attributable to her mundane existence. Life for her was 
comfortable enough, she didn't have to worry about where the next penny 
was coming from – and ambition – she had at one time been a highly 
rated legal secretary – had long since left her. In fact it had left 
her after she'd given birth to Barbara, her only child. From then on 
Martin had taken on the mantle of provider and it seemed of ideal 
father and husband. 

How wrong could she have been, and how times could change. He'd proved
unfaithful to her, unworthy of their daughter, and she could well 
understand Barbara's animosity towards him; she'd felt the loathing 
herself, was sickened by his behaviour but nonetheless had kept her 
resentment in check. 

And now he'd phoned yet again, the third time in two days expressing is
sorrows at their estrangement, saying he desperately wanted to renew 
friendship with their daughter. Dianne was not even certain of his true 
intentions on that score, for many times over the past few months he'd 
called pleading for reconciliation but it hadn't been in her heart to 
even consider it. Perhaps through Barbara he'd hope to weasel his way 
back in but there was no way that would happen. 

But she'd given ground on Barbara, finally consenting to him calling on
her later that evening, when presumably she'd be home. Precisely why 
she'd consented when she knew Barbara's feelings towards him Dianne 
didn't know. There were enough problems in their own relationship over 
Mark and the move to invite any further turmoil. 

Perhaps also, deep in her subconscious she desired the wheel to turn
full circle. As if coming face to face with her father would introduce 
Barbara to reality as she viewed it. 

Dianne's own instincts had told her that she saw in Mark, another Martin
in the making, but trying to implant that feeling into a vibrant twenty 
one year old was another matter. 

She heard footsteps along the path and recognized them as his, recalled
how once she'd been pleased to hear them – but that was long ago. Now 
she listened apathetically for the chimes of the bell and all too soon 
they rang out. Martin was here, there was no recourse now. 

Opening the door, she gazed at him with momentary resentment before
lowering her eyes. ‘Come in,' she said flatly. She'd taken in his 
appearance in that brief second, he'd aged more than he'd imagined; 
there was grey stubble around his chin which served as a beard, a bulge 
around his midriff and he'd lost a lot of hair. In spite of it all, as 
she led the way into the lounge they'd once shared, something stirred 
within, but it wasn't to be allowed to influence her. The memories of 
the cold, ruthless way he'd alienated himself from them held sway over 
everything else. 

‘I'd just like to thank...' 

‘Cut it right there Martin,' she stared at his face, reddening in middle
age, folded her arms, her fingers tapping rapidly on them. For his 
part, there was a steadfastness and determination in her eyes which 
surprised him. ‘You shouldn't have come,' she said in the same flat 
voice, ‘it's not going to work – and don't think I've allowed this for 
your benefit either; if I were you I'd turn around now and walk right 
back out.' 

‘I can't do that,' came the mumbled reply, ‘not without seeing my
daughter, not now I'm here.' 

Barbara sighed, ‘Very well, I've tried to tell you, I don't know how
long you'll have to wait, still two sugars is it?' she asked, looking 
disapprovingly at his shape. 

*            *            * 

‘See you tomorrow night and the film had better be as good as you
reckon,' Barbara laughed affectionately as Mark kissed and caressed 
her, finally breaking away with a departing kiss on his lips. 

She drove home in a much lighter frame of mind than when she'd set out
for the office earlier in the day. For her career prospects to appear 
so promising at such an early juncture was more than she could have 
wished for, though of course you never counted your chickens - oh no. 
Then had followed the flat: again the speed with which the development 
had materialised had confounded her expectations and it hadn't seemed 
at all bad; a bit cramped maybe and in need of a broom but she'd soon 
see to that. 

As Mark had conceded somewhat apprehensively, it wasn't what she was
used to but to hell with that, the point was they'd made a decision, 
taken a positive step and made it together as rational young adults. 
There was nothing reckless about it as mother feared. It was time for 
change, mother's attitude was well meaning but entrenched in the past, 
adaptability and flexibility were requirements of the present, which 
brought Barbara's thoughts back to her mother. They had always been 
close, and that closeness had been augmented by her father's actions. 
Her varsity studies had been punctuated by visits home at every 
affordable opportunity, spent as much in her mother's company as 
Mark's. 

Now however, there were strains in their relationship, no, more than
that, signs of a divide. Barbara vowed as she entered the avenue to 
tolerate the intransigence which appeared to be dogging her mother. The 
discord had gone far enough. 

The bright skies of day had slowly transformed into twilight as she
approached the house and the light thrown by the streetlamp revealed an 
outline of a car in the driveway. Pulling in behind she saw it was a 
Rover 2000, and it seemed a new one. Immediately clouds started rolling 
in as she thought of her father's partiality to that make of vehicle. 
She felt her temperature begin to soar as she entered the hallway and 
within all was eerily silent – no television, no radio – unusual in 
itself, only the ticking of the lobby clock was disturbing the 
stillness – and she sensed them with a surge of animosity that he was 
there. 

Barbara slowed her stride, steeling herself against the impetus that
rising adrenaline was giving her, then pushed the lounge door firmly. 

He was seated in a recliner facing her mother, it might for all the
world have been a scene from her childhood – except that it wasn't. It 
was another mental image from the past that fought its way into her 
then – the one she'd seen as an eight year old. The one she'd seen from 
her playroom window while her parents whispered heatedly in the 
hallway. The vision of a smooth and hospitable environment , fresh and 
green, that changed to a stark and foreboding grey before her very 
eyes. Now before her in silence sat the man responsible, looking calm 
and composed as though nothing had ever changed. 

Well it had. 

‘Hello angel dear,' he raised himself up and took a step towards her,
arms outstretched. Barbara recoiled, clenched her teeth and glared in 
anguish at her mother who was making a pretence at sewing her cardigan. 


‘What's he doing here?' She swung back towards him, ebony eyes
portraying the cold fire she felt inside, ‘No don't you touch me, don't 
you dare,' her voice had dropped to a whisper but the threat unnerved 
him. 

He halted, a tic twitching in his cheek, ‘Don't – don't take that
approach angel...' 

‘Don't call me angel,' the forced quietness erupted into venom but it
was her mother who felt the full blast of Barbara's fury, ‘why did you 
let him come here? Tell him to go.' 

‘Let me explain, ang – Barbara, please...' 

Dianne threw down the sewing she was making such a wretched job on; she
hauled herself up, ‘Please let's not have a scene, hear him out and 
then, Martin... please go.' 

‘Make it quick.' Barbara crossed her arms, uncertain of what she might
do with them otherwise, and fixed her unblinking gaze on him. 

Martin Blandford began, then baulked; his daughter's expression was one
of open hostility and he knew then that his mission was doomed to 
failure. He was faced with a wife who resented him and a daughter who 
despised him, he'd not planned for this. 

‘If you've nothing to say then get out,' Barbara hissed, ‘give us a
break.' 

He tried again, leaned forward, his hands clasped together, ‘I came to
apologise for the upset I've caused you and your mother. Look I know 
what I've done and I've paid, believe me I have; Barbara honestly love 
I simply want a sound footing, if that's too much then let's work on a 
new beginning – we can't go all our lives with this animosity between 
us...' 

Barbara's bitter laugh broke a stony silence, she placed her hands on
hips, narrowly avoiding the temptation to use them, ‘Oh yes we can.' 
Her stance was unnerving him and she knew it; she could do this to 
people when she wanted, at times like this she became sheer pent up 
aggression, she could feel it scorching her veins, bursting to get 
out... he only had to say too much... but at the last moment she 
summoned every ounce of will power to prevent it... 

‘I think you'd better go...' She could see he was frightened by the look
in her eyes as he turned to her mother for support. 

‘I should do as she says,' Dianne Blandford said tiredly, ‘I told you no
good would come of this.' 

Barbara took a step closer, she was snarling and Martin grimaced that
such a beautiful face could display such hatred and direct it at him. 

‘I'll count to three and if you're still here I'll throw you out – don't
you think I couldn't?' 

Martin had been taking in the face, but now he took in the whole show...
her broad shoulders, her powerful arms... 

This wasn't the young Barbara he'd known and she knew that he'd taken in
as much. She didn't even have to count to one, he was on his feet and 
bound for the door, trying one parting shot as he quickly paused, 
‘Nobody could say I didn't try.' 

‘I'll treat that with the contempt it deserves,' she hurled the door
shut, then watched through the window as he reversed down the drive, 
vowing never to call him father again, he wasn't worthy of it. But as 
she gave her mother an icy glance she recalled her earlier resolve to 
bridge the gulf that was developing between them, somehow that 
commitment had waned. 


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