Finding The Way Back (standard:romance, 3154 words) [1/6] show all parts
Author: Cyrano	Updated: Jun 13 2009	Views/Reads: 3190/2030	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Life is fragile...James finds out at a moments notice. Chapter one of something entirely different for me. Hardly life in the fast lane...but life. I'll post chapters every couple of days...after my weak editing.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

Saturday afternoon. But that was tomorrow; tonight there was a 
celebratory dinner party, which he would genuinely enjoy. Just a few 
close friends, and again he smiled at the prospect. 

The exact age of his dear wife was a secret she guarded zealously and he
could recall the landmark fiftieth passing by on at least three 
previous occasions. James wondered what number she would declare this 
evening if the question arose when port loosened the guests grip on 
propriety. Eileen's great problem was she did not possess the quality 
of memory required to sustain any long-term deception. He smiled but 
then realized he was already running behind schedule to pick up two 
workmen and give them a lift home.  He had to negotiate the Friday 
afternoon traffic on the trunk road running to the coast that would be 
building up for what promised to be the first sunny weekend in Spring. 
But more importantly, he didn't want to miss out on his usual Friday 
afternoon treat at Greasy Joe's roadside burger and sandwich bar. 

The fare on offer at this far from salubrious establishment did not form
part of James' diet, so carefully planned and rigorously monitored as 
far as she was able, by Eileen. 

He didn't often lie to her, but there were occasions, usually after his
closely supervised weekly weigh in, when her queries on his eating 
habits were not fully disclosed. He was merely being economical with 
the truth, he reassured himself.  He stood with reluctance on the 
weighing scales fully aware she was familiar with all his little 
dodges. The pointer of the scales was adjusted to zero and they were 
positioned in the center of the room denying him the opportunity to 
lean against anything to alleviate his impact upon the machine. 

“These digital scales never lie James. Despite all your dieting you are
still overweight,” she would pronounce shaking her head in disbelief. 

“I simply don't understand it, these scales are always right”. 

James had learned over the years to come up with innovative explanations
to  challenge Eileen's unshakeable faith in modern technology. 

“It's all about body metabolism, I was born unlucky in that department,”
James argued, taking in a deep breath to draw in his stomach as if this 
would magically reduce his weight. 

Eileen did not give up so easily, she wanted facts. 

“Sit down over there James,” she ordered, pointing to the toilet in the
corner. 

James became the defendant and he took his seat. Not having a bible to
hand, she relied on almost thirty years of marriage for him to tell her 
the truth. She looked at him and began cross-examination. James had 
never been questioned before by a QC wearing only a bra and pants, and 
naturally found it difficult to give the matter at hand his undivided 
attention. 

“You only have the bran flakes with skimmed milk for breakfast, don't
you?” 

He noted she didn't tuck both of her hands into her bra straps as she
began. 

James nodded his vigorous accession to this question. 

“You do eat the salad that I prepare for your lunch, don't you?” she
continued. 

James again agreed, but added righteously, “of course darling.” 

The QC began summing up. 

“So you have the low calorie breakfast, and the low calorie lunch, and
the meal that I prepare in the evening and you are still overweight. I 
simply do not understand it. These weighing scales can't be all they 
are cracked up to be”, she concluded with a shake of her head. “But its 
funny that they are all right for me...look,” she said stepping on to 
the scales and pointing to the display. 

“You don't look any thinner,” she said and then looked disdainfully at
him as he slouched on the toilet in his underpants. She stood down off 
the scales and took only a moment to decide how to proceed further. As 
far as she was concerned the jury had returned the verdict, the judge 
had agreed and unusually, the decision involved the QC meeting out the 
punishment. She gave him a quick unprovoked poke in his stomach as she 
walked past him and out of the bathroom. 

“Ouch ....that hurt”, he yelled. “What was that for”. 

“To show you how unfit you are, you need to do some exercise as well”. 

“As well as what?” Asked James, gingerly rising to his feet and
stumbling to the door. 

“As well as this so called diet you're supposed to be on...that isn't
working”. 

Eileen was not satisfied with the verdict of the lower court; she was
going to take the matter to a much higher authority. 

“I'm going to bring your case up at the next meeting of Weight Watchers,
there's something about your diet I just don't understand." 

Then, thankfully, he sighed, she turned her attention to other matters. 

James thought it inappropriate at this point in time to mention that the
solution to the mystery about his diet, which his dear wife did not 
understand resided in the form of a caravan in a lay by which traded 
under the name of Greasy Joe's. 

The screeching of brakes had given due warning to the proprietor that
his regular client was in a hurry and when his face popped over the 
high counter James did not need to give his order. 

“You're in luck James, I've got a burger ready for you. Help yourself to
ketchup mate, and here's your diet cola. I don't know how you drink the 
stuff. It tastes like gnat's piss to me.” 

Joe offered his professional gastronomic opinion and handed the food
over with a grin. 

James helped himself to a generous squirt of ketchup then headed for the
big blue bus he had noticed parked at the end of the lay-by. He walked 
lightly past the hedgerows and under the chestnut trees, his worries 
quickly relegated to the back of his mind by the noisy cheeriness of 
the birds, the sun breaking through the trees and a large mouthful of 
burger. 

The driver of the bus had been sitting in the drivers seat, her arms
resting on the steering wheel, her mind blank, seeking to kill a few 
boring minutes before her next job. The unruly mop of gray hair that 
appeared at the foot of the steps gave her a pleasant surprise and was 
a welcome diversion from the loneliness of her job. 

James struggled to climb up the steps while looking down to dab ketchup
off his tie. When he looked up, stumbling up a step, he was greeted by 
the warmth of Jenny's smile. 

“Something special on today James, I see you're wearing a tie?” 

He had to pause for a few moments, emptying his mouth to speak. 

“No.... just a meeting.... nothing special.” James collapsed into the
comfort of a seat next to her. 

“How's the world treating you Jenny?” He greeted, brightly, with a voice
that still retained a trace of his North Country origins. “You should 
be sitting outside and enjoying the sunshine on a nice day like this." 

“I don't like sitting out there on my own. The fellas think because I'm
a single woman I'm fair game for a bit of banter and to be honest 
James, I've had enough of that sort of thing. No, I'm happy just 
sitting here on my own, present company excepted.” 

She was always pleased to see this most unlikely pillar of local society
who always took the time to talk to her. It was a casual relationship 
that had prospered on an unplanned intermittent basis, usually in the 
lay by, or in Eileen's shop. He was happily married and did not 
threaten the vulnerability she often felt in the presence of other men. 
In between gulps, James said a pretty woman like her should welcome a 
bit of attention and a little bit of flattery. 

“Only if it comes from the right quarter James”, she replied, “and with
driving this bus all hours that God sends, I don't get to meet very 
many nice guys." 

“It's a shame, a nice girl like you, some bloke doesn't know what he's
missing.” 

“Anyway James, I've too many other things on my mind to worry about
men,” she said, frowning. “This business isn't great and since Bob 
disappeared I'm having a struggle to make ends meet. I would like to 
get out but nobody wants to buy a bus these days...too much competition 
from the big boys...so I'll just have to soldier on. But I'm going to 
cheer myself up when I get back and go and buy a new summer outfit from 
Eileen. She'll fit me up and I'm going to do a few hours for her on the 
shop to pay for it, so it won't be too painful.” She smiled 
whimsically. 

James looked more closely at the auburn hair, which tumbled carelessly
over a high forehead. He took note of the crumpled trousers and a baggy 
sweatshirt, which served to camouflage a very attractive woman. And 
when she smiled her face lit up and her dark eyes sparkled. James 
recognized even the smallest of smiles would give her a fleeting escape 
from the burden of her difficulties. He knew she had gone through a 
rough time since her husband left her. She suddenly became aware of his 
close observation and her querying look caused James to clamp his jaws 
firmly down over the burger. 

“Hey Jenny,” he said recovering his composure. “Don't be telling Eileen
about seeing me here eating burgers. She'll go berserk if she finds 
out.” 

He was pleased to see her laugh when she promised to keep his secret. 

James looked at his watch and stood up as he swallowed the remnants of
his food. 

“Must be dashing off Jenny, keep your chin up love...see you soon, and
get yourself something special, it'll make you feel better...bye”. He 
spoke over his shoulder as he descended the steps, threw his can into 
the litterbin with practiced accuracy, and strode off towards his car 
looking at his watch. There were flowers to collect, and the men to 
pick up, and he had better get moving. 

He had tried as politely as he could to get the last meeting finished on
time but the young architect kept waffling on. 

“My name is Mister Fairweather” he had told James when they first met.
It had been five months later before he made a concession and suggested 
that if he wished to do so, he could call him by his first name, but 
only in private, and he was Jon, without the “h”, he emphasized. 

James nodded sagely and suppressed a smile. In the meeting it was
strictly Mr. Jon Fairweather and he was artily garbed in a crumpled 
cream linen suit with baggy trousers, a pink cravat and brown Jesus 
sandals.  Mr. Jon Fairweather proceeded to push his long blonde hair 
out of his eyes and glibly assured the client's representative that any 
competent building contractor would undoubtedly have included in their 
estimate any little bits and pieces that he had overlooked when 
producing the drawings. He avoided eye contact with James who was of 
the opinion that the Brazilian mahogany timbers straining to hold up 
the roof of the new building could not comfortably be classified as 
being mere bits and pieces. James did not want to upset the client or 
the architect at the present time but he was certain that Mr. Jon 
Fairweather was covering his arse in a big way. 

He had sensed from the outset this project would have problems. The
owner of the new supermarket, who wished to remain anonymous, had 
employed a pleasant florid faced man called Reginald as his 
representative. Reginald was a solid citizen in all respects with a 
variety of pencils, pens and rulers peeping out from the top pocket of 
a well worn tweed sports coat, with leather elbow patches and cuffs. 
Unfortunately, he had not been empowered to make decisions. 

As the meeting drifted on, James's wandering attention settled on the
assortment of badges on Reginald's lapels.  On the right he wore a blue 
enamel badge depicting a LNER pacific locomotive, probably the Mallard. 
 So James noted with amusement, Reginald had done a bit of train 
spotting in his time!  A measure of the breadth of his interests was 
revealed by the presence on the other lapel of a National Trust badge 
over which was the insignia of CND. 

James's constant, exaggerated reference to his wristwatch finally
persuaded Reginald to close the meeting. They would meet again same 
place, same time, in a couple of weeks. 

Mr. Jon Fairweather logged this information into his palm top computer
having checked this did not clash with any urgent appointment, such as 
having his hair shampooed or attending a seminar on how to screw 
unsuspecting clients. 

Reginald switched on his P.C. With a few deft moves he brought the mouse
under control and announced that he was free to make the meeting on the 
appointed day. 

It was now up to James, who apologetically pulled from his pocket a
dog-eared diary and a well-chewed pencil approaching the end of its 
natural life.  He scribbled down the appointment, said farewell to 
Reginald and as he passed the seated architect, whispered  “goodbye 
Jon”. Then he wagged a finger and said further, “did you notice that?” 

The young architect gave a querying look. “Notice what?” 

“No “h”,” replied James, grinning. 

Then he walked past Reginald's car, which was parked on the main road,
and he paused in order to read the array of stickers displayed on the 
rear windscreen. These touched on diverse issues such as Jesus Saves, 
Manchester United Supporters Club, This Car Runs On Unleaded Petrol, 
Equal Rights For Aborigines, Keep Britain Farming, Abolish Blood 
Sports, This Is A Nuclear Free Zone and Child On Board.  James searched 
in vain for a sticker from the Liberal Democrats. 

There were two more messages on the front windscreen. The first was a
parking ticket and the other a summons for failing to display the road 
fund license. James drove away chuckling. 

The bouquet was ready when pulled up on the double yellow lines outside
the florist's in the congested town-center. His judgment of the slow 
deliberate gait of the distant traffic warden was timed to perfection 
and he issued the same gentleman a cheery wave when he dashed back to 
the car and pulled away. 

It took him five minutes to join the stream of traffic on the trunk road
out of town. Every time he was ready to move out, another lorry would 
appear at the head of convoy of vehicles unable to overtake because of 
the many bends. He mused that in a few more weeks it would be even 
worse as the holiday traffic intensified. After three miles he turned 
left down a narrow lane towards Camerton Hall. He was confident that 
Big Ernie and Robbo would be waiting. There was no chance they would be 
late on a Friday night. 

Being late in the morning was a more common occurrence as it wasn't
always easy getting out of bed on a cold morning after a skinful of 
beer, or a night on the river bank with one eye on the water and the 
other looking out for the bailiff. 

His confidence was not misplaced. 


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