Sign on the Dotted Line

 

With long, tapering fingers he stroked the leather of his old document case. He traced its darker stitching and smiled at the click of the brass locks as he opened them. Over the years it had achieved a wonderful patina of age and there was a variety of stains which only added to its charm. If only they could tell their story! He’d been offered the latest Louis Vuitton, it befitted his station they’d said, but this one held so many memories, and some secrets. He could even remember the first time he’d used it, and that was many, many years ago. He smiled again, ‘My salad days when I was green in judgement’ as the Bard had so aptly put it.

He took out a sheaf of papers, which had been carefully tied with ribbon.

Should be pink I suppose, but green has so much more class, especially this ‘National Trust Green’, so fashionable at the moment.

He did have a choice in many of the ‘little touches’. Carefully untying the bow he laid the papers out on the table, lining them up and leaving the exact same space between each. He was very neat and particular about how he did things. Next was the pen. He took it out of its box and unscrewed the cap. A fountain pen of course, An antique Mont Blanc with a gold nib, a black case and very tasteful gold trim. He had experimented with all sorts of writing implements over the years but this one suited his style perfectly.

You can tell the quality of a man by his penmanship and this is certainly the prince amongst pens.

Next came the bottle of black ink, (it just had to be black), the pen might need refilling. Finally the blotting paper was placed upon the table.

What fun it would be to still use quill pens and sand as the Elizabethans did, but one needs to move with the times I suppose. Although I would find it very difficult to be part of the computer age. I know many of my colleagues use those notebook things. What ‘soul’ is there in lives committed to electronics?

Now he was ready.

 

Sally walked unsteadily up the path towards the front door, shaking her head to try and clear away the fuzziness. The headache seemed to have started on the bus, although she couldn’t remember too clearly, and it was now building into a full-blown migraine. She wasn’t sure how she’d managed to get to her front door, couldn’t even remember getting off the bus, or on it for that matter, but here she was. With half closed eyes dipping her hand into her bag searching for keys, vaguely aware that something was different but not wanting to think too carefully about it. Eventually the keys surrendered themselves.

Why do they always hide when you’re desperate to find them?

Fumbling with them she dropped them, scrabbled on the floor and then eventually managed to slip the key into the lock. It turned but nothing happened. A second attempt, nothing. Her head was so bad now that she could barely see and was certain that at any minute she would be sick. She banged on the door hoping that Ben would be home. As it creaked open the sound sent needles of pain pushing into her brain. Dropping her bag and putting her hand over her mouth she ran, having no time to say anything and just making the bathroom in time. She gave no thought to who might have opened the door, assuming it was her husband. All her senses, which were usually quite acute, were blunted. The pounding in her head prevented any thoughts other than it. The overwhelming sickness in her stomach and the flashing lights and fringes of colour precluded her from seeing anything other than vague shapes. She sat on the floor willing away the next bout of sickness. She’d not had such an attack in months, maybe years. Movement was impossible; the hammer on the anvil of her brain continued its pounding. Lying on the bathmat and curling up as much as was possible she pulled the towels over her to keep warm. Falling asleep where she was, wondering why Ben had not come to help, but feeling too weak to do anything about it.

 

He closed the heavy, oak, front door stopping to admire the stained glass boat sailing into the horizon with the sun setting brilliantly behind some clouds.

How often in my travels have I seen such a sight?

Sunsets never failed to move him. He had seen so many, some producing smiles and some not a few tears. His eyes followed Sally but he did not, instead he went into the kitchen, carefully rearranged his papers and recapped the pen. He opened the kitchen cupboard and began sorting out tins and packets, he did like things to be neat and, where possible, in alphabetical order. He never failed to be amazed at what people had – and how long they kept them. Often wanting to throw away out dated herbs and spices but knowing that it was not within his remit. He next went on to pots and pans, cups and saucers until all handles were properly aligned. Sally would not be ready to talk to him for a while yet. He sat down at the table and riffled through the papers, reading the details, which he knew were so important in cases such as this.

 

Sally partially opened her eyes, looking through eyelashes at a strange linear world. It had grown darker, a sort of twilight darkness where things begin to lose definition. She pushed herself up, testing to see if any remnants of pain remained. The hammer had stopped pounding as furiously but the fuzziness was still there. She shivered, it was cold.

What am I doing here? Then she remembered, the migraine.

But where’s Ben. Why didn’t he help me to bed?

Without turning on the light, she wasn’t ready for that yet, she cupped her hand under the tap to drink and sponged her face with cold water, then went into the bedroom. She pulled on a sweater that was lying on the bed.

A cup of hot, sweet, comforting tea will put everything right!

Still in the dark, knowing that any sudden, bright light would bring the pounding back, she made her way downstairs and to the kitchen.

‘Ben! Ben, are you there?’

Even in her fragile state she could detect that her voice sounded weak and somehow far away. Light was escaping from under and around the door, an exceptionally bright light it seemed. A feeling of relief swept over her. He must be there.

He didn’t want to disturb me. Thought I’d be best left alone. He probably came up and saw me sleeping. No! He wouldn’t have done that. He let me in, he would have followed me upstairs, made sure I got into bed.

A half formed memory surfaced, Ben’s face with a look of horror and a loud screeching noise. She tried to clarify this fleeting vision but nothing seemed to make sense. A cold shiver ran down her spine, the typical someone walking on your grave type thing.

Where is he? He must be there in the kitchen, he let me in. He did let me in didn’t he?

Her brow contracted into furrows as she tried to remember. Stretching her hand out towards the door she noticed the chipped nail varnish and broken nails and what looked like ingrained oil. She never let her nails get like this, wearing gloves in the garden and when doing housework. She also treated herself to expensive hand cream, to prevent the ravages of age. She looked at her hands again trying to remember how they had got into that state. That fleeting feeling of fear again. She pulled her hand back trying to hide it and suppress unwanted feelings..

Don’t be silly, this is your house. It’s the migraine making you over sensitive. He’s fallen asleep that’s all. He’s done it before hasn’t he? He can fall asleep at the drop of a hat.

Gaining courage from somewhere she rapidly turned the knob and pushed the door open. For a moment blinded by the light, which was flooding out and by the dull stabbing pain of the remnants of the migraine. When at last she could see clearly she scanned the kitchen looking for Ben. He wasn’t there! She was about to turn and try the lounge when she noticed the papers on the table.

That’s it! He’s left me to recover and he’s written me a note!

Sally picked up one of the sheets; thick, heavy weight, expensive.

Where did he buy that?

It had her name at the top and in spite of her confusion she was struck by the perfection of the writing and by its intense blackness. She scanned it trying to understand it but nothing, except her name printed in beautiful copperplate at the top of the page, seemed to make sense. Another sharp stabbing pain in her head. She covered her eyes with her hands trying to block out the light, and the thoughts.

 

‘Sally! Glad to see you recovered.’ A deep, not unpleasant voice with a hint of amusement in it. But it was not Ben’s voice. IT WAS NOT BEN’S VOICE! It was a voice that she did not recognise.

 

Afraid to move her hands from her eyes and holding her breath she was certain that she could feel, and hear, her heart beating. The sound seemed to fill the room. In the seconds, it felt like hours, it took her to uncover her eyes all sorts of possibilities, and half memories, raced through her mind.

But none of them came anywhere near the truth of the matter.

Once again her eyes took time to accommodate to the light but when she could see clearly a young, tall, fair-haired man was standing on the opposite side of the table. His head was tipped quizzically to one side and he was smiling.

‘What are you doing here?’ She barely breathed the question. ‘Why are you in my house where’s my husband?’ Her hands grasped the table so tightly that all the blood was squeezed out of the tips. There was a slight note of hysteria in her voice, in spite of trying to remain calm and authoritative.

‘I would like you to leave please. If you don’t I will call the police.’ She wanted to stand, sitting and looking up at this stranger made her feel even more vulnerable, but she knew that her legs would not support her. She scanned the room. Everything looked so much like her kitchen. The lime washed, distressed pine, planned and discussed over and over with Ben; the much disputed Belfast sink, he hated them; the Moroccan tiles. She sighed. She loved this kitchen, the heart of her home. The house phone sat on the shelf behind him, could she reach it? He followed the direction of her eyes, smiled again and nodded. He picked up the phone and walked towards her. She shrank into the chair feeling its metal frame pushing into her spine. Placing the phone on the table and carefully rearranging the papers that she’d moved he returned to his position by the shelves. She rapidly punched in 999 and waited for the reply.

‘Hello, department of Transit. How may I help you?’

She slammed the phone down, thinking she’d tapped in the wrong number. Keeping an eye on the stranger, tried again.

‘Which service do you require?’

‘Police!’ the hysteria mounting in her voice ‘Someone has broken into my house and my husband is missing. Please come quickly.’ There was a sob at the end of this plea.

‘Name and address please.’

Sally gave these expecting a reassuring answer and to be told that someone would be there immediately to sort out the problem.

‘Mrs Carpenter!’ such a pleasant friendly voice. ‘We’ve been expecting you. Someone from the Department of Transit will be there shortly and will explain everything. Don’t worry. Our Mr Chamiel will look after you.’

She looked at the phone in complete perplexity, ‘But I want the police. I need help!’ All she got was what was supposed to be soothing holding music at the end of the line. She looked up at the blond man, refusing to acknowledge that he had a name, and burst into tears.

 

‘Sally! I can call you Sally can’t I?’ Once again that pleasant voice, it did very little to put her at her ease.

‘Now I know that all of this will seem very puzzling to you but I promise you that there is nothing to be afraid of. And soon you will understand.’

‘Where’s Ben, what have you done with him? Why aren’t the police here yet?’

‘Sally, I’m sorry to say that the only person we can expect is Bergail, he’ll be able to explain everything. My job is to get these forms filled in.’ He inclined his head towards the papers rather wistfully.

‘Bergail. That’s no kind of name. This is a joke isn’t it? Someone’s set me up. Must be Ben, he loves jokes. I know what it is,’ she said trying to laugh. ‘It’s one of those reality TV programmes. Where have they hidden the cameras?’ She looked around trying to spot where they might be.

‘Ben!’ she shouted. ‘Come on. Stop hiding. I’ve caught onto your little trick.’

Looking around frantically wanting so much for him to come out laughing at the joke.

‘He loves practical jokes. He’ll come out of hiding at any minute.’ Another vague memory surfaced, a face she didn’t know very close to her and staring into her eyes. She tried to make sense of it but couldn’t, just a cold, lost feeling.

Mr Chamiel sadly shook his head. He slowly walked towards the table and pulled out a chair and sat on it. Sally looked towards the door but knew that she had no chance of reaching it before he did.

OK. I’ll humour him. He’s obviously mad and it would be a mistake to upset him.

‘If I look at your papers will you go?’

‘I can only go when Bergail arrives. If we look at the papers now the rest won’t take too long.’

She was still scared but at the moment he did seem harmless enough.

‘I need to go through these forms with you and make sure that all my information is correct. May I come and sit next to you?’ She gave a half-hearted nod and when he picked up his chair and set it down next to hers she edged hers away very slightly.

He picked up his pen and carefully uncapped it. He looked towards her and smiled. He scanned the first sheet.

‘Sally Heloise Carpenter, that is your correct name?’ She nodded.

‘Heloise after your great grandmother I believe. The one who was born in France.’ All Sally could do was nod her head in astonishment.

‘Your maiden name Pickering?’ Again she nodded. She was so amazed by all that he knew that her fear was taking second place.

‘How do you know this. How do you know so much about me?’

‘I know everything about you.’ That slightly sad smile again.

‘John and Amy, your parents, Tim your elder brother and Alice the baby of the family. She I believe is living in Australia, she’s pregnant. It’s a girl and she’ll be called Heloise, after you and your great grandma.’ Confusion once again.

‘How do you know that, you can’t possibly. I would be the first one to know!’

Fear began to replace the confusion once again as he told her all the details of her life so far. As he confirmed things with her he ticked boxes on his sheets of paper.

‘WHAT IS GOING ON?’ she screamed.

He looked slightly hurt.

‘We’ve reached the last page now and Bergail will be here at any minute. Please be patient, just a little longer.’

‘We have now got to this point in time.’ He looked at her staring deeply into her eyes.

‘What can you remember of today?’

Wanting to get it over she answered his question in a monotone.

‘Got up as usual, had breakfast, went to work. We’re going out for a meal tonight so Ben…’ she began to falter and the tone of her voice changed. ‘So Ben picked me up and brought me…’ She stopped there and looked at him, knowledge beginning to dawn. He smiled encouragingly and nodded.

‘I didn’t come home on the bus did I?’ He shook his head.

‘There were road works controlled by lights,’ A look of horror was slowly covering her face.

‘We were at the front of the queue. We moved forward, it was single lane.’

Sally’s voice became quieter as the events clarified themselves.

‘A car from the opposite direction had obviously tried to race the lights. It was travelling too fast. I looked at Ben, a look of horror on his face. He tried to avoid the other car, it wasn’t possible.’

‘Yes. I’m afraid it was a very serious accident. They did manage to get Ben out, he’s in intensive care at the moment.’

‘What about me?’ she whispered. ‘What happened to me? All I had was a headache!’

The front door bell rang.

‘There’s Bergail. Of course he doesn’t need to use the doorbell but it’s so much more polite isn’t it. He’s here to explain what happens next and to guide you on your journey.’

At last she understood and didn’t feel afraid any longer, but there was sadness there.

‘Would you be able to tell Ben that I love him?’

‘He already knows that and it will be a great comfort to him.’

 

He went out of the kitchen and towards the brilliant sunshine of the front door.