Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Staring in the mirror, the events of Thursday evening felt as raw and painful as that row of two day old stitches looked in his forehead.

“Well, at least the dentist made a good job on that tooth.” Chris said under his breath.

That chip in his front tooth was now barely noticeable, blending in pretty well amidst the discoloured partners either side of it.

Brushing his finger lightly over the neat row of stitches over his left eye, Chris winced. These where his first ever stitches and was a little proud of them.

“Maybe that duty doctor was a seamstress in a previous life.” he thought out loud, “those stitches look like those on my blanket, Lazy Daisy was it?”

“Neat, very neat,” he whispered past his fat lip and newly repaired tooth as he appreciated the doctors handicraft in the mirror.

Surveying the stitches in his forehead, neatly holding together the large irregular wound over his right eye, he thought it looked ever so slightly like a crooked three legged starfish.

Add to hole in his head, a broken nose, a split and swollen lip, two broken ribs and some very bruised testicles, Chris decided he wasn’t exactly feeling in the best of shape.
Sleeping was proving difficult too. Every time Chris started to drift off, in that split second as you start slipping into that lovely deep, deep sleep, the healing sleep that his body craved so badly, all the events of Thursday night would flash back into his head jolting him wide awake again.

Work had finished later than usual and Chris had joined the regular after work ‘Drinking Club’ members in the Rat and Parrot for a swift pint or two before heading for home and his tea.

Entering the gents toilet after his ‘couple’ to off-load some of the extra two pints of fluid recently taken on board, Chris noticed the toilet was empty but smelled strongly of cheap cleaning products, those with sort of perfume that makes your eyes water just a little. Not that the gents toilet in the Rat and Parrot was expecting a rush of clients that evening, its just that Chris wasn’t expecting it to be empty.
Chris became aware from the squeak of the door behind him that somebody else had joined him in the small, white tiled corridor like toilet. It’s common courtesy in men’s toilets not look at or even acknowledge any of the other occupants standing either side of you, it’s just not the done thing. And you certainly don’t take a look over the partition either, that's a big no-no.

Chris continued with the business of fluid removal, casually reading the framed adverts screwed to the wall, the one infront of him was for the local clap clinic, not that Chris felt in need of any of their services right now and not that he hadn’t read them in the past at least a hundred times before, it’s just something you do to pass the time when your standing with your knob in your hand.

“Are you Chris Preston?” enquired the deep, heavy East End of London type voice behind him.

“Who wants to know?” Chris replied without turning round, coming nicely to the end of business at the same time, but more than slightly bothered by the miscreants rule breaking intrusion into his personal ablutions.

Chris’s face rammed into the small A4 sized framed advert for the clap clinic hard.

Chris’s neck was being gripped really hard by what felt like a very large, hairy jawed vice.

“Right now, you don’t need to know who wants to know." came a voice behind him.
"Now, answer my question before I get aggressive.”

“errr…” it was very hard talking when your face was being pushed hard up against a framed advert.

“Yesh… I’m Kwish Pweshtun.” Chris managed to utter, all the time thinking to himself that he’d really hate to meet this guy when he WAS being aggressive.

The hairy jawed vice gripping his neck, squeezed it’s fleshy contents a little tighter, and, eased Chris’s face out of the picture frame, away from the wall very, very slowly.

The voice that accompanied the hairy jawed vice was now very, very close, and it’s hot, beery, cigarette reeking breath was now filling Chris’s left ear.

Straining to catch at least a tiny glimpse of his assailant Chris swivelled his eyes as far left as he could manage, and could just make out an accomplice keeping watch by the part opened toilet door, but not quite seeing the owner of the voice and the hairy vice.
Glancing down though, Chris could just make out a boot. Not just any boot mind you, it was an immaculately polished, cherry red, yellow stitched, Dr Marten boot to be precise. Looked like maybe a size 10, maybe an 11. Chris fleetingly felt the tiniest bit of empathy for this guy as he obviously took a lot of care over his boots, Chris remembering the care he lavished over his own Dr Martens when he was a teenager.

“This is from your friend Vince…” the voice said very, very slowly as it forced the words down Chris’s left ear.

No sooner had the beer drenched words left the lips of hairy vice then Chris’s face was slammed back into the neatly framed, A4 advert. This time with such force, that the badly cleaned, vandal proof, plexi-glass broke into three sharp, jagged pieces.

From then on everything started to blur and Chris felt powerless to respond or defend himself. There’s only so much you can do when someone attacks you from behind, especially when you’ve still got your dick in your hand, what a low down dirty trick to pull.

Extracting Chris slowly from the broken frame the hairy vice proceeded to repeat the process twice more just for good measure. Something sharp, and no doubt very dirty, penetrated Chris’s forehead, and it really hurt.

In one swift, obviously well rehearsed manoeuvre, the hairy vice chasséd both of them around with the elegance and grace that a well practiced ballroom dancer would have been proud of and slammed Chris’s face into the basin behind him in one clean, precise movement.

Porcelain, the material of choice for most washroom furniture designers, is extremely hard and durable and was, to be fair, no match for Chris’s front teeth which offered very little resistance to the rapidly approaching porcelain target.

The hairy vice released it’s grip, and Chris fell to the floor like a crumpled jumper.

Fresh blood, mixed with that heavy perfume from the cheap, lemon scented floor cleaner made Chris’s eye’s water even more than the fresh hole in his forehead did.

Opening his eyes briefly, Chris was now eye-to-boot with the highly polished, cherry red, Dr Marten boot he’d seen moments earlier, the other half of the neatly polished pair was just seconds away from finding his ribcage. Chris felt a crack, followed moments later by a second louder crack, pain now flooded his senses with confusion, before a third, well aimed boot found both of it’s spherical targets that were being neatly cradled by Chris’s Calvin Klein boxer shorts, safely tucked away in Chris’s carefully pressed, Levi 501”s. Chris managed to roll over onto his side in a last desperate attempt at trying to escape a further kicking to another fleshy, vulnerable part of his anatomy.

As the washroom door gently squeaked closed behind his assailant and his companion, Chris fell into unconsciousness.

Getting that travel bug...

If you’ve never, ever had that urge to travel, that passionate unquenchable desire to roam, that nagging
yearning to get as much distance between you and your current locale, a longing to escape way, way beyond your immediate surroundings, then count yourself lucky. If it ever happens upon you though, whatever you do, ignore it. Whatever you do, don’t start travelling. Don’t give in to that feeling of “Oh, wouldn’t it be nice to visit…”. Resist it. Push it from your mind. If you ever feel the slightest urge what-so-ever to venture further than the end of your garden or maybe perhaps stray from the comfort of your own four walls, or maybe to wander just beyond your local supermarket and round the next bend, don’t. If you get the slightest inkling of an itch in either of your feet, then for Gods sake go out and buy some Athletes foot powder or perhaps change your socks more often. But you must at all costs avoid that urge to travel. Once you start, once you’ve given in to that tiny, burgeoning, embryonic desire, that incey wincey itchy little travel bug growing inside you. Your doomed. Your finished. It’s a one way, downward spiral from thereon. Your normal, everyday life will never, ever be the same again. Never will you be able to sit within the cosy confines of your comfiest armchair or lounge carelessly, nonchalantly on your sofa to watch one of these glossy, glitzy Travel Shows that currently titivates almost all of our TV channels these days. You’ll begin to get the itchiest feet that you have ever had the displeasure to own. In no time at all you’ll find yourself oohing and aahing at places, hotels, sights and locations that you will never, ever in a million years be able to get to. Or, more to the point, even be able to come close to affording to get to. But once you start giving in to this desire you might just find yourself driving to Dover like a bat out of hell after the schools have turned out late on a Thursday afternoon. Like an idiot you’ll find yourself chancing your arm with the rush hour traffic on the M25 when you know in your heart of hearts and against all advice that you shouldn’t go anywhere near it.
You’ll find yourself nervously nipping off the traffic clogged M25 onto a slow, bumper-to-bumper, traffic jammed ‘A’ road in a desperate, half-hearted, half-baked attempt at dodging a motorway crippling accident six miles away. You then might find yourself taking a chance that that “Motorway closed ahead at junction 12” sign doesn’t actually apply to you because you really don’t know precisely where junction 12 is anyway! And then you might find your breaking the law of the land and every rule in the highway code by speeding down an otherwise empty motorway at 100 miles an hour, praying all the time that that junction 12 speeding towards you and now just 4 miles away isn’t really going to be closed for Kent Constabulary to implement their “Operation Stack”. You also might find yourself pulling in to Dover ferry port with just 12 minutes left before your ferry departs for Calais, your heart pounding and your nerves jangling. Once safely on board and heading in the right direction for Calais, comfortably sitting at a table tucking into your fish and chips, you might start wondering what the reason is for all this total madness? You might ponder on the reasons why you are prepared to be risking life and limb racing down motorways, dodging lines of queuing traffic, prepared to jump red lights and curse choked up roundabouts and red lights at pedestrian crossings.
And then it dawns on you, it’s all really rather simple.
In fact it’s really, rather simple.
Almost, in fact a little too obvious.
Your off to spend a ‘relaxing’ four days at Centre Parcs. That’s why.
While your fellow work mates and family members are frantically trying to cram as much DIY as they can into a four day Bank Holiday as is humanly or inhumanly possible, you’ll be spending your entire Easter weekend abroad. Overseas. Far from the madding crowd. You’ll be having a quiet, stress free, relaxing weekend away from it all. Maybe unwinding with a glass or two of Chardonnay while everyone else is up to their armpits in wallpaper paste, saw-dust, grouting, grass cuttings and John Innes No4. So, while they’re all fruitlessly circling B&Q’s car park for the umpteenth time trying hard to beat that grey haired old lady in her rust-bucket of a beaten up Montego into that last remaining parking space which is about 20 minutes walk away from the shop door you’ll be dashing full tilt, hell-for-leather down endless French and Belgian motorways racing for the Dutch border. You’ll be juggling with juggernauts, swearing at those hideous road works and one way systems around Antwerp and then having to pay 50c to take a pee at a Belgian service station.
And all of this is in a bid to be able to go and relax and unwind in a serene, wooded, tranquil Lakeland setting for four whole days. Enjoying decadent lie-ins in the mornings. Enjoying fresh hot coffee, warm croissants and cherry jam for your breakfasts.Spending your evenings eating out in one of a host of relaxing restaurants and not having to worry about the washing up afterwards. You’ll be taking relaxing swims in the sub-tropical pool that’s also so packed full of Germans that you could probably walk to the other side of the pool without getting your feet wet. You’ll be doing things as a family for once. Maybe a little skiing. Cycling. Perhaps a little walk in the afternoon. Primarily though, it’s to do some things you wouldn’t otherwise do when your ensconced at home DIY’ing your way through an Easter Bank Holiday long weekend.
To top things off, just when you’ve fully unwound, your head is no longer swimming with work schedules and unanswered emails, you’ll start packing the car to the gunnels once more before spending your post-Easter weekend Tuesday sprinting the 360 odd miles back home again in preparation for your return to work on Wednesday relaxed and refreshed and ready to work harder than ever before.
One day you might find yourself in an airport, maybe some monstrous International airport like Detroit, hanging around for five long hours for a pesky rainstorm to drift past and thus enable your connecting flight to your final destination to take off.
Perhaps you’ll find yourself standing next to an empty baggage carousel that’s trundling around on it’s own at another airport, waiting desperately for your last two bags to magically pop out from the depths of the baggage bay but where somehow mysteriously separated from the rest of your families baggage at the check-in desk and thoughtfully re-routed to Stuttgart. Well, Stuttgart and Stanstead do sound similar don’t they?
One day you might find yourself standing at a United States of America Custom and Immigration desk. The contents of your one and only suitcase strewn unceremoniously all over the desk and desperately trying to explain to the nice, friendly officer, for best part of a very long and frustrating hour, why it is that ten T-shirts, five pairs of shorts and two pairs of sandals ARE plenty enough clothing for your two week holiday.
Maybe you might find yourself in a Pyrenean ski resort gazing from your hotel window hopefully, longingly towards the top of that big green mountain in front of you, a mountain that somehow would look more at home if it had been used in the Sound of Music for Julie Andrews to warble on than it would be for the men’s downhill on Ski Sunday, and desperately praying for snow.
Just think how relaxing it would have been if you hadn’t had that crazy, ridiculous idea that it was possible, even feasible to just ‘pop’ to Holland for Easter.
Think how much time you could possibly have saved if you didn’t have to queue endlessly at airport check-in desks for hours waiting to get rid of your baggage, hanging around baggage carousels waiting to pick it all up again many hours later, queuing at Immigration desks waiting to get your passport stamped and then the customs halls trying to get into a country with a non-regulation quota of clothing. You could also save yourself hours and hours of time too by not endlessly, fruitlessly surfing the internet looking for that elusive, never-to-be-repeated discounted cheap flight. Or all that time you waste scouring the internet for cheap hotels or nice little bed and breakfasts. And hours of wasted time comparing endless bargain car rental deals to see which one offers the best deal and which comes with free CDW and a free tank of petrol. You could also be saving yourself loads of time by not having to search through endless piles of guide books and brochures searching in vain for that new, as yet undiscovered location to visit. Or throwing away hour after hour trawling the travel section of your local library for that latest, up to date Insight guide of your favourite destination.
Add to all of this fun and games just how much money you could be saving yourself in to the equation. You wouldn’t have to save all your hard earned money like some demented modern day Scrooge. And you certainly wouldn’t need to worry yourself silly about jiggling balances of one or two credit cards, hunting down 0% APR’s and stuffing as much into your high interest savings account as you can manage all in an attempt to balance the cost of these ‘relaxing’ holidays over the course of the next 12 months in the vague hope that it might all be paid off just in time to do it all again next year.
What a palaver it all is.
It’s pure hell.
It’s no fun whatsoever.
Don’t be fooled by it, it’ll turn into a living nightmare.
Damn it, I wish I hadn’t given in, I’ve just had to book flights for this years holiday, secure a bargain rental car deal, find a villa to rent and also book us in for a long-weekend at Centre Parcs in May too!

Ouch, my poor credit card!

Placing the blame...

The blame for my current writing fervour lies at the feet of John, Paul, George and Ringo.
It's all their fault !!!
Totally, 100%, without any shadow of a doubt, they are to blame.
If it wasn't for the Fab Four I wouldn't have even thought of it.
It hadn't even crossed my mind.
The Beatles have unwittingly been responsible for my long unrequited interest in writing a novel.
I was reminded of this fact whilst driving around this weekend when I heard 'Paperback Writer' being played on the radio.
Hearing it again brought back memories of hearing this track as a kid.
I have little clear recollection of my childhood and as the track was recorded in 1966 I don't think that was when I remembered it from. I can't be sure.
Music was never a big thing in my house as a kid. Apart from listening to Family Favourites over Sunday dinner and The Clithero Kid music didn't feature at all.
So, it must have been in the 70's that I first heard it and remembered hearing it.
I recall thinking at the time that it must be a wonderful thing to be able to do, write a novel.
Writing a paperback sounded so romantic even then. It still does.
For someone to wander into W.H.Smiths or Barnes & Noble, pick a copy of MY book off the shelf, be so enthralled by it that they actually feel compelled to BUY it, take it home and ACTUALLY read it seemed fantastic.
At the time I distinctly remember discounting the idea totally. It was stupid.
The whole prospect of writing a paperback seemed out of my reach.
Out of my league.
Out of my class I guess. Unattainable.
Writing anything of any interest to anybody else seemed impossible.
What with being well below average at English during my education and stumbling around with the idea of having to write stories, poetry and actually reading and understanding a novel all seemed a little unattainable.
I just didn't 'get' English at all. I spoke it but that was it.
On the other hand Mr Jenkins my English teacher was passionate about it.
He seemed to be able to read a passage from a book like it was HIS words that he was reading.
Like it was his novel he was reading.
His poetry that he was bringing to life.
I loved the way he read to us too. His accent was warm, rich and slightly West Country and seemed to match Hardy's intonation perfectly.
Our new English teacher in the fourth year, Mr Ingram, was less enthusiastic. Almost reluctant. That spoilt things a little for me. He would even bring his scruffy dog into class!!
Finishing school and starting work writing never featured much in my life again.
Reading was reduced to a daily tabloid.
Maybe a magazine now and again.
I never read a novel.
I never read a classic.
I never read anything of any worth whatsoever.
But occasionally, the Beatles would filter through into my subconscious.
Unknowingly, little by little, the Fab Four were fuelling that desire.
Slowly, bit by bit, adding to a buried urge to write a paperback.
Unwittingly, the boys were adding to my desire to become a paperback writer.
And then three years ago without warning, it started.
An idea oozed out of me.
On a flight to San Francisco a seed popped into my head for a plot.
I wrote it down.
It was pouring out of my head at an alarming rate.
I scribbled and scribbled.
The back of my Filofax was stuffed with little ideas for characters, scenarios, places, situations, dialogue.
Where did all that come from?
I toyed on and off with building on the fledgling idea but I didn't know where to start. How to tackle it. How to handle it.
Occasionally I'd pick it up and look at, reread it, but inspiration withered and died.
Over the next couple of years it would occasionally pop into my head.
From time to time I would remember it, think about a little, but it would vanish as quickly as it arrived.
Fate took a hand at Christmas though and I found myself sitting at a table with three women. Two of them were there to learn like me. The third was feeding us prompts and inspiration to start writing.
It worked.
My inspiration had been tapped like a maple tree.
Ideas and words flowed from me like fresh maple syrup.
And now I can't seem to stop.
The novel is slowly taking shape around all the other bumph that comes out of me.
It's quite astonishing really.
Somebody might actually like what I write.
I doubt it somehow.
But who knows, I may actually write something that may even get published one day.
And I might actually get that paperback finished one day. With two chapters drafted you never know.
But without the help, or hindrance of the Fab Four it might never have even started.

Thanks boys!!!

For your enjoyment.....

Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?

It took me years to write, will you take a look?

It's based on a novel by a man named Lear

And I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer

Paperback writer

It's the dirty story of a dirty man

And his clinging wife doesn't understand

His son is working for the Daily Mail

It's a steady job but he wants to be a paperback writer

Paperback writer

Paperback writer

It's a thousand pages, give or take a few

I'll be writing more in a week or two

I can make it longer if you like the style

I can change it round and I want to be a paperback writer

Paperback writer

If you really like it you can have the rights

It could make a million for you overnight

If you must return it, you can send it here

But I need a break and I want to be a paperback writer

Paperback writer

Paperback writer

The Big Purple Thing

This is my second offering.
Again it just seemed to appear from nowhere and was written in two parts this time.
The first part was written one lunchtime at work. I then forgot to copy it to my USB drive to take it home so it was finished the next day.

The Big Purple Thing.
by Steve Young.

Pulling into the car park Brad spotted his target.
The yellow sports car was parked just a few spaces away from the gym entrance.
'On time as usual.' Brad said out loud. 'And in the same spot too.'
As he swung into a nearby space he could feel a sense of excitement building inside him.
Stepping from his car he glanced around quickly to see if he would be noticed.
'Ok, all clear.' Brad whispered to himself. 'Nobody around.'
Fumbling in his pockets he walked across to the car and with a click of the key opened the door and squeezed into the close fitting drivers seat.
Turning on the stereo he ejected the incumbent CD and slipped in his own specially compiled one that was hidden in his pocket.
Carefully placing a large purple Quality Street on top of the dashboard Brad slipped back out of the car and flicked the lock.
Back within the security of his car Brads heart was pounding.
'This is such good fun,' he thought, 'it's not felt like this for years.'

With dinner well underway and with tea brewing in the pot Brad sat back on the sofa casually flicking on the TV.
'This is how it should have felt from the start.' he thought.
'It really doesn't take that much effort to make that special person in your life feel, well, special.'
The phone disturbed his thoughts.
'Hello?' Brad answered.
'Whose been breaking and entering cars again?' said the soft voice on the other end.
'I'm not sure what you mean?' Brad replied quizzically.
In the background he could hear the fruits of his lunch-time recording session.
The words of the song spelling out recent events far more succinctly than he could have put into words himself.
'Un-break my heart,' Toni Braxton pleaded.
'Say you'll love me again...'
'Undo this hurt you caused...' her pain was obvious to all.
'I should have you arrested.' continued the soft voice over Ms Braxton.
'Technically it's not breaking the law...' said Brad. 'I used your key.'
'Thanks, it was a really nice surprise.' continued the voice. 'I'll be home in ten minutes.'
Smiling to himself for a mission well executed Brad returned to the kitchen to start serving dinner.
As he placed the plates on the table he heard the sound of Louises key in the door.
'Hi babe, OK?' 'How was the gym?'
Turning to get the drinks Louise put her arm round Brads waist and kissed him square on the lips.
'Thanks for the calling card, it was a nice surprise.'

Brad wasn't aware that their relationship wasn't working as well as it should be.
Both of them were working hard and had pretty successful jobs.
Louise always appeared to be happy enough. They always seemed to get along really well compared to the marriages of other close friends.
Theirs by comparison seemed almost like a paradise. An oasis of calm.
Most of their friends seemed to argue all the time and the friction between most of these couples was almost touchable. Very obvious to the casual observer.
Brad was never sure quite how some people managed to put up with that kind of discomfort in a relationship. It seemed almost intolerable.
Men don't really talk about this kind of emotional stuff but some guys seemed to imply that this was what you got when you got married.
This was your lot.
'Just put up with it' was a common response, 'it won't get any better than this so don't expect it to improve.'
Brad always believed that personal happiness counted for a lot.
If your not happy then something is wrong.
And if something was wrong then it should be fixed.
Brad was convinced in his mind that all was well with him and Louise. They seemed to have it all under control.
No arguments. No major disagreements. They enjoyed the physical side of things too.
They held hands in public, kissed and cuddled and they both enjoyed the more intimate side of things too.
Admittedly it wasn't as frequent as Brad hoped it would be but at least they were doing it unlike a lot of other guys he knew.
Brad, as far as he could tell, was happy.

Brads happiness unravelled very quickly one Friday morning just over two years ago.
Returning to his desk from the coffee machine Tony called from his office.
'Brad, a quick word.'
'Tony, hi, how's things?'
'OK thanks, how was that training course?'
'Pretty intense but very worthwhile, it'll come in real handy when this new project kicks off Tony'.
Brad sensed a little unease in Tony's gaze and started to feel butterflies in his stomach.
'That's what I need to speak to you about Brad, push the door shut will you.'
Brad leaned across pushing the door closed.
The butterflies doubled their output.
Tony fixed a steady, hard gaze on Brad, slowly drew breath and fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair.
'This new project Brad, the development costs are way too high and the big boys in the US have decided to pull the project out of the UK altogether.'
The butterflies flapped into overdrive.
'I thought our offer had already been accepted Tony?'
Brad's hands turned cold and started to sweat.
'India can do it for a third of what we can, and we just can't compete with that.' said Tony, somehow increasing the intensity of his gaze.
Brad sensed what was unfolding before him.
He had been in this hot seat once too often before and it wasn't very nice.
'I'm sorry Brad, but I'm having to release the whole team, of course you'll get the standard pay-off and a good reference...'
Brad's mind had flipped into a whirl of confusing thoughts and the butterflies filling his stomach.
Brad was no longer paying any attention to what Tony was saying.
'How can this happen to me again?'
'How will I break the news to Louise?'
'..and things were going so well too.'
'Not now, a week before my holiday too!'
Brads Friday fell to pieces.
One hour later clutching a cardboard box containing three years collection of desk clutter and books Brad was driving home pondering how on earth he was going to break the news to Louise.
'She's going to blow a fuse.' Brad thought.
'Last time she said if it happened again she was leaving.'
'She couldn't handle the uncertainty, the not knowing what was happening.'
'She hated being responsible for everything.'
Tonight was going to be tough.

As Brad expected Louise broke down.
The first time it happened nice years ago she rallied around and encouraged Brad in finding a new job and getting back on his feet. She took control totally.
But by the third time her patience and tolerance had worn thin. She was tired of holding the reins while Brad searched for work. Tired of picking up the pieces once again. Making do. Getting by.
'It always happens to us.' she sobbed. 'Why us?'
Somehow Brad felt totally to blame. Maybe he should have seen it coming.
Perhaps he should have changed to a steady occupation the last time he was laid off.
The electronics industry was so unsteady and sadly Brad had been hit more than once by this hire-and-fire ethic.

Calling every job agency and contacting as many friends as he could remember Brad finally had three interviews lined up.
It hadn't been easy though. It seemed that everyone was going through tough times and vacancies were at a premium.
Being forced to sign-on at the Job Center and beg for money was truly going against Brads grain but it was something that had to be done.
How people scrounge for a living was beyond Brads comprehension.

Louise seemed totally unable to cope with the situation and with the money running out faster than it was coming in she appeared to be on the verge of collapse.
Uncharacteristically for Brad, he felt empowered by the urgency of finding new employment, of getting some money.
It was a strange feeling for Brad. A feeling he wasn't used to.
Everything in is life had been turned upside down and the immediate outlook was truly awful and yet he finally felt in control for perhaps the first time in his life.
Supporting Louise and searching for a job at the same time was hard work but Brad had no option but to fight.
To survive.

Returning from the second interview Brad felt crushed. This was going to be tougher than he thought.
How could these guys expect so much and yet be willing to offer so little for his skills.
The more he tried the harder it seemed to be getting and the deeper into despair Louise seemed to be falling.
With only one more chance at employment Brad felt close to the end of his teather.
He had just one more chance.
The third and final interview went well.
Brad felt in total control, he even found himself flirting with the HR girl during the interview. How could he be so cavalier with so much at stake?
After three hours of technical assault Brad returned home exhausted.
'You will hear by the end of the week.' they said.
This was going to be one long week.

Louise wasn't speaking.
They both sat around the dinner table miserable in total silence, picking at their dinners.
Brad felt sure he would have heard something. Anything. A resounding, crushing 'No' would be have been something.
But after three days wait he had heard nothing.
Pushing back his empty plate he knew he had one last call to make.
'Hello, can I speak to Sarah in HR please?'
'It's Brad, Brad Preston.'
The line went quiet.
Brad glanced through to the dining room and with her head in her hands Louise looked distraught.
'Hello?'
'Hello... Brad?' said the voice on the line.
'Brad, I can't apologise enough.'
'I'm so sorry.'
It was Sarah from HR.
'We've been trying to contact you all day but couldn't get through.'
'Something to do with your phone not accepting withheld numbers.'
Brad was expecting the worst. His heart was beginning to sink.
'Yes, we had some hoax calls a while back, sorry.'
'I was about to call you on my mobile but you beat me to it...' Sarah continued.
'Brad, we'd like you to come and join us.'

Exercised, showered and clean Brad dressed quickly.
It was Friday after all.
Tonight they we're going out to celebrate their anniversary.
It was going to be a double celebration.
Not only had it been ten years since they married but it was now two years since Brad had grown up.
Two years since Brad had taken responsibility.
Two years in which Brad had finally grown into a man.
Brad had almost lost Louise. In the four months it took to get back to work Brad had seen a side of Louise that he had never seen before.
A tender vulnerability.
Brad had seen that Louise needed to be looked after, to be cared for.
Louise was a woman that needed a man to look after her.
Brad decided that he had to be that man.

'Hi, I'm just leaving the gym.'
'I'll be home in about ten minutes.' Brad continued.
Throwing his gym bag into the car Brad started the engine.
The words of Toni Braxton filled the car.
'Un-break my heart,' she pleaded.
'Say you'll love me again...'
'Undo this hurt you caused...' her pain was so obvious.
As Brad smiled a huge smile he picked up one of those huge green Quality Street triangles from his dashboard.
A little not taped to it saying, 'Thanks for loving me.'

Copyright Steve Young Feb 2005.

Valentines Day

This is the first story that has dribbled it's way from Biro to paper... or fingers to keyboard to hard drive.....
The story just appeared in my mind and I wrote it almost in one shot.
Please feel free to comment.

I hope you enjoy it.

Valentines Day.
by Steve Young.

As the train jolted away from the platform Brad could feel his stomach filling with butterflies.
Never in all his thirty two years had he done anything quite so reckless.
His family, like everyone else he knew, had said it wouldn't last.
'It's just a holiday fling' his Mother joked, 'it'll never last.'
'With that sort of distance between you how can it possibly work?' added his Father.
'This is different, this is just so different from anything else.'
'You'll see.' 'Just wait, you'll see.'
'When Louise and I walk down the aisle, you'll all see how different it is.'

Brad had never quite made it with the opposite sex.
Despite many relationships he had never quite felt that spark, that 'thing' that made it different.
That was until he met Louise.
He had always played safe in everything he did. He never did anything out of the ordinary. Unplanned wasn't a word that Brad used.
His previous girlfriends tended to be friends of friends or colleagues.
Brads relationships tended to just happen, an eventuality, a drifting together rather than a direct 'Would you like to go out for a drink?' kind of thing.
'Brad, hi, it's Kevin. What are you doing tonight?'
'Nothing.' 'I was going to make a start on decorating the kitchen Kev, why?'
Brad had an inkling as to what was coming next.
'Jodie and I are going to the pictures tonight to see that new Spielberg film.'
'Jodie wants to know if you would like to make a foursome with her friend Carol.'
This was a common scenario. One that Brad had encountered several times.
Brad didn't like to refuse. This kind of offer was usually the result of much background effort by many people and Brad didn't like to offend his best friend.
With a heavy heart Brad would agree to tag along to make up the numbers.
A movie. A meal. Maybe a few drinks and a few hours of entertaining chat. Sometimes a second or third date would evolve from these arranged outings but not often.
It's not that Brad didn't enjoy these outings or that the company was in some way bad. It was just that Brad didn't get that feeling.
A while back it did almost click.
One of Kevin's sisters friends, Alison, was in-between relationships and Brad was asked to fill in the missing fourth place again.
Alison was tall which was a tick on Brads checklist.
Alison was also a brunette, another tick there.
She was chatty without being overbearing and was witty too, two boxes on the checklist ticked there.
Add to that list being slim and athletically built and Brads checklist was now fully ticked.
But things didn't go too well.
But Brad felt that feeling. That tiny glimmer of something. That spark. That thing that Brad was searching for.
After six weeks Brad picked up a text message from Alison. Not an unusual occurrence. The message was sent to Brads mobile but was written to Andy.
Andy was Alison's new boyfriend.
The new boyfriend that nobody, not even Alison had told him about.
Single again Brad vowed to give up looking for a partner.
'If it's going to happen at all then it's going to happen without anyone's assistance.' Brad informed Kevin.
'I'll just go with the flow and if a girl appears on the horizon then it was truly meant to be.'
'Fate, if you will.'
'But Brad, you have to try, you can't just give up.' insisted Kevin, 'You have to give cupid a helping hand now and again you know.'
'Not this time Kev', 'I've had enough of helpful friends with good intentions and having my best interests at heart.'
'This time, I'm leaving it all down to fate.'

The conference was boring. Brad hadn't put his name down for it as his project was nearing completion and a week away this close to the end might delay the release.
Colin had called in sick the day before the conference and Tony, Brads boss had volunteered Brad to take his place.
'Thanks Tony, I'll be crossing you off my Christmas card list for good now!' laughed Brad as he left the office for the airport.
'Bring me back a report on those keynote speeches Brad,' quipped Tony, 'and a stick of rock too!'
Laughing Brad climbed into the taxi and headed towards the airport.

As he joined the queue to check-in Brad assumed the hotel lobby was busy because of the conference he was attending.
On registering he was handed a chunky conference pack bulging with details of the weeks activities.
'Two lectures every morning', 'I'll have to be down for breakfast early!' Brad muttered under his breath as he waited for the lift.
The lift door swished open and a vision of loveliness walked past him.
Brad was momentarily stunned as this tall, mousy blonde woman swept past him vanishing quickly into the noisy crowd assembled in the lobby.
As he stepped into the lift her perfume filled the air and Brad was momentarily distracted from his thoughts of early breakfasts and dodging boring lectures.

Brad made breakfast with just minutes to spare.
A combination of jet lag and two bottles of beer from the mini-bar had conspired against him and he somehow missed his alarm.
The first lecture was of little interest to Brad so he tucked in to second helpings from the breakfast buffet and topped up his coffee.
He'd make the second lecture no problem.
On the way to the lecture Brad took note of the pool that was now bathed in early morning sunshine and pondered the possibility of skipping a few lectures and spending some afternoons taking the sun.
Nobody would know if he missed any lectures.
Anyway he could always cobble together some waffle from the short brief in the programme if anyone at work happened to enquire about the lectures.

Entering the darkened lecture theatre Brad spotted some empty seats towards the rear of the hall and excused himself as he edged along the row.
'Wow, that smell.' Brad thought sitting down. 'It's that girl from the lift.'
'Louise, hi' whispered a darkened figure alongside him thrusting a very delicate hand towards him.
'Brad,' he said taking her soft warm hand, 'nice to meet you.'
The rest of the week was spent attending as few lectures as was humanly possible to get away with.
Afternoons were whiled away sitting in the warm spring sunshine by the pool drafting imaginary notes on the missed lectures.
Louise was captivating.
She was bright. Lively. Witty. And Lousie too was also intent on cramming her conference week with as much leisure time as she could possibly manage.
They managed to spend most of the week together and shared notes and ideas on lectures they had both decided to miss.
They had been forced together by the hand of fate and the haphazard spare seating arrangements, but somehow they seemed to have known each other for years.
For the first time ever Brad could feel that this was right.
That magical feeling was there. That hard to put your finger on light headed feeling. Could this be love?

The buzz in Brads pocket alerted him to the fact that Louise was at work.
Reading her morning message on the way to the coffee machine made him smile broadly.
He replied single handed as he punched the keys for his regular morning brew.
Despite being three hundred and twenty five miles apart this modern technology was sure helping them to bridge the gap.
Work allowing they took it in turns spending weekends together at either end of their great divide.
And with nearly 14 months under their belts this finally felt like the real thing for both of them.
Louise too had had a string of fruitless relationships. And like Brad, she too was searching for that magical missing element that seemed to be lacking in just about every relationship she'd ever had.
Brad finally felt like he was doing something. He was finally going somewhere and felt good about himself.

Brad stepped from the train towing his bulging weekend bag behind him he headed to the taxi rank.
This week Brads trip was a one way ticket.
Brads heart was pounding as he paid the taxi driver.
'Thanks,' Brad said, giving the driver a healthy tip. 'Enjoy your Valentines day, what's left of it.'
Entering the reception Brad could feel the butterflies in his stomach kicking into overdrive.
'Keep your nerve boy.' he said to himself as he approached the girl behind the desk.
'Hi, can you call Louise please?' 'Tell her Brad is here.'
The girl looked up from her desk as she replaced the reciever. 'She's on her way, take a seat.'
Brad towed his case to the array of small sofas but didn't sit down. He was too nervous to sit.
Today he was changing his life, forever.
The lift door opened and Louise stepped out heading towards Brad.
'What's wrong?'
'How come you're here?'
'Is everything OK?'
She looked anxious, it wasn't Brads turn to travel this weekend.
Taking Louises hands Brad sank down onto one knee.
'Louise, will you do me the greatest honour and make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?'
The two woman behind the reception desk were now standing and watching the unfolding scene with baited breath. One was on the phone calling for back-up to watch the events in reception.
'Marry you?' she stammered.
'Your asking me to marry you Brad?'
She looked a little nervous Brad thought. Confused. Maybe he had overshot the mark this time.
'Well, it IS Valentines Day.' Brad replied coolly, his heart now pounding in his chest.
'I have a taxi booked for tomorrow morning.'
'A flight to take us to Hawaii.'
'And a wedding booked for Monday afternoon.'
'I want to spend the rest of my life with you.'
'Louise, I want to be with you.' 'Forever.'
'You're the spark in my life.'
Louise gazed lovingly into Brads blue eyes.
Pulling Brad back to his feet she answered slowly and surely, 'Yes.'
Louise threw her arms around Brads neck.
'Yes, I will marry you.'
A round of applause broke out in reception amongst the hurriedly assembled crowd of friends.
Brad took Louise's face in his hands and kissed her long and hard.
'Thank you.'
'Thank you for everything.'

Brad knew this was the way it was supposed to be.
This was what he had been waiting for all these years.
Sitting on the veranda sipping a cool glass of champagne with the new Mrs Preston by his side, Brad slowly keyed a long list of digits into the room phone.
'Hello, hello.?'
'Hi Mum, see, I told you all it would work out.'


Copyright Steve Young Feb 2005.