Story - The Brooch Approach

 

"Lovely brooch" he said.  "Buy it yourself or is it from someone special?"

"No, it's a gift from a friend in return for a favour.  Big surprise at the time, but now it means a lot to me."  He looked more closely, although whether to examine the heart shape on my lapel, or simply to get closer to me, I wasn't sure.  I hoped he wasn't much interested in my jewellery.

The brooch was silver, shaped into the outline of a heart, studded with eighteen rose diamonds that gave it a sparkling pink lustre that caught the eye in the right light.   

"Must have been some favour."

"Well if you fancy buying me a drink I'll tell you all about it."  He did.  It didn't take much to agree we'd go into Brodies, given it was next door to the far less cosy shop we'd met in.  Corner table occupied, drinks in front of us, names and chit chat exchanged, and I kept my part of the bargain. 

"We were down in London a couple of years ago, at a big conference and fair thing for recruitment agencies like ours."

"We?" 

"My husband and me."  He sat back.  "My now ex-husband, for reasons which will soon become obvious if you let me tell the story."  He leaned in, interested.  "We worked together, had started the company together, we'd been married for five years.  But this week down south he was suddenly having to go to extra curricular meetings to which I wasn't invited, didn't need to go, I'd just be bored, and so on.  I wasn't convinced, but I couldn't say for sure it wasn't happening either."  

I paused, remembering the pain of the first couple of days.

"On the Wednesday day night, with Ron having done his disappearing act since mid afternoon, I went out with Angie, an old friend who's in the same business.  We're having a drink and chatting away and a guy suddenly joins us, slips in beside Ange.  I looked at her, she looked sheepish.

"Sorry, she says, "I should have mentioned Ben would be joining us.  You don't mind, do you?"  It didn't look like I had a lot of choice, unless I fancied the evening to myself.  Ben was about forty five, a good ten years older than Ange and me.  Short, chubby, balding, big red nose.  His suit looked old and cheap.  It was hard to see what linked the two of them.

"Except it soon wasn't, as they clearly couldn't keep their hands off each other, and Angie, my bright, hard nosed friend, was like a labrador pup.  Gooseberry time for me."

We left the pub, and Ben took us to the restaurant he'd booked.  Nice place, not cheap, looked a bit pricey for Ben.  It probably was.  "My treat." said Angie."  

"To be fair to Ben he was easy to talk to, could be really funny, and clearly adored my pal.  Between courses I learned more about how and when they'd met, how the relationship had developed - and the bit that made me realise why I'd been brought along.  As cover.  Ben was, of course, married.  To a woman he claimed to detest - don't they all? - and wanted to leave.  But the look on his face every time her name came up showed me just how under her thumb he really was.  

"We were at the coffee and liqueurs stage when Ben pulls this brooch out of his pocket, pins it to his lapel.  Angie tells him off, but is clearly delighted to see it.  Turns out this is something she gave him as a keepsake, and he's messing about by wearing it in public, just for the laughs.  But he suddenly stopped laughing.

"A tall tweedy-looking woman stood at the table, face red with fury.  She bellows "Benjamin, what's that?", pointing at his sparkling decoration.  Ben looks flustered, Angie's colour has drained and I don't need any introductions to know who this is.  "That's mine" I said, "Angie gave it to me as a present and Ben was giving us a laugh saying it looked better on him.  What d'you think?"

"She looked at me, looked at Ben, looked at Angie, looked unsure what came next.  "Come on Ben, give it back, I don't think your good lady thinks it suits you."  He handed it over and I pinned it on.  "The things we do when we get a bit pissed with colleagues, eh." I said, winking at her.  She ignored me now, and asked Ben if he was coming to the hotel.  And he went, just like that, leaving Angie to stare after him, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly.  

"Ange was angry, hurt, vengeful, and she described various things she wanted to do to Ben and his disturbing spouse.  Figured that he must have been stupid enough to put the restaurant booking in his calendar and the harpie had charged up from Kent to catch him out.  Reckoned she wouldn't see him again.  Before we left I gave her back the brooch.  Well, tried to.  She wouldn't have it.  Said it would only remind her of tonight, and I deserved it for my quick thinking.  I soon realised she wouldn't accept my refusals so I got this little beauty out of it.

"I also got my divorce.  As we left the restaurant who should appear out of the place across the road?  My soon-to-be-ex and his bit of extra curricular activity, draped over each other.  This sobered me up and I managed to quieten Ange and drag her along so we could follow them.  To watch a big gropy smooch at the taxi rank.  Was I going to be like Mrs Ben and barge in to embarrass them?  Too bloody right I was.  

"And the rest, as they say, is history."

My companion sat smiling.  "Good story, nice punchline.  Think those gems have changed your luck?"

"You mean you only noticed me because of my diamonds?"

He laughed, and I loved that sound.  "That would be like noticing the Mona Lisa because it's got a nice frame."

I unpinned the brooch, stuck it on his lapel.  He looked at me quizzically, amused at the gesture.

"Let's see if anyone turns up" I said.

Story - Mr Banks

 

Simon had expected the next instruction from Control would be telling him to taxi to the runway, but he was disappointed.

"Lima Tango 325, please hold position until further notice, incoming emergency means all take offs delayed indefinitely.  Will update you on estimated time when things become clearer."

"Roger Control."  There wasn't much else he could say.  Whatever the emergency might be, they'd be too busy dealing with it for unnecessary questions from him, and he'd probably see it soon enough.  Sounded like a flight with a problem needed a runway urgently.  He informed the passengers about the situation, answered their unanswerable questions as best he could, and settled to wait.

Which gave him another chance to ponder on what he was about to do, and how he'd come to this point.  This was it, his first solo flight in charge of a commercial passenger aircraft.  There were only six other people on board, the flight time was just forty minutes, and he'd be back in Inverness in plenty time for dinner.  But it was all his.  After a couple of years of co-piloting he'd now be solely responsible for the safety and comfort, and confidence, of everyone on board, trusted by the airline to do the job to the standards they demanded.  It was a place he thought he'd never be in, a chance that so nearly fell away from him, but for one man.

Fourteen year old Simon had only one ambition in life. He would become an airline pilot, surely the natural outcome of the absorbing fascination with aviation he'd had for eight years.   It was time to choose the subjects he'd take next year, the ones he'd go on to take O-grades in, from which he'd select the Highers he'd sit, which would shape the degree course he'd be able to take, which would be his passport to flying school.  Maths and Physics were top of his list, the essentials for his future.

At the parents evening McCartney, the Maths teacher, had made encouraging noises, confident in Simon's abilities to progress.  English, French, Chemistry, the same, no problems foreseen if he kept up to the same standards he'd met so far.  Their final stop was with Harrison, the Physics man, and the one teacher Simon found hard to get on with.  He knew he hadn't excelled in Harrison's class, but felt it was down to the teaching as much as his own ability.  Harrison thought otherwise, and explained to his disappointed parents that Simon stood little chance of passing the lower level exam two hears hence, never mind the far more important one the year after.  His father put up a half hearted defence, emphasising how important this was to the boy's career aspirations, but he was no match, in intellect or authority, for the teacher.  Telling Simon to leave it, they'd work something else out, they shepherded him towards the way out.

The evening was coming to a close and Banks, Simon's French teacher and form master, was shuffling his papers into order, stuffing them into his bag.  He looked up to see a  boy who'd been smiling eagerly thirtty minutes before, but now looked like one heading for the scaffold, morosely shuffling along between his stoic parents.  

"Simon."  

He looked across blankly, a weight around his neck.

"Can we have a chat before you go home?"

Simon looked at his parents.  They, used to giving way on educational matters, urged obedience, and moved with him towards the trestle table.

"Just Simon on his own if you don't mind please, if you could wait outside we'll only be a few minutes."  

Simon wondered what was coming, but didn't much care.

"So who's given you some bad news?"  

"Mr Harrison doesn't think I can get my Physics O so I shouldn't take it next year."

Banks understood the implications immediately.  He shared some of Simon's interest in the world of aircraft, so he knew exactly what an obstacle had been dropped into the boy's life plans.

"And what do you think?"

Simon stood open mouthed.  This wasn't a question he was prepared for, for his opinion was so rarely sought by anyone.

"Come on, you can tell me.  I know how much of a blow that would be to you and everything you want to be.  So what do you think - could you get your Physics or not?"

"Mr Harrison says no."

"I'm not asking Mr Harrison, I'm asking you.  Do YOU think you'd get it?  How much do you want it?"

Simon struggled between the his maternally-inculcated humility and an adolescent desire to realise his dreams.  He looked at Banks, a concerned, encouraging expression on his face, and decided to take a chance and see where it took him.  He couldn't be any worse off than he was already.

"I'm sure I can sir, but I seem to have problems with the way Mr Harrison explains things."

"Have you been to any of Mrs Baker's classes, or Mr Cheam's?"

"We had some lessons from Mrs Baker, and I found her a lot easier to understand.  Not that I mean Mr Harrison doesn't know stuff or anything, but..."  Banks stopped him.  

"Leave it with me Simon, let's see what can be done.  No promises, but I'll see if we can get a second opinion, OK?"

Simon nodded, not able to trust the lifeline being thrown his way, and went off outside.

"What was that about?" his mother asked.

"He wants me to do some extra reading." he lied.

Simon never really did understand what Banks had done.  But two days later he was summoned to see Baker, questioned intently for an hour and, feeling like he'd been under interrogation, left none the wiser.  Two days later a letter arrived at home, telling his parents that there had been a revised verdict on Simon's Physics capabilities, and if it was still one of his preferred subjects he'd be in Mrs Baker's class next year.  And that was that.

"Lima Tango 325, please taxi to standpoint A and prepare for takeoff."

Simon's instincts threw him from his reverie.  "Roger Control."  He went through his procedures and set the plane in motion, to a desultory cheer from the impatient sextet behind him.  As the lift took hold off the wings and hauled them skywards Simon's inner voice said "Thank you Mr Banks."

Story - Puppy Love

 

I'd had that job for six years.  I was good at it.  I was very good at it.  Everyone said so.  The boss, my colleagues, the customers.  They couldn't do without me, could they?

So it seemed.  Then the pandemic hit, the lockdown froze us out of business, the company shut down for who knows how long?  There were redundancies, but not for me.  I was put on the furlough scheme and, to begin with, the boss man topped my salary up to full pay.  But when it became clear, after the first three months, that even without a full lockdown any more we still wouldn't be able to get back to work, that luxury came to an end.  

No real worry, I still got more than enough to pay the mortgage, pay the household bills, feed myself and... well, there wasn't much to spend the rest on anyway.  Going out?  Don't make me laugh.

But the months dragged on, the end of the year loomed, and another big wrecking ball headed our way.  Brexshit.  The boss kept us informed of what we needed in  the deal, if there was ever going to be one,  to keep us viable.  But when it came it was clear that the dog's breakfast of an end product was a killer blow.  The extra red tape would soon have wrapped us in a slow death by strangulation.  This was the end.

Redundant.  No matter how much the word was sugar coated, no matter that I was released ever so reluctantly and with such huge regret, I was still out of work for the first time in my life. During the biggest recession, with rocketing unemployment, in a country that was going backwards, under a government that blended heartlessness, greed and incompetence into a mediocre cocktail of despondency.  I'd never claimed benefits before, but I knew the scare stories about universal credit and how badly it had been implemented.  With few savings behind me my mortgage was going to become an immediate problem.  I saw myself turned into one of those people who have to make decisions about whether to feed himself or keep warm.  In a world without hugs.

Morose about my uncertain future, aware of how easily I could let myself roll about in a mud pit of self pity, I ventured out into the daylight.  Trying to avoid the idiots walking along with their heads looking screenwards.  Or the couples who were too oblivious of others to walk single file for the five seconds it would have taken.  I turned into the local park, where at least the pathways were wide and there was space to get away from people.  

I didn't see her at first, hidden behind the approaching pair of legs.  I sought eye contact with the woman approaching, seeking to determine which side we'd each be safest on, but she turned away, looking back.  And then I saw her, a scurrying leg-whirl of white.  I moved to my left, the lady to hers, and her companion stopped in the middle, and looked at me.  Little brown ears, soft eyes, frantically excited tail, and so, so tiny.  

"How old?" I asked.

"Nine weeks, too wee for a lead yet.  But she's curious about everything and everyone."

I crouched down to get a closer look, and little Ms Nosey came right on up to my outstretched hand.  Trusting, fascinated, expecting to be loved.  She was gorgeous, cute, infectious in her 'the-world-is-wonderful-cos-I'm-in-it' confidence.  I wanted to pick her up and take her away in my pocket, and never let her go.

"She's lovely."  

"I know."  The dog walker grinned her delight at this addition to her life.  

"Maybe I'll see you both again." I said, rising, thinking it was the puppy I really meant.  But when she said "I hope so.  I'll be round again this time tomorrow.  Best be going now, too cold to stand around."  And she walked off up the path.  The pup, uncertain who offered most, stopped to look up at me, looked up the path, and bounced off after the one who would feed her.  Her owner looked back to check.  On me and the dog.

I completed my walk with a smile on my face, and a lighter step than before.  Was that all it took to make my world seem a brighter place?  Yes.  The cutest bundle of joy turning up, an attractive woman who didn't see the darkness I'd been wrapped in, and a future that, however uncertain, would always throw up a life that needed to be lived.  There's always a way.