are greater than mine. I wait until she's gone back to refill the coffee pot before I glance at the paper in my hand. Opening it, the eagle and ship watermark clear in the fibres of the paper, written on it are just a few words. It's been conceived by someone who appreciates the retro feel, it's been typed on an old ribbon typewriter, and now Buddy Holly is playing, I begin to wonder whether it's all part of the delivery, the place, the message, Betty, the song?
It reads:
‘black horse/bay?
Whitehouse road
1968/sept.
J Ainsworth’
A code? Where is Vanessa?
TC: “Vanessa, I’m here at 'The Cherry Pie'” don't recommend the cherry pie not surprisingly, it looks oddly deflated sitting under a scratched clear dome on the counter top.
Black horse, that's a pub in Hainault.
Mum and Dad took us there when we were kids, it had a little play area looking out onto the forest with a huge friendly bay grazing beyond the barbed wire. With tiny pieces of his hair caught in the barbs. I remember bringing carrots along especially to feed the horse and getting very excited about it, until a little note appeared politely asking: Please don't feed Bob, he's watching his waistline, thank you. Naturally as a little girl I was upset, I loved to feed Bob, he was so big, and so shiny.
Mum would sip white wine and Dad was always chatting with that man. Henry and I didn't like him, he glared at us for playing and laughing, and Mum didn't speak a word to him either. Which was odd, she'll talk to anyone now.
I look around me it's far too quiet for nearly lunchtime, there's nothing happening but the peculator squirting pressurised steam onto the ground beans, and the sound of the commercial 50's in the air. I sit alone on the plastic bench seat, only one other person 'dining.' He has his broad slumped back to me the opposite side of the room, and an enormous half eaten all day breakfast in front of him. He wears a faded brushed checked lumberjack shirt and has thick fingers, funny how you notice things. He's quite still, perhaps his plate of heart attack has given him indigestion? The waitress has disappeared and I get the familiar feeling trouble is brewing again, and that of course reminds me, I’d like more tea.
And the answer?
VP: “Automated message: this number does not exist any longer, please contact the service provider for further information” that's odd too, bloody hell.
Whitehouse Road, Mum and Dad's first home was in Whitehouse Road, Seven Kings.
I should just go back home, but my tattoo does need explaining.
Here we go again.
TC: “Pete, you busy?” Please say no.
PF: “That depends on what you want me for” how did she get so smart?
TC: “Need to show you something” you’re not going to believe it.
PF: “Sounds interesting” you have no idea.
TC: “Can you meet tonight? Pleas say yes.
PF: “Sounds important? Yes, fine, usual place?” Thank you.
TC: “See you at 8 then” deep breaths everyone.
Who am I talking to when I do that?
Note to self, stop leaving notes to yourself.
Now, I can guess what you’re thinking dear reader, you’re right of course, let’s get that kettle on.
One more text though:
TC: “What year were you born Mum?” Virgo's are naturally inquisitive, we have that in common.
EC: “68 Catharine, a very good year” yes, I’d have to agree with that. A good year indeed....and my head begins to thump, ouch!
Note to self, try to stay out of trouble this time.
TC: “Daniel, you busy?” Please say no baby.
DP: “For you, I won't be” ahh, that's nice.
TC: “Tell me about your Sister Daniel, over lunch” I look around me, but not here.
DP: “Remember the place we first had lunch baby?” Do I? My face heats up just recalling my first day at RANDom.
TC: “See you there at 1.30” if the sprayed antiseptic they use to clean everything here hasn't sterilised my taste buds, I’ll be starving by then.
No, where can I get a descent cup of tea around here?
Book1theend.
DISSCLAIMER: For all those reading this text who think they recognise themselves or others amongst the colourful characters therein, you're wrong, and any similarity assumed is pure coincidence, they are all made-up. Plus, how vain are you? True bloody story. Now, just have a cuppa and stop wondering.
PEARCED TOO
Part four:
The bit before chapter one, Thursday: 13thfebruary2014 a sneak preview.
Vaguely aware of being cold I open my eyelids, squinting in the harsh lighting.
My phone vibrates, no it’s not my phone,