One Year At A Time - Year 1

ONE YEAR AT A TIME - Part 3 - JULY to SEPTEMBER

Author's Note - At the risk of pointing out the obvious, reading Parts 1 and 2 of this story first will allow you to understand what is going on better. It's not obligatory, but certainly recommended. Your call. They are both available here.

July

Of late I’m getting an unexpectedly large amount of unsolicited mail on the subject of defibrillators, for reasons that escape me. It has got me thinking though – what will I do if one of my clients experiences some form of medical emergency whilst availing themselves of my services?

Anna does have First Aid training. By virtue of bringing up two kids and being married to Trevelyan I too have hands-on experience of dealing with the sick, the injured and the mentally unbalanced. But even with all this experience, is it enough?

Take Clive for example, a long-standing client (before and after my Trevelyan and children time-out). He likes to be spanked over my knee for reasons too complicated to explain in detail here. Anyway, it works for him and he always comes back for more.

Clive is definitely not what I would class as ‘healthy’. He’s gained weight recently, which affects my knees. His skin colour is pasty; he sweats a lot. The phrase ‘potential heart attack’ springs to mind. There are others too. Given what I do to them and the levels of stress this frequently, if necessarily, imposes it’s surely just a matter of time until the brown smelly stuff hits the revolving object. And how would I explain all this to the authorities without revealing my occupation?

The nature of my relationship with Clive doesn’t allow for small-talk (even without the gag I usually make him wear) and, anyway, men are notoriously reticent when it comes to admitting their health issues, so getting him to open up on the subject is unlikely.

I discussed the problem with Anna over lunch one day. The TV was droning on in the background whilst we considered what could be done when the answer suddenly presented itself - a medical questionnaire! Or, more realistically, a general questionnaire slanted to try to elicit information that will hopefully identify clients with health issues so Anna and I can decide whether or not to accept them and, if so, on what basis.

Anna and I did a bit of research on the internet to try to identify the most suitable questions to ask, and with a bit of trial and error we’ve eventually created a form that works for us. Neither of us is qualified in terms of medical expertise, but our extensive knowledge in our specialist field allows us to highlight what we both consider those areas of potential concern.

That landline of mine rang again a few nights ago! And again it was Trevelyan, but this time sober and extremely friendly, even a little bit tentative. Naturally, I became suspicious immediately. Tempted as I was to enquire how things were going at Froth, and how Andrea was enjoying his company, I resisted. In my sweetest voice (the one I remember really used to get him going back in the day), I played the game.

‘Trev! How unexpected. Are you well?’ I don’t think he anticipated such an amiable response, given how our last conversation deteriorated and then expired.

‘Er, good thanks. Sorry it’s a bit late but I’ve been thinking.’

‘An interesting development.’ As expected, my reply went completely over his head. I’d forgotten sarcasm is a foreign country to him, one that needs a special visa to visit and numerous injections beforehand.

‘It’s about Reggie,’ he continued, seemingly oblivious to my comment but remaining disturbingly friendly. ‘I took on board what you said during our last conversation (deep breaths, I noted, he’s trying to stay calm) and realised you were right. I’m not covering myself in glory as a father. I’d like to see him.’

‘That’s wonderful news, but I think I need to speak to Reggie first as all this will be quite a shock to him. Can I ring you tomorrow? What’s the best number to get you on? What day do you have in mind and what are your plans?’

‘I’ll fit in with whatever is convenient. I thought about taking him over to the vintage railway place to look at the steam trains. He always liked that. My mobile number is still the same. Leave a message if I don’t answer.’

With that he rang off. His pleasant tone really got to me. I went to bed trying to work out why I was so suspicious, even though my brain was screaming ‘it’s not about you, it’s not about you, it’s about Reggie’, and slept fitfully. I dreamed of child abduction and Reggie being turned against me by his father. Will Reggie tell his father I didn’t get him an I-phone or penguin for Christmas?

In the morning, over egg, soldiers and peanut butter I mentioned the call to Reggie. The best I can say is he was ambivalent. He is, after all, only 4 years old. ;Do you think he’ll buy me a present?’ was the most I could get out of him.

I left a message on Trevelyan’s mobile confirming Reggie’s willingness to meet up and suggested the first Saturday of August. I hope I’m doing the right thing.

My diary was clear for the rest of the morning. Liam was unavailable so, after I’d dropped Reggie off at Nursery, I returned home and got the air rifle out, then went up to the attic and blasted three fat pigeons to oblivion. I felt better after that. Control had been restored. I cleared up the carcasses and feathers whilst whistling a happy tune. Worries about Trevelyan poisoning Reggie against me dissipated.

I was quite looking forward to seeing what Clive would write when he completed his questionnaire. Sadly, this won’t happen as it seems he collapsed and died on the way home from his last appointment with me. It was an unexpected death, so the Coroner was informed. She eventually recorded a verdict of accidental death. Thankfully, the bruising on his buttocks was not mentioned. It was only light, so part of me is pleased it was difficult to spot. Call it professional interest. Was it a bullet dodged? Not sure. I am sure my knees will be grateful though.

August

Business, even without Clive, continues to thrive. As expected, my knees are beginning to feel much better. Family life, on the other hand, remains complicated. Schools are on holiday, but at least Reggie is enjoying the many and varied clubs I’ve signed him up to during the week. I’ve had to buy so much stuff for him! Making sure he has the right equipment with him is extremely confusing. Turning up for football coaching without boots would be so embarrassing for him.

Having seen some of the questionnaires completed by my clients since their introduction, Anna and I have decided it was a mad idea and dropped the project. The whole Dominatrix thing is a career for both of us, but to our clients it’s a form of escape from their complex and otherwise mostly dreary lives. Getting them to fill in questionnaires in advance of an appointment apparently ruins their experience and suggests their visits are being supervised from a distance by an over-enthusiastic administrator with a penchant for health and safety.

Clients haven’t been afraid to speak their mind. Several have refused to comply point blank, threatening to go elsewhere, and the replies from others have been distinctly unhelpful, if unexpectedly funny. My favourite was the response from Christopher to the question ‘do you ever experience shortages of breath’? He wrote ‘yes, especially when you put the plastic bag over my head and refuse to take it off’. It made me smile. He’ll be getting an extra five seconds next time we meet. I won’t be telling him in advance, and I won’t charge him for it.

It transpired there was an ulterior motive behind Trevelyan’s unexpected decision to play the doting father again after a long break. At the outset though, Reggie didn’t seem awfully excited at the prospect of seeing him, but it’s difficult to judge the moods of 4-year-olds when they are avidly watching cartoons on TV over breakfast.

True to his word for a change, Trev arrived at the appointed time. I watched both of them carefully as they met for the first time in ages. I’m not absolutely sure what I expected to see. Reggie didn’t throw himself into his father’s arms, perhaps because Trevelyan didn’t offer Reggie the opportunity. They were pleasant, but an outsider wouldn’t have believed they were father and son. It was as if some bizarre courtship ritual was being danced and neither of the people involved knew all the steps.

Anyway, off they went. I had provided a list of instructions of what Reggie should and shouldn’t be allowed to do, and Trevelyan had mumbled his agreement. It was just like the bad old days. They returned at the agreed time too. Of the pair, Reggie seemed happier, but once home he announced he was going to play in his room with his new toy train and disappeared.

This left Trev and me alone in my kitchen. He looked tired but wary. With pleasantries out of the way I asked him how things had gone with Reggie.

‘He’s a good kid. A bit quiet at times, like he’s thinking seriously about something, but always well behaved and polite. He’s a credit to you.’

That was definitely a compliment. What the hell was going on? Naturally, I ignored it and asked if he had plans to make this arrangement more regular than once every few months.

‘You’ve been good in not reporting me to the authorities about my lack of involvement and financial support for Reggie recently. Thanks – I really mean it. Of course I’d like to see Reggie more regularly. I’m thinking once a fortnight if that’s OK with you.’

Now Trev’s being nice. All very suspicious!

‘Whilst I’m here and we’re alone I want to talk about what happened last year. Obviously what I did was stupid and I’d like to apologise. I was completely out of order and simply didn’t consider the consequences. You’ve had to deal with all sorts of stuff by yourself that you shouldn’t have had to. I fully understand why you didn’t support me after I was arrested.’

‘I’m not trying to get back into your life – things have moved on too far for that to happen – but I don’t want you to hate me. I couldn’t stand that. In fact, I’d love to be able to help you in some way, if only to show that I’ve moved on too.’

Trevelyan slumped after completing what was in all probability the longest string of continuing sentences he’s ever said to me. In the silence that followed I considered how best to respond, bearing in mind I now knew so much more about his life after incarceration than he realised. I also recalled our telephone conversation in March when he tried to lay down the law with me, and the near-miss when Anna and I were lured to Andrea’s address under false pretences.

It was blindingly obvious the success of my venture with Anna was a topic for discussion with his buddies in Froth and, moreover, he wanted a piece of the action (personally or otherwise – I’m not 100% sure), but I wasn’t about to say as much to him. His money problems were patently more acute than I had anticipated. Using Reggie as a lever to get back into my life was typical of the man.

‘It’s good that you want to see Reggie. Thank you for being so honest. As you say, a lot of water has flowed under the bridge since your arrest and I’m grateful you accept what an idiot you were. In a way, what happened has acted as a catalyst in relaunching my business career, whether you’re happy with it or not. I had to protect my family come what may. I only wish Abigail would come back. I’m worried about her.’

Trevelyan glanced up as I said our daughter’s name. I could see he was debating whether or not to spill the beans about her. ‘Yes, but that wouldn’t help your work if she returned.’

Clearly, he’d decided that for now he’d keep his powder dry on that subject as it were. It was an area of weakness in me he obviously felt he could no doubt explore if he so desired at a later date.

He then made a horrible job of pretending to consider a few things in his head. ‘It seems to me you need to move your work to a different location to ensure the kids, the authorities, any potentially prying eyes don’t find out what goes on in your cellar. I can help you there. I know somewhere that would be absolutely perfect for you. It’s a place just out of town that’s owned by a friend of mine. I’m sure I could sort something out for you as a favour.’

His pitch fell into place now I’d worked everything out in my head. ‘You might be right,’ I responded quickly, ‘but I can’t begin to consider moving just yet. I’ve only been in business for a few months. I need to think about it. Thanks for the offer though.’

Trevelyan got up to leave. He attempted to kiss me but I was prepared for that and swerved out of reach. Seemingly un-phased by this he said ‘I’ll be in touch about Reggie. Don’t be a stranger!’ Then he left.

Christ! He’s out of my life, but he’s still causing problems. I need to think very carefully about how best to resolve this. All the embarrassing photographs and letters in the world don’t seem to derail his ambitions. What on earth is driving him on so much that he won’t leave me alone? I must chase up the Family Support Agency. I’ve received nothing for Reggie yet.

With one family problem back in the melting pot I shouldn’t have been surprised that another would surface almost immediately. It’s a good job I am able to organise my work around my life, rather than the other way around. I mention this as whilst I was waiting for someone to turn up to service the boiler last Friday, Abigail arrived in a taxi and also in floods of tears.

‘Mum! Kara’s dumped me. She says I’m too young for her. And now she’s gone away. I don’t know what to do.’

I may have mentioned previously that my parenting skills need work. Here was an opportunity to show I’m not such a bad mother after all. ‘Do you think you did something to upset her,’ I asked, meaning to add immediately afterwards that the pair of them seemed to me so happy together. I didn’t get the opportunity to finish.

‘Go on, take her side. You sound just like Kara’s mother. You don’t understand. I should never have come over. I really hate you!’

That went well. She made to leave but a natural instinct I had forgotten I possessed took over. I grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and pulled her to me. I’m not usually so touchy-feely, except when the nature of my work demands it, but the poor girl has been through a lot recently and, after all, she’s still my daughter and I do love her. It’s just that everything is so bloody complicated.

‘Let’s sit down whilst you start at the beginning and tell me the full story. I promise I won’t interrupt or say anything that will make an awful situation for you worse.’

Abigail, someone that I had seen visibly maturing over the last few months, now looked aged 10 again with a runny nose and face streaked with mascara. She let me guide her to the settee before collapsing onto it as if all the air in her body had suddenly disappeared and began to explain what had happened between sobs and sniffles.

It was a long story, and classic in terms of how events had unfolded. She was at Kara’s mother’s place, with Kara, when her mobile rang. It was one of the school friends she’d contacted once she’d surreptitiously returned to the area, wanting to know if Abigail and Kara wanted to go to a party at the weekend. Abigail was keen; Kara less so.

Reading between the lines, the resulting argument had been a long time coming. Kara had pointed out that the authorities were at least theoretically still searching for Abigail. Going to a party locally was therefore not the brightest thing to do in her view and, by the way, if it was ever discovered they had been together since Abigail was 15 some people would not be too impressed – the police for example.

In Kara’s opinion the likelihood of secrets being spilled was high for many reasons. Excitable teenagers find it difficult to keep mouths shut at the best of times, and when copious amounts of alcohol and God knows what else are available too it’s just a matter of time. Abigail hadn’t seen any of her friends for ages so there was a lot of catching up to do. Also, despite appearances to the contrary, some daughters still confide in their mothers.

Overall, Kara said they shouldn’t go. Abigail, on the other hand, was becoming tired of doing nothing with Kara, going nowhere exciting with her and, let’s be honest here, having no private time with her either. It wasn’t a relationship; it was a two friends spending a bit of time together occasionally. She said as much and the evening careered downhill and out of control, deteriorating into a slanging match where horrible things were said by both parties.

Kara’s mother had returned from her Bingo evening and immediately detected the toxic atmosphere. She’d promised to give Abigail a lift back to her father’s house later, but in view of the situation suggested she’d take Abigail then, if that’s what she wanted. She did. No words of goodbye were exchanged.

On the drive to Trev’s house, it seems Kara’s mother gently probed to try to find out what had happened. Abigail didn’t want to talk about it, or indeed anything, but after the gentle probing became a more direct inquisition, she eventually snapped.

‘Speak to Kara about it. Apparently I’m just a child who doesn’t know the first thing about relationships. I should be grateful for all the attention I’m not getting from her. I’m just a greedy, uncaring cow.’

Kara’s mother had pulled the car over and turned to face Abigail. ‘Kara’s right. I’m surprised the relationship has lasted so long. You really don’t seem to understand how difficult it is for her. Your age – the age difference between you – it just couldn’t work in the long term.’

‘Kara’s as stupid as you are for getting involved, but I think it’s best for everyone that it all stops. Now. You ran away from home, from school, and came back expecting everything to be like it was before. How can that possibly be the case? The authorities are still looking for you. It’s a miracle you’ve managed to avoid being caught. You should be grateful your parents and I didn’t contact them ourselves. What on earth did you really expect?’

Abigail had recited Kara’s mother’s words to me quietly, but precisely. She was always good at learning lines, if a little bit theatrical, and clearly hadn’t forgotten the knack.

Abigail then continued. ‘I wasn’t expecting the lecture. I listened and, when she finished, just opened the car door and set off for Dad’s house without looking back. Kara’s mother didn’t follow. It took me nearly an hour to get home. It was raining, and when I did get there Dad was fast asleep in his armchair. I went upstairs without disturbing him, took off my wet clothes, got into bed and cried. I haven’t really stopped since. I’ve not seen Dad, but as soon as I knew he’d gone to work I came here. In the taxi, I received a text from Kara saying she’d left her job, was going away and didn’t want to be contacted.’

Finally, Abigail ran out of steam and a silence descended. My mind was full of thoughts: -

1.     Where’s the boiler engineer? He was due half an hour ago.

2.     How can I tell Abigail I agree with Kara’s mother?

3.     Can I somehow organise a return to the area for Abigail that will satisfy the authorities?

4.     How can I ensure Abigail continues to stay with her father? I know that for overly hormonal teenagers, relationship break-ups are the end of the world and only mothers can help, but I just can’t let my new life wither and die on the vine when it’s all going so well, regardless of the circumstances. She’ll get over it.

5.     Kara had been planning this for some time. Devious tart.

6.     Why hasn’t Trevelyan told me Abigail was living with him? It would have simplified everything.

7.     I need to visit the loo.

Clearly, Abigail was exhausted. I put her in my bed and she fell asleep almost immediately. Plans needed to be made. An upgrade to the air rifle would have to wait a little bit longer.

September

Reggie has moved up to Reception from Nursery following a birthday. Most of his buddies have also moved up, so the change is almost seamless. The only tangible difference so far is he’s away from the house for an hour longer each weekday. As it happens, Anna’s youngest has done the same so we’ve agreed to extend our own working hours. Given the continuing demand for our services, this isn’t such a bad thing. If I need to extend my hours further, I suppose there’s always the after-school club.

Trevelyan, Reggie’s father, didn’t send a birthday card. At least he’s being consistent here. He does, however, see Reggie every fortnight now and I am beginning to notice an improvement in their relationship. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for me. I trust Trevelyan about as far as I can throw him. However, for Reggie’s sake, I’m not letting it show.

I’m not sure Trevelyan realises quite how much I despise him. This in itself is not earth-shattering news as he’s utterly self-absorbed nowadays. His apparent lack of interest following Abigail’s emotional outburst at my house last month epitomises everything I hate about him.

It resulted in her staying with me for the weekend to recover. She has been living at her dad’s place for a few months since returning, but this was the first time she’d been away for more than a few hours. She’d not contacted him whilst she was with me (she’d slept for most of the time anyway) and he’d not been in touch with either her or me to try to find out where she was. When she decided to go back on the Sunday (thank God – the appointment diary had a few clients booked to arrive on the Monday), he seemed not to realise she’d even been away.

‘I walked into the house.’ she told me later. ‘He was sat in the same armchair as always, smoking another spliff, watching some football on the TV. I said hello. He looked up, realised who it was, waved, and then went straight back to the TV. No attempt at conversation. I could have staggered in with blood all over my face, my clothes all torn. I’m sure his response would have been the same. I really need to get away from there.’

‘I may be able to help you find a small flat,’ I replied. ‘Leave it with me.’

My love for my daughter is tempered with a need to keep her away from my house during my working days. The positivity I exuded was borne partially from mild desperation, but also from a conversation I’d had with Anna a few days previously. A flat may indeed be available, but at that moment it was only a possibility. It could be uninhabitable; too expensive; off the beaten track; anything. At least Abigail is 16 next month. Legally speaking, that eases some pressure.

The drama associated with the break-up of Abigail’s relationship with Kara seems not to be as bad as I feared. Over lunch a few days ago she explained that her weekend with me hadn’t all been about sleeping. She’d taken on board what Kara’s mother had said (and I mentally agreed with) and decided she needed to move on with her life.

The elephant in the room has always been the fact she ran away but the authorities, as far as we both knew, were unaware of the Kara stuff. Provided a story could be engineered that airbrushed Kara out of the picture, there was potential for resolution. Abigail has always been able to use her imagination. I’ve asked her to consider a few scenarios.

I have a new client; male, early 30’s, has a thing about role play where he is being robbed or held up, preferably at gunpoint. It really gets him off. There is an official name for this, which I didn’t know until I looked it up. It’s chremastistophilia. I mention this client because he told Anna after our first session what he did for a living. He’s a detective constable. It did amuse me when I found out, not that I propose to share the fact with him.

It seems he’s recently moved to the area. He found out about my services through ‘a friend’. I didn’t press him on this as I don’t really want to know. Despite owning an air rifle, I am not overly keen on weapons, so the need for a replica pistol to provide a grittily realistic edge to the proceedings with this new client was something I only begrudgingly accepted.

The results exceeded expectations. Without going into too many details, pointing the weapon at him whilst he was unable to properly defend himself certainly had the desired effect. Thank God all the surfaces are washable. He was so happy with the first ‘consultation’ he immediately booked a second, which took place a fortnight later. It was afterwards things became a little bit worrying.

I don’t speak to clients when I’m not working, so my source is Anna, who deals with all the administrative stuff as well as checking the continuous feed from the covert cameras in my workplace to ensure my continued safety. Whilst making a third booking, the detective constable started to ask questions unbecoming of someone for whom specialist services with an obviously gratifying outcome were being provided.

‘What do the local police think about this operation?’ he asked Anna who, to her credit, blanked him. Undeterred, he continued to probe. ‘I mean, if they knew what went on here I’m sure they’d be down on you like a ton of bricks. Unless, of course, they are receiving freebies to ensure their continuing silence.’

Anna apparently gave him a steely look, before telling him it’s a respectable business providing legitimate services to individuals like him who were prepared to pay for the privilege. Any suggestions of impropriety were ridiculous and no, the police were not turning a blind eye. As he left, Anna thought she heard him say ‘yeah, right, in this area?’ in response to her explanation. When she mentioned it to me later, my first thought was Trevelyan is up to something again. I need to be extra vigilant.

I’ve been giving some thought to the house or, more particularly, its ownership. Trevelyan and I will divorce at some point. Legally speaking, he’s entitled to 50% of the value of the property, less allowances for a variety of things such as the outstanding mortgage and all manner of stuff concerning Reggie. Trevelyan will want more, that much I do know. He isn’t going to get it.

I’m in control of the timeline of future events in view of the compromising information I hold on Trev in the nature of photographs and letters in my possession that would prove very damaging if ‘accidentally’ leaked to a suitable third party. Our conversations over the months since he was released from prison have left him in no doubt that it’s something I’d be happy to do in a heartbeat. I’ve also pointed out to him that I’m not totally convinced he’s obeying all the conditions attached to his early prison release, particularly where drugs are concerned. I haven’t a clue if this is correct, but the look on his face when I first mentioned it to him was priceless.

The earnings from our enterprise continue to be a source of great satisfaction to both myself and Anna. I’ve opened a savings account in my own name with the Building Society holding the mortgage on the house. There are two reasons for this. Firstly, by its nature the enterprise is almost exclusively cash-only. I don’t like to leave money on the premises for any length of time and the Building Society is relatively handily located for me to pay in.

Secondly, whilst the Branch Manager might deny it, I’m sure he’s still keeping a close eye on my activities after the mortgage arrears problem at the start of the year. Having got things back on the straight and narrow, I’ve kept it that way and opening another account provides him with a convenient excuse to check up and discover how rosy everything is looking. I must make an appointment to see him soon. There are a lot of questions I need to ask him.