**LOVE COMES **
💞 Friday at last. This week had been a time-consuming-perpetual-meetings one and despite staff overtime there were still ends to tie up. As golf was expected to be wiling away his whole weekend, he needed everything - especially paperwork - out of the way. Not wanting the latest contract to be decided without his stamp of approval, he had no choice but to burden himself with patience and takeaway food. By eight o'clock, he was already three drinks affiliated.
Popping over to his vast book shelf, incessantly searching for a certain one, he sighed in despair at a fair quantity of them being higgledy-piggledy and out of sequence. His rich Scottish accent always seemed to thicken when no ears were around to hear him curse, but he was in a native-lingo rant when the glass door swung open and almost caught his elbow.
'Whoa!'
'Well ... you made it to the last page! By this point I'm guessing you're roughly on your third or fourth Jack Daniels?! If not I hope you might still feel brave enough (or mad enough ) to give me a call. I'll keep my fingers crossed and my hopes high. xxx. Here's my number, just in case:
So - she seemed to have a good sense of humour, and she was uncannily right about the Jack Daniels. That was either a really good guess or her mother had a good memory! The message kind of threw him by way of her making the extra effort. All she asked for was a bit of contact - was that really so awful? He just watched the growing up of his child in a matter of minutes, and asked himself if he was he happy to let any more years pass regardlessly by? Logic told him that calling her may not be a good idea; she had been a snag in his head slowing down his mundane life by interfering with his thoughts, but would it really be that bad in her presence? From the moment he unexpectedly met her, he carried a feeling of having nothing to offer her as a father (he wouldn't know where to start!) and he was certainly no substitute for her mum. If still married to Magrette, he knew she would encourage him to do the decent thing (under the circumstances) and at least call the girl. Ignoring her existence would not eradicate her from this world or from his head.
'Oh, I'm sorry, sir, didn't know you were still here!' Valerie, his cleaner of ten years for both office and home was keen for the off, hoping he wouldn't ask her to hang around longer. 'Like me to do anything else before I get to you?'
'No, it's fine Val, be as well calling it a night, I might be some time yet. Have a good weekend.'
'You, too, sir.' The perpetually pleasant cleaner, skedaddled forty-five minutes earlier than usual, giving her the chance to make even more paper posies for the church fete tomorrow
'You, too, sir.' The perpetually pleasant cleaner, skedaddled forty-five minutes earlier than usual, giving her the chance to make even more paper posies for the church fete tomorrow
After locating the book, he topped up glass number four and sat back down again to finalise his desk work - that last full stop would make him feel gloriously free. Tapping the A4's into neat structure, all it needed was a quick staple and he was outta there! But the gun wasn't in its usual place, setting off another annoyance. 'C'mon, c'mon... '
Swiping drawers open and shut, faster and louder with each wrong guess, it had to be in the last damn lateral drawer to his left. With mighty quick movement, the drawer opened, sliding the stapler and the photo album Saskia handed to him those few weeks back to the front, stopping it dead.
Neil, stared at it. It hadn't entirely been a case of, out of sight , out of mind, with the purple leathery thing, for it it caused a seed of disquiet to germinate inside him from the day he accepted it, but he never got quite to the point of wanting to take it home. He grabbed the staple gun, used it, put it back in its particular place, and just as he was about to close the drawer, impulse decided to put its neb in.
Swiping drawers open and shut, faster and louder with each wrong guess, it had to be in the last damn lateral drawer to his left. With mighty quick movement, the drawer opened, sliding the stapler and the photo album Saskia handed to him those few weeks back to the front, stopping it dead.
Neil, stared at it. It hadn't entirely been a case of, out of sight , out of mind, with the purple leathery thing, for it it caused a seed of disquiet to germinate inside him from the day he accepted it, but he never got quite to the point of wanting to take it home. He grabbed the staple gun, used it, put it back in its particular place, and just as he was about to close the drawer, impulse decided to put its neb in.
It felt weird in his hand, knowing what content lay inside. Jacqueline was the only other person who knew about it, and he trusted her implicitly to keep schtum. As much as she wanted to though, she never pushed for him to act upon it. The promise he made to the girl was that he would not throw it away. Let it gather dust (fat chance) if it must and even if it's never opened, she said she shall at least settle knowing that she tried. Wouldn't necessarily matter then if he had a look or not, she would never know anyway.
Under the rays of his desk lamp, now that evening had come calling, he flapped it open to the first plastic coated photo; one of her as a baby asleep in a cot and she'd put a paper tag in beside the snap letting him know that she was one year old. Despite knowing perfectly well what the album contained, that first glimpse still caught him unawares. As he flicked over each laminated sleeve, he saw that she'd arranged the photos in chronological order of age, and he gave a smile - knowing that's how he'd have organised it too. Something in common then? She made the journey more interesting by adding in days of significance - Christmases, Easters, Halloweens, birthdays - and he found himself taking longer over each new photo revealed.
A succession of warmth, sadness, loss, pride and joy, streamed through him like coloured wiring all wrapped in one wax coating and switched on. The very last sleeve held a snap of her and her partner at her high school leaving prom. What an amazingly beautiful, young woman. The joy in her tuxedo-beau's face said it all. Her looks certainly did come more from her mother's side, but in the close up's he noted an eye imbuement much similar to his own. All in all, he concluded from the snaps that Beverly had done a ruddy good job of raising her.
A succession of warmth, sadness, loss, pride and joy, streamed through him like coloured wiring all wrapped in one wax coating and switched on. The very last sleeve held a snap of her and her partner at her high school leaving prom. What an amazingly beautiful, young woman. The joy in her tuxedo-beau's face said it all. Her looks certainly did come more from her mother's side, but in the close up's he noted an eye imbuement much similar to his own. All in all, he concluded from the snaps that Beverly had done a ruddy good job of raising her.
Flipping over to the very last page, Neil found no photo there, but an unexpected hand-written message from Saskia:
'Well ... you made it to the last page! By this point I'm guessing you're roughly on your third or fourth Jack Daniels?! If not I hope you might still feel brave enough (or mad enough ) to give me a call. I'll keep my fingers crossed and my hopes high. xxx. Here's my number, just in case:
So - she seemed to have a good sense of humour, and she was uncannily right about the Jack Daniels. That was either a really good guess or her mother had a good memory! The message kind of threw him by way of her making the extra effort. All she asked for was a bit of contact - was that really so awful? He just watched the growing up of his child in a matter of minutes, and asked himself if he was he happy to let any more years pass regardlessly by? Logic told him that calling her may not be a good idea; she had been a snag in his head slowing down his mundane life by interfering with his thoughts, but would it really be that bad in her presence? From the moment he unexpectedly met her, he carried a feeling of having nothing to offer her as a father (he wouldn't know where to start!) and he was certainly no substitute for her mum. If still married to Magrette, he knew she would encourage him to do the decent thing (under the circumstances) and at least call the girl. Ignoring her existence would not eradicate her from this world or from his head.
The nib of his pen was tapping off the desk in a rapid 'will I, won't I' manner. After one extra large slug of Jack Daniels he lifted up his phone, carefully punching out the numbers that may change the course of the rest of his life.
Ringing. One beep to two of his heart beats. A sudden disquietude swept over him, making him nervous enough to be digging his nails into the palm of the phone-free hand. Nothing yet. He would give it just a few more rings, then stop; he wasn't prepared for leaving a voicemail. Then he heard a bright hello.
'Uh, hi ... is this Saskia?'
'Yup?'
There was crowd noise in the background, so he hoped she'd hear okay. This call might potentially never take place again if not.
'Yup?'
There was crowd noise in the background, so he hoped she'd hear okay. This call might potentially never take place again if not.
'It's ah ... Neil, here. Neil Balfour?'
'Oh!,' she sounded surprised. 'Wow!'
'I've been thinking that I would like us to meet up some time ... can that be... '
Before he got the chance to finish, a rather elated sounding Saskia cut him off. 'Really? Oh my God - that's ... brilliant!'
The raucousness in the background was getting louder and before Neil got the chance to talk arrangements she rather loudly had to tell him: 'Oh, I'm really sorry, but that's the doors opening and we need to get to the front. Been here for hours! Can I get back to you on this number later ... tomorrow?'
'I've been thinking that I would like us to meet up some time ... can that be... '
Before he got the chance to finish, a rather elated sounding Saskia cut him off. 'Really? Oh my God - that's ... brilliant!'
The raucousness in the background was getting louder and before Neil got the chance to talk arrangements she rather loudly had to tell him: 'Oh, I'm really sorry, but that's the doors opening and we need to get to the front. Been here for hours! Can I get back to you on this number later ... tomorrow?'
'Yes, yes, of course.'
'This is rotten timing. I really am sorry, but I've gotta go...'
'Um, okay. Bye then,' he said, but before he pressed end call, he caught her shouting to him:
'I'm glad you called, Dad! Bye!'
He sat back in his chair, swiveled from side to side as far as his feet would allow. There. Two mad-rush minutes was all it took, and it felt sound and redeeming. Her call would most-likely come when he was on the green, but for now he at least had time to think about a meeting place. Pity he caught her while she was out with friends. To see some atrocious band, no doubt. Hark at himself. Two minutes a father and he deemed himself ready-equipped to critique the young!
'This is rotten timing. I really am sorry, but I've gotta go...'
'Um, okay. Bye then,' he said, but before he pressed end call, he caught her shouting to him:
'I'm glad you called, Dad! Bye!'
He sat back in his chair, swiveled from side to side as far as his feet would allow. There. Two mad-rush minutes was all it took, and it felt sound and redeeming. Her call would most-likely come when he was on the green, but for now he at least had time to think about a meeting place. Pity he caught her while she was out with friends. To see some atrocious band, no doubt. Hark at himself. Two minutes a father and he deemed himself ready-equipped to critique the young!
He grabbed the album and tucked it in his inside jacket pocket. It was going home with him this time. Whatever would become of tomorrow's call, she felt comfortable enough to already be calling him Dad. And with that in mind, instead of going straight home, he thought he'd pop in somewhere (albeit by himself ) to wet the baby's head.
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