Our Song : Track 5

The Musical Interludes of a Last Chance Romantic

First Episode At Hienton - Track 5 of 11

The air was chilly, the cold breeze clattering against Reggie’s nose as he stood on Platform number two waiting for the arrival of the 08:02 train to Peterborough. Why he had been requested to attend at such an early time was quite beyond him, right in the middle of rush hour.
He looked at the letter once again, the childlike scrawling across the page clearly identified Sienna Place as the required location and nine o’clock as the time, it was quite explicit on these details. However, at such a time Reggie knew he would have to use public transport to make the appointed time owing to congestion entering the City on the roads.
More to the point, Reggie had found himself disinclined to use the car in recent times. In fact, though he would choose not to admit it, he would frequently seek alternative sources of transport wherever possible. There didn’t appear to be a reason why, but the thought of being sat behind the steering wheel, confined within the steel walls of the motorcar filled Reggie with a feeling of despair.
Ordinarily Reggie would not entertain such ambiguous requests, but there was something in the back of his mind telling him that this was important. Like an itch he couldn’t quite reach, there was a thought tucked away within the hidden cabinets of his head telling him he needed to make this appointment; and so here he was stood awaiting a busy commuter train at rush hour on his way to Peterborough, for what?
It was clear that the author of the letter was the interested party, and judging from the handwriting, this was to be a fairly elderly man, possibly one of his own age. The similarity between his own handwriting and that in the letter had struck Reggie as peculiar; the splattering of attempted italic detail, intermingled with shaky cursive scrawl was not too dissimilar to his own adopted style of correspondence. The exact extent of this similarity had failed to proportion itself correctly within the mindset of Reggie as his thoughts evolved to that of his impending train journey.
The station, only small in size, had a number of people waiting by the platform, most of which dressed smartly in suits and ties. The obligatory newspaper underarm and briefcase dangling beside the leg were clear signs of a seasoned commuter.
“Hello there friend, have I seen you on this platform before?”
Reggie looked around him, not sure who the statement had been intended for, or even from where it had come.
“I’m Ronald, pleased to meet you.”
Reggie glanced to his side to see rosy red cheeks beneath the thick rimmed glasses of a small, scruffy haired man. Reggie’s first glance of the male reminded him of the actor who had played the geeky attorney Louis Tulley from the movie Ghostbusters.
What was his name? Rick Stein? No, he’s that famous chef! Rick something though, I’m sure of it.
“Excuse me if I’ve disturbed your train of thought at all…” The short man stood beside Reggie, and paused mid sentence to break into a short laugh at his accidental (or so Reggie hoped) pun; possibly better described as a chortle, if such terminology is still appropriate within modern language.
Apparently completely unperturbed by Reggie’s failure to give any sign of acknowledgement, he continued. “I could’ve sworn that we’d met before.”
Reggie studied the look of curiosity on the little man’s face before answering. “Possibly son, I’ve lived here pretty much all my life.” Of course, in today’s society of virtual networking and Internet socialising it was no longer common place to stumble across the same individuals within the village on as frequent a basis as it once was. Even the younger generation’s desire for high volume alcoholic consumption no longer relied upon the formerly established pillar of society, the pub.
The most likely and accessible place for people to become acquainted to one another from the town was the supermarket. It is the one place that everyone, barring those who have discovered the benefits in Internet shopping, has to visit during a break in their very busy calendars, at least once a fortnight.
“Perhaps the supermarket?” Reggie enquired, trying to appear polite and interested, even though deep down he had no intentions of maintaining such a conversation once the boarding of the train had taken place.
“That could be it, I suppose.” The man paused thoughtfully. “Though I tend not to do my shopping until late on a Friday night. The best time in my opinion; when they’re stocking up ready for the Saturday morning rush, and of course most people are at home watching tele or inebriated.”
From his swift evaluation of the man stood before him, basing his judgement on his brief observations, Reggie accepted his statement, concluding that it was highly likely that this particular specimen of a human being was the very type to be scourging the aisles of an empty supermarket on a Friday night as opposed to painting the town red in an alcohol fuelled frenzy.
This man, what did he say his name was? Reggie? Rich? Rick?
Rick Moranis?
Wasn’t he also the father in the film Honey, I Shrunk The Kids, and the imaginatively titled sequel Honey, I Blew Up The Baby.
 “I would recommend we wander up the platform a little.” His arm pointed towards the end of the platform to Reggie’s right. Reggie’s eyes looked up along the man’s arm and in the distance he could see a small image of a train approaching.
“Only, it’s usually a little crowded around this part of the train. I should know, I’ve been catching this same train for the last fifteen years, huh huh.” The man gave another little chortle, then snorted through his nose, as if emphasizing the fact he made, what he would consider to be, a witty remark. Reggie remained blank, not wishing to seem rude, but at the same time with no intention to engage this man in a way that would encourage him to continue their brief acquaintance once they had stepped onto the train.
“The train can get pretty crowded at this time of morning. I always find it vastly more tolerable if you can become comfortable with those around you so that the inevitable physical contact resulting from the overcrowding is less invasive.”
There was no need for Reggie to provide any sign of acknowledgement, as the man seemed determined to get his point across.
“It’s only natural that when you get to know somebody, you are far more accepting of that individual imposing on your personal space than an absolute stranger. Therefore, wouldn’t it be sensible in times of need to formulate such a relationship beforehand?”
Ronald. That’s what he said his name was, not Rick, though he does bear a striking resemblance in both looks and mannerisms to the guy from Ghostbusters.
As Ronald continued speaking, the rumble of the approaching train grew in volume, echoing through Reggie’s bones. The sense of his body quivering in time to the rolling of the approaching train led Reggie to believe that this was no dream, it was reality.
As of late, he had started to question the state of his mind. He was unable to recall at what time or even in what method he had awoken prior to making his way to the station.
For some reason his brain was able to recollect a number of entirely different memories of his awakening this morning. Each as real as the next. The first being as a result of his alarm clock ringing, on the third time of asking he reached past the snooze button and slapped down the alarm set button with a fury that caused a mild reddening of his fingertips, not to mention sending the small plastic digital clock across the bedside table and crashing against the wall.
“Was that necessary?” Valerie lay with her back to Reggie. If it were not for the voice that had elevated itself above the duvet barrier that separated the couple, Reggie would not have been aware that she was even there. They had taken to lying apart in the marital bed, the distance increasing over time.
This was mostly as a result of Reggie’s restlessness, who would spend much of the night rising from their place of slumber to alleviate his body’s excess energy, but also in an attempt to alleviate the pain stemming from within his head that he chose to keep secret from Val.  
Valerie had long since accepted Reggie’s nocturnal disturbances as the frustrating fad of an aging man dissatisfied with the realisation of his current retired status. Reggie, on the other hand had chosen never to mention the increasing pains in his head, or the recent appointments at the doctor’s surgery to his wife; there was no need to cause her concern over such an unknown set of circumstances.
It’s a doctor’s appointment! That’s why I’m going to Peterborough. Why hadn’t they put that in the letter?
They did.
It had been another restless night. Reggie recalled his piano practice of that evening with Bernie beside him. It had occupied his mind over the past couple of days, as to whether his visits to the old oak tree had merely been a figment of his imagination, as nothing more than an elaborate dream. But each time on awakening, he would uncover irreconcilable proof that the events of the previous night, though unbelievable in their detail, had in fact taken place to the best of his knowledge.
And even more proof was a return to sleep. He had found himself awaking from slumber once more in his own bed as opposed to drifting in and out of consciousness whilst perched on the sofa downstairs. Clearly the late night visits through the conifers and across the field was inducing a state of restfulness he had been missing in recent years.
But accepting the premise that his visits had been actual physical exertions and not just vivid recollections of a dream raised questions in his head that he couldn’t answer.
How had it been possible for time to literally stand still whilst he conducted hours upon hours of practice inside the tree? Reggie did not have a clear running recollection of that night. The initial journey there was as clear as any trip into town, but there seemed no memory of his return route. He recalled images of glancing over at the bedside clock on his return to realise that it was little under an hour following his initial departure and yet he could not visualise in what manner he had returned. This had been the same, on each of his visits to the site, Reggie had spent a series of hours behind the keyboard of a grand piano, meticulously learning each individual note.
How many nights?
I don’t recall.
Have we visited it more than once?
I don’t recall. I’m sure we have, yes, we must have.
How do you know you are not just revisiting the same event each time?
Because each time I have improved. I can play far more than I could before.
And yet you do not recall anything of your journey to and from the room, save the very first time.
That is true, but I do not remember the return visit from that occasion either. Is that to suggest if it is all just one long visit that I haven’t in fact left?
And yet he knew it was more than once. Three or four times even, maybe as many as ten or eleven. But, his recollection of each individual visit seemed to merge into that of the same.
There was a pain on the end of his nose, nothing serious, just a mild nip, like a peck.
The arched door way sprung open and a small, blue cuckoo sprung out of the paper and literally pecked him on the nose.
Was it a recollection of a past occurrence? Or an event that merely existed in his subconscious? The mild discomfort on the end of his nose seemed to confirm the former, and yet if this were to be the case, then the order of the previous events as arranged within his own mind had been grossly misplaced and ordered in a manner inconsistent with a linear course of events.
Maybe you’re just going mad.
Once again, Reggie was struck with a sudden shooting pain inside his head. From finding himself sat upright on the edge of his bed, Reggie dropped forward resting his elbows on his knees and his face in the palms of his hands.
All sorts of people could be seen on a train, especially at seven thirty in the morning. Reggie raised his head from his lap and glanced around him at his fellow travellers, most of whom being commuters. He observed the particular male sat opposite him was wearing a camouflage coloured body warmer, and the rucksack that rested on the seat beside him was a sufficient size to mount a serious assault on a march across the Sahara; with enough room for a four man tent, two weeks worth of clothes and if he wanted a small cherished childhood toy resembling a popular Disney character.
To explain the attire choice of this male it would probably be most appropriate to explain, that he was sat with thin metal rimmed reading glasses balancing on his nose, reading a substantially sized paperback copy of the Bourne trilogy. Nothing personified escapism quite so much as a man sat on the train at just after eight in the morning, on the way to his dead end nine to five employment, reading and living the action/adventures of the highly trained CIA assassin Jason Bourne.
What possible reason was there for needing a full size, survival ruck sack? The metropolis of the big city had often been referred to in metaphoric terms as a jungle, but camouflage gear was hardly going to help this man survive amongst the road works and high rise office blocks of those environs.
Besides, they weren’t even heading into the big smoke of London. This train was bound for Peterborough which was in the opposite direction – or so Reggie hoped.
A second possibility for Reggie’s own conundrum was that he had never actually returned to bed. That he had remained in a semi-conscious state throughout the night, watching the darkness roll past his window, and the moon float over the sky. And on the arrival of the sunrise, and the morning’s first rays of light, raised himself.
It was entirely plausible, that all those previous events had been played out solely on his tabletop with the dancers of the moon light. That his mind’s eye had depicted an assortment of scenarios performed on the wooden surface like a puppet show of light and shadow.
This was the most obvious of explanations, as Reggie played with the notion in his head. However, he had never been one for watching films, or attending plays. He had no interest in the arts, and as such it felt somewhat unsatisfactory to consider that this had all been the mere invention of his over active and tired imagination.
But it wasn’t just his own imagination. The doctors had seen something inside his head, something that hadn’t been there before. Something that meant he was required to take a crowded commuter train at eight o’clock on a weekday morning. His mind had been invaded, an intruder had taken refuge within his mind and was distorting their surroundings to their own end.
“I enjoy all the classics, plus some modern writers including Kazuo Ishiguro.” The male beside him closed the book and flashed the cover at Reggie, as if to prove a point that he was currently reading a book by a former winner of the Booker prize. Rick was keen to point out that this wasn’t the critically acclaimed and commercially accepted The Remains Of The Day, as made famous by the eponymous titled movie starring Anthony Hopkins.
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I couldn’t help overhearing.” The words came from the bloke opposite, who up to now had seemed thoroughly engrossed in the actions of his CIA operative’s alter ego, now sat with his book lowered and looking over his glasses that rested halfway down his nose, like a disapproving librarian. “What enjoyment can you actually get from pompous books like that? Other than a deluded sense of self worth in the thought that you have concurred with the ideological exploration of some of literature’s so called elite.”
“I happen to find the author’s commentary on society’s ill advised decisions fascinating. With the undertones of hypocrisy that is woven within the fabric of existence, cleverly interpreted through metaphoric imagery. That is what fiction should be about, allowing the reader to analyse life’s greater conundrums through the imagery of prose.”   
“And what about a decent story? Why go into all this nonsense about hidden meanings and analogy? Stories are there to transport the reader to another existence for a while. They are the perfect form of escapism, with your entire concentration focused on the imaginary world being pieced together by the author.”
“But what does the reader get at the end? It’s all very well pretending to be James Bond, or Jason Bourne, with your ruck sack and camouflage jacket,” Reggie noticed that Rick…
Ronald, his name is Ronald not Rick
Ronald, had clearly taken a disliking to the man sat on the chair opposite, “But what happens at the end, when you’ve finished the story? You’re still the same old bloke, back on the train, with your ham sandwiches and tea flask.”
The bloke across, shook his head, “It’s about the journey, the thrill you get from the action. You don’t get that when you have to reread sections of the book to consider pointless questions that have little bearing on your own life in any way.”
“What’s the fun in reading without a challenge? You may as well just sit there with your eyes closed if you’re just interested in escapism.”
“On the contrary, utilising somebody else’s imaginative prose allows me to expand my own horizons, taking me on journeys I would have never imagined.”
“So you admit it, you have a lack of imagination.”
“Not at all,”
“That is what you said isn’t it? Utilising somebody else’s imagination.”
The other guy laughed, “I said that I was open to the ideas of others, to expand my own horizons. Whereas people like you sit immersed in so called social observation, consisting of one person’s arrogant opinion on the world being ratified by the writings of an alleged literary commentator. There’s nothing imaginative about that, other than the way you are able to identify hidden meanings within stories that don’t actually exist in order to satisfy your own petty opinions on matters of humanity for which your actual life experience is particularly restricted.
What had started as almost entertaining, was now becoming far too convoluted and tiresome for Reggie. The argument taking place between the two passengers perched on the set of chairs with him soon dwindled into a faint irritation like a swarm of mosquitoes in a nearby field. Instead, he leant back on his chair and stared down the aisle towards the chairs nearer the front.
The train carriage was crammed. Everybody was sat silently; some reading, some listening to head phones, but all of them trying to refrain from any kind of contact with any other passengers. Reggie rested his head, his eye lids starting to drop slightly leaving a tiny field of vision which he used to scan the carriage.
There were crowds of people stood in the small compartment by the doors, despite the odd free chair here and there along the carriage. It was noted, however that a couple of those seats were taken up by bags, placed strategically to dissuade people from the thought of taking the adjacent seat, or on one particular occasion, the second cheek on a rather shapely lady’s broad behind.
Out of the corner of Reggie’s eye, he saw what appeared to be a recognisable blonde fringe and purple jacket.
Valerie?
What was she doing on the train? Reggie had left her at home in bed just half an hour ago, and here she was perched on the edge of a set of chairs facing towards him, just five metres away.
He rose to his feet and approached his wife.
“Valerie? What are you doing here?”
“I’m just off to the shops with Rosemarie.”
Rosemarie was the next door neighbour to Valerie and Reggie, and had been so for a number of years. She had previously been married to Paul, but he had passed away a couple of years ago, after a long battle with cancer. The loss had hit Rosemarie hard, but also Reggie and Valerie.
Not only was it a sad loss of a friend, but Paul’s death also struck Reggie as a wakeup call, now that his children had grown up and moved out, and that he was no longer as young as he used to be. Reggie didn’t like to dwell on it for long periods, but in the back of his mind was a corridor of photos from his life, with the end drawing closer.
Reggie looked, it wasn’t Rosemarie sat beside his wife, but an elderly, and portly gentleman. Reggie didn’t recognise the man, but felt uncomfortable with how closely the couple were sitting. Most others on the train made sure that they had left a distinctive gap between themselves and the unwelcome stranger sat in the pew beside them. And yet here, Valerie’s leg was clearly side by side with her male companion, insinuating that they were travelling together. Not only that, the old man’s hand was clearly resting on Valerie’s thigh.
“Who’s this?” Reggie enquired, indicating towards the male sat beside his wife.
“Who is this? It’s Rosemarie of course, you know Rosemarie.” Valerie laughed, then the man beside her laughed and with his right arm squeezed her close to him in what could only be described as an embrace.
“Rosemarie? Of course it’s not Rosemarie, why are you laughing?”
Reggie felt confused and paralysed, as he could hear laughter coming from all around him. Everyone in the carriage was laughing hysterically, including the two guys who had been sat with him and had now finished their argument and found some common ground in the ridicule of Reggie.
“It’s Rosemarie, Reggie. Rosemarie.” Was the repeated response in amongst the hilarity of the crowd on the train.
“Why are you laughing?! Why are you all laughing?!” Reggie was shaking with rage, his face throbbing from embarrassment and fury.   
“Reggie.” Came a man’s voice beside him.
“Don’t talk to me Rosemarie.”
“Reggie.” The voice was insistent.
“I said I’m not interested Rosemarie. It’s a lie, and you’re in on it. Just like the rest of them.”
It wasn’t just Reggie that was shaking now, but the entire train carriage, as if it had been hit by the earthquake that was emanating from within him. The lights were flickering on and off, and Reggie felt himself being thrown around his seat.
“Reggie, are you ok? Reggie.”
“I told you, just leave me alone.”
“Reggie!”
Reggie woke with a shake. He was sat on his chair, he could feel a small damp patch of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. And a hand gripping his shoulder giving him a little shake.
“Reggie, you OK old boy?”
Reggie felt completely disorientated. He looked up to his side to see the man he had stepped onto the train with was now shaking his shoulder whilst looking directly at him.
On acknowledgement that Reggie was awake, the man stopped shaking him. Reggie looked around him, the carriage was empty; had he missed the stop? Had they arrived in somewhere completely different? But if they had, why was his travelling companion still with him? Surely he would have got off earlier.
“Reggie, we need to get off the train mate. Reggie?”
“Off the train? Where are we?”
Reggie looked out the train window, yet all he saw was green fields. Ahead of him, he saw an empty carriage with the left side door open.
“we’ve come to the end of the line, the train terminates at Peterborough station Reggie, we need to get off. Everybody else has got off already.”
“Peterborough? This is my stop, I need to get off.”
“Well then, you’re in luck old friend.”
“What about Valerie? Where is she?”
“Sorry old boy, no idea who Valerie is.”
“She’s my wife, long blonde hair, purple coat. She was sat just in front of me, with an old guy.”
“Sorry my friend, we got on together, I don’t think your wife was on the train. If she was, you guys have an unusual type of marriage.”
“Of course she was, she was sat just in front of me, she was with…” Reggie paused, it had all seemed so real at first, but now as he tried to recall the conversation that had taken place with his wife, it became blurred. He tried to picture the man sat beside her, but again the image became blurred. He was doing something, something that had angered Reggie, but he couldn’t recall what it was. Or even what this man had to do with Reggie’s wife.
Was it even a man?
“You ok Reggie?” The man asked again, breaking Reggie’s train of thought.
“How do you know my name? I don’t even know who you are.” Reggie responded.
“I told you Reggie, we’ve met on a few occasions before, I’m sure of it. I also told you my name, more than once, it’s Ronald. But then if I remember rightly, your memory hasn’t been great of late.”
“You guys alright?” A head poked in through the door way.
“Yes thanks, just getting our stuff together.” Ronald responded for the both of them.
“OK guys, if you could get a move on, we can’t do anything till the train’s empty.” And with that the head disappeared outside again.
“Come on mate, it’s time to get off.”
“Who are you?” Reggie raised himself to his feet, and angrily turned around to face his journey companion. He shrugged off the loose grip that Ronnie had of him, seemingly to assist him to his feet. “Unhand me! I don’t need your help thank you very much.”
“Reggie.” Ronald began to whine, but Reggie had no time or patience for him.
“Who are you?” Reggie repeated, “I don’t know who you are, or what you want! Just leave me alone!”
Reggie stormed away from the stunned figure of Ronald, stood alone in the train carriage by the seats they had occupied during the journey.
“You don’t have to blame me Reggie.” The voice that came from behind was faint, and recognising where this particular sentiment was going, Reggie continued his focused march to the exit. “You don’t have to blame anyone. Sometimes these things happen and there’s nothing you can do about it…”
Outside, the platform appeared to be empty, the clock overhead on the platform showed the time as 0845. Reggie glanced at the letter in his pocket once more; he was required to be at the doctor’s surgery in fifteen minutes. Clearly there had been some outrageous delays during his journey on the train for which he had slept for longer than first realised. There would be no time to walk to the surgery. Like it or not, Reggie knew he would have to put aside his dislike of the car if he was to make it in time.     
Making his way to the bridge, Reggie noticed that there was nobody else around, not even any rail officials. The empty station itself consisted of four separate rail lines running with respective platforms either side connected to a small concrete bridge leading to the station house. As he walked up the steps, Reggie found the echo of his footsteps and the general absence of any people on any of the platforms somewhat unnerving.
He made his way through the small gate which led to the one main road apparently leading into the city centre. Parked along the roadside was a single black taxi, the driver sat in the front was wrapping his teeth around a large baguette. As he took a bite, Reggie could see chunks of green lettuce dropping from the bread onto his lap, not to mention the dripping red sauce from both ends.
“Excuse me.” Reggie felt awkward about interrupting the man halfway though lunch, but he had no choice as he needed to make it to his appointment on time, and the unplanned delay in the rail network, though not entirely surprising based on recent performances, had threatened to hinder Reggie’s attempt to arrive at his appointment on time.
The driver took a look at Reggie through his window, his chubby cheeks chewing on a large chunk of baguette. As he opened his mouth to speak, Reggie was able to identify a variety of food materials that had been fused together from the baguette with the crushing mix of teeth and saliva. “Where you going mate?”
The driver spoke and Reggie was a little disturbed to see a large portion, of what was now an integrated composition of salad and chewed up bread, drop from his lips and into the seat. There were large drips of sauce smudged into the dark whiskers around his face. Reggie removed the letter from his coat pocket, unfolded it and glanced over the opening lines to ensure it was the correct document. Then he held it forward toward the driver.
Reggie did not care to witness another sample of half eaten baguette sprayed across the interior of the taxi, so felt it best to refrain from further verbal communication. In accordance with this decision, he chose to offer up the document for the driver’s own personal perusal, that is until during the point of exchange from one to another he spotted the state of the driver’s hands.
At the moment Reggie’s eyes had dropped from the document to the eagerly awaiting sauce-stained recipient hands, it was too late to withdraw the exchange. And so he proceeded, trying to be subtle as he winced with concern watching a small drop of red sauce transfer from the tip of the driver’s chubby thumb and smudge across the back of the paper.
“I see.” He mumbled, whilst with his other hand raising the half eaten slice of baguette and cramming a further substantial quantity into his already full mouth. “Got trouble wiv the ol’ noggin’ eh?”
Reggie nodded.
“Went to see ‘im meself ya know. Decen’ geezer. Some say he’s a bit ‘centric like, but I found ‘im sound as. Certainly got me over my li’l quarrel I tell ya.”
The entire image disturbed Reggie as he quickly took back the letter, not wishing for it to be further tarnished by the various other stains on the man’s hands. With the speed of an experienced hand not wishing to allow others the opportunity to glance over his shoulder and chance upon the text within, Reggie had the paper folded and back in his pocket with speed and fluidity.
“Pop in the back then mate, we’ll get going.”
Reggie mistakenly glanced in through the window to acknowledge the driver’s instruction, only to see him drop the remainder of his baguette onto the passenger seat beside him, resting on a fabric interwoven with crumbs and dark ominous stains. The thought of revulsion had penetrated Reggie’s mind as he watched the microscopic germs that had inhabited the warmth of the dirt within the passenger seat leap in a delighted frenzy onto the fresh sustenance of the half eaten baguette.
“C’mon mate. Time is money ‘n’ all that.”
Reggie shook his head and shut his eyes, shaking the image of the miniscule creatures crawling all over the crinkles in the green lettuce and rosy red tomato skin. In its place came the harsh reality of the situation like a mountain range, his mind’s eye now seeing nothing, but the simplistic landscape of his imminent future.
The back seat was little better than those at the front. Reggie’s eye immediately scanned the fabric beneath his back side as he slid himself into the back of the taxi only to identify a number of potential risky stains. Using the strength of his triceps to keep him raised slightly off the upholstery, his eyes looked around for a suitably clean patch of seat that was sufficient to house his aging bottom.
Reggie found his place, and dropped to the seat. In fairness, the seat itself was relatively comfortable. He felt his backside nestle into the cushioning and he leant back into the seat.
He felt his panic levels start to rise, being sat within this metal death trap. The only thing he could do was to sit back, close his eyes and try to sit through this one short journey. Besides, he had been in a car many times before, he had ridden his motorbike all the way across the country, and sometimes not in the most sober of states.
Already he could feel his eye lids beginning to drop, and the sound of the engine revving to commence the journey seemed to bring back memories of his old motorbike.
Sat with his foot revving the throttle was a great display of power and freedom, like an eagle calling out before launching into flight. Reggie looked across to the front door to see Valerie emerging. She was dressed in a short flowery dress, with hem that stopped half way down her thigh and white socks pulled up high to her knees.
The sun shone brightly over Valerie’s beautifully smooth skin as she approached the bike and took hold of his jacket. The weather generally dictated a cooler choice of dress, but for Reggie, he had worn his favourite brown leather jacket for a number of years, and no amount of sunshine was going to change that.
He permitted a gentle kiss on his cheek from Valerie before she swung her leg over the seat and took her place behind him. Her arms wrapped around his waist tightly, holding her chest pressed against his back in affection for her man.
The bike gave a roar and with a powerful jolt they shot forward into the air, leaping from the tarmac beneath. But there was a sudden screech, and Reggie felt himself shooting forwards.
“What the ‘ell!?” Came the angry exclamation from infront. “What in the world do ya think you’re doing!?”
Reggie heard a door open and then shut almost immediately after.
“I need to get to the airport.”
“You mus’ be kidding me!”
“Airport! Fast! I’ll pay double.”
“I’ve already got a passenger.”
“I’ll pay treble!”
“You’ve sat on me sandwich!”
“Please! I really need to get to the airport!”
“I really need the res’ of me sandwich, what the hell ya playing at? Get up ya fool. This cab’s booked. Look.”
“Oh my god! He won’t mind. Seriously.” There was a brief pause, before the voice seemed a lot closer and a lot more real for Reggie to keep his eyes closed from the commotion taking place on the chairs in front of him.
Reggie’s vision was instantly met by a tense looking man, with pale face and ginger goatie beard. “I’ve really got to get to the airport immediately, it’s a case of life and death.” The man appeared to be pleading with Reggie, and without giving him a chance to respond, continued. “Please sir, please.”
Sir? Been some time since anybody has used that word.
“It’s my girlfriend. She’s leaving me, and I’ve just got this one chance to stop her before she has left my life forever. Please!”
Surely this man was too old for such an act of romantic desperation; he looked to be mid thirties, and yet his enthusiasm was that of a teenager. The drama of it all caused Reggie to laugh out loud, by the time he realised what he had done it was too late.
Reggie leant back in embarrassment, he hadn’t meant to verbalise his amusement in such a manner, but was rather relieved to see that the man kneeling before him had taken no notice of the reaction and now with eyes burning into him and glowing red as if ready to burst open in tears, he pleaded again, “Please may I share your lift, I can’t afford to let her go…”
The man turned to the taxi driver, “I’ll pay handsomely. Both of you.” He turned back to Reggie, “Wherever you’re going, I’ll pay for as well, if you can just get me to the airport first before she leaves.”
Reggie was already late for his appointment so logically it made no difference how much further he was delayed in arriving. Therefore he had no reason to decline such an offer, particularly when there was the chance of a free taxi ride. This would in some way make up for the fact he had had to defer the remainder of his journey from mild walk to taxi unexpectedly in the first place.
Besides, Reggie was keen to return to his state of day dreaming of the good old times with just bike, his girl and the open roads to worry him.
“Please?”
“Up to you guv.” Came the additional statement from the other side of the taxi.
Reggie gave a gentle smile and closed his eyes. “If he’s paying, I’ve no issues.”
And with that, Reggie could hear the man breath out a huge sigh of relief. Followed by the taxi driver’s announcement, “If it’s good wi’ him, then it’s good wi’ me.” There was a pause, as Reggie could hear the workings of a devious predator, preying on the desperate, “That’ll be fifty quid…”
“Yes, of course.” Came the hurried response. “Did you say fifty?” There was a faint sound of indignation in his tone.
“I’ve got to recalculate the Sat Nav, of course, I could just leave it as it is. You’ll get to the airport some time this morning.” Reggie could hear the evil laughter in his tone, the satisfaction of a plan coming together.
“No, of course.” There was again a silence of words in the front as the new lovelorn passenger and now financier of their trip could be heard scrabbling through his wallet, and counting out fifty pounds in cash, which was in turn gratefully received by the grubby fingers of the taxi driver.
After the rustling in the front of the cab had ceased, calm appeared to resume in the taxi, and soon Reggie could hear the engine revving once more and the journey was back under way.
Reggie’s eyes were shut, and his disembarkment from the conscious world was soon to commence again, but the familiar fog that had begun to fill his head was instantly fanned away by the voice from in front. “I really appreciate this, I can’t begin to explain how much. My name’s Mark, by the way…” There was a pause as if waiting for Reggie’s response, but none came.
“You’d understand if you met her, never has there been such a beautiful girl as she.” The words came out thick and fast, as if there wouldn’t be enough time during the journey for all that needed to be addressed. If he had spoken any quicker, then it was likely that the words would have interwoven into one another and instead of coherent sentences, he would have produced a monotonous hum not too dissimilar to that originating from a bee or common housefly. “The way she looks, the way she smiles. And here I am, almost throwing it all away with my stubborn pride and self righteousness. You know, she was the only one who ever really believed in me, gave me the confidence to reach for my dreams, made me what I am today. And then I almost let her slip through my fingers. For what?”
Again, there was another pause in which Reggie refused to interrupt, on the thought process that should he do so, it would indicate an exaggerated level of interest on his part and serve to invite this Mark fellow to continue an in depth review of his relationship with the lovely…
I don’t recall him mentioning her name.
Maybe it was lost in amongst the many words he has already spoken.
“And Kirsten, That’s her name…”
Did he hear us?
What is it with people listening to what I’m thinking?
Perhaps it is on account of your facial expression? He has anticipated your question?
Not a chance, I have always maintained a strict level of discipline when it comes to emotions and facial expressions, dating back to my poker years.
Except maybe a laugh here or there…
One which did not lead to any unnecessary embarrassment as the poor lad did not seem to acknowledge that minor indiscretion.
But perhaps, returning to the previous matter in hand, the answer to the question posed was given owing to the fact that its place within the context of the story had arrived. And that therefore the question has only arisen within your mind as a matter of formality in keeping with the manner of the tale.
Perhaps.
It is all just a logical placement of facts.
You mean I have the foresight to read what people are about to say?
No. But you have the logical capability to identify in which direction they are taking the aforementioned conversation, and in doing so are able to anticipate future questions by means of foreseeable deviations in the route. A bit like a rally navigator. 
 “And that’s when I knew that I’d made a terrible mistake. No matter what had happened with James, or John, or Paul, or Trevor, or Simon, or Adrian, or Sebastian, or…
Is he still talking? The man can go on for hours and doesn’t even seem to notice that I’m not paying attention.
And what’s with this list of different men? Sounds like the lad might be making a bit of a mistake with this happy reunion.
What list of men?
Take a listen, it’s hilarious.
What’s it about?
Dunno, I wasn’t listening to that part. But I’m guessing this lady may have entertained a number of other young men whilst embarking in a not-so monogamous relationship with our friend Mark here.
“But that’s not important, it’s all in the past don’t you think?”
Reggie’s rest had been disturbed enough for him to finally feel the need to interrupt this inane monologue. “What makes you think this relationship will work this time?”
“Because we’re so good together.”
“Where’s the proof?”
“Weren’t you listening? All the good times we’ve had, the laughs, the long walks, the beech, the …”
“But that’s all in the past? Yes?”
“Yes?”
“If you can forget all the bad things because they’re in the past, then why not the good things as well?”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Because you don’t want it to?”
“It was a one off…” There was a pause as he adjusted his wording, “A bad patch, nothing compared to the good times we had.”
Bad patch? Sounds more like an era.
“But you can’t rule it out completely, it still requires a proportional representation within the relationship.”
“Of course it doesn’t. It was a mistake, and mistakes can be overwritten. History is made by the victors.”
With that, the taxi pulled to a stop. “Here you go fella, love awaits.”
There was a sense of hilarity in his voice, perhaps it was on account of this pathetic excuse of a man and his delusional belief that his last gasp declaration of love might somehow entice his prolific adulteress of a girlfriend to return to a life of dissatisfaction and mediocrity. Of course, it was also possible that the taxi driver had found it amusing that he had charged fifty quid for effectively a five minute detour journey.
Even with his additional destination taken into account, Reggie was well aware that the overall journey would only take in the region of ten minutes. Fifty pounds for a ten minute journey seemed somewhat excessive, even to Reggie who had very little knowledge of the economic runnings of the transport industry. It appeared that he knew this, as did the driver, but for Mark, the lovesick imbecile, money had no meaning.
“’Ere mate, take a look at this.”
Reggie had heard Mark leap out of the taxi, slamming the door shut behind him and yet the taxi had remained static. And now, as Reggie glanced out of the window to the sight that had stunned his driver, he saw Mark stood still, back to the taxi and facing possibly the most beautiful girl he had seen in many years.
Surely this can’t be the girl he was talking about? What would she see in such a loser as him?
Other than his blatant disregard for money.
Perhaps I can figure out what she sees in him.
The girl was simply stunning; her flowing golden hair that draped over her shoulders and seemed to frame her perfectly shaped curves. In particular her ample chest had been beautifully dressed in a luscious ruby blouse that was tied above the waist showing off her slender figure just above her tight fitting jeans.
She was a sight you would expect to see in some lad’s magazine, and yet here she was looking straight back at what can only be described as one of life’s disadvantaged specimens.
“Oh my God!! He’s not going to do it? Not here?”
Mark had dropped to one knee, and the tone in the taxi driver’s voice was one of nervous excitement. The more romantic of individuals would suggest that this act was one of beauty, but Reggie could tell that the emotion in the taxi driver’s voice was solely of amusement, in the hope to see this poor wreck be dropped to the floor with rejection, his heart torn out before the crowds at the airport and thrown to the gulls that polluted the skies. 
There was no way this girl could possibly answer in the affirmative. She was, by all accounts, a Goddess, even in Reggie’s aging eyes she was nothing short of sensational. Reggie had endured sufficient time, not long to some accounts, but sufficient time nevertheless to have evaluated Mark as thoroughly tedious company with a severe lack of imagination or personality bordering on the painfully sane.
“Oh no, it’s gonna be messy…” The taxi driver began to laugh, as Mark held what appeared to be a small diamond ring in an outstretched arm towards his intended. There was no knowing what was going on behind her eyes, the expression gave nothing away. Of course there was no way she would accept, but how was she to respond negatively and yet still allow him to keep his dignity.
“Noooo!!” The injustice was too much for the taxi driver to handle as his clenched fists came crashing down on the steering wheel. The happy couple were now deep in a passionate embrace, as the unbelievable took place before Reggie’s eyes. The driver seemed almost traumatised by the event, as if such a thing was not only an injustice against him, but against the principles of nature. Was he concerned for his former customer? Not a chance. This was pure jealousy. A monster resembling the Green Giant had risen in the taxi and was stomping his feet causing a thunderous stampede in the valleys of sense.           
“Can you believe that?” the taxi driver declared with some disillusionment as he stepped gently onto the accelerator almost apologetically. The taxi quietly drove away from the drop off point leaving Mark and his beautifully sculpted partner Kirsten in an x-rated, passionate embrace that would make most onlookers blush.
The remainder of the journey was silent, which satisfied Reggie as he had other things to consider, now that his part in a poorly made romantic comedy was over. What was he to do when he arrived at the surgery? Or more to the point how was he to react when he was given the news.
You know of course, there won’t be any news. You’ll have to answer a few simple questions, provide a sample of your urine, then be asked to return in a couple of weeks for further testing.
Why do they always want urine samples? What has the contents of my bladder got to do with what is taking place inside my head?
More to the point, what do they do with the remainder? Somewhere, there must be some enormous vat full of a blend of various piss samples, carefully distilled, then poured back into the sea… or used for European lager.
“That’ll be four pound fifty mate.” Having travelled the rest of the journey in silence, much to Reggie’s delight, the bliss of peace was broken by the screech of weary brake pads and the sullen voice of a dejected middle aged man.
“I believe my young friend from earlier agreed to pay my fair. You remember the one, recently engaged…”
“No no no. He did no such thing ol’ mate. He offered to pay extra for his own fair, you pal need to fund your own journey.”
“On the contrary, my acceptance was based on the fact he would be funding both of our journeys. Should that not have been the case then I would be led to believe that you misled me into taking such a journey under false pretences. Not to mention the fact that I’m sure your employer would be interested to hear about the fifty pound you received for a five minute journey… along with the tax man.”
“Why would anyone listen to you?”
“I’m a retired, old man. Everyone listens to me, because I’ve got enough time on my hands to keep complaining until they do.” Reggie felt triumphant, the driver seemed far from amused.
There was a clear pause of reluctant acceptance. It occurred to Reggie that this particular driver couldn’t afford too much attention from the tax man. Though this threat in isolation was perhaps only a minor hindrance, there were possibly other details within his book keeping that maybe would not be so easily explained.
And we both knew that a complaint from someone like me may well just encourage the authorities to conduct sufficient enquiries to disturb such a hornet’s nest.
“Stupid kid, it won’t last. It’s all in his head you know.” The driver explained as Reggie stepped out of the taxi. It appeared to be the voice of a disenchanted victim, someone whom had also fallen foul to the disease that is love, but instead of nothing, had ended with an expensive medical bill for pneumonia.
But now was no time to contemplate the joys of romance, there was to be no happy ending to this journey. For Reggie, this was to be the beginning of his own personal demise.
He looked ahead, with the sound of the taxi speeding away behind him. It occurred to him that earlier that day, he had found himself commencing the journey that found him now stood before the doors of destiny. He had awoken from his slumber, hours before the alarm was due to ring, his sleep restless from the anticipation of the day’s events.
For the couple of hours that he found himself waiting for the alarm calling him to rise, Reggie sat in his bed, half visualising how his train journey would be.
From being sat in his bed, eyelids drooping over his vision, he found himself slumped in the soft cushioned first class train seat, reading through his emails on his laptop computer. There was one email he couldn’t read, no matter where he clicked on the page, the writing remained blurred as if it contained some sort of protected information.
Reggie began to grow frustrated, pressing down hard on the piano keys that were lined up beneath his fingers, running parallel with the monitor. But whatever he did, the writing remained fuzzy and unreadable. With one heavy thump, he brought his fist down heavily over the entire keyboard to an ear splitting scream from the computer. This, followed by another, and then another; scream after scream of pulsating squeals emanating from the laptop and shaking Reggie’s entire body.
It was then that Reggie awoke once more, sat up rigid in bed with the alarm ringing heavily in his ear on the side table. Reggie reached across to switch off the alarm, but for some reason the button refused to function, and the alarm continued to ring as if it had never been touched.
Ring, ring, ring ring ring!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Reggie jumped forward, then spun around to see a pedal bike pass by him at speed, the rider waving a fist towards him and shouting some words of profanity that Reggie couldn’t quite understand. It was then that he remembered where he was, on the cusp of his appointment with the brain specialist. He looked up at the huge, dark wooden door and a wind of disconcert swept over him.
He didn’t have to go in. Reggie had kept all knowledge of the appointment from everybody, he could just go home and live the rest of his life happily in the ignorance of not knowing what was transpiring within his head. It had often occurred to Reggie that his condition had only deteriorated dramatically since learning of the doctor’s initial concerns following a routine check up. What would have happened should he have remained ignorant of the facts?
But it was too late now. Reggie had made his way this far, it was time to take those next few steps. And maybe then he would be able to tell his wife of the thing that had been occupying his mind over the past few months. Maybe then she would have better reason to understand and appreciate the turmoil he had been going through.   
He was to take a step into the building in front and learn the identity of the intruder within his head, and effectively, his fate. Finally, in this increasingly confused world, where sanity seemed to be spiralling through a storm of impossibilities, Reggie was destined for the truth.


To be continued...
Track 6 - Sixty Years On