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Memories …
Why do you come back?
—Amit Singh, Poet
Sometimes you read a book or watch a movie and you get to that point in the story when everything is about to change forever. At this point the characters could escape and go on with their life as if nothing had happened. The moment when the hero or heroine stands in front of a closed door and decides whether to go in and face the unknown, or walk away. Once, I thought I stood at that door.
But in real life there is often more than one door.
If I hadn’t called my accountant that morning, or if I had called him five minutes later when I was already in the one-way traffic system and it was impossible to turn around and go back, I would never have come across that door. But I did call him, just before I reached the point where the traffic system would have made the door disappear.
‘Hey, Dom,’ he says briskly.
‘What time is your appointment with the parasites today?’
‘They’re already at the restaurant. I’m driving there right now, but I’ll probably be another twenty minutes. I hope they don’t start talking to the staff or snooping around.’ He sounds apprehensive.
‘Where are you meeting them?’ I ask.
‘Lady Marmalade.’
‘I’m less than five minutes away. I’ll go and keep the fuckers company while they wait for you,’ I offer.
‘No!’ he shouts suddenly, so loudly it makes my eardrum vibrate like a tuning fork.
‘What the fuck, Nigel!’ I swear, tearing the phone away from my ear.
He calms down double quick. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to shout. But please, whatever you do, don’t go there.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s just better.’
‘You think I’m scared of those pug-ugly inspectors?’
‘No, no, no, I don’t think that at all. I’d just really appreciate it if you didn’t confront them.’
‘I’m not going to confront them. I’ll just pass by and offer them a cappuccino.’
I hear him take a deep breath. ‘Dom. In my professional capacity I have to advise you not to make contact with them. They’re dangerous. Anything you say could lead them to deepen their investigation. I know how to handle them. You don’t.’
‘Look. I’m already turning in to the restaurant. Tell me their names. I’ll be the perfect host, I promise.’
I hear him sigh dramatically. ‘It’s Mr. Robert Hunter and Miss Ella Savage.’
‘A woman?’ I ask surprised as I switch off the ignition, open the door and step into the light summer rain.
