Midnight
Branagan gave a crude laugh. ‘Too much nookie with that girlfriend of yours, is it?’
Jack ignored his unwelcome remark.
Seeing that Jack was not amused, the big man went on to remind him, ‘Don’t forget we’ve got a delivery late this afternoon. It’ll be all hands on deck.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll be back in plenty of time.’
‘Mmm!’ Branagan was none too pleased, but he needed Jack, especially as he himself had only been with the company for a short time and was still learning the ropes. Moreover, with the under-manager having left a fortnight back, Jack’s experience and expertise were invaluable to him, at least for now.
‘Very well. But make sure you’re here when that delivery arrives.’ With that, Branagan swung round on his heels and, without another glance at Jack, returned to his desk.
As Jack closed the door behind him, the older man muttered, ‘You’ve become far too big for your boots in these showrooms, Redmond! It’s even got to the point where the staff would rather go to you for advice than come to me.’
He had a habit of sucking his bottom lip when rattled, and he was rattled now. ‘Undermining my authority, that’s what you’re doing. Well, I know your little game.’
He watched as Jack retreated into his office. ‘I’ve already got the man to fill your shoes, Redmond!’ he mumbled spitefully. ‘So the sooner I can shift you up north, the better.’
His new son-in-law Jamie was the sort of person he needed to work under him. Unambitious, but hardworking. Ready and able to make the sales, but not too keen to take on managerial responsibility.
Oh, yes. Once he was rid of Jack, he would choose his staff carefully. Capable salesmen who, as long as they got their commission, were not too bothered if someone else took all the glory.
When he realised the receptionist was looking at him, he smiled sweetly and gave a condescending nod. If he hadn’t dropped the blinds before returning to his work, he might have seen the rather crude sign she made to him.
Jack saw it, though, and smiled to himself. Having already been obliged to discreetly mop up the new manager’s mistakes, Jack held much the same opinion of Stuart Branagan as Jan did. ‘Little sergeant-major!’ he mumbled, ‘hunched in his office, ordering tea and biscuits, and putting on airs, while the minions out here have to work twice as hard to keep the place going.’ He had hoped he might get on with the new manager, but no matter how he tried, he could find no respect for him.
‘All right then, Jack?’ That was Bill West, a young newcomer, wet behind the ears but eager to make a name for himself.
‘Fine thanks, Bill. And you?’
‘Not sure.’
Jack understood. ‘Been thrown in at the deep end again, have you?’
The younger man nodded mournfully. ‘You couldn’t help me out, could you, Jack? Only I’ve mixed my appointments up again. I don’t want to tell the boss-man, or that’ll be his excuse to have me out the door.’
He went on quietly, so as not to be overheard: ‘Trouble is, I’ve got this customer arriving in five minutes . . . he wants a trial run in the four-by-four. But when I checked my notes just now, I realised I’ve gone and booked Mr Tomlinson in at the same time, and I can’t get hold of him to change the appointment. He’s not answering his phone.’
‘What’s he coming in for?’
‘To talk about finance, on a trade-in against a new car.’
‘Go on then.’ Jack could see he was beginning to panic. ‘Be sure and make a good job of selling that four-by-four, and I’ll deal with your Mr Tomlinson. Have you done your work on the finance?’
‘Yes. It’s in my desk-drawer – second down on the left.’
‘And do you have his first name?’
‘Er, yes. It’s Jason, I think.’
Jack had a piece of advice for him. ‘First rule of the game, Bill. Make a mental note of the client’s first name. Read the signs, and if it’s all going well, then you adopt the friendly approach . . . but not too friendly, if you know what I mean?’
Bill nodded, ‘I really do appreciate you doing this for me, Jack.’
‘That’s OK. As it happens, I’ve got piles of paperwork to check and file, but because I need to take an extra-long lunch-hour, I’ll be staying on late to make up. So, I’ll do the paperwork then.’
‘Aw, thanks, Jack. You’re a pal. I owe you one.’
As it turned out, Bill’s first appointment was done and dusted in record time. With Mr Tomlinson arriving half an hour late, the young man was thrilled that everything had fallen so neatly into place. However, buoyed by his first-ever big sale, he was too excited and too gushing to concentrate on the matter in hand. Consequently, the second customer walked away without signing.
‘What did I do wrong?’ he asked Jack.
As always, Jack gave it to him straight. ‘Sale or no sale, Bill, once you’ve dealt with one customer, you need to clear your mind and concentrate all your attention on the next one. You have to make every customer feel as if they’re the only one that matters.’
Then, not wishing to curb Bill’s enthusiasm, Jack slapped him on the back and assured him, ‘Don’t be too down-hearted, though. Mr Tomlinson came here because he liked our product. I dare say he’ll be back. They usually are.’
Bill thanked Jack and went away to consider his advice. Jack’s words had pricked his bubble, but he had learned a valuable lesson today. One he would never forget. And for that he was grateful.
As the morning wore on, Jack grew more edgy. The hours passed all too quickly, and then it was time to leave for his dreaded appointment. He was on his way out, when Jan called to him, ‘Going anywhere nice for lunch?’
‘Hardly!’
‘Want me to come with you?’ she asked, fluttering her eyelashes saucily.
‘No, ’cause I need you to keep an eye on young Bill,’ Jack told her, worried that he might have been a bit too harsh with his advice.
‘Why? What’s he up to?’ Jan was curious.
‘He’s not up to anything as far as I know, but I reckon he might need a friend and a cup of tea . . . when you’re making one.’
By the time she turned to look where Bill might be, Jack was already out the door and heading for his car.
Once inside the car, he sat awhile, wondering if he should go or not. There was no denying he was nervous – and he had every right to be. Molly was right, though. If he didn’t master this thing, it would master him.
More than anyone, he knew the score. The nightmares had gone on for too long. Maybe now that he was older, he could handle whatever the sessions threw up. Also, since his relationship with Molly was taking a battering, it was time to seek help. Time to trust a stranger again; enough to put himself into their hands. Today could be his chance to root out his fears and hopefully put a stop to the torment.
The alternative did not bear thinking about.
Chapter Five
DOCTOR LENNOX WAS waiting at the clinic to greet Jack.
The GP was a handsome fellow in his early sixties and with numerous letters after his name. ‘As I explained in our little telephone chat, I’m not qualified to deal with these particular issues,’ he said, ‘but Mr Howard, on the other hand, is one of the best in his field. You’ll be in safe hands with him.’ He suddenly caught sight of the man in question. ‘Ah! Here he is now.’
A tall, bony man with sweeping eyebrows and a look of authority came striding up to Dr Lennox, and greeted him as a valued old friend. ‘Good to see you, Sam.’
Having briefly renewed his acquaintance with the older doctor, he then turned to Jack and shook him by the hand. ‘You’ll be Mr Redmond, no doubt? I’m Alan Howard.’ Taking stock of Jack, he saw a responsible, accomplished man, just as Dr Lennox had described. He also saw the shadows beneath his eyes and the tension in his features, and could tell that he was deeply troubled.
‘Dr Lennox tells me you’ve agreed to let him sit in on the session?’ The psychiatrist allowed the whisper of a smile. ‘If you’ve changed your mind, we’ll just send him away.’
Jack assured him it was fine. ‘I’ve known Dr Lennox for a few years now,’ he confirmed. ‘I would be happy to have him stay – if that’s all right with you?’
‘Of course. We don’t apply rules as such.’ Howard’s voice was unusually soft, almost mesmerising. ‘I’m here to help, and that means I’m prepared to do whatever is necessary. So, if having your trusted family doctor on hand puts you at ease, I have no objections whatsoever.’
In truth, having another person sitting in on the session was not something Howard would normally allow, but he knew Sam Lennox very well and trusted him implicitly. Also, he knew that Lennox had deep concerns regarding his patient, and wanted to see for himself how Jack reacted to this treatment.
‘I don’t mind telling you, I’m not looking forward to this,’ Jack admitted. ‘The sooner it’s over, the better.’ He could feel his hands beginning to sweat, and somewhere in the pit of his stomach a dozen rats were gnawing at him. The only thing that kept him there was fear. The fear of not knowing. The fear that if he didn’t go through with this right now, while he had the chance, he might well live to regret it later.
Howard fully understood Jack’s misgivings. After all, it was tantamount to stepping into the unknown – for everyone concerned.
After a quick word with the receptionist, Howard was ushering Jack and Lennox along the winding passageway to his consulting room, ‘Here we are. Everything’s ready.’
Jack took stock as they went inside. The room was small, with a high ceiling and pastel-coloured walls. The furniture was minimal. There was a tall, double filing cabinet in the corner, a long couch along one wall, and in the centre of the room, a small desk, displaying a lamp, and one solitary file, which Jack assumed must have his name on it. In front of the desk there were two chairs – one upright, one easy.
While the walls were soothing to the eye, the furniture was heavy in style and finished in darkest-brown leather; the same sober colour as the curtains which framed the two long Victorian windows, through which the daylight dimly filtered in.
There was a unique sense of peace about the room. It helped put Jack at ease, in spite of every nerve in his body crying out for him to run from there. To run from whatever might be revealed. Because if it was revealed, then it would actually exist – and until now he had been able to convince himself that the place he visited in his dreams was only the figment of a vivid imagination. And that hopefully, one day soon, the dreams would vanish, as though they had never been.
The soft voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘There is nothing for you to worry about,’ said Mr Howard. ‘We’ll just talk, you and me. You’ll talk and I’ll listen. You say as much or as little as you feel comfortable with. If you say stop, we’ll stop. Is that all right, Jack? Does that put your mind at rest?’
When Jack merely nodded, Howard gestured to the armchair. ‘You sit here, please, Jack.’ He then glanced at the older man. ‘The couch for you,’ he instructed light-heartedly.
The doctor made no reply. He made his way to the couch and settled down. He was content with his vantage point. From here he could follow the proced ure without being a disturbance to anyone.
A few moments later, when all were seated, Mr Howard asked Jack to tell him about himself. ‘Your background . . . where you were born, family – that sort of thing.’
For years, Jack had made every effort to shut his past out, but now he cast his mind back. ‘Well, I’m an only child,’ he started. ‘I was lonely, I remember that.’
‘Was your relationship with your father a happy one? What I mean is, did you get on better with him than with your mother?’
Jack took a moment to clarify his thoughts. ‘Sometimes, when she was in a bad mood, I was frightened of my mother. Oh, I’m not saying she beat me, because she never did. But she had such a quick temper, you see? My father was more gentle. Sometimes he took me to football matches – we supported Blackburn Rovers – and sometimes he took me fishing. He was a good man . . . a hard-working man.’
For one fleeting moment, a deep sadness threatened to overwhelm him. ‘I was sent home from school one day. At that time I was coming up to my GCSEs. My mother was hysterical, so Eileen next door had come in and was sitting with her. She told me that my father had been taken to hospital, that he was hurt bad after being trapped in a fire at the factory where he worked. She said another man had died.’
He paused before going on quietly, ‘Two days later, my father died too.’ He had not let himself think about all this in any detail for such a long time; it was painful talking about it now.
‘My mother cried a lot. She didn’t want me near her. It was as if she blamed me for what had happened. So Eileen took me in for a time. Her daughter, Libby was my best friend. After school, we went on long walks across the fields to Cherry Tree, where we would sit in the field and talk about things – Libby was a good listener. Sometimes if the weather was really hot, we’d paddle in the brook, and go home with wet feet.’
The thought of her made him smile. ‘Libby wasn’t like the other kids at school. Unlike them, she never laughed at me or called me names. But she did not like my drawings. She said they frightened her and she didn’t want me to show them to her any more.’
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