by K O'Hanlon
In return he receives a photo of James. He seems quite nice, and according to his profile page he lives in an area about 50 miles away, which if true is ideal. Sam obviously doesn’t list his actual area for fear that James might come looking for him. Dear James could well be a con artist too or even a psychopath.
They exchange some personal history. Sam assumes James is being relatively honest about his past life. He also assumes he is taken in by all Samantha’s lies.
James reveals he is widowed, no children but he does have a dog called Scamp. Like Sam cares about his dog, but he has to pretend he’s interested.
They talk every day for several weeks. Sometimes James sends pictures of his burnt dinner with a caption saying ‘another one bites the dust’. Their messages to each other always end with hugs and kisses.
It’s time to put James to the test so Samantha tells him how terribly sorry she is but she must call it a day and say goodbye forever. James is beside himself with grief, he doesn’t want to lose Samantha, he is nuts about her, he says he will never in a million years find someone like her again. There must be another way, he will do anything. He wants to know why it must end.
The reason is simple enough. Samantha tells him of her brutal husband, a man who would never let her go. A man who would follow her, track her down like a wild dog, beat her and bring her back. A man who portrays himself as the perfect husband but in reality is evil. He has no time for her but would never set her free.
James is obviously annoyed that she kept her marriage status from him but he’s hooked now and wants to help, but what could he do? Well, Sam knows, but he mustn’t put ideas into his head just yet. He can wait a while longer, pull him in deeper then he should be able to figure it out for himself, hopefully.
The days roll by without much contact from James. Sam is starting to think that he isn’t going to be of any use to him. He occasionally sends a message asking how Samantha is and the answer is always the same.
“I’m fine, was going to tell my husband that I’m leaving him but the mood wasn’t right so I decided against it for now. One day I’ll be free but I don’t know how much longer I can keep going.”
Sam always used words that he knew James wanted to hear. He has to keep him interested until such time as he really thought he was of no use.
Thoughts of Samantha had taken over James’s life. He tried to push her from his mind and move on but she was with him every moment of the day and most of the night. He was dreaming the life, and so desperately wanted to live the dream.
The perfect sunny morning was ruined when the postman delivered Sam’s mail. A final demand for payment of his gas bill amounting to £357.28 for three months. The previous reminder was buried somewhere, probably under a pile of trash and he’d forgotten all about it.
Sam couldn’t understand how having just three tiny rooms could run up such a huge heating bill. He wondered if he was paying for both his and the old woman’s apartment upstairs.
He knew his brother would help him out but hated having to go to his posh house like a beggar with an empty paper cup in his hand. His brother Mike never questioned the cost, he didn’t need to, he could afford it whatever the price.
Sam could add a bit more on and tell him it was higher then he’d have some extra spending money in his pocket.
On the way to his brother’s house his mind drifts back to James. He really must push him harder, but what else can he say to make him want to help.
Maybe he’s lost interest in Samantha or found another pretty blonde on the site who can fulfil his needs, a real female who’s single and free.
Sam pulls up outside the electric gates to his brother’s property, they open before he can speak into the machine. He drives slowly along the tree lined driveway before accelerating slightly and swinging the car round the water fountain spraying tiny bits of gravel over the climbing rose which reaches halfway up the house. He parks right by the front door. He knows Mike hates it when he does that. His brother comes out to greet him in his usual manner and pushes some of the gravel back into place with his foot, gives Sam a quick hug before asking him in.
Sam never feels welcome in Mike’s home. He knows he’s thought of as a waste of space just because he chose art to make a living after bumming around for several years. His brother was gifted with the brains and constantly tells him that artists are only famous when they’re dead.
It’s not long before Mike starts asking questions. He knows his brother well. “So, Samuel, to what do I owe this unexpected visit? I guess you need another hand-out or you wouldn’t be here.”
Sam’s reply was nearly always the same it was even starting to get on his own nerves having to say it. “Well, I had a massive gas bill and if I don’t pay it soon they say I’ll be cut off. Until my paintings start to sell I have very little cash to keep me going. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can, I promise.”
With that, Mike walks over to the large picture window and stands with his back to Sam, looking out, hands in pockets, his eyes focused on the immaculate lawn and shrubs like he has never seen his own garden before. Sam knows what’s coming before he opens his mouth. “I’ll give you 500. That should cover it but you really must find a job, a proper job, not this arty stuff that you say will make you rich. You can’t even scrape a living from it. When was the last time you actually sold a painting? Don’t bother telling me, it was so long ago I doubt you even know.”
He was right, Sam didn’t know off hand. He had only sold three in the last four years. He didn’t let Mike know that for fear of more put downs. His excuse was always that you can’t rush art. It has to flow at its own speed, although his didn’t flow at all most days or even weeks, sometimes months. He refers to it as a drought, probably caused by global warming or even his own personal carbon footprint. In truth, it was really to do with being rather lazy.
Sam has always looked up to his brother. Michael is five years older and a good fifteen years wiser. Since their mother died just over four years ago he’d taken on the role of a father figure. He constantly tried to mould Sam into the person that he wanted him to be but Sam was lazy and just wasn’t interested. He’s not the type to sit in an office, day in, day out. All he wanted was to paint or write a book maybe, or travel the world with a backpack. He chose art because he thought it would be easy, just throw paint at the canvas and hey presto, a masterpiece!
Their father had died suddenly followed closely by their mother. The share of inheritance Sam received from the sale of their small property didn’t last long. It was like giving a crate of booze to an alcoholic and telling them not to drink it all at once.
Sam soon became dependant on brother Mike to help him out. Good old Mike, he made a fortune before he turned twenty-seven and now he wants for nothing. He has the looks and the wealth and he’s had many lady friends over the last few years but none lasted long, they all wanted him for his money. His most recent lady friend, Toni with an i, well she sounds different to the others though Sam hasn’t actually met her yet. Things could get a bit serious, marriage even. That would throw a big spanner in the works. He can’t let that happen.
Mike counted the 500 from his wallet and handed it to Sam who quickly took it and stuffed it in his pocket. He refuses the drink that’s offered and makes his excuse to leave.
“Sorry, Mike. I need to get back. Thanks for the loan. I will pay you back when I sell my next painting.” Sam gives him a big hug and walks out to his car. As he turns to wave goodbye he sees Mike shut the door.
Sam is in a rush to get back and plan his future. He’ll pay his gas bill then contact James.
Once back at his grubby apartment he quickly logs on to Chessbyte. Maybe a little speech bubble will be flashing in the top left corner. Maybe James will be missing Samantha. Oh yes, he has a message, but it’s not from James, it’s from someone called Kingsmen, He clicks on it.
“Hi Samantha, fancy a game? We can play chess too if you like, lol. You’re hot.”
> Well maybe when he pays his gas bill he’ll be hot. He sends him a message anyway, what harm can it do? “Hi, Kingsmen. What’s your name? Maybe I’ll give you a game of chess and mate you lol.” Sometimes if you give as good as you get they run off, sometimes they just come back for more. Sam waits to see what happens next.
It’s not long before Kingsmen comes back with his reply. “Hi, so you want to play do you? I’ll set up a game, you can be white. I’m Adam and you can be Eve if you like.”
Sam makes the first move. The little pawn in front of his king jumps forward two places. He never was very good at chess but if you want to meet up with men what better site is there?
They play a few moves before another message comes through from Adam. “So, how old are you, I’d say twenty-five?”
“Yes, you’re spot on. I just had my twenty-fifth birthday.”
More lies, but so what, everyone makes up stories on these sites. It’s not as though they will ever meet up. For all Sam knows, dear old Adam could be ten or a hundred, male or female.
They get halfway into the game and Adam logs off for the evening. Just as well as he’s a good player and is beating Sam really easily. Maybe he should read up and learn more about this game although it could be to his advantage to play the dumb blonde.
Just as he’s about to log off a message flashes up from James.
“Hello sweetheart, I miss our talks. Hope things are ok with you. It would be nice to hear from you again. Maybe you could give me your number and I’ll call you, I miss you so much, I can’t sleep.”
Should he send a message back now or make him wait a while? He doesn’t want to sound too keen. He needs him to beg almost. Sam logs off.
Chapter Four
T he next morning starts with the unmistakable sound of dogs barking outside Sam’s apartment. Two women are having a chat and their canines are doing their best to outdo the both of them on the noise front. Sam can’t stand it any longer so he bangs on his window. He receives a full faced angry look from the owner of the bulldog.
“Oh boy, people really do look like their pets. What an ugly face! It’s hard to tell which one of them should wear a muzzle.”
He fires up the laptop, all ready to get down to business with dear old James. “Oh God! No WiFi signal!” His upstairs neighbour must have lost her internet connection. “Whatever is wrong with these people? Why can’t they get these things fixed? I can’t wait around all day for this!”
He tries walking around his three small rooms holding the laptop high in the air hoping to find another signal nearby but his luck is out. He’ll have to go up to see what the old dear is doing. She knows he uses her broadband sometimes but she doesn’t know he uses it all the time. He once asked for her password when he needed a broadband connection to book a flight online. He’s been using it ever since.
Sam makes his way up the dimly lit stairs to see Doris in the apartment above. Her door is various shades of puce and in desperate need of painting. It makes his door look clean in comparison. He knocks loudly and waits for her shout.
“Who’s there? What do you want?”
“It’s only me, Doris. Sam from downstairs.”
The bolt slides back and she opens the door a tiny bit. One eye looks out at him through the opening. He gets a quick whiff of the inside of her apartment. It’s a smell that only years of cheap talc can produce. She must be eighty if she’s a day.
He wonders sometimes why she pays for broadband. Does she know how to use it even? Her package includes television channels, phone and internet but he never hears her television, in fact he never hears her make any noise at all.
Sam takes in a large breath of air before he speaks. “Sorry to be a pest but I was wondering if I could use your internet again. I need to check my bank details so I can pay my gas bill. I tried to log on and there’s no signal. Maybe your plug has come loose. Do you want me to give it a quick look over for you? It’s no trouble.”
She asks him in and he goes straight over to the tangle of wires behind her television. It’s a mess. After pulling and tugging at various cables he locates the router all covered in dust and a few dead ants. He needs this thing to work so he takes his time making sure the plugs are all pushed in proper. The lights on the router start to flash, that’s a good sign. He replaces it at a slight angle so the flashing lights are not in full view when she sits in her worn out armchair every evening.
Sam doesn’t know how much she understands about these things but he doesn’t want her asking questions about why the light is always flashing day and night when he’s using it.
She thanks him and asks if he’d like a cup of tea. No way does he want to be drinking from her cups he’d rather drink from his paint pots. He makes his excuses to leave and exits her apartment. A big lungful of air is needed the instant he gets out the door. He hopes he never gets like that, old, lonely, and only the smell of talc and stale piss as his companion.
Back in his own apartment he sets about logging onto the site. Three messages appear, mostly from men by the looks of their usernames. He scans down the list to see which is the best to start with. One called Queensrook looks promising so he opens up the message.
“Samantha. Challenge me to a game. Win and you get a kiss.”
Sam sends a reply. He’ll tease him a bit in case James backs out. “Thanks hot shot, maybe I will.” He ends with a few kisses and a smiley face. That should keep him interested for a while.
A message flashes onto the screen from James. He opens it quickly. “Hello Sam, I’ll be up in London this Friday on business, we could meet up for a drink if you like. No problem if you can’t make it but would be nice to see you at last. I’ll be free around 3.30 if all goes well. We could maybe meet somewhere near Oxford Street tube station.”
Sam almost had a panic attack when he read that. He couldn’t meet James, not now, not ever. It would be a chance to check him out though. He could watch him and see first-hand how he reacts. He clicks on the reply button. “Hi, James. That would be great, can’t wait to meet you in person. I know a few coffee bars in that area, I think there’s a Starbucks with free WiFi just along from the station. If we arrange to meet there, we can keep in touch via the chess site if there’s any problems.”
Sam waits for his reply. It’s Wednesday today so that gives him some time to prepare. He’ll need to sort out some city clothes, something that blends in but nothing flash or memorable.
It’s not long before James replies. “Yes, whatever is best for you will be fine with me. Do you still look like your photo? Will I recognise you? Should I wave a flower or something? I can’t believe I’ll really be seeing you. Xxx.”
Friday came round really quick, too quick. Sam wasn’t ready for this but wanted to see how James reacted when the love of his life couldn’t be there. He found some half decent clothes that would blend in nicely with the types of fashion that you see in central London. He planned to get there early enough to choose the perfect seat in the coffee bar. With his mobile fully charged he’s ready to go.
He forgot the station car park would still be full this time of day. After driving up all the various aisles he starts to panic. There are no spaces. He knows that parking on the street will get him a ticket and he doesn’t have time to take the car back home.
A sudden loud noise like thunder shakes the ground. A train is just in from London. Maybe someone, anyone, will get their car out.
A very large woman exits the station and waddles over to her car parked just a few yards from where he’s waiting. Her body wobbles from side to side like a giant jelly. Sam laughs and mumbles to himself. “That must be what pork scratching looks like before processing.”
He watches as she unlocks her old faded red Nisan Micra and squeezes in. She pulls the seat belt round her enormous body then fumbles with layer upon layer of body fat whilst trying to locate the clip. After several blind attempts she manages to secure herself into the driver’s seat. One big fat hand with sausage f
ingers grips the steering wheel, the other she uses to push her hair aside before selecting a gear. No sooner has she vacated the space and Sam is in.
He pays the daily parking charge at the machine, slaps the ticket on the dashboard, locks the doors and makes his way into the station.
His off peak travel card is quickly purchased from a dirty looking chap behind the equally dirty looking Perspex screen. Maybe he’s actually quite clean but it’s hard to tell in the dim light with a colour scheme circa 1920’s. He hurries down the steps onto the platform as the train arrives.
The trains to London are pretty deserted this time of day so he can get a carriage almost to himself. He looks around for a clean seat near a window, one without chewing gum stuck in the centre of it. Now he can relax for the time it takes to reach Charing Cross which will be approximately 35 minutes. With his eyes closed he runs through the plan for today.
The train pulls into Charing Cross 10 minutes late, if he hurries he can still be first to arrive. He rushes down the underground escalator to the Bakerloo line and stands patiently on the platform. The sign hanging from the ceiling says 2 minutes wait for the next train.
He feels the wind rush through the tunnel as the train approaches. It comes to a quick very abrupt stop. The people inside lurch forwards then backwards as they hang onto anything that keeps them upright. All the doors open, it is packed solid. Only a handful of people got off so he has to push and squeeze to get in. He doesn’t recall asking for 3rd class travel when he bought his ticket but that’s what he was obviously given.
The aroma of Chinese food, various unidentified perfumes, after shave and body odour fills his nostrils. Only a couple of stops to Oxford Circus then he can escape from the many smells of his fellow travellers.
