Doubting Thomas

by Adam Grinter

  Two phone calls and no voicemail?

  I leaned back on the sofa and cradled my mug to try to get my head around an employment agency that didn’t want you to call them. The phone vibrated for the third time, jarring me back to reality.

  The words unknown number taunted me.

  Two rings. Then a third.

  Okay, you’ve got me. I’ll speak to you, I thought.

  I picked up the unit, put it to my ear, and answered it all in one fluid motion. “Thomas Benson.”

  “Ah... Thomas,” A male voice answered. “We’ve just received your email about our... opportunity.”

  It really is just about a job. Which one though, I wondered.

  “Uh-huh.” I half-grunted as I tried to work out which jobs I’d applied for over the past week.

  “You sent an email this morning.” The voice claimed.

  Really, this quickly. It couldn’t be; could it? I thought.

  “You claimed you were a sceptic.”

  I sat up and almost spilled coffee on my lap. Bloody hell. Ten minutes, I thought. They’re keen.

  “Uh-huh.” I repeated trying to convey a bit more interest in the meaningless sounds.

  “We need to meet to discuss this ‘opportunity’ further.” I could almost hear the air quotes around the word as it was enunciated very carefully.

  “Okay.” I said trying to play down my excitement.

  “How are you set for tomorrow morning at ten-o-clock?” The voice asked.

  “Let me check my calendar.” I replied. In truth, I had no calendar, I didn’t have any appointments. When I felt sufficient time had passed I returned to the call. “That’s no problem.”

  “Good. Brick Street, Liverpool. There’s a coffee shop called Coffee and Fandisha. They serve the best lattes in the area. We’ll see you there at 10am.”

  “Okay.” I agreed without thinking.

  The caller hung up.

  The call lasted about forty seconds. I’d said a total of ten actual words, but they wanted to meet me. They’d certainly attracted my interest.

  #

  I arrived in Liverpool the following morning around nine. I set off at five and was met with fairly empty roads for about two hours. When the rush hour traffic closed in around me, I crawled into the city centre and parked my car in a car park close to my destination. I made sure I wasn’t too rumpled from my journey and descended the stairs from the multi-storey to find my goal. Brick Street was a tucked away side street full of industrial units and warehouses. The spire of Liverpool cathedral dominated the skyline as it stood proud against the blue, cloudless sky. The sun was low on the horizon so the heat that would increase later was a very pleasant accompaniment to a morning stroll.

  When I arrived it wasn’t like any coffee shop I’d seen before but again it certainly intrigued me. The outside was a brick wall with a large set of double doors in the middle. A colourful mural of fruits was painted around the entrance, the words ‘Where coffee meets popcorn’ were stencilled on the glass. I paused outside and took a calming breath. I pushed through the door eagerly anticipating the best latte in Liverpool.

  The interior was slightly underwhelming. The walls were bare and numerous tables and chairs were laid out in a haphazard fashion. If there was a plan to it I couldn’t see it. The counter was opposite the entrance. I picked my way through the furniture to place my order. A blonde-haired, twenty-something took my order, and because I was the only customer waiting for an order she rather superfluously asked my name.

  “Thomas.”

  This gave her momentary pause but she quickly recovered.

  “Take a seat, Thomas. I’ll bring it over to you.”

  I wandered to an empty table and sat down. I wondered why she needed my name when she was going to bring my order to my table. Force of habit from the busy periods I concluded, but it didn’t seem right. The pause after she realised my name gave the game away. She was on the look out for me so she could point me out to the man I was there to meet.

  There was an artistic black chandelier-like light hanging from a ceiling that was adorned with pale wood beams. The feel was modern, but it was trying hard to echo to the past. They almost succeeded.

  The barista brought over my latte without a word. I thanked her with a nod.

  I looked at my watch and realised I had ten minutes to savour my drink before my meeting began.

  I had no information about who I was going to meet or how I would know them. I watched the door and tried to work out if the people that entered were who I was waiting for.

  A young couple entered arm-in-arm, dressed casually, with eyes only for each other. Unlikely.

  Trade was slow at this time of the morning and nobody entered for a couple of minutes. I took a sip of the light brown liquid. The caller wasn’t wrong. It truly was a great latte. Full of flavour, with an aroma that completed the package. All my senses were catered for. I savoured the taste and breathed in the fragrance. The door opened and two middle-aged men entered.

  They were dressed identically in grey suits, white shirts, and red ties. Two businessmen looking types. Hair cut short, expensively styled, one blonde and one black. They approached the counter and I glanced at my watch. It was ten AM. These men were my meeting.

  They walked purposefully to the counter and placed their order. I was too far away to hear, but I watched them surreptitiously over the top of my cup. The barista who took my order served them while they stood at the counter exchanging what I assumed were pleasantries. The server motioned with her head in my direction, both men looked over at me. This was definitely my meeting.

  I took a deep breath. I found it strange how nervous I was. This was a job I knew nothing about, for a company I didn’t know, and I’d driven halfway up the country. Hopefully, answers would be forthcoming.

  “Thomas Benson?” The blond-haired businessman enquired as he reached my table.

  I nodded and gestured to the empty chairs.

  They both sat. Blond opposite me with dark-hair on his right.

  It was blond who broke the silence. “Pleasant journey up? no problems?”

  “No, no it was fine.”

  “Well, my name is Martin and this is my associate Charles.” He said offering his hand. Charles nodded a greeting and I wondered whether it was him that held the power in this relationship.

  “Pleased to meet you.” I stammered, not knowing what else to say. I waited, in the knowledge they held all the cards. I was only the responder.

  “So we received your CV for our ‘opportunity’.”

  Again I could sense the air quotes around the word and wondered what this was all about.

  “Not to beat around the bush, but you seem to fit the model of what we are looking for.”

  I nodded sagely as if I knew what they were looking for. Again, I waited.

  “We are looking for someone with a particular set of skills.” Martin eventually continued. “They need to be tenacious, detail-oriented, motivated, driven, with the ability to see beyond the obvious and most of all open-minded.”

  Buzz-words, jargon, industry double-speak. Words that through overuse have lost their meaning. Easily said, but Martin looked uncomfortable delivering them.

  “Uh-huh.” I offered not knowing what else to say.

  “So, tell me more about yourself.” Martin said.

  I recounted my history in the force. I told them about my stabbing and eventual retirement, but omitted the self-blame. Throughout my telling, Martin listened intently as if he was genuinely interested in me and my life. It felt relaxing to talk about myself. I’d spent too much time in my own head during eight months of doing nothing. It was a relief to share with someone else, even if it was just a job interview.

  When I finished my history, Martin looked intently at me and allowed the silence to fill the space between us. Charles said nothing and displayed no reaction. I dismissed him and wondered why he was there. It was now obvious Martin was in charge.

 
; “Well you’ve told me what you’ve done, but who are you?” Martin eventually asked.

  It was a question I’d never been asked before, and I considered my answer carefully. Who am I? Who is anyone?

  “In what way?” I asked trying to buy myself some time to phrase my answer.

  Martin didn’t miss a beat and clarified. “Personally. What connects you to the world?”

  I still wasn’t one-hundred percent clear, but I thought he meant relationships and so I ploughed that furrow.

  “My parents died when I was in my early twenties, whilst I was in the force.”

  “Do you miss them?” Martin interrupted.

  “Not so much now. At the time I struggled with the loss. My sister, Jess, married and moved away so I was on my own. Jess tried to keep in touch. To make sure I was doing all right but it was hard for her living so far away.” I paused and tried to find the right words for the mistake I was about to reveal. “In my loneliness, I drew close to a woman. She was a friend who listened to my rages against the world. Over six months, we became more than friends and within a year we were married.”

  Martin gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  “The marriage lasted ten years. Probably nine too long. I worked all the hours and was never home. When I was, we were strangers in the same house. Luckily, we never had children. When she filed for divorce, I was relieved. She told me she’d met someone else, I was genuinely happy for her. We struggled for a while but we’re friends again. Not close, but enough for both of us. My life was my work, I thought it would make me happy in a way that personal relationships never have. But that went sour for me too.” It was a downbeat note to end on but it seemed appropriate, all things considered.

  I looked at Martin but the judgement I expected to see in his eyes was not there.

  “So, what makes you want to get back to work?”

  I wondered what answer he expected. Do I reply with the usual meaningless rubbish everyone churns out at a job interview? The time is right, the opportunity is too good to turn down. All those options ran through my mind, but didn’t seem right. The discomfort Martin had shown when he spouted double-speak and the intensity he’d hung on to my life story with, it seemed wrong to be anything but truthful.

  “Boredom.” I responded. “I need something to fill my days. I need more than TV and internet. I need...” I groped for the right word. “Purpose.”

  Martin smiled contentedly as if I’d passed a test.

  For the first time since they’d sat down, Martin looked at Charles, and nodded at the man. The signal given, I expected them to open up about the ‘opportunity’, but they both rose from their seats. Martin offered his hand for the second time. I shook it instinctively.

  “We’ll be in touch.” Martin said as a good-bye.

  Meeting concluded they turned and walked out of the coffee shop.

  I sat stunned by what had just happened. I knew no more now than I did when I’d arrived. Not the company, not the ‘opportunity’, not the salary, not the hours, not the location, nothing.

  It was frustrating. It was slightly worrying, but most of all it was intriguing.

  Chapter Two

  By the time I got home, the street lights came on as the evening gloom descended on the world. Strangely and for the first time in a long time that gloom, didn’t seep into me.

  The drive back from Liverpool had been uneventful. I contemplated the meeting I’d taken part in, all the way back.

  The whole thing had lasted about twenty minutes, I didn’t know who I’d met, apart from first names. I didn’t know who they worked for and I wondered why they kept calling it an ‘opportunity’ rather than a job.

  My churning mind knew pondering these questions was pointless. I had no information that would shed any light on potential answers but my curiosity wouldn’t let the enigma go.

  I’d been back for about twenty minutes. I was looking decidedly creased from the drive. My injury ached from the monotony of driving. I ignored it. My feet were on the coffee table and I was contemplating what to have for dinner; beans on toast seemed to be a filling, easy option.

  From my shirt pocket, I heard the muffled tone of my phone. They’d promised they would be in touch, their initial contact was almost immediate. This was them, I knew it was.

  I fumbled eagerly for my phone and looked at the screen and there it was the familiar Unknown number. Too eagerly I swiped to answer.

  “Thomas Benson.” I tried to say nonchalantly.

  “Uh, hello.” Replied an unfamiliar voice, my heart sank a little bit.

  “Hello.” I hoped it would be Martin or the original voice that had set me off to Liverpool in the first place. I tried to keep the disappointment out of my tone.

  “Uh, uh...” I waited for the caller to compose himself so I let the silence hang for a moment. “You met my uh, colleague this morning.” Now the voice had my attention.

  “Yes.” I said slightly too eagerly.

  “I would very much like to meet you myself so we can ‘progress the opportunity’.” The visible air quotes were extended.

  “Of course, I’d be delighted to meet you.” I mentally kicked myself. I don’t think I’d ever used the word delighted in a sentence before, I wasn’t sure now was the time to start.

  “How’s tomorrow? Say around uh, noon?” The voice asked.

  Discarding the pretence of a diary this time, knowing tomorrow stretched before me arid and empty, I replied, “That would be great. Where?”

  “Kofra Coffee Shop.” He said, as if I should know where it was.

  “Where is that?” I asked, then added, “please.”

  “Norwich.”

  “OK, twelve-o-clock tomorrow it is.” I agreed eagerly.

  “Uh, great, see you there.”

  Bloody hell, Liverpool, Norwich one side of the country to the other. What the hell was I getting myself into here.

  #

  One town centre is very similar to another. Norwich is no different.

  I arrived early, I try to arrive everywhere early. At ten forty-five I was wandering the streets trying to find something to divert my attention from the interview to come. I was nervous but determined to see if I could find out anything about what this was all about.

  I meandered through semi-empty streets, the weather was good but on a Thursday the majority of people were working rather than shopping. I pretended to be interested in window displays. I honestly couldn’t tell what I was looking at most of the time, mentally I was already in the coffee shop waiting for mystery man number three.

  After forty minutes of killing time, I decided enough was enough and headed for my destination. I’d not strayed far from the vicinity of Kofra and was at the front door within five minutes.

  The building was all brick and glass, dominating the right-hand side of the door was a window with the name of the establishment sign-written on it. It didn’t look as interesting as yesterday’s meeting place but independent coffee shops are always worth a visit.

  The interior was full of the aroma of rich, freshly roasted coffee. I breathed deeply and enjoyed the scent, I could almost taste it.

  I stood behind a man and a woman to form a queue. Three people waiting for the same thing and the British will form a line. It fulfils our need for fairness and order.

  I looked around as I waited my turn. The large front window did its job spectacularly illuminating the interior and reaching into every corner. The overhead bulbs burned dimly from the ceiling.

  I reached the counter and ordered an americano. I waited patiently and my drink was put in front of me quickly. I found an empty table and sat and stared out of the light-giving window opposite me.

  With no idea where these interviews were leading, I needed a plan of attack in order to work out what was going on.

  I was ruminating strategies when a shadow fell across me. I focused on the cause and found a small mousey-haired man dressed identically to Martin in a bespoke suit, white shi
rt, and red tie, standing between me and the light. As he saw my eyes refocus he cleared his throat, I looked at him expectantly.

  “Uh...Thomas?” The voice was recognisable as the one I’d spoken to the previous evening. As confirmation, the hesitance before forming the words was a dead giveaway.

  I stood and shook his hand. “Yes.” I replied raising my eyebrows quizzically hoping he would take the hint and offer me his name. He didn’t, though whether it was to add to the air of mystery or just that he couldn’t pick on up my subtle cue I couldn’t tell.

  He looked down at the table and saw I had a drink in front of me already, this seemed to fluster him for some reason.

  “Ah … yes … would you?... no … I’ll just …" He gestured to the counter and I nodded having understood he wanted to buy the coffees. I’d deprived him of his moment of benevolence. However, he still wanted a drink of his own.

  I waited alone at the table again and watched him order a drink without looking at the menu board behind the counter. He either knew this place well or he knew exactly what he wanted. I assumed it was the first option. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who knew what he wanted in any scenario let alone a boutique coffee shop; the myriad of options regarding size, shots and flavours before you even started on the choices for the milk.

  He returned to my table, and put his frothy beverage down in front of the empty seat opposite me. He sat down, staring at me intently as he descended.

  “My name is Peter,” he stated without hesitation, “pleased to meet you.”

  “Thomas.” I said redundantly as we had already established my name. I chastised myself internally. There was something about this whole process that was throwing me off my game. I used to be so much better at small talk.

  “Martin told me all about you.” Peter continued. “You must have really impressed him for him to send you to me.” He gave a small chuckle at what he thought was quite an amusing thought.