Chasing What's Already Gone (Second Chances Book 1)

by Michael Ross

  Anyway, enough of that. Let’s have a look at that satellite navigation. Where shall I go?

  ***

  “JB Roberts here.”

  “Miss Roberts, this is May Ting calling you from Paris. Could you please make a note in your diary that a delegation will be with you on Monday week, the sixteenth. They will be with you at nine a.m. Thank you.” With that, the call is disconnected. At times, the French were people of very few words.

  Jess buzzes her intercom button.

  “Gemma, make a note that the French will be here nine a.m., a week from next Monday.”

  “Lordy—what do they want now?”

  “Goodness knows. It’s either very good or very bad news.”

  “Well it can’t be anything bad, can it? Surely everything was sorted out at their last visit.”

  “You would think so, wouldn’t you? Oh well, onward and upward.”

  ***

  “Hey, Rob—this is the life.”

  “Hi, D. Are you driving?”

  “I certainly am, my man, with the benefit of a hands-free telecommunication system.”

  “Wow. Is the sat-nav working?”

  “Of course it is. Do you want my current grid reference?”

  “That’s really not necessary, D. I can’t hang about; I’ve got a hearing to attend in two minutes.”

  “Oh, okay.” Solicitors—sometimes they are rubbish!

  So, who else can I call? Not my dad, mainly because he could be anywhere on the planet at this point in time, from wallowing in Wormwood Scrubs to bathing in the sun on the Costa del Sol. We have not spoken for at least five years, but I miss his cheeky nonsense. Much the same with my mother; she is on her sixth husband/partner. As she gets older, they get younger. We have nothing in common other than we both miss having Dad in our lives. That leaves my sister, who I could reach easily within ten minutes. I look up her number and dial.

  “Danny!”

  “Oh, I was hoping to surprise you.”

  “Your name comes up on my mobile.”

  “I was wondering, if you were in, if I could pop around for a coffee.”

  “Of course. Jeremiah is at playschool this afternoon. Come on over.”

  Jeremiah is five years old with pink-tinted hair and earrings. I think you might already have a clear picture of my sister. Still, I love her dearly, and I realise that she has something in common with Jess. My sister was christened Clara Joan, but has always insisted on being called Chantelle. I call her Chan, because if I say it quickly in company it sounds like I’m saying Sian, which I feel sounds reasonably acceptable. But for all her kooky ways, she has got herself a good life. Her husband, Derek, worships her and over the years has built up a good business as a jobbing builder. So there is no shortage of money and their three-bed semi looks like the entrance to a Texas ranch if viewed at a distance.

  “Danny!” My sister knows how to hug. I look her up and down.

  “You look fabulous. I love the purple highlights.”

  “They are good, aren’t they? I had a double whammy done with Jeremiah. We look like twins.”

  There is no point in my saying anything.

  “Come on in, the coffee pot is already bubbling away.”

  Of course it is.

  “Is that a new dining room table?”

  “Well spotted. We decided that Jeremiah should have his meals with us at the table.”

  “Didn’t you already have a dining table?”

  “Yes! But we wanted to make a clear impression on Jeremiah on the importance of family time together.” Poor Jeremiah. Poor Derek. “So I see you have a new flash car. There had to be something to bring you to this neck of the woods.”

  “Oh, that’s unfair, Chan.” But true, very true. My feelings of well-being fly out of the window. “No, you are right. I should get out to see you more often. I have no excuses. When is Jeremiah’s birthday? Whatever happens, I will get there and bring something special for my little nephew.”

  “Oh, you mustn’t spoil him. We want him to grow up as unspoilt and natural as possible.” As natural as any five-year-old with purple highlights can be.

  “How is Derek?”

  “He’s good. Working all the time. I don’t know why he doesn’t ease up a bit.”

  Reality is a distant planet in another galaxy for my sister.

  “Would you like a ginger snap?” she asks. “They’re delicious. I bought them online from Fortnum and Mason.”

  I despair.

  She studies me.

  “You are looking different.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s something about you, Danny. You look sort of…happy, content. You look a bit younger than last time I saw you. After that snotty cow stitched you up. Your choice in women, Danny, honestly…Oh my God, that’s it! I get it now. You’re in love. My big brother’s got a girlfriend. My brother’s got a girlfriend.”

  I need to stop her clapping her hands before she gets to the chorus. “Chan, it’s nothing special. We haven’t even gone out on a date as yet.”

  “Well, before you do anything you had better introduce her to me. There is no way I am letting you get lumbered with another cow like that Jane. Never liked her. Never, ever liked her.”

  Now the strangest thing in the world goes around in my head. I am aware that it is very important to me that Chan approves of Jess, and that Jess can somehow stomach Chan. If I had a pound for every time Jane slagged off my sister, I could afford to get myself a new dining table. I change the subject. “Have you seen the old dear recently?”

  “No, not at all. Mind you, the old man crashed out here for a night last week.”

  “What!”

  “Yes—he was on his way to a job in Scotland.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “No, a proper job. He does some courier work at the moment.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Honestly, Danny, you always think the worst of him. It’s a proper job, delivering parts and stuff.” Knowing him, it is likely to be stolen body parts, but Chan loves her dad, so I desist from commenting. “Anyway, bruv, you are not changing the subject that easily. Who is this gorgeous girl?”

  My sister has an air of positivity about her which is incredibly endearing.

  “How do you know she’s gorgeous? She might be a dog.”

  “Don’t be so sexist. Talking of dogs, we’re thinking of getting a cocker spaniel.”

  I feel the need to make my exit.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Five

  After driving around the area for a few hours, I am developing a real fancy for living here. There is definitely an old world charm. There is no shortage of money about, and all the villages seem to bereft of boarded-up shops and pubs. However, I’ve looked at the outsides of twelve houses and I am most certainly underwhelmed. It is pretty clear why they are available. It is not long until dusk and I need to be heading back home; I have things to do. There is one property left which is a bit further out, but from which I, with the help of my trusted friend Stan (every sat nav should have a name), can find a route back without too much difficulty. There are no photos to help me, but the agent assured me I should have no difficulty identifying the house.

  In fact, I do miss it. It was easy to miss because it stands at the end of a drive with enormous wrought iron gates and a large, embossed sign: ‘No Entry to Cotswold House’. The property I am looking for is called Cotswold Lodge. And there it is. This magical-looking, ivy-covered lodge. Too big for a hobbit to live in, but you get the picture. It is isolated with nothing behind it but acres of farmland. I am smitten and pick up my mobile. This is too important to use my hands-free.

  “Hello, Mr. Pearson here. I called in earlier about rental properties.”

  “Yes, I recall.”

  “At present I’m parked outside Cotswold Lodge. Is that the correct rental figure on your blurb?”

  “Of course.”

  “I would like to view it as soon as possible.”


  “The first available viewing would be on Sunday morning.”

  “Nothing at all for Saturday?”

  “No, we already have two appointments booked for Saturday and the current tenants are rather too elderly to cope with many interruptions.”

  “Is there any point in me going on Sunday? Surely it will be snapped up by then.”

  “Lord Brabham is very fussy about who rents his properties, so I am certain he will not agree to granting a lease with the first people to walk through the door.”

  “Fair enough. Can you book me in then, please?”

  “Would eleven-thirty suit you, Mr. Pearson?”

  “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

  ***

  Saturday.

  A big day for me and maybe even a big weekend. I have hardly slept more than twenty minutes at a time. Eventually, I did fall asleep to wake up almost immediately. So it is nearly ten o’clock in the morning by the time I get out of bed, and I still feel deprived of sleep. I have decided on my attire for my date; it has to be my best suit with a white shirt and yellow tie. I set them out on a hanger above my door. Underpants I am sure are not that important—I am not that sort of guy—but I dither about for ages choosing some black boxer shorts. Now an indecision over socks: bland or funny? Bland seems sensible for a first date. Feeling pretty good until I have a proper look at my shoes—they are rubbish. Girls are into shoes; these will just not do. I better get down to the High Street and buy something decent, and while I’m there, send some flowers to Chan, to show my appreciation.

  ***

  “Good morning, JB. The usual?”

  “Well no. I thought I might try something different today.”

  “Ah, I see. I thought Clare had made a mistake over the time slot. No problem, what can we do for you?”

  “I have not got a clue. I just fancy something to freshen me up. Like I said, something different. What would you do if you were me?”

  “Well, your hair is in great condition and it has a lovely tone, but I’ve always thought some light highlights would look great on you.”

  “Mm, blonde highlights you mean?”

  “No, not quite that golden, and maybe trim it back a bit more than usual.”

  “Are we talking expensive here?”

  “JB—you, of all people!”

  “Okay. I’m sorry, go for it. I leave it all in your hands.”

  “Good girl. I hope you’ve got nothing planned for the next few hours, because talking of hands, you need a manicure whilst you’re here.”

  “Oh God, why don’t I keep my mouth shut sometimes?”

  The short conversation makes JB realise that she is too much of a control freak for her own liking. Maybe it would be a good idea to hand the reins over to someone who was trained to do these things. Close your eyes girl and let her get on with it.

  For several hours Jess avoids looking at the clock or the full length mirror in front of her, and actually drifts off to sleep, before the hairdresser wakes her.

  “So what do you think?”

  “It’s going to take some time to get used to, but I do like it.”

  “JB, you look stunning. So who’s the lucky man?”

  “Why should a man be involved?”

  “Duh.”

  “Well, as it so happens, I am meeting someone tonight, if he turns up.”

  “JB, look in the mirror. He is going to turn up.”

  ***

  I’m feeling so good that even the off chance of seeing nasty Jane walking along the High Street does not wind me up. I have to spend an hour ducking and diving to keep out of her way, which makes me question: What did I ever see in her? Distance has definitely not made my heart grow stronger. She actually has quite hard features when I look closely. I spent most of our marriage with my head down, so I never really noticed. I have sent Chan a super-big bunch of flowers with a card saying:

  To the best sister in the world.

  And sometimes I think she is. And shoes—how expensive are they nowadays? I could buy a decent meal out for two for the price of these two plain black leather beauties. My mobile is ringing.

  “Hi, D.”

  “Hi, Rob.”

  “How are you doing? Everything set for tonight or has she cancelled?”

  “Rob—you are a ray of sunshine in a dull, lifeless world.”

  “Only joking. How’s the car?”

  “Brilliant—the sat nav is fantastic. How I got by without one before is beyond me.”

  “You lucky bastard. Let’s meet up on Monday so you can take me for a spin.”

  “I’ll see what Stan says.”

  “Stan?”

  “That’s what I call the sat nav.”

  “Cool!”

  “Yes, Monday evening would be great. In the meantime, wish me luck.”

  “Best of luck, D. Knock ‘er dead.”

  Not exactly appropriate, but I know what he means.

  “Cheers, Rob.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-Six

  Am I fifteen or something? This is crazy, my head is in a mess. I can’t do up my shirt buttons, I’ve fallen over putting my trousers on, and there’s a nick on my cheek from shaving too fiercely. Maybe I should forget the whole thing. I’m meeting Jess at her office at seven-thirty. It is only a thirty-minute drive away, but it’s only five o’clock and I am all ready. I need something to take my mind off things. I filled up the car with petrol yesterday, but it could do with topping up again. After all, I must have driven over eighty miles yesterday by the time I got home. I cannot risk getting petrol on my clothes, so I’ll change back into jeans and a tee shirt.

  Six-fifteen. I have run out of delaying tactics. I am going to drive over to her office block now, but take the long route, maybe stop at a pub for drink. That is a ridiculous idea, Danny. Just chill. Why not drive down to the coast, take a quick look at the channel, and then on to her place? Actually, time-wise that should work out perfectly.

  ***

  Jess has tried on three different outfits in less than ten minutes. She spends less time than this when she is addressing a conference of three hundred people. Madness, absolute madness. Why should she care one jot what Danny thinks? They are going for dinner, that’s all, a dinner that she has booked. Maybe he is really useless and not capable of organising a date, or did she just take over? The grey outfit is best. It’s not too formal and has classic lines, but the shoes are too clumpy. With her nice legs, higher heels would be better, but if she has higher heels then the red dress is far better. Although it is quite short and she doesn’t want to look too tarty. All right, let’s start again, she thinks. Crikey, it’s already gone seven.

  ***

  How utterly farcical! What in the hell is a tractor doing waddling down country lanes on a Saturday night? HAVE YOU GOT NO SOCIAL LIFE TO GO TO? Actually, probably not, when I think about it. Seven-fifteen. I’m going to be late. Unbelievable. I’ve been ready for nearly three hours and I’ve managed to make myself late. Genius, Danny. Pure genius.

  ***

  Seven-forty—he obviously thinks it’s very cool to keep a girl waiting. Smart-arse. Another five minutes and he can have dinner on his own.

  ***

  “Your destination is 100 metres on the left-hand side…you have reached your destination.”

  Fifteen minutes late. Is that bad? Is it bad—of course it is, you idiot, you clown, you joke of a human being. I bet she’s given up and gone home.

  ***

  So he’s finally made it! Jess is tempted to hide and let him drive off, but he does look rather flustered. She decides to hear his excuses before blowing him off.

  ***

  “Jess, I am so sorry. The crazy thing is…the only reason I’m late is because I was ready so early. I could have been here by five-thirty. I feel so bad.”

  “No problem. I have only just got here myself. The taxi only dropped me off a minute ago.” She looks over my shoulder. “I like your car.”

/>   “Thanks. I only picked it up yesterday.” I remember I am a gentleman and open the passenger door for her. “Are you ready? Silly question. I don’t know about you, but I’m famished. Let me introduce you to my new best friend, Stan. Stan, this is Jess—now shut up.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-Seven

  Jane and I never had chats, not real ones. We would spend time just talking drivel, catching up on useless gossip about people the other barely knew, talking about TV programmes that we hardly ever watched, disagreeing about what films not to see. I can scarcely remember the details of anything we ever spoke about.

  I will remember every word Jess has said tonight. She is so interesting to listen to, and funny? She has a wicked sense of humour. We seem to be laughing more than talking. People keep glancing over at us, but as I said once before, I don’t care because I know we make a great-looking couple. At times, I am scared to look into her eyes because they suck my head into a place that frightens me to death. I feel so close to her, genuinely close to the real person at her core. The meal is almost over before Jess starts digging into my past.

  “So tell me all about your wife…or ex-wife is it?”

  “I’m not sure what to say. It would be very easy to sit here and slag her off, but I made a choice, a bad one, and it would sound wrong of me to cast her as an evil bitch.”

  “She wasn’t one then?”

  “Oh yes, she was that. The very worst kind of evil bitch.”

  She smiles at me, but I’m getting a feel for her now, and I am aware that she is spending most of her time deflecting questions I ask by countering with questions aimed at me. It is my turn to delve.

  “Have you ever been married?” I ask.