Lonely34: What do you have in mind?
BoredStiff: Anything you fancy. I’m game. Let’s liven things up a bit?
Lonely34: I think I’m spoken for. Doc got in before you.
BoredStiff: I bet he’d like to get into you. We all would. I think you are making a mistake. I’m seriously hot for you. Send me a pic?
Lonely34: Too fast BoredStiff. I like to take it slowly. Don’t you know the slower the better, it prolongs the pleasure!
BoredStiff: Not too slowly. Life is too short.
Doc: Lonely34 are you two-timing me?
Lonely34: Doc ur all mine. Show yourself to me so I know I’ve made the right choice. I need proof.
Doc: What do you want to see?
Lonely34: All of you. But in particular I mean the interesting bits.
Doc posts a picture of his torso. Keeping his face out of shot.
Lonely34: Wow. I like what I see. Any other bits I can see? How about a bit lower?
Doc: Not today, perhaps another time?
Lonely34: Don’t u keep me waiting 2 long. I might get impatient. Plenty more fish in the sea.
GoodtimeGal has joined the conversation
GoodtimeGal: Hey, who’s hot tonite? What have I missed?
Doc: Long time no chat.
BoredStiff: GoodtimeGal want to show me something new?
Doc: Let’s see it GoodtimeGal. Looks like we have a threesome going.
GoodtimeGal: I fancy something different tonite. What’s your fantasy?
Doc: I’m easy. Suggest something.
BoredStiff: Things are getting interesting.
Doc: How old ru GoodtimeGal? Are u a naughty girl? I like naughty girls. The naughtier the better!
GoodtimeGal: I can be. If u want?
Doc: I might. It depends.
GoodtimeGal: I want to meet up. But are you local? Persford or not far away?
Doc: I’m local.
BoredStiff: Looks like I’m a bit far away for GoodtimeGal. I’ll say goodnight.
BoredStiff leaves this conversation.
GoodtimeGal: How about we meet up? Take it a step further?
Doc: Sounds good but I need to think about that.
GoodtimeGal: Losing ur nerve?
Doc: Busy time at mo.
GoodtimeGal: Let me see if I can persuade you?
GoodtimeGal posts a picture of herself. Doc stares at the screen for a few minutes then signs out of the chat room. Doc’s heart is racing. He is aroused. He is perspiring and feeling guilty. He needs to think. Should he cross the line? What harm is there in it? Surely it’s only a bit of fun. He clears the browsing history, powers down his laptop and goes to get another beer. Enough for tonight. Perhaps tomorrow he will have the courage to take things one step further.
Chapter 8
Dr Rebecca Levinson entered the medical school just before 8 a.m. and headed along to her office on the second floor. She had a busy day ahead starting with a lecture to third-year students at 9 a.m. followed by a meeting with Matt Pearson about the plans for the latest clinical trial of UP-627-TK. Their pharmacology advisor Dr Steve Carter would be joining them so that they could finalise the first protocol for a Phase I study on a handful of healthy volunteers. They were hoping to run a Phase II study on a small cohort of patients with brain tumours very shortly after this.
Firstly, she planned to get on with some administrative tasks. So much was happening at the moment and trying to launch the spin-off company, although exciting, was proving onerous on top of her already heavy workload. As she approached the pigeon holes for the post at the end of the corridor she could see that there was a stack of envelopes waiting for her. Her heart sank.
‘Hi, Kayley, she said to one of the administrative assistants who was also making an early start that morning.
‘Morning, Dr Levinson,’ she replied. ‘Looks like you have a few items of post this morning.’
‘Yes, someone loves me,’ she joked.
‘I’ve booked the meeting rooms you wanted,’ said Kayley. The details are on your electronic calendar.’
‘Thanks,’ replied Rebecca.
‘Can I get you a tea or coffee, I’m just heading down to the cafe,’ asked Kayley.
‘No, thanks, I’m fine.’
Rebecca unlocked her office and unzipped her laptop bag. She engaged it with the docking station, leaving it to boot up whilst she unlocked her desk drawers and set about opening her post. From the postmarks on the external letters, she could see there were some replies to her applications for funding which she hoped would be good news. The bulk of the other letters appeared to be internal envelopes. She logged on to the university network and opened up her email to allow the messages to load whilst she opened the rest of her post.
She opened the first envelope and removed the small A5 printed advert and froze. It was a flyer to a published book by a well known Holocaust denier. Her stomach lurched and she sat back in her chair. This wasn’t the first time this had happened to her although that had been in her previous job. It was all starting again, anti-Semitism was rearing its ugly head and once again she was being subjected to this vile abuse. This would have to be reported and logged as an incident. How they could stamp it out was another matter. Low levels of this insidious behaviour could only be prevented by education and changes in society as a whole. Unfortunately, universities contained large numbers of impressionable immature people who could be easily influenced by unscrupulous opinionated and dangerous factions. She placed the letter and advert to one side and continued to open her post.
Several other envelopes contained forms from students which needed to be authorised and her heart began to settle down. She drank some water and ate a breakfast oat biscuit to give her some energy for the morning ahead. Scanning through her emails she noticed that Steve Carter had attached a document with some metabolism projections for UP-627 which she needed to check through. She quickly deleted several other emails which were of no particular importance and glancing at the time returned to her post.
Her phone rang. She sighed. It was a bit early in the day for calls but she answered it whilst still scrolling through her emails.
‘Rebecca Levinson,’ she said.
‘Oh, morning, Dr Levinson. This is Rachel Goodman.’
Rebecca was silent for a couple of moments as she didn’t immediately recognise the name.
‘From the Interfaith Society,’ prompted Rachel.
‘Oh, sorry, yes of course. How can I help you?’
‘I just wanted to let you know we’ve had to move the date for the talk you are due to give to the society. Can you manage the same day and time the following week?’
‘Just a moment, I’ll check my diary.’
Rebecca brought up her electronic calendar.
‘Yes, that’s fine. No problem.’
‘Thanks so much. The Vice-Chancellor apparently booked the room for a talk and a drinks reception for local business people and her secretary got the dates mixed up.’
‘Well, it does happen, none of us are faultless in that respect.’
‘Right, well, sorry to disturb you.’
‘Rachel? Just before you go. Have you received anything anti-Semitic in the internal mail recently?’
‘No, nothing so far. Why what’s happened?’
‘Well, I got a flyer showing the cover of a book by a well-known Holocaust denier today and I wondered how widespread the mailing has been.’
‘Oh, shit. Oh, sorry, I really hope this isn’t starting at Persford.’
‘So do I. Can you send an email around to all members of the society to make sure they report it if they receive anything?’
‘Of course, I’ll do it now.’
‘Thanks, bye.’
Rebecca was quite pleased that her talk had been moved back by a week as it gave her a little longer to prepare for it. About ten years ago she had spent a year in Israel on a sabbatical whilst at her previous university and before she started a family. Half of t
he time she had lectured at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem on her field of expertise, namely brain cancer and tumours and the remainder she had spent at a medical centre which had a large number of underprivileged children, both Israeli and Palestinian. This was to be the focus of her talk in a couple of weeks.
She wondered whether she had been targeted because of this as some notices had been posted on boards detailing her talk and it was well-known that she had a Jewish background. Suddenly she felt slightly sick as the episode had brought back memories of the incidents her children had experienced at their school before moving to Persford. They had been cruelly bullied and her son Joshua in particular had suffered some “Jew boy” taunts. Since moving to Persford her children hadn’t been subjected to any such behaviour. She just hoped that this recent outbreak, if it were large enough to be classed as such, would be confined to the University and not be part of the wider society in the area.
Picking up her water bottle she headed off to the ladies’ toilets to check her appearance as she felt slightly hot and sweaty. After her first lecture, she would report the incident to her Head of Department and make some enquiries about who else had been targetted like this. The university needed to take control and eradicate this before it had a chance to take hold.
Chapter 9
Jeffrey Pilkington alighted from the number nine bus and walked as quickly as his portly figure would allow, the quarter of a mile to the Civic Centre where the Housing Department for Persford Council was based. He wished he had brought his umbrella as the sudden shower was increasing in intensity and he swore as a loose paving stone tipped up due to his considerable weight and splashed dirty water up his trouser leg. His language deteriorated as he continued on his way with his head down and his jacket collar turned up to give a little more protection. He had his security pass at the ready as he reached the main door and hoped that today of all days the electronic access wouldn’t be temperamental.
‘God, what a morning,’ he cursed as he stepped into the sanctuary of the shabby lobby. He looked at his dirty trouser leg and swore again. He would try to wipe some of that off with a paper towel in the toilets.
‘Morning, Jan!’ he said to the cleaner who was mopping the corridor floor. ‘Raining cats and dogs out there!’
Jan who was from the Czech Republic frowned then smiled, ‘Good morning.’
‘Well, it’s not really, is it? Good, I mean?’
‘Yes,’ replied Jan, ‘I mean no, I think no.’
‘That’s a little phrase for you, when it’s raining hard we say it’s raining cats and dogs. Got that?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ He continued to mop the floor.
‘You don’t want to go out there mate, completely pissing it down. I nearly had to swim from the bus stop. Pissing down, that’s another expression you might like to learn.’
‘Have a good day,’ replied Jan.
Jeffrey continued without replying, shaking his head as he approached the lift and summoned it to transport him to his second-floor office. That was about the extent of Jan’s conversation. He’d been the regular cleaner now for about a year and his language didn’t appear to be coming on leaps and bounds by Jeffrey’s standards. As he waited for the lift he thought back to the time when Stan was in charge of the cleaning team. He could always have a good chat with him and it helped to pass the time. In those days, cleaners were actually employed by the council but all that had changed about ten years ago when those services were contracted out.
The lift pinged its arrival and Jeffrey got in and courtesy of the mirror saw that his thinning hair looked even thinner than usual as it was plastered to his head. He hoped that his early arrival might allow him to get on with some of his private business, as he thought of it, before his colleagues started to arrive. He needed to avail himself of the printer and photocopier. It wasn’t technically allowed but he didn’t claim benefits and he of all people knew just how much was paid out in housing benefit each year.
He scanned the large open plan office and saw that there were thankfully only a couple of desks occupied. Setting down his bag he switched on his computer and plugged in his USB stick which held his private files. Last night he had agreed to get several hundred copies of a certain advert run off and take them around to a fellow supporter of the cause this evening. He chuckled to himself. He would dearly like to hand one to Jan but he wouldn’t risk something so stupid. If he got the chance he would print out a large poster-sized version and try to find a moment to pin it up on the notice board.
**
Maureen Welch was sitting at her kitchen table drinking coffee and eating a piece of toast when she heard the post drop through the letterbox. Amongst the usual junk mail was a letter in a good quality envelope which she recognised as being from her solicitor. She poured another cup of coffee and opened the envelope.
As she read the letter she felt her blood pressure rising and her spirits sinking. Her husband Hubert was challenging the terms of the divorce and refuting her allegations of unreasonable behaviour. Unless she could prove her accounts of his controlling behaviour the divorce wouldn’t be finalised for five years from their initial separation. He had left the house around eighteen months ago and only because she threatened to go to the police if he didn’t leave her. That meant that it would be ages before she was finally free from him. Only then would she feel able to start rebuilding her life and her confidence. He was offering a generous settlement in return for a retraction of her allegations. In short, she was being bought off.
She sighed and threw aside the letter. What on earth could she do? Yes, she could keep quiet and acquiesce to his demands just like she had done for too long or she could try to fight him and show that she wouldn’t be cowed. How Hubert had changed during their twenty years together. She had initially thought him charming, caring and generous but little by little he had become dominant and mean-spirited. His desire to be her constant companion had seemed sweet at first but when she wanted friends of her own he had become jealous. They had been business partners and she had managed much of the administration for their property empire but she now realised that was because he could keep an eye on her for most of the day. They had friends but they nearly always socialised as a couple so her chances to confide in others were few. As she sat in their elegant house she felt totally isolated. Even her sister, Alice, couldn’t understand why she wanted to separate from Hubert and had accused her of being dissatisfied and ungrateful for the wealth he had showered upon her.
Perhaps if they’d had children things might have been different but Hubert had never shown much interest in having a family and when she’d failed to become pregnant after a few years of trying he’d not been willing to undergo tests to check his fertility. She’d taken some tablets to help her conceive and had also undergone gynaecological investigations which showed all seemed to be well. This pointed to Hubert as being the one with the problems. However, there was little she could do and he completely refused to consider any in vitro fertilisation. He reminded her of the problems her sister had encountered with a handicapped child and pointed out what a lottery it was where children were concerned. As usual, she had accepted his arguments and she looking back she felt she had accepted his point of view too readily. Now it was too late and it was a chapter of her life confined to history.
At least the Shiptons hadn’t been taken in by Hubert. They were the only people who seemed to be on her side. They had even invited her to go and stay with them for a few days if she ever felt she needed company. Maureen put her cup and plate in the dishwasher and poured the dregs of the cafetière down the sink. This morning she had her aquarobics class and then an appointment booked at the hairdresser so at least she would be out of the house.
It was a lovely morning so she took her book outside and sat on the patio for a while as she didn’t need to go out until about 10 a.m. She heard her mobile ringing faintly and realised it was still in the kitchen. When she saw the display she was racked with
indecision. Suddenly she reached for it and swiped the screen to answer.
‘Hello,’ she said quietly.
‘Maureen, are you OK, I can only just hear you?’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve just come in from the garden, I heard my mobile and rushed in.’
‘Lovely morning, isn’t it?’
‘Beautiful. How are you?’
‘Fine, fine. Busy as usual. Got a few meetings today so I’m going to be tied up, hence the early call. What about you?’
‘Well, I’ve got my aquarobics this morning then..’ and she paused, realising her day sounded rather pathetic in comparison with her caller’s busy day of meetings. ‘Well, just a few things to do, I need to catch up on a few things.’ Maureen felt herself blushing, she was wittering on and sounded like a silly woman.
‘Are you doing anything this evening by any chance?’
‘Er, no, nothing,’ she said.
‘Would you have dinner with me. At a restaurant I mean. Then I’ll drop you back at yours of course.’
‘Oh, well, I er.... sorry, it’s just a surprise. A nice one of course. Yes, thank you,’ said Maureen hurriedly before she had a chance to lose her nerve. Her heart was racing. It had been so long since a man had asked her out. She felt like an impressionable teenager being asked out on a first date.
‘Great. Well, let’s say I pick you up in a taxi at say, 7 p.m. How does that sound?’
‘Yes, fine, I’ll look forward to it.’
‘What sort of food do you like? French, Italian, Indian? You choose.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind, well, Italian would be nice.’
‘Italian it is. Have you been to Tavola Superiore?’
‘No, but I’ve heard good things about it.’
‘I’ll book a table. Look forward to seeing you later. Bye Maureen.’
‘You too. Bye Ron,’ she replied. As she put down her phone she realised her hands were shaking. Her T-shirt was wet under her armpits. She thought back to the evening at the Shiptons. Ron had been charming and she had to admit she felt a certain attraction to him. After all the years of Hubert trying to make her dependent on him and reducing her confidence, was this finally the moment when things were about to change?
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