11. Intermezzo
Mosaic raindrops play your dance upon the pavements of the mind
Painted sunlight leave your songs into the shadows of his world
For Sarah waits with hazel eyes in the tunnel of tranquillity
Silken dewdrops spin your webs upon the walls of conscience steep
Jigsaw dreams of harlequin into the corridors of night
For Lucy waits with sweetened smile in the tunnel of sensitivity
Swollen skies parade the clouds upon the willow sea of love
Thunder chords echo out your notes into the valley of her brain
For Michael waits with begging arms in the tunnel of humility
Continuing with this musical theme, we will now have a short interlude. Now you may think that this is a peculiar point at which to take a break. Sarah-Jane and Bob Simpson are at deaths door in Chesford General, Lucy is on the verge of accepting Michael’s proposal, but has now discovered why Bob failed to turn up to their meeting, and Mark is at his wits end worrying about his childhood sweetheart. Well my friend you are just reading this garbage, I have to write it. To be honest I had considered finishing all together at this point, now don’t all cheer at once because I decided against it on reflection as I want to know what happens in the end. “Ah” you say but I must already know the end, I wrote it. – Wrong! – This story unfolds as it is written, the one and only reason for continuing is to get to the end and see what develops. It’s a bit like life really. There is a master plan, a skeleton laid out upon which the characters are manipulated but the nuances of each decision and the intricacies of every event are not written in stone. As in real life, they change with each person’s perception and knowledge. There you get philosophy as well! There are of course other perfectly good reasons for continuing but I cannot think of any right now. However, if you wish to discover the true meaning of the Marmalade Tree then you should continue, if on the other hand you remain unmoved then please feel free to go off and watch one of those interesting soaps that seem to be constantly on our television screens these days.
You may also think that it is commercial suicide to break a novel in the middle but dear readers (assuming you are still reading and not yet joined Sarah-Jane in a deep coma) that rather depends on the purpose of the book in the first place:- To inform and entertain? – Hopefully To make a buck or two? – Possibly, but doubtful. No the real motive is purely selfish. It may come across as the ramblings of an inane mind but primarily the reason I wrote this book was to get down on paper a story that has been spinning round my head for 20 years or more, before the nice man with long scythe comes to pay me a visit. I enjoyed writing it and enjoyed reading it even more. So, before I completely disappear into the murky depths of my own digressions, back to the plot. Just a quick point regarding the statues, because I am sure you will be concerned. They do get repaired at great expense to the council and will no doubt re-appear in both the square and in future chapters. You could of course have completely missed out this section, but there again; you would not have known that until you got to this point.
The inquest on John Simmons had been a short affair. He had been poisoned by a drug overdose. Traces of the dextroamphetamine Dexedrine had been found in his body together with flunitrazepam a strong sedative. Commercially known as Rohypnol, it is commonly called ‘roach’ on the streets or even ‘ro-shay’ after its manufactures Hoffman-La-Roche. The coroner had said that the dose was self-inflicted but intentional suicide had to be ruled out because the police had found no evidence to support the theory. Mr Simmons friends had verified in testimony as to his state of mind and all agreed that he was not the sort of person to have taken his own life.
The only conclusion that the coroner could arrive at therefore was that John Simmons had not known of the contamination within the tablets. In his expert opinion and that of several other eminent doctors and scientists, the addition of the Rohypnol (it was about ten times the strength of Valium.) would have produced a lethal cocktail. He thus concluded a verdict of ‘death by misadventure’; which I must admit has always struck me as a peculiar way to die. I mean if one freezes to death because you are lost on the moors in the snow when your car has broken down and the heaters out of order, is that death by misadventure or double pneumonia. If you fell headlong off a roof because the ladder gave way after you went up to fix the aerial because everyone on Emmerdale had a two shadows, is that death by misadventure or a broken neck?. Death by adventure seems a much more plausible and possibly more exciting way to go: eaten by a lion on an African Safari; Killed by an avalanche on a mountaineering expedition, whatever, perhaps it is just semantics, but does qualify as a misadventure? John Simmons it appears did take amphetamines on a regular basis. No traces of any substances were found in his home. The police even used DNA (which incidentally stands for Dangers No-one Admits) to try to establish a connection with other recent incidents in the area. After all, it would be nice to clear up some outstanding burglaries and a few muggings at the same time and John Simmons was hardly going to protest his innocence was he? Nevertheless, they could find nothing and were unable to pin anything on him. He did face one definite charge, however, his car left in a restricted area whilst he was dying in hospital was causing an obstruction, and the police issued a bailiffs warrant for the £40 ticket. The Christmas Ball was not far away and funds were low this year!
The incident at the Roostertail was not according to Detective Superintendent Tatton connected. Any injuries sustained by Mr Simmons were just superficial. “A girl is currently assisting us with our inquiries,” he told the court. Most of the police investigation, he had gone on to say was concentrating on the supply of amphetamines and other drugs to the local club scene. “It is an ongoing inquiry and we are liaising with our colleagues from other forces,” he continued, which simply put meant the police did not have a clue where the drugs came from and probably weren’t too concerned anyway.
Westward through the dreams of time, over love that lies without,
She is waiting, solid love, to crown him with her celandine.
Lucy’s perfect corralled heart in dreams that only Gods can dream,
Ambrosia, sweet beyond compare; for Lucy lives and Lucy loves,
And while she loves I cannot die
Michael sat in his office, a small back room that he had converted some time ago. It was around the time he was in line for promotion at Electra. He had started bringing more and more work home with him and decided to utilise the spare capacity in his house for business rather than a store for the vicars bring and buy sale. The church had been very grateful and sent a couple of volunteers round to help Michael clear it out so he could get started on his office. It had been a labour of love for him. He had designed all of the units himself. He had done the painting and the wallpapering. He had virtually completed the room over a period of six months.
Then, that fateful trip to San Moritz for ‘team building’ and ‘male bonding’ and all of that crap.
Michael had bonded all right with 5000 tones of snow at 80 mph. So the office just never got finished. Still he was not bitter! Just bad tempered, belligerent, depressed, downcast and deflated, and generally awkward with everyone who came into his life. That was until Lucy entered his life; she changed his whole outlook and gave him a purpose once more Lucy in fact was the reason that Michael was in his incomplete office now. He was going to reward Lucy, just for being Lucy.
He clicked the mouse and the screen changed from blue to green, he brought up his Word document detailing changes to his will. Fundamentally, he left everything to Lucy. That was how much he felt about the person who came into his life and turned it upside down. Made him feel human again and not a wheelchair bound invalid. He set up a trust fund to look after a niece and nephew, and another fund in case Lucy had children or his brother turned up. It would look better, anyway if he made some provision for Jonathon. There were some other little bequests and minor stipulations “John Longton will sort out the legal bits” pondered Michael “and no doubt offer unwanted advice as to what I should really be doing with my money. He pressed send to despatch his communiqué to the solicitors
Michael’s’ parents were both dead. They died in a tragic plane crash when he was very small.
Everyone had told him how ‘lucky’ he had been that chicken pox had prevented him from travelling at the last minute. Michael did not feel lucky when he was growing up without his mother. He never really got over the fact that she had not cancelled the trip and stayed with him instead of farming him and his younger brother out to grandparents. He understood his fathers business took him away but could not comprehend why his mother had to travel with him. It was in these early years of his life that Michael sought solace in the church looking for answers to his questions. They never came and gradually, particularly after the injury he decided that if there was a God he’d emigrated long ago, perhaps even on the same plane as mum and dad. In later life these experiences had made him tough and ruthless, just the sort of qualities, you would expect from a top business executive. Michael was adept at exacting maximum potential from people. He was good with his work colleagues, particularly the junior staff under him. He demanded and got respect. He would crush you like a fly if you stepped out of line but treat you with equal admiration if he thought you merited it.
He had inherited a reasonable sum of money from his parents, and his guardians used it wisely educate him, first at the local Grammar school, one of the few to survive the ‘new deal’ for education cuts, and then at Cambridge where he studied Computer Science and Mathematics. It virtually guaranteed him a job in the same line as his father, electronics and communications. Donald Sands had worked for Copra, as had his father before him. Electra took over the company, and now enjoyed a virtual monopoly in the field. Michael was soon ensconced in a suitable sinecure waiting to climb the rungs of the managerial ladder. His life was just beginning to brighten up from its unfortunate start when it turned round to kick him once more in the teeth. - Michael never did like dentists!
Silence sings the song of love, with all the pain of just being apart The emptiness of echoes sound to the slow dull beating of her heart Sarah’s mind was wide-awake even if her visitors could see no outward sign. Motionless on the crisp white sheets her body waited for its call to journey on, one way or another. She was totally unaware of the drama all around her, the tears that Edna shed and the anguish and helplessness that Mark felt. She took the path through the little copse and turned left at Parsons Pool back towards the Tree. John Simmons was there waiting for her to join him, and that other chap was there the tall swarthy looking man who was always hanging around. Sarah didn’t like him. He looked like trouble. John smiled and beckoned to Sarah to come to him he held out his arms and she could see the needle marks. The sky was a peculiar shade of red, angry but not quite right, as if it was the picture had not been finished or like an oil painting badly done. Sarah got nearer to John Simmons and was about to take his hand. Mark appeared from the other direction, he called to her “Sarah Sarah” The wind seemed to fight his voice, it made it echo and sound subdued. He shouted louder. Sarah broke free from the grasp of the shadowy shape of John Simmons and ran towards her lovers arms. The sky changed suddenly, it was more real now, and it darkened noticeably. The rain began to fall. The trees bowed their heads and waved their branches as if in attempt to stop her progress. Mark called her name again. John Simmons was just a silhouette now against the massive form of the silent oak. The rain continued to soak the ground and Sarah was drenched. She tripped, (not really but all females seem to in films and books when they are running away, so it is expected.) The giant oak was closer now. It was definitely following her. John Simmons had disappeared completely. The oak was behind her ready to devour another victim. Sarah screamed. The tree swooped down and she was gone into its belly. Mark looked on in astonishment at the scene. It was as if he understood. Edna looked at her daughter as she slept, through the blotched eyes of a distraught mother. She held Sarah hand and prayed to her God who was listening somewhere behind the row of elms.
………………………………………………………………..
Jonathon was Michael’s younger brother. He had always resented the attention Michael received; it is an unfortunate feature of life that one child often perceives the other to receive all the praise whilst he accumulates only reprimands. As young boys, they had been close but they gradually drifted apart and seemed to compete with each other for favours, girls and jobs. Jonathon eventually landed a good job in the Diplomatic Service and was posted abroad, South America somewhere.. Michael had not heard from him since. He often thought about his brother and had tried on several occasions to contact him. He searched the net, left messages with the Foreign Office and even used the ‘old boy’ network at Cambridge - All to no avail. Since the accident, Michael redoubled his efforts, as he felt isolated and vulnerable. He felt responsible that Jonathon had gone to live abroad, even though it was nothing to do with him.
Jonathon was jealous of Michael’s success and always tried to emulate him. He was just as bright, achieving a 2:1 in English and Politics at Manchester. He could quite easily have made Cambridge, but did not apply himself as Michael did. Jonathon always looked for the easy way out of most situations – a quick buck. If there was a short cut to riches and success Jonathon wanted it. He always tried to be one up on his brother. It was not until they were in their early teens, that Michael began to realise that Jonathon’s competitive streak was ruining their relationship. Every achievement Michael produced, Jonathon tried to better. Jonathon was excellent at sport and excelled at Rugby and cricket and although Michael was no mean athlete this was the one area where he could truly say he beat his brother. After Michael’s award of a place at Cambridge, Jonathon withdrew into himself, he seemed to view it as failure in the race with his sibling. He became heavily involved in politics at school, and world events greatly influenced him. He never intended to become a civil servant, but when the appointment came up, he saw it as an opportunity to get one over Michael. The gloating letter he sent to his brother when he originally left for Chile was the last time there had been any contact between them and that was 15 years ago!
Michael, in his more morose moods often got depressed at his isolation from Jonathon who was after all his only remaining family. It was shortly after the accident that Michael had moved into the bungalow in Pitchers Gardens, although quite why he had chosen to stay in the Chesford area was something of a mystery. Electra closed their factory about a year later during which time Michael did some freelance work for them, but after they moved the regional office to Sheffield, he decided to stay on even though he no ties with the area. It was during this period of inactivity that Michael developed his interest in the Internet; he often sat in front of his monitor. He used it to try to discover anything he could about his brother, where he was, what he was doing, but never found any trace of him and assumed if he was still alive that he just did not want to be found. Perhaps he had changed his name. Perhaps he was dead, that part of the world was well known for being unstable. The computer became his lifeline and link with the outside world, before Lucy it was his only link and provided consolation from his misery and self-pity. However, he now found he was using it less and less
Was but my love an orchid pure then I would treasure it
Till willows bend their weary boughs
And autumn turns to spring
Nay, she is no flower: for a flower cannot love,
Nor kiss a sweet as summer rain
And love will never die.
Michael was quite pleased with the poem he had written. He saved the document and pressed print. He would leave it for Lucy to find it might hasten her ‘yes’ decision. Michael decided before closing down he would browse around the net “ You never know what’s out there” his old tutor from from Cambridge had told him. It had been over a week since he had last logged on so whilst he was e-mailing over to John Longton he thought why not.
Working in the communications and electronic industry Michael had always been partial to new gadgets and gismos. He always intended to get a camera for his desktop to link in with the microphone he had installed last year, but had never got round to it. His plan was to use it for a video diary, which he considered more reliable and efficient than the audio on he was compiling at present. He soon found the page for the Electronic Shopping Mall and scoured the menu for what he wanted. After several attempts the page came up, he ticked the relevant boxes entered his credit card details and clicked on ‘submit’
“Your order will be despatched within 5 working days,” The screen legend said
“Good “said Michael aloud assuming the computer would hear him” That’s another job done” He logged off and pointed the cursor to ‘Shut Down’