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No Other Way (full novel - Chapter 1)
'Hello... who's there?’
‘Mrs Collins, it's Leighton, from next door.’
‘It's very late to be calling. Is everything ok?’
'No, I'm afraid not.'
'What's the matter? Do you need me to pop round?'
'No! please don't. I just need you to listen to me very carefully. I've got myself in to something serious and I really need your help.'
'Yes, of course.'
‘Firstly, please don't panic, and secondly, you must not tell any of this to your husband. Ok?’
…… 'That won’t be a problem. He’s upstairs asleep.’
‘Good. In about 15 minutes you must be in bed with him….
The doorbell will ring….
Only he must go to the door….
He will be confronted by a hooded man and he will have a gun…
He wants to kidnap your husband and you must let him, otherwise I will be going to prison for terrible things, that I haven’t done.’
‘Oh my God, your scaring me. What are you mixed up in?’
‘It's too complicated to explain.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I can't say.’
‘Who is this man?’
‘I can't say.’
‘And I'm not to tell my husband any of this?’
‘No, you mustn’t.’
‘Then how on earth do you expect me to agree to it? ……He'd be walking straight in to a trap!’
‘I wish there was another way, but there isn’t. I have nowhere else to turn…… I really need your help............... Hello?...... Are you there? ....... Can you hear me? …… Hang on! I'll call you back.’
11 Days earlier…
Chapter 1
A Window Cleaner with a briefcase? That's odd, I thought, as I closed the door. Well he certainly seems like a good possibility. Window Cleaners always have plenty of cash on hand too, so that would work well to my advantage.
I returned to the living-room, sank down in to my worn brown leather arm chair and took a big gulp of coffee from my mug. I shuddered. It was getting cold now, but I’d probably finish it anyway. It hadn’t tasted all that great to begin with to be honest, but I had a lot on my mind, and having the perfect cup of coffee wasn’t high on my list of priorities.
I’ll leave it a couple more days and if I don’t have any more calls I will probably offer the room to that well-spoken Window Cleaner. I’d forgotten his name, and to be honest, my mind was wandering about somewhere else when he had originally told me his name on the phone and it had gone in one ear and out of the other. He had told me his name again only a few minutes ago during his visit but I’d still not remembered it. That was quite worrying. It wasn’t my style. I was usually very good at paying attention to detail. After all, it was part of my job. But it was no mystery — I knew exactly why this was happening to me.
I had been under a great deal of stress as the circumstances in my life had changed for the worse recently and I was in a situation unfamiliar to me and hadn’t a clue how to cope with it. Put simply, I'm 46, and for the past 46 years, apart from the occasional wedgie during my years at school, I’ve managed to live quite a happy, simple, below the radar existence. I am one of those average guys that leads an average, middle lane kind of life. That drives a boring, safe car, and has what most people would consider a boring, safe job. That makes, not a lot of money but enough money. That wears a jumper 95 percent of the time, even when it’s a bit too hot. That would often get up at 5 a.m. on a Sunday morning to watch every second of all the hours of pre-race spiel and speculation before the Grand Prix started. That read the paper every morning perched on a tatty old wooden stool in the kitchen and had a bowl of cornflakes and a pint of orange squash for breakfast, in a glass that had long since belonged to any kind of set. And that had a reduced for quick sale microwavable meal for one or a takeaway most evenings, because I lived alone and I could never summon up the urge to be bothered to cook nice food from scratch just for me. But I was happy and I didn't care, because by 5.30 p.m. every week-day, I could go home to my very average, neutral coloured, medium-sized detached house, shut the door and sink down in to my well-worn brown leather arm chair and read, watch television, eat, or do whatever I wanted, until I had to go back to work the next day.
Things always seemed to work out how I liked them to. I suppose I had been living in a bubble of bliss, although I’d never really thought about it — and I was enjoying life. Enjoying life right up until three months ago. Right up to the moment where my charming boss had announced one afternoon that the company would be making serious cutbacks if things didn’t improve financially and that unfortunately cut backs would mean drastic job losses.
The moment the bad news hit me square in the face I had been holding a white disposable plastic cup in my left hand, that I’d just filled from the office water cooler’s ‘Ice-chilled’ outlet. The news left me so stunned that I unknowingly slowly loosened my grip on the cup and it fell from my hand. The cup landed on my right shoe and the freezing-cold water ran slowly down inside and soaked in to my sock. It felt cold and horrible, but I didn’t move — I was in a state of shock.
On reflection, I can’t believe how much water actually managed to get in to my shoe. In a meeting that afternoon my cold foot was a constant reminder of the earlier announcement. And every flex of my wet toes, inside my soggy sock, in my wet shoe beneath the table made it seem even worse. It was a meeting with some potentially new clients about a new contract. I don’t remember much about the meeting but I do remember feeling a strong urge to stand up and say,
‘You might as well just all clear off home and not waste your money, because this company is going down the pan and these Heartless, Blood Sucking Scum Vipers are goner sack us all anyway!’
But I didn’t do it, because I’m one of those people who thinks things like that, but never says them. I just sat there in my wet sock for an hour and a half and pretty much said nothing.
Ever since that day I was convinced that I would be one of the unlucky ones and that was causing me great stress. I wasn’t a young man any more. I was an obvious target for assassination; and as for getting another job — well that wouldn't be a walk in the park. I’d been in this job most of my working life, so how could I change now?
I couldn't help it. It was on my mind all day and every day. It was making me angry and upset that I’d been forced in to a horrible situation that would probably change my life forever. In fact, I was now going to have to share my bubble of bliss with this inconvenient situation for a seemingly unending amount of time and then one day have to stand still and watch helplessly as the inconvenient situation burst my bubble.
I just couldn't think properly any more. I mean, I’d not even remembered the name of the Window Cleaner, and he’d told me twice!
‘Mrs Collins, it's Leighton, from next door.’
‘It's very late to be calling. Is everything ok?’
'No, I'm afraid not.'
'What's the matter? Do you need me to pop round?'
'No! please don't. I just need you to listen to me very carefully. I've got myself in to something serious and I really need your help.'
'Yes, of course.'
‘Firstly, please don't panic, and secondly, you must not tell any of this to your husband. Ok?’
…… 'That won’t be a problem. He’s upstairs asleep.’
‘Good. In about 15 minutes you must be in bed with him….
The doorbell will ring….
Only he must go to the door….
He will be confronted by a hooded man and he will have a gun…
He wants to kidnap your husband and you must let him, otherwise I will be going to prison for terrible things, that I haven’t done.’
‘Oh my God, your scaring me. What are you mixed up in?’
‘It's too complicated to explain.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I can't say.’
‘Who is this man?’
‘I can't say.’
‘And I'm not to tell my husband any of this?’
‘No, you mustn’t.’
‘Then how on earth do you expect me to agree to it? ……He'd be walking straight in to a trap!’
‘I wish there was another way, but there isn’t. I have nowhere else to turn…… I really need your help............... Hello?...... Are you there? ....... Can you hear me? …… Hang on! I'll call you back.’
11 Days earlier…
Chapter 1
A Window Cleaner with a briefcase? That's odd, I thought, as I closed the door. Well he certainly seems like a good possibility. Window Cleaners always have plenty of cash on hand too, so that would work well to my advantage.
I returned to the living-room, sank down in to my worn brown leather arm chair and took a big gulp of coffee from my mug. I shuddered. It was getting cold now, but I’d probably finish it anyway. It hadn’t tasted all that great to begin with to be honest, but I had a lot on my mind, and having the perfect cup of coffee wasn’t high on my list of priorities.
I’ll leave it a couple more days and if I don’t have any more calls I will probably offer the room to that well-spoken Window Cleaner. I’d forgotten his name, and to be honest, my mind was wandering about somewhere else when he had originally told me his name on the phone and it had gone in one ear and out of the other. He had told me his name again only a few minutes ago during his visit but I’d still not remembered it. That was quite worrying. It wasn’t my style. I was usually very good at paying attention to detail. After all, it was part of my job. But it was no mystery — I knew exactly why this was happening to me.
I had been under a great deal of stress as the circumstances in my life had changed for the worse recently and I was in a situation unfamiliar to me and hadn’t a clue how to cope with it. Put simply, I'm 46, and for the past 46 years, apart from the occasional wedgie during my years at school, I’ve managed to live quite a happy, simple, below the radar existence. I am one of those average guys that leads an average, middle lane kind of life. That drives a boring, safe car, and has what most people would consider a boring, safe job. That makes, not a lot of money but enough money. That wears a jumper 95 percent of the time, even when it’s a bit too hot. That would often get up at 5 a.m. on a Sunday morning to watch every second of all the hours of pre-race spiel and speculation before the Grand Prix started. That read the paper every morning perched on a tatty old wooden stool in the kitchen and had a bowl of cornflakes and a pint of orange squash for breakfast, in a glass that had long since belonged to any kind of set. And that had a reduced for quick sale microwavable meal for one or a takeaway most evenings, because I lived alone and I could never summon up the urge to be bothered to cook nice food from scratch just for me. But I was happy and I didn't care, because by 5.30 p.m. every week-day, I could go home to my very average, neutral coloured, medium-sized detached house, shut the door and sink down in to my well-worn brown leather arm chair and read, watch television, eat, or do whatever I wanted, until I had to go back to work the next day.
Things always seemed to work out how I liked them to. I suppose I had been living in a bubble of bliss, although I’d never really thought about it — and I was enjoying life. Enjoying life right up until three months ago. Right up to the moment where my charming boss had announced one afternoon that the company would be making serious cutbacks if things didn’t improve financially and that unfortunately cut backs would mean drastic job losses.
The moment the bad news hit me square in the face I had been holding a white disposable plastic cup in my left hand, that I’d just filled from the office water cooler’s ‘Ice-chilled’ outlet. The news left me so stunned that I unknowingly slowly loosened my grip on the cup and it fell from my hand. The cup landed on my right shoe and the freezing-cold water ran slowly down inside and soaked in to my sock. It felt cold and horrible, but I didn’t move — I was in a state of shock.
On reflection, I can’t believe how much water actually managed to get in to my shoe. In a meeting that afternoon my cold foot was a constant reminder of the earlier announcement. And every flex of my wet toes, inside my soggy sock, in my wet shoe beneath the table made it seem even worse. It was a meeting with some potentially new clients about a new contract. I don’t remember much about the meeting but I do remember feeling a strong urge to stand up and say,
‘You might as well just all clear off home and not waste your money, because this company is going down the pan and these Heartless, Blood Sucking Scum Vipers are goner sack us all anyway!’
But I didn’t do it, because I’m one of those people who thinks things like that, but never says them. I just sat there in my wet sock for an hour and a half and pretty much said nothing.
Ever since that day I was convinced that I would be one of the unlucky ones and that was causing me great stress. I wasn’t a young man any more. I was an obvious target for assassination; and as for getting another job — well that wouldn't be a walk in the park. I’d been in this job most of my working life, so how could I change now?
I couldn't help it. It was on my mind all day and every day. It was making me angry and upset that I’d been forced in to a horrible situation that would probably change my life forever. In fact, I was now going to have to share my bubble of bliss with this inconvenient situation for a seemingly unending amount of time and then one day have to stand still and watch helplessly as the inconvenient situation burst my bubble.
I just couldn't think properly any more. I mean, I’d not even remembered the name of the Window Cleaner, and he’d told me twice!
