Part One The billboard was a last resort. After three months of unemployment, Tony Lovett had reached the end of his tether. It wasn’t simply about money, although his meagre savings were certainly dwindling fast, apart from benefit payments; he only had £500 left in his bank account, and sitting in his tiny bedsit all day, every day, reading standard rejection letters from the few companies that bothered, scouring the papers for jobs, and filling in new applications, was driving him slowly mad. He had a strong work ethic, and sitting around all day doing nothing wasn’t for him, he had to do something, work was everything, in fact it was all he had. He was thirtytwo, and going nowhere, he had no family, no friends to speak of, no girlfriend, no job, no future. He had moved to London some seven years earlier, having been offered a job in an accountancy firm. Living and working in London was his main goal in life, which career path he took wasn’t so important, it was just that he happened to be very good with figures, and had achieved a good grade in maths A levels that took him on that path. But getting away from the sleepy Oxfordshire village was without doubt the biggest priority. When the letter arrived telling him he had been accepted by the firm, he could hardly believe his luck. It had taken a good deal of smoothing over with his mother, of course, he was still living at home at the time, but his father was all in favour of him leaving home and making his way in the world –eventually, and reluctantly, she capitulated, and a few weeks later he left to start his new life in the city. They were exciting times. There he was, in London, where it was all happening, he had a job, which although in itself was quite dull, he was basically a filing clerk, but the company was paying for him to attend college one day a week to aquire the credentials to become a qualified chartered accountant. He even had his own little place, yes, it was small, somewhat grubby, and there were patches of damp in some corners that caused the wallpaper to discolour and peel away from the wall, but it was home and he wouldn’t be there that often, what with work and taking in the night-life. It was just a place to eat and sleep, nothing more. Once qualified, he could afford something better, for now though, it was adequate – the future was bright. The first couple of years, however, were tough, far tougher, and nothing like he had imagined. It soon became very clear that hanging out in trendy bars and clubs wasn’t possible on his pittance of a salary. Once he had paid his rent, and bought a little food – barely enough to live on, there wasn’t much left, the best he could manage was a couple of beers in a seedy pub just around the corner from his bedsit in Bethnal Green. There wasn’t even enough left to pay for the train-fare home to visit his parents. It was important to maintain a smart appearance for his job, and this he did by cutting his own thick brown hair to a surprisingly good standard. He had two suits, which he wore in strict rotation to save unnecessary wear and tear. No, he wasn’t quite living the dream, but with youthful optimism he was sure things would improve once he had that piece of paper, the qualifications that would lead to a good salary,
and as would obviously follow – a better lifestyle. Twenty-six months of living hand-tomouth later, his sheer determination not to give-in, pack his bags and crawl home, finally paid off and he got that piece of paper, a promotion, and an overnight doubling of his salary. Now, he thought, he could really start to live. For a while that was certainly the case, albeit in a restrained fashion, he still couldn’t afford to be foolish, or frivolous with his money. Nevertheless, he was having the time of his life, moving in different circles, loving his new job, and finding slightly better accommodation. It wasn’t The Ritz, but though still in the same area, it was an improvement on his last place. This, he thought, was just the beginning; he was destined for a great life in the city. For a while, he even had a regular girlfriend, but it only lasted a few months, she’d become a little too clingy and possessive, and he had no intention of being tied down to one girl just yet. A little less than five years later, and he had been promoted again, but his elation was shortlived when a few days later he was called to the managing director’s office. He could sense something was wrong by the secretary’s voice, but couldn’t imagine what it could be about, to his knowledge he had done nothing wrong. His mind spun as he took the elevator to the top floor, going over all the major accounts he had dealt with, past and present, were there irregularities? Had he made some almighty balls-up? By the time the elevator juddered to a halt and he stepped out directly into the open office space, he was sure he’d done nothing wrong and there was nothing to worry about. Miss Simpkins, the boss’s secretary, was a fairly attractive, yet sour faced woman in her mid-forties. She looked up from her desk and buzzed the managing director on the intercom. ‘Mr Lovett’s here, sir,’ she’d said calmly, her voice betraying no emotion. ‘Oh right, send him in please, Jenny.’ ‘You can go right in, Mr Lovett.’ ‘Thank you.’ Tony straightened his tie, pulled at his shirt cuffs, approached the door with an inexplicable knot in his stomach, and knocked once. To his surprise, instead of Mr Goddard shouting, “Come in,” as he normally would, he opened the door himself, looking glum faced, but not angry. For a moment, Tony felt a wave of relief washing over him. It couldn’t be that bad after all, he thought, it might even be another promotion. His boss stood in the doorway and looked at Tony, for a few moments lost for words, but eventually putting his hand on Tony’s shoulder comfortingly, said. ‘The police are here to see you, Tony. I’m afraid they have some bad news for you.’ And with that, he led him into the office, where two uniformed police officers stood.
Part Two The news had hit him with all the intensity of being punched hard in the stomach without warning. His boss gave him a glass of brandy, whilst one of the officers explained where his mother had died, and how. It was an aneurism; she had been to visit Tony’s father at the care home, he had advanced Alzheimer’s, and wasn’t even aware of her being there, but nevertheless, she went to see him almost every day. Apparently she was waiting for a bus home when it happened. She knew nothing of it, there was no pain, they told him. Once Tony had stopped crying, and the brandy took effect, he was informed he would need to go to Oxford, to formally identify her, as his father was in no state to do so. They would arrange a police car to take him. His boss was sympathetic, genuinely concerned it seemed, told him to take all the time he needed before returning to work, and that there was no hurry. He’d even made a point of repeating himself as Tony left with the police. During the journey back to Oxford, he sat in the police car, dazed, yet still his mind wandered to things other than his sudden loss, perhaps it was a survival mechanism, he wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, he reproached himself for thinking about anything else at that time. Yet there was something that bothered him, he had found the behavior of his boss unusual, it wasn’t that he was a bad, or uncaring man, but the company had always come first under any circumstances, yet there he was, advising Tony to take as much time as he needed, and not to rush back, it was completely out of character. Goddard had built the company up from being a two-man concern some fifteen years earlier with his partner, to the successful business it was today, but after a few years he had bought his partner out after he fell ill. He paid him far less than his share of the business was worth, but ill, and vulnerable, he’d simply accepted the offer. That was the mark of a good businessman – ruthless! Where nothing other than the business mattered. Tony had a pile of work to deal with, a diary full of appointments with important clients, and he knew very well from past experience, the boss wasn’t prone to sentiment where giving time-off was concerned – no matter what the circumstances. He recalled a close colleague, only a year before being in the same situation, his father had passed away suddenly, he had been beside himself with grief, but Tony remembered the attitude of Mr Goddard being very different indeed. By no means did he consider himself a favourite among the man’s employees. What was so different now? After a couple of days, and having taken care of all the funeral arrangements, contacting family friends, and visiting his father, Tony’s thoughts returned to his job. He made himself a cup of tea and wandered into his parent’s small back garden and phoned the office on his mobile. ‘Hello – Madeleine?’ ‘Who’s speaking please?’ she said. ‘It’s Tony – Tony Lovett.’ ‘Oh hello, Tony, you alright? Sorry to hear about your mum, darlin. We’re all thinkin’ about you,’ she said, with a slight hint of a cockney accent.
‘Thanks Maddy, I’m okay though. Do you think you could you put me through to God, please.’ ‘Sorry?’ ‘Goddard!’ ‘Oh, yeh, thas’ very good,’ she laughed. Well actually, Tony, I can’t, he’s gone on holiday. I can put you through to his secretary though. Is that okay?’ ‘Holiday? You’re kidding!’ ‘No, straight up, I’m not kidding, thas’ what I said – on holiday!’ ‘Bloody hell, I don’t believe it. Well, I suppose you’d better put me through to his secretary then.’ ‘Okay, Tony, an’ again, I’m really sorry about your mum. When you come back, we’ll have to go out, you know, a gang of us, and have a drink, yeh?’ ‘Yes, we’ll do that.’ She asked him to hold the line while she put him through. He paced the garden patio for over two minutes before the secretary finally answered. She’d had a busy morning and the phone hadn’t stopped ringing. ‘Mr Goddard’s secretary,’ she said, sounding unusually flustered. ‘Oh hi, it’s Tony Lovett.’ ‘Oh, Mr Lovett, how are you?’ ‘Not too bad, thanks. I hear Mr Goddard’s on holiday, is that right?’ ‘Uh, yes, that’s correct. Can I help?’ ‘Well, I was just phoning to say I have a few days before my mothers’ funeral, and I was wondering if Mr Goddard, would like me to come back in the meantime.’ ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about that, if I were you,’ she said, dismissively. ‘Well, is there any way I can contact him? There are details about a new account I need to talk to him about – it’s really quite important. Where is he anyway?’ ‘He doesn’t tell me everything, Mr Lovett. I have no idea where he is, and even if I did…’ ‘I see.’ ‘Look, I’m sorry, Mr Lovett, I didn’t mean to… why don’t you just stay where you’re needed most for now, eh? Come back after the funeral. I’m quite sure, Mr Goddard wouldn’t mind, and by then he’ll probably be back himself.’ ‘Yes, well thank you, I’ll bear that in mind…’ She had hung-up before he had a chance to continue. The puzzlement he’d felt on his return to Oxford a few days before, began to return, but much stronger than before. Now he felt real concern, things weren’t as they should be, something was very wrong. He thought long and hard as he drank his tea. His mother’s death being sudden, meant there would be an autopsy, the funeral wouldn’t be for another week, his father was oblivious of his visits, and there was precious little he could do by staying, certainly nothing constructive. Even the family home that he’d grown-up in, was a council property, so there was nothing to do but hand the keys back, and nothing in the way of finances either, they lived more or less on their pensions. With nothing to keep him there, he phoned for a taxi to take him to Oxford railway station.