Revelations

Time to say goodbye.

A bigger project is calling, so my stint here is done. Many thanks for all the helpful email advice and comments.

To those who did nothing but bitch about my abrupt endings - go in peace.

***

Revelations

(England, late seventies)

Paul loved Fridays. He was a sales rep for M26, a wholesale frozen food company, which supplied bulk catering packs. His customers were hotels, restaurants, pubs and hospitals. Emergencies apart, Friday lunchtime was the only occasion he'd need to go in to the depot. During the week, he phoned through his orders. And Friday afternoons the reps rarely worked; their reward for the occasional unpaid evening. The general manager and sales manager would join them today, and there would be a lunchtime demo at the depot. It usually involved trying a new product.

"Shall I do you any eggs sweetie?" asked Suzie.

"No thanks, I'll just have a piece of toast."

"Of course, it's Friday. What will you get at lunchtime?"

"Pork balls apparently."

"That sounds awful!"

"It does, doesn't it? Usual set up - new company - they'll want us to store and distribute their product. But by the time the restaurants have prepared them, they'll have fancier names on the menu. How much we sample today depends how big the portions are. If we agree to take them on I'll bring some home for you to taste."

"I look forward to that; but why have such a small breakfast? You might only get a mouthful."

"How much I get will govern how much I eat at the pub, afterwards."

"I bet it won't govern how many beers you have!"

***

Paul's father had been a wealthy man. When diagnosed with terminal cancer, he had elected to spend his final months in a hospice, and had died the previous January. He'd left his house and investments to Paul; the inheritance to be delayed until his thirtieth birthday, which would be in late September. His father's live-in housekeeper had long since planned to emigrate to Canada, where her son was building her a granny flat. The will stipulated Mrs Fields could stay in the house until she left.

"So, you get the house and everything after Mrs Fields leaves?" Suzie had asked.

It wasn't as simple as that, he would have to be thirty, but it was near enough so he said yes.

But this week Mrs Fields had called him to say her new home was ready seven weeks early. Her son had booked her flight on Tuesday. Could Paul please come and check everything in the house was ok, and run her to the airport? She'd never flown before and was nervous, so he agreed to take her as far as her boarding gate. Leon, his general manager, gave him Tuesday off.

***

This morning he was pulling up outside a private old people's home. The carers were mostly nursing staff, one of whom, Mandy, was responsible for ordering their catering requirements. He was looking forward to seeing her again. She was tall, with brown hair, and grey eyes. And he flirted outrageously with her. Well, that was part of the job; it would be rude not to.

"Let me see today's tie then, handsome." she opened his jacket. "Ooh great, the lighthouse! I like this one."

Paul had a thing about flashy ties. All the reps wore the same kind of suit, like a uniform. He thought his ties made him more memorable.

"What did your old dears think of our new curry?"

"They loved it!" said Mandy. "And that was a good idea to change the description. They would have complained about 'that foreign muck' if we'd told them it was curry. So it became Chicken Delight, and they shovelled it down. I've ordered more."

"I thought they'd like it. Though I'm not convinced it was Indian. It's mild and sweet, like a korma. But it had too many sultanas for my taste. I prefer spicy."

He looked at her, and she smiled.

"We're going be checking out another product today." he said. "If it's suitable for your folks, I'll bring you a sample. Then I'll have an excuse to check out those legs again!"

"You get two out of ten for subtlety, Paul. By legs, you mean black stockings. I know men fantasise about nurses in black stockings. Well bad luck, these are tights."

"I'll have to take your word for that."

"You will. But you know you don't need an excuse. Stop by and see me any time."

"Listen." he said. "You remember I asked if you knew of anyone I might call on? I just need a lead. If you do, whether I sign them up or not, I'll take you out to dinner. In fact, if you're a good girl, you might get a goodnight kiss."

Mandy seemed to be considering it, but the look in her eyes was pure glee.

"Where exactly would this kiss be?"

"Oh, I thought I'd bring you back here from the restaurant. Walk you to your dorm, as a gentleman should."

"Yes?"

"And kiss you, say, somewhere near your back door!"

She burst into peals of laughter.

He climbed back into the Ford Sierra, thinking about what had happened. He'd kissed Mandy before he'd left, and had now pushed her as far as was needed. What Paul really wanted was to try anal sex. Mandy wasn't as attractive as his wife, but Suzie was reluctant to try it. Whereas, Mandy was hinting she might.

At the Tiverton depot, a young man called Sidney was preparing his demo. He was painfully thin and looked as if a strong wind would blow him away. He'd brought in cooking gear to heat up the samples. The general manager, Leon, was a firm believer his team would make better salesmen if they'd tasted their own products.

David, the sales manager, was hanging around as Sidney set up. He thought this was a waste of time and money. When he became depot manager, he'd scrap it and make the reps work through Fridays. He chose to ignore the recent success with the chicken curry, though that one product alone proved his boss right. Leon kept a samples freezer for their latest lines, and expected his boys to let customers try them. David thought that was a waste of money too.

The reps drifted in around midday, with lots of greetings and chit chat. They checked with the office staff confirming progress of their orders. And swapped leads where they'd picked up potential customers in a colleague's territory.

"A lot of fruity curries have gone out on your patch Paul."

It was Brenda, one of the telesales girls.

"I've always been good in the 'fruity' department Brenda!"

Another voice interrupted.

"You're a damn bighead, I know that."

And here was David, the thorn in Paul's side, never missing an opportunity to chip in with something unpleasant. He'd always disliked Paul, and the feeling was reciprocated. Blond, with the soft features he associated with Russian ballet dancers, Paul had disliked him from the first limp handshake. The general feeling around the depot was David was a useless salesman in the field, and a hopeless manager in the office. It was rumoured he'd got the job because of a relation's influence.

For Paul, the situation was not helped by the fact that he'd had hopes of getting that sales manager's position. Over the last two years he'd turned his Somerset patch around to make it M26's most successful territory.

"I'm not a bighead Dave, just your top salesman, with the most productive territory."

He hated being called Dave, and stamped into his office.

"Touchy." said Brenda. "Anyway, while you're here, head chef at the Hope and Anchor needs you pop in next week."

"Thanks, I'll see him Mondays."

The six reps filed into the meeting room, where Sidney cooked up the pork balls. They were a nice colour, fried up quickly, and smelled delicious. They listened to Sidney's hesitant sales pitch as the meatballs were cooking. He ummed and aahed for a while, and then it was time to taste. They got four each, considered a standard serving, and were asked to imagine them with veg and gravy, or with chips. The pork balls were excellent. It was a classic example of a good product, presented by a poor rep. Sales would be handled by M26; Paul couldn't imagine anyone buying from somebody called Sidney. Leon agreed to take sample.

He had his usual pub lunch and a few beers with his best mate Chris, in The Red Lion. Paul and Suzie, Chris and Toni, sometimes got together as a foursome. And Suzie had a girl's night out, on Thursdays. Though not with Toni, who had a daughter and was a homebody. She went out with her old schoolfriend Stella. They preferred a new wine bar, called Beaujolais Rouge. Paul had dropped by once during the week, but they didn't do food.

He got home. The Coach House was rented as Paul could not afford to buy something this size - not yet anyway. He slumped into a cane chair on the rear patio, thinking about his and Suzie's sex life. It had started off full of promise but now it was barely adequate. Early on the marriage, the sex had been passionate, but recently had begun to slide downhill. Perhaps his suggestions about anal sex had put her off. Once, he'd discussed it with Chris.

***

"I'm afraid that's par for the course mate. They all do that." Chris assured him wisely. "It starts off all blowjobs and stockings, but changes once you're married. Becomes missionary position once a week and slopping around in slippers and baggy tracksuits. Mind you, we men can be just as bad. We sit in front of the telly for hours, and don't shave at weekends."

"I don't do that!"

"But many do. You're lucky Suzie kept her long hair; it's a strong sexual signal is long hair. They discard it once they've snared you. Usually complain it's too much trouble and chop it off. Toni had hair way past her shoulders when we were courting. But after we got wed it became a long bob. And then the short bob you see today. That was after Charlotte came along. Now, you tell me, how does short hair make it easier to look after a child?

"It looks nice though."

"Yeah, but you have to say that. You're my mate."

"Now you come to mention it, Suzie did say she was thinking of cutting her hair, soon after our wedding. But I'd been growing a raggedy beard and moustache on our honeymoon, and she said it scratched when we kissed. So I agreed to shave it off, as long as she kept her long hair."

"Good move mate, I wish I'd thought of that."

And Paul had taken it to heart. He tried to keep up the romance - dinners, flowers for no reason, surprise weekends away. Paying her compliments was second nature of course; it came with a rep's territory. But, despite his efforts, their sex life had deteriorated.

***

On Monday he went to the Hope and Anchor.

"Morning chef; Brenda said you had a problem?"

"Yes, come and see."

Ted opened his huge freezer room and took out three gateaux - a double chocolate, a strawberry, and a lemon sorbet. Two were frozen solid in their cardboard outers. The third had been opened. Ted placed it on the worktop.

"See? They're all like this. Looks like they've been dropped." he said.

"Yes." agreed Paul, though that wasn't what they looked like. "But they're all right; they never fell out and got dirty."

"True, but I use a dessert trolley son, and I can't display these. This one looks like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. No good explaining to diners that they're ok. They eat with their eyes. And you can imagine what'll happen if I straighten them once they're defrosted - with all that cream!"

"I agree. Could I use your phone?"

"Be my guest"

"Oh good, it's you Brenda. Can you repeat the last gateau order for the Hope and Anchor please? It was one double choc, one strawberry, and one lemon sorbet. Add them to Wednesday's drop. Also put in two samples of our new cordon bleu Pork Marsala. No charge for any of it."

"Doing it now Paul."

"Thanks. Could you put me through to Leon?"

"David's available and he's instructed me to put calls through to him if there are problems."

"I bet he has."

"Strangely, he also said he wanted to come with you on your next Hope and Anchor visit. I forgot to tell him you were going today."

"That's all the more reason not to tell him now. Just put me through to Leon, please."

"Sure."

"You're my main man Paul." said Leon. "Why are you clearing this with me? Give the man extras if he's angry."

"I have boss. But he's not angry - I am. There are boot marks on the boxes. Ted's saying they've been dropped, but he's being diplomatic. They've been kicked out of shape."

"Done deliberately? Do you know who's responsible?"

"I have a good idea, don't you?" said Paul.

"Ah, we'd better have a talk. Come and see me when you're next in the depot."

Paul told Ted to keep the damaged gateaux, but he didn't want them. So he made an unscheduled stop at Mandy's. Her old folk would love them.

Seeing her again got him in the mood. That night he had another try with Suzie.

"Have you given it any more thought? You know, what we were discussing?"

"I'm still not sure Paul; give me a couple more weeks. I'm not convinced it won't hurt."

"But we'll use plenty of lubricant. In fact we won't even go all the way first time. Just a finger, you know, till you get used to it."

"I know. But please be patient sweetie."

She was stalling; she was never going to try anal.

Tuesday at the airport, Mrs Fields was nervous. They checked her baggage in and Paul suggested they get a coffee.

"No thanks. I'm already too tense. Do they serve brandy anywhere?"

In the bar, she calmed down after her second Courvoisier.

"Remember, you're changing airlines in Montreal. Just follow the others to baggage reclaim, and then go to check in for the Calgary flight. You've got all the details."

Once she was on her way, he returned to his father's house. He needed to identify any mementos he wanted to keep. The agent had said it would fetch a better price if it was empty, and given a professional clean.

He'd never got on with his father. When he was four, his mother had died in childbirth. Things should have improved; they'd both lost her, and were facing the coming years as a twosome. But their relationship had gone from bad to worse. Perhaps his father was mourning the lost baby as well. Paul was palmed off to a series of nannies.

Now Paul found himself gravitating to an old mahogany wardrobe. It was similar to his in the Coach House. Inside, while shoving his father's shoes around, he found a finger hole in the base; just like his. For no particular reason, he pulled it up. Lying on the floor was an old fashioned envelope. There were metal discs on it, and its flap, with thin string tying them together. Written on the front was 'Private'. He opened it - there were three sheets of paper. The top one was an old letter, dated 9th January 1946.

'Dear Mr. Compton,

I had not realised your wife Grace knew how to contact me, but am glad she did. It is distressing to learn of the boy's illness. I know how worrying infant surgery can be. The information concerning his blood group is more disturbing of course. Grace tells me the tests show you are not the father. I will spare you waiting for results, and take responsibility. The child must be mine.

In my defence, I had recently returned from the front and learned that my fiancée had died in the bombing. Neither was I aware Grace was married. It was only later that she informed me you had been in hospital recuperating, when our liaison occurred. I know this is no excuse and only mention it in mitigation of my actions; not with the intention of shirking my duty.

However you choose to proceed, I will concur with your decision. Naturally, I hope you and Grace stay together. Either way, I will pay any child maintenance you think fit. I hope we can resolve this difficulty in a civilised manner.

Yours sincerely,

Colin Clayburgh.'

The next letter was dated 18th January 1946.

'Dear Mr. Compton,

Your response shows great dignity. If you are sure you will not take any payment for the boy's upkeep, then I acquiesce. Naturally I am happy to sign any papers necessary for you to adopt him.

I agree to your conditions concerning my involvement. I will play no part in his upbringing. Please accept my assurance he will not learn of his true parenthood from me.

Yours sincerely,

Colin Clayburgh.'

Sure enough, the third document confirmed Paul's adoption. So, was this why the old man had always been so distant? Perhaps he'd secretly begrudged bringing up another man's child. A situation made worse when he was widowed, losing the chance of a child of his own. In fact, these letters explained nearly everything.

Paul stopped off at the depot on his way home.

"No David around?" asked Paul

"No I sent him out to chase up a fake lead." said Leon.

"You think it's him then." Paul said.

Leon admitted M26's owner had offered to improve his pension if he took the nephew on. But today Leon had established he still had the last word on David's continued employment. He could fire him any time if there was good reason. And yes, David was behind the recent problems.

"He only has to manage national accounts, which mostly entails sitting in his office all day." said Paul. "And he's pissed off one already. If we lose it, it'll wipe out a year of my efforts. But, now I've had my moan, how is he doing it?"

"The incident with the Hope and Anchor's gateaux was the last straw." replied Leon. "There have been other suspicions of order tampering. Problems only occurred with big customers, and things tend to go wrong just before he accompanies a rep on his rounds."

"That's it!" exclaimed Paul. "He engineers a problem, and the rep has to apologise for a screw up that wasn't his fault. Then hero David turns up and pretends to smooth things over. 'Don't worry, I'm his manager and will make sure this doesn't happen again.' Bingo! No more problems!"

"That's exactly what he's doing;" said Leon, "laying the foundations for taking over from me. Today I spoke to one of the drivers. I'd heard David sat in on his job interview, which he shouldn't have. The guy soon confessed he's been causing most of the damage. David has been paying him cash for his services."

"Another bastard!"

"No. He has a sick son, who needs specialist treatment and he's been trying to buy equipment to install in his home."

"Oh."

"Anyway, I gave him a substantial interest-free loan this morning. He'll testify against David, who will be out on his ear tomorrow. To be honest, your damaged gateaux were just the icing on the cake. Pun intended!"

"Good news."

"You know Head Office insist I advertise the sales manager's post internally. We'll get candidates from Birmingham, and Bernard from Personnel will come down for the interviews. I'll make the decision, but he attends to ensure fair play."

"I remember from last time, boss. Can I make a quick phonecall before I go?"

"Of course."

"Hi Aunty Mary!"

"Paul, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I have a question."

This was his mum's sister in Durham. She was the only relation from that generation alive now. He asked if she remembered him having surgery as a baby, and she did. Soon after birth, he'd developed an umbilical hernia. Doctors were unable to push it back, and had to operate.

"The operation itself was not dangerous," she explained, "but your mum was furious when they suggested she take tablets to dry up her milk."

"Why would they want to do that?"

"You weren't allowed to feed, either before or immediately after the operation. But mother's milk keeps on coming! It wasn't common for people to store breast milk in those days. Hospitals had fridges, but most homes did not. Why are you suddenly asking now?"

"Mrs Fields has left for Canada. I found a mention of the operation today, amongst some paperwork."

"Oh. Are you going to live in your dad's place?"

"No, I'll sell it. By the way, did I have any scars?"

"Nothing you could see; they'd be invisible now anyway, round your belly button."

Wednesday evening they were out with Chris and Toni. When either guy signed up a good restaurant, the foursome would try it out. It was a chance to socialise. Chris had persuaded the renamed Exmoor Forest Hotel to switch their orders to M26, after its recent refurbishment.