Making Connections - Bentley 3

[For back story see lower numbers in archive]

If Bentley was honest with himself - and he rarely was - he would have known the next phone call heading his way. If he had even been a little bit thoughtful about the way everything would play out he would have expected the phone call as soon as we knew lockdown had gone nationwide, and not just for those who had a temperature and a slight cough, troublesome though his was. The fact was there were certain people who, given enough time to think things over and enough opportunity to pick up a phone would do so no matter what. Yes there were many excuses for the chimes which sent Covid off to her now habitual place of refuge, but the pandemic was an albeit slow-burning excuse all of its own.

He lifted the receiver and in no mood for long silences recited his own number as he thought it went and announced his attention to the caller.

"Did you tell him to call me?" 

"Hello Sheila, how are you?"

"How do you..? I'm shocked. Shocked and appalled that you would do such a thing."

"Are you keeping well?"

"I – are you just going ignore what I'm saying?"

"Not heard from you for a while," observed Bentley, "Wondered how you were."

"I am being harassed," said the voice on the end of the phone. "That's the only word for it. Harassed. And it's all your fault."

As the call went on pieces fell into place one by one. As Bentley had predicted, Lawrence had continued on his quest to find those who were once nearest and dearest to him – many many years ago. Back then the three of them had formed something of a family – different house, different circumstances, and really really different people at that point. Bentley, station manager at the local national terminal, Sheila, a primary school deputy head and their son Lawrence – eager, loving, intelligent and ready to take on the world.

But the world started be a bit too much of an opposition for all of them. Were they honest with themselves they'd conclude there wasn't a single moment or thing which drove a wedge between them or gradually eroded their status quo, but there were many small influences and challenges, any of which they might have got through together. Instead, for one reason or another, they inevitably let them win. Not being honest, however, they just blamed each other.

"He's just seeking reassurance," said Bentley. "Don't you think there's something nice about the fact that he wants to get in touch, he wants to see how we are and that we're safe?"

"He asked me for money," said Sheila.

"Money?"

"Not straight away, not straight out but that's what he was after. Oh, he may well have a nice chat to you about trains and the weather and – whatever else – but it's just financial as far as I'm concerned."

"How much did he want? And what for?"

"I don't know, I didn't ask."

Bentley was further puzzled by this but didn't say so. 

"He's got a flat," said Sheila, "in Bournemouth and obviously he needs money to stay there."

"Brighton," said Bentley. "He's in Brighton."

"He told me... Oh, great so he's not even telling us the truth. It's still happening."

There was a collective sigh over the two-way comm. Covid jumped onto Bentley's lap and adjusted herself for the scratch behind the ear which Bentley duly served up.

"Do you think either of them is right?" asked Bentley. "How were you going to get the money to him?"

"Didn't get that far," said Sheila. 

"Did you shout at him?" asked Bentley.

"No I did not shout at him!" Sheila shouted. "Not much."

"Strange how we still do the same things," reflected Bentley.

"Speak for yourself. I have moved on, I have a new life and I'm very happy with it. Or I would be if this – thing – hadn't kicked off. Plenty to do, plenty to get on with and I won't be dragged back."

Bentley let the conversation go for a while, lazily following any avenue it chose and helping the ebb and flow of thoughts and reminiscences. Sheila repeated the mantra she'd developed in the later stages of their relationship – the one about how she'd come to realise that she always actually hated trains. They were alright for getting from A to B but essentially being trapped in a corridor on wheels was not her idea of fun. Planes were worse. Boat cruises, that was style. Although obviously that wouldn't be happening for a while.

"October 15th 1997," said Bentley.

"What about it?" Asked Sheila.

"Look it up," said Bentley, "Or just think about it."

The conversation ended on a better note than it started, even if there were more questions now. 

Bentley wandered to the desk in his bedroom, Covid slinking round his heels, and slid open the drawer that held his rail memorabilia. It took him three minutes to find the ticket and he took a photo of it on his smart phone. Just in case.