Ex-excursion – Bentley 9

[For back story go here: Story so far at 12 June 2020 ]

Money was not a problem. Clearly. If there had ever been the slightest chance that money were a problem for Bentley, it was now eradicated. The package had certainly changed things – although Bentley was still not entirely sure what it had changed aside from his financial position and the fact that he had a pair of someone else’s shoes. 

He had sent his contact, The Vertibrain, a number of messages to try and find out where the money and shoes had come from. However The Veritbrain had not been forthcoming aside from messaging back “You know where” followed by: “The work goes on.” He also sent another one which read: “You know what to do now.” Bentley didn’t actually, but after a few days he decided that this was a mind trick that he wouldn’t fall for. If he knew what to do now then that just meant that whatever he thought he should do now was completely what he should do now, so he should just do it.

With the details of Natalie’s address in stowed in his wallet, and a Google map pin on his phone he set out to the railway station by specially booked taxi, powered by one of the many fifty pound notes now in his possession.

All was going well until he made it to the ticket barrier where, as luck would have it, George, the current station manager recognised him as an old friend, and asked why the hell he was trying to travel anywhere right now. In the nicest way he refused Bentley passage and instead shepherded him – with two metre distance maintained at all times – into the larger then usual room which he was now using as his office (the usual one not being big enough to swing a cat around in and therefore fatal for any kind of distancing).

“So, you’re off to where?” 

“My granddaughter,” said Bentley.

“Are you bubbling?”

“I’m pretty excited, yes,” said Bentley.

George grinned sympathetically. “Shouldn’t she come and see you?” he asked.

“She can’t,” Bentley replied. “She doesn’t know where I live. Look, there’s a bit of a complicated story here which I don’t really want to go into.”

George sighed. “Would you class this as essential travel?”

“Yes,” said Bentley decisively. “Sort of. Maybe. Is to me.”

As he sat there and discussed the situation with George the full weight of his predicament began to come home. It wasn’t a huge weight landing on his shoulders at once, but bit by bit he became aware that the odds were stacked against him. He was fit and well, but he wasn’t as young as he used to be. The scarf which he usually wore when he went out wasn’t really suitable for a face mask and offered very little protection, plus he had to keep hooking it up carefully whenever it slipped down. And it slipped down nearly every time he took a step.

“I need to see her,” said Bentley eventually.

“You know what trains are like,” said George. “You more than anyone. Imagine your usual routine when you worked here only with about fifteen hundred further complications. Never mind passengers without tickets, over crowding has been redefined and I seem to remember you were a stickler for a good timetable – the level of service we have here would drive you mad.”

George also asked about the walking frame which had accompanied Bentley on his outing so far. He commented that Bentley had been lucky with his fall, and it would be daft to temp fate and try it again. He’d not be so lucky next time and lets face it, falling with or on a zimmer frame would be no fun at all. For a moment they laughed imagining the conversation at A&E.

“Can’t you get someone else to check on her?” asked George, who couldn’t even guess at what the complex expression that passed over Bentley’s face truly meant. 

Bentley took a different tack. He appealed to his old work colleague’s sense of loyalty. He recalled that time a while back when the two men had been working together and when it was George who called upon Bentley’s good will and nature to help him out. Back when George was going through that rough time with the horses and races and Bentley had been a good, capable and willing listener. As well as the person who got the 4.22 to Oxford to leave platform 3 on time while George sat in tears in the otherwise abandoned waiting room nursing a final demand. Despite this, George would still not let him get on a train.

Bentley got up and attempted to storm out, hindered somewhat by his frame. He came to rest at the taxi rank and there he was stood some fifteen minutes later when George, who was keeping an eye on him, came out. 

“No,” said George. “No, don’t get a taxi all the way there.”

“You take me then,” said Bentley. “Money is not a problem.”

George sighed into the sun. “Thursday," he said.