48 comments/ 74074 views/ 29 favorites I Took A Memory To Lunch. By: Denham_Forrest When Jake invited me to join in his invitational this time. Oh he's invited me most every time and I've started a tale for them all. I just ain't too clever at finishing the damned things sometimes. This old mind of mine kind-a wanders off into pastures new; well, new stories anyway. Anyway this time - just to stop Jake form getting too crotchety with me - I figured I'd better finish one. Being a melancholy old bleeder, I chose this song that can often be heard playing in my study. Usually quietly in the background whilst I'm writing. The version I have is by Tom T Hall, I have no idea if anyone else has recorded it. Thanks to LadyCibelle and my friend SH for sorting my foul-ups and editing for me. Techsan is under doctor's orders at the present time; I hope you all join me in wishing him a swift recovery. Clarification: Pally - from pal or friend. To get all pally with someone, can have a variety of deferent meanings; in this case it means becoming close friend. There are no sexual scenes in this story. * I suppose a lot of folks would put it down to the old midlife crisis kind of thing. Or maybe, after all those years, they might say it was the seven-year itch, running a little on the late side after fourteen years of marriage. Anyway the truth is that at thirty-eight I had those niggling questions beginning to come to the forefront of my mind. After sharing the last sixteen years of my life with my wife Christina -- Tina to most folks, mum to our three little tykes and Babe to me - I was beginning to wonder what it was all about and maybe what could have been. Well that's a lie really; maybe -- somewhere tucked away in the back of my mind - where we all fear to tread most of the time - I think I had always been asking myself the "what if" question. You remember what it was like when we were teenagers. How you first found the girl of your dreams, and kind of developed ideas about where your life was going. For some folks it was a quiet life in a nice little house in the country, for others it was to become a big man in a big house, with a big high fence all around; read becoming rich, and leading the life of Reilly. I can't say for sure what happened to those dreams I'd had as a young man. I always did have myself a good job, even if I could never understand why they put up with me lately. Maybe I was feeling pretty bored with it, after all those years. I figured that I'd reached the peak of where I was going to get to with my employer. A couple of times I had thought that maybe a change of employer would get the ball rolling again, but that would have meant a move to another part of the country and... Well, there was the kids' schooling to take into account, and all the rest of the upheaval a move would have caused in family life to take into consideration. No, a change of employment and all that involved just weren't on the cards. Well not at that time; it would probably have led to an abrupt end of what was left of my marriage anyway. Yeah, all right I've got to admit that life at home wasn't what it should have been. I know Tina found it hard sometimes, what with those three little urchins, and the house to look after. Well yeah, she did find time to do some charity work, she was on the children's school board of governors and had been a member of the PTA before that. Okay, and I'll admit that I wasn't always as supportive around the house as I could have been. But then, I was working my socks off earning the cash to pay the mortgage and feed and clothe the little buggers. And give Tina almost everything any woman could want in life. I'd always thought that that was my part of the bargain. Generally Tina was out at her charity things, two nights a week and I stayed home watching the kids. I usually went down the Band Club, Mondays and Thursdays to practice snooker on a full size competition table; I got a three-quarter size one tucked away in the garage. I ain't half-bad on the baize; not up to professional standards, so you won't see me at the Crucible. But I've won a good few bob in amateur competitions over the years. Before the children came along, Tina would come and watch me play in competition. Hey she's no slouch with a snooker cue herself; well she was, when she had time to practice with me. If you get the idea that things had sort-a cooled down in our relationship, you wouldn't be too far wrong. I kind-a got the feeling, that like quite a few married couples, we were just going through the motions by then. Yeah, we went out together -- just Tina and I -- a couple of times a month. And yeah we generally had -- some pretty basic - sex most Saturday nights. But most of the time our social life together was revolving around the kids and their needs. I sort-a had it figured that Tina and me were both killing time until the kids were old enough to fly the coop, and then... Well then, maybe we'd go our own separate ways. Anyway I hope these revelations give you some insight into my state of mind that bright sunny summer morning, as I sat in my office pushing papers around and wishing that I was anywhere else in the world but there. Quite unexpectedly there was a sharp tap on my office door. Unexpected, because, Betty - who acted as my secretary - normally called me on the intercom if I had a visitor; and if she wanted to see me, I usually went out to her, because she wasn't my exclusive secretary and looked after all the rest of the guys in the department as well. And yeah well, most of my colleagues had learnt by then that I wasn't the most sociable of people first thing in the mornings. So if they had any problems that they'd rather bring to me than the department head, then they knew they were best left until after lunch. Anyway, there was this sudden rap on my door, then it burst open and Martin Goldman strolled in like he owned the place. Which, to be honest, he did; so I couldn't very well tell him to f-off, could I. Old man Goldman - whose father had started the company way back in the days of yore, just after WW2 -- had kind-a grown up in the organisation, and for years run it with an iron fist. Anyway the old bugger had died about eight months previous and his only son Martin had come back home - from wherever he'd been hiding out for more years than I care to remember -- to take over the reigns. Martin and I had history, - of sorts - we'd grown up together. Well kind-of, we just happened to live not too far away from each other as kids, and as we'd got older - coincidently - gone to the same college for a while, and hung around the same teenage hangouts. We even drank in the same pubs and went to the same dances and clubs etc. But we'd never been what you might call mates. Martin's education -- as you might expect, being the son of a rich Jewish businessman -- had mostly been in the private sector, and I'd struggled along in the State system. Sometimes we'd even dated the same birds in our younger days, at different times off course. So you can understand that we'd always known one-another, even if in a very tenuous way. I'd always known who he was and he was well aware of my existence, although we had never actually run with the same crowd. At that time, I'd have doubted we'd ever said more the half a dozen words to each other in our whole lives. But Martin Goldman was now the big cheese of the company I worked for, and his arrival at my lowly door was completely unexpected. As Martin entered my little office, I went to stand -- to show the subservience that's expected when the big boss man pays an unexpected call on one of his lowly minions -- but much to my surprise Martin gestured for me to remain seated and plonked his arse on the seat opposite me. He took a quick look down at the cheap typist's chair he found himself sitting upon, and then glanced around my little domain, with an expression of some distain on his face; before leaning back in the seat and fixing me with a long stare. For what seemed to be an eternity Martin Goldman didn't say a word, he just sat there staring at me. To be completely truthful, I feared exactly what the bugger was about to say to me. Word had gone around the company that Martin had been making some big changes upstairs, and the rumour was that he seemed to take pleasure in doing the required firing personally. Or to give the man the benefit of the doubt; at least he took the responsibility for doing the actual deed himself, rather than delegating the task to one of the many brown nose's he'd inherited from his old man since he'd returned. "Long time no see Josh." Goldman finally said; with a smile on his face, just as if he was an old friend I'd run into in the pub. I'm not sure why, I was extremely suspicious of this casual greeting, but decided it would be diplomatic to follow his relaxed lead. "Well Mr Goldman, some of us had to stay in town and keep the home fires burning." I replied trying my best to smile back at him. "Good lord, Josh; cut out all that formal crap. We've known each other long enough for you to call me Marty; at least when we are in private." "Cheers, Marty. But to be honest; we never..." "Don't give me all that bullshit, Josh. I still remember the night of the cup final just before I went off to Oxford. If you and your crowd hadn't backed us up, those wankers would have had our guts for garters." Martin was referring to a night many years before that I'd almost completely forgotten about. My friends and I had gone to the cup final at Wembley. On our way home -- and by complete chance - we'd come across Marty and a couple of his friends, just as they were confronted by a little group of Neanderthal skinhead thugs, masquerading as football supporters. Anyway three Jewish boys wearing the wrong colour scarves were probably just what the half dozen numbskulls had been looking for that day. The sixteen semi-pissed and extremely noisy, genuine football supporters who confidently strolled up to stand with the three Jewish lads, wasn't. The skinheads made a strategic withdrawal and then all nineteen of us, headed for the nearest pub to continue our celebrations. After that, things become a bit hazy for me; I can't recall much of what happened later that evening at all. But I do know that I awoke in my own bed sometime late on the Sunday afternoon. And in one piece, but with a hangover that beats all the others I've ever had, before or since. Exactly where, the "Ladies Changing Room" sign, the pair of frilly ladies panties - or the yellow reflective jacket with the words Metropolitan Police printed across the back of it - came from, I have no idea. The Jacket, I ditched a bit sharp-ish; the sign still hangs in my garage at home. The knickers? God only knows! "Boy was that a night, I'd never been as drunk as I got that night." Marty was saying when I realised that he was still talking. "Yeah, I kind-a remember the hangover. Damn thing lasted nearly all week." I added when he stopped to take a breath. "That was my old man's wine. You were knocking it back like there was no tomorrow; they say that you shouldn't mix grape and grain." Martin grinned, "You know, he went ballistic at me; we nearly emptied his wine cupboard and we did clear the cocktail cabinet." "Eh... we were at your house that night?" I asked. That must have been part of the evening that I'd lost completely. "My parents' place, the old man ran a bunch of you home in his car, the rest he shipped home by taxi; don't you remember?" "Don't remember much about that evening Martin. Well, not after that mate of yours started ordering the shorts in the pub anyway." "My friends call me Marty, Josh. Yeah, it was a hell of a night, but I'm not here to talk about old times; I'm here to talk about you." Marty said changing the subject and I began to get worried again. "My spies tell me that you're out of sorts lately and not your normal happy-go-lucky self. You're not feeling unwell or anything, are you?" "No, I'm feeling fine health-wise. I don't know where you got that idea, Marty." "Oh come on, Josh. Betty's known you long enough to know that something's not kosher. She tells me that for the last few months you've been really down. What is it, money troubles? You know that if I can help out financially, I will; we might not have been bosom buddies in the old days, but I owe you big time." "Hey no, I've never had any money problems. Never had to complain about my salary." "I would hope not; the old man was very appreciative of what you and your friends did for me that night, you know. You've been on the top of the wage bracket, from the day you started here." Suddenly I realised why I had been trapped in that bloody job. Although I'd only spoken to the old guy a couple of times since I'd worked for the company; Marty's father must have recognised me or my name on the staff list and put the word out that I should be looked after, financially. Every other job that I'd ever gone after, I'd found that I was earning more -- or at least as much as -- the top of their wage bracket for the position, before I started. I have no idea what expression I must have had on my face as I realised the fact. "You never knew did you? My dad looked after folks who looked after him or his own. But anyway, going through your personnel file I was wondering, how come you've never tried for advancement out of this shit-hole of a department?" "Well I..." "Well what, Josh?" Marty asked, but then his facial expression changed some. "Surely you never thought... Dam it, you did, didn't you? You thought that the only way to the top in this company as if you were Jewish or kissed the right persons arse, didn't you?" --- "Bleeding hell, you disappoint me, Josh." Marty stopped speaking for a few moments and sat there with a thoughtful expression on his face; but then the smiled returned again. "Sorry, yeah. I suppose that from where you've been sitting, it might seem that way. Nearly all the top brass are, now that I come to think of it... So I suppose it's only natural for you to think that way." "But that isn't the way I do business, Josh, or intend to run this company in the future. As a matter of fact, we've been thinking that you might fancy taking over as head of human resources." "Sorry?" I replied. I've got to admit I wasn't sure that I caught the correct gist of what Martin had just said. "The Personnel Department, Josh! Morris (the then-current personnel manager) is coming up for retirement in a few months, and we thought that we'd like to replace him with someone who isn't quite so narrow-minded. I figured you'd just about fit the bill." "But I know sod-all about being a personnel manager, Marty." "Neither does lard-arse Morris, but that hasn't stopped him from keeping that seat warm for lord knows how long. Look Josh, things have changed in the last few years. Surely you've noticed that the company has a shortage of... er, ethnic minorities on the payroll. There are laws about that kind of thing nowadays and eventually some bugger's going to give us some stick over it. Anyway I thought that you're just the bloke we need to sort that situation out." "Why me?" "Well, I'd have thought that was pretty obvious. That crowd you ran with when we were younger wasn't far short of a league of nations. You must have had just about every race and nationality in the district in it. And I'll bet you still hang around with most of them now, don't you." "Yeah well, those who still go down the Band Club to play snooker. You weren't the only one who spread their wings; some of the guys are all over the country now." "Anyway the point is, no bugger could accuse you of being prejudiced and that's the sort of person I need running Human Resources here. I want this place to have a broad spectrum of staff, which reflects the local population." "But surely you need someone who's qualified to do the job." "No, I need someone who I can trust to do as I ask. I don't want people just to make up the numbers; I want people who will do their jobs well. Jetta and I thought..." "Jetta?" I repeated in surprise. The name Jetta rang a bell in the back of my head somewhere. It wasn't what you'd call a common name, and our town wasn't that big. There'd been a young woman called Jetta who used to frequent some of the dance clubs we'd both gone to when we were younger. My problem was, - and I'm not sure why, I'd read into Marty's body language that the Jetta he was referring too was his wife - the young woman I remembered had been of Indian decent. Marty grinned at me. "My wife, and Betty's step-sister; just in case you thought Betty and I were misbehaving out of business hours. I could see you were puzzling over how come I was so pally with Betty." I didn't say anything in reply to the pally comment, because something else was bugging me. "But Jetta's...!" I began to say. "And Jewish by birth, Josh." Martin said anticipating the rest of my comment. The he went on to explain. "Historically, there's not a large Jewish community in India, but it does exist. Kind of handy really; what my parents would have made of our relationship had she been a Hindu or Sikh or something, I have no idea." Marty grinned at me, and then explained that Jetta's mother had died when she was little. They'd been living in East Africa when her father had run into a recently widowed Betty's mother. I got the feeling that maybe he'd employed her as a children's nanny or something. Although Betty's mother was Irish -- and Roman Catholic - eventually they'd married and come to live in the UK. The odd point was that, although I remembered seeing Jetta around town quite a lot when we were younger -- Christ, I'd dated the girl myself a couple of times - but I could never remember seeing Betty about much, if at all. But then again, Betty was a few years older than Jetta, Martin or myself, she probably ran with a different peer group. I suppose it also explained why Betty had been so pally with old man Goldman over the years. At one time or another, rumours had gone around the company that the old boy had been banging Betty on the quiet. But that had never explained why - at the odd company social gatherings etc - Betty and her husband had so often been all cosy, with old Mr Goldman's wife and Martin's sister. Marty went on to explain that he and Jetta had run into each other at Oxford and kind-a hit it off straight away. They got married before they finished their studies and on graduating, gone to the States to live, until Marty's father had his heart attack. "We'd have been at each other throats if I'd come back to the company whilst he was here." Marty commented with a grin. "He was kind-a stuck back in the fifties somewhere. "Look, we've got off the subject here, Josh. It's going to be a few months before Morris retires, but how's the job sound to you?" Marty asked, bringing us back on track. "Is there any hurry for my answer, Marty? It's going to be one hell of a change for me and I'm not sure yet whether I can handle the job." I began to say, but I gathered Marty wasn't prepared for me to say no. "Of course you can. And I can understand that you might wish to discuss it with Christina first." "Hmm," I commented, "as if she'd give a toss." "I don't like the way you said that, Josh. Are there any problems at home that I don't know about? Is that why you've been out of sorts lately?" "Oh come on, Marty, Tina and I have been married fourteen years and we've got three children." "What the hell's that got to do with the price of apples?" Marty demanded. "When kids come along Marty, relationships kind-a suffer a bit." "They do? I find that surprising. I'd say all they did was strengthen Jetta and my relationship. Yeah, things had to change a bit, but if anything we're closer now than we've ever been." I Took A Memory To Lunch. "I wish Tina and I were, but in the last few years I've got the feeling we've just been going through the motions." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Well, Tina's been more interested in the children than she is in me." "Jesus Christ! Sorry, Josh; one of Betty's blasphemies. Of course you have to take a back seat for a few years. But that don't mean that Tina doesn't love you just as much as she always has or anything; it's just how life develops. Give it a few more years and the children will be gone and Tina will still be there for you." "Oh Christ, Marty, I don't think it's really Tina; it's me. In the last couple of years I've been thinking that I made a big mistake." "What kind of a mistake? You haven't been playing away, and painted yourself into a corner, have you? Look my friend, having a little fun of the side is all right; not that I've ever been tempted. But it's stupid getting yourself in too deep." "Hey, shit, no, it's nothing like that! I've just begun to think that I married the wrong woman." I have no idea why I voiced my innermost concern to Marty. To be honest I hardly knew the guy; except that he was my boss and someone I hadn't talked to in... well, someone I'd never spoken to personally before; I don't think. But he was someone who brought memories of my youth, back to mind. "I'm sorry, Josh; I don't understand what your problem is." "I'm not sure that I do either Marty. It's like I've got the seven-year-itch or something. Everything is kind-a mixed up in my head, lately." Marty placed his elbows on my desk and rested his chin on his hands for a while, obviously thinking. "I'm not sure what to say to you, Josh. But maybe you should see a... doctor or something." "A shrink?" "You said the word, Josh, not me. Look I know a good man; he looked after my sister when she got divorced; straightened her out like greased lightning. If you're feeling as confused about your marriage as you sound then it can't do any harm to have a word or two with him. What'd you say, shall I give the bugger a call." Marty asked, picking the telephone up anyway, before I'd had a chance to answer. "I don't know, Marty. I don't know that I should have told you about this." "Well I do. Look, Josh, you were there for me once when I needed you. Now I... and Jetta are going to be here for you... and Tina." Marty was hitting buttons on the phone before he finished speaking. I sat there in amazement whilst Marty called his sister and got the shrink's number. I noted that he never told her why he wanted the number. Then he called the shrink in question whose name sounded foreign, Jewish and completely unpronounceable; or in other words I have no intention of making a bigger fool of myself by trying to spell it here. Marty asked me to go and get a couple of coffees whilst he actually spoke to the man. When I returned from the department's small kitchen, I found that Betty had joined Marty in my office. But I was extremely aware that they stopped speaking and Betty turned to leave as I entered. "I want you to clear Josh's diary for today, Betty, he's having the rest of the day off. Refer anyone who has any objections to me, will you?" Marty said to her before she closed the door. "Right it's all fixed up, Josh. I want you to head off to town right away; charge a nice lunch to the company and be at the good doctors office at three o'clock sharp." "But Marty..." "No buts, Josh! I want our Human Resources manager to worry about our staff not himself or his marriage. You get yourself up town and see what the good doctor makes of your problem. Personally I think you are probably making a mountain out of a molehill. You've got yourself in a rut here in this damned office and you're making the mistake of taking the job home with you." I wasn't at all sure that Martin had understood my problem at all. But I thought that his motive was good, so I agreed to go meet this shrink he wanted me to see. After we drank the coffee, Marty walked me down to the office's main entrance; possibly to make sure that I actually left the building, I had left a great pile of work on my desk. As it turned out I never did see the bleeding shrink anyway, although I met him at a party some months later. I was quite surprised that it was only eleven o'clock when I boarded the train up town. Exactly why I got off the underground at Marble Arch and began to walk the length of Oxford Street - reputedly the longest shopping street in the world -- I have no idea. Perhaps I was subconsciously looking to waste some time; I had over three hours before my appointment. Anyway I'd probably walked half the roads length, causally looking into shop windows - and wondering whether some bugger was going to try to lift my wallet - when I saw her coming out of a boutique; followed by a young sales assistant carrying several large carrier bags. I recognised her straight away, Marion Holden looked almost exactly the same as she had the last time I'd seen her some seventeen years before. The same long blond hair and short dress that showed off those shapely legs of hers. The same almost permanent smile pasted onto her face. And she had the same effect on me that she'd always had; my heart skipped a couple of beats. I'm not sure how long I stood there like a dummy, whilst Marion waited at the curb, in the almost vain hope that an empty cab would come along; but eventually one did. Marion opened the cab's door. Then - as she turned to take her purchases from the shop assistant - she must have caught sight of the dummy standing there out of the corner of her eye. For just a couple of seconds she looked directly at me. Losing her composure for almost exactly the same period of time, "Joshua!" she suddenly screamed out, at the same instant as an expression of recognition came over her face. She shouted my name so loudly that everyone within several hundred yards turned to see who was getting murdered. Then - ignoring the bags the young woman was proffering for her to take and her cab -- she closed the five-yard gap between us and stood before me smiling. "It is you, isn't it, Joshua? My, it's been so long. What are you doing in town?" She finally asked, in quick succession. "Hi Marion. I didn't expect to run into you today." To be honest I had some difficulty in knowing what to say to her. What do you say to the great love of your life when you unexpectedly meet her after so many years? I'm not sure I can tell you exactly when Marion and I first met. Much like Martin Goldman, it was like she'd always been around somewhere when I'd been a kid. But as we got older and puberty raised its ugly head... Well, let's just say that Marion developed rather suddenly and caught just about every young guy's eye well before most of the other local girls in our peer group did. What made Marion first tilt her hat in my direction, I have no idea? She was just about the most desirable girl around; but for a long time I had no clue that she was interested in me. But by the time we were about fifteen or sixteen -- or so I've been told -- it was pretty obvious to just about everyone else in the world, except me! All right, I'll admit it, I was a late developer. I was still into racing model cars and aircraft, or playing footy when most of my mates were enthusiastically -- if-not tentatively -- dating girls. And I don't think their interest in the girls they dated had anything to do with intelligent conversation. Anyway it was at -- or rather after - a football match that Marion and I first got together. I'd just scored my third goal of a proverbial hat-trick in the match and was undergoing the usual enthusiastic congratulations from the rest of the team. Smacks on the back and -- quite painful - punches on my arms etc; we didn't go in for all that hugging the guys seem to do nowadays. When suddenly Marion appeared on the pitch, threw her arms around my neck and snogged me like it was going out of style. Now by then I wasn't as completely inexperienced as you might have assumed - from what I said earlier - with females. I dated a couple of girls, basically just to fit in with the rest of the guys and avert any suggestion that I might sail up wind. Things were different back then and any young guy with reasonable looks, who didn't date girls, could find himself inappropriately labelled. But standing there on the football pitch that day, I suddenly realised what this dating lark was really about. It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but love -- or maybe lust - at first kiss! That was the first time a kiss from any girl had instantly got my attention, in more ways than I care to explain here. Rather embarrassing when you're standing in the middle or the pitch, wearing those thin football shorts and surrounded by onlookers. I walked Marion home that day after the match. Well not exactly straight home we kind-a took a stroll around the park, if you get the idea. I know we both got an ear bashing from her old man because she was a few minutes late for her curfew. That was to become a regular occurrence over the next few years, until we got older and the old sod gave up trying to enforce Marion's curfew. From that day hence Marion and I were -- what was commonly known as -- an item. The model racing cars stayed in my bedroom cupboard. The radio controlled aircraft hung forlornly from my bedroom ceiling. Even football took a back seat to Marion and being with her. The only sport that stayed on the agenda was fishing; usually night fishing. And the reason Marion and I went so often, was that I had a dandy little dome tent that I used to keep the rain off. Well, lets be sensible here, you might gather that sod-all in the way of fishing got done, but that dome tent offered Marion and I possibly the best privacy and seclusion that we got for a few years. Now, I'm not going to claim our relationship was all sweetness and light. Yeah the sex was good and was the usual way we settled our disagreements. Or maybe we couldn't keep our hands off each other when we did get around to settling those stupid and inexplicably too frequent arguments. The cause of which - if I am being honest - had completely escaped my memory over the years. The make-up sex, I remembered, was extremely good though. Marion and I had been together for about four years when it went sour on us. When I thought back, I could never recall what that last row was all about really. I could remember that we were in a nightclub and Marion was dancing with her girlfriends whilst I propped the bar up with the guys. It could have been the fact that I'd imbibed too much. Or it might be that the fact that I had knocked back so many is the reason that I can't remember what exactly happened. Anyway late in the evening Marion and I got into a real ding-dong over something. Somehow we blamed each other for the argument and were insisting that the other should apologise. That's where it ended. For weeks I sat at home waiting for Marion to call, and I've been told since, that she was doing exactly the same thing. The problem apparently was that we were both too stubborn to back down. Weeks turned into months and as more time passed, the angrier I got that she wouldn't apologise. I couldn't very well back-down and apologies to Marion because... Well, I had no idea what the hell we'd argued about in the first place. You get the idea, like a catch twenty-two question; I had to take into consideration the point that I might have been -- and probably was - in the right. Oh, the logic of youth! Eventually the rift between us got so wide that we started dating other people. I don't know who dated first, but once the game of making each other jealous got underway. Someone had to be the winner. Since then I've realised that neither of us won anything. Oh yeah, after a year or so you could say I won Christina. I'd even thought that I loved her for many years. But lately -- in the last year or so -- I'd been dreaming of Marion again. "Me you neither. have you got time for a coffee or something?" She asked "Well actually Marion, I was looking for somewhere to have lunch; before I go to an appointment I've got this afternoon." "Lunch, yes. That's a good idea. We could do lunch and we can tell each other all about what we've been up to since we last saw each other. Where are you going to take me?" You know, I was in Marion's taxi heading for the Dorchester, before I really knew what was happening. No, we weren't going to eat lunch there; Marion was apparently staying there and wanted to dispose of all that shopping the young assistant had been carrying. Having dropped her morning's purchases with a bemused looking flunky at the Dorchester's entrance, we headed on to a restaurant down near Victoria somewhere that Marion assured me served the best lunchtime steaks in London. Marion had obviously remembered my penchant for a good - and very plainly grilled -- steak. She even ordered for me -- with a wink and smile - when we'd seated ourselves, although she left the choice of wine to me. "See it might be longer than either of us care to remember. But I still know what my Josh likes." She grinned at me after ordering my medium to well done steak, with no added sauces. As far as I'm concerned, only a fool destroys the flavour of a good Aberdeen Angus, by pouring some sauce the chef has come up with over it. For herself Marion ordered some vegetarian concoction. "Still a veggie Marion?" I asked. "In public, Josh. I still enjoy chewing on a nice big sausage in private." I'm not sure why I ignored the obvious innuendo in Marion's comment about sausages. Possibly I was too busy staring into those gorgeous green eyes and fighting back the tears for what might have been, for it to have registered properly. I could see that those same wistful tears kept re-appearing in the corner of Marion's eyes as we recalled all the good times we spent together in detail, over our meal. After the meal, we moved into the restaurant's bar; all thought of my appointment with the doctor discarded by then. I had other things on my mind. Eventually we got to the point in our mutual recollections of that evening in the nightclub. Neither could recall why we had fought that night. But we both admitted that we'd been too stubborn to call the other and apologise with wry smiles on our faces. What made me notice Marion's wedding ring at that time I'm not sure. Maybe I was thinking that before very much longer I was convinced we were going to be heading for a bed somewhere. Yeah that's how intimate our conversation had become. "So how are things with you, still married?" I asked, it couldn't hurt to find out the state of Marion's marital commitment, and it was only gentlemanly for me to point out mine; if she enquired. God knows, I knew too many guys who'd bedded women without spelling out the true situation. If Marion asked then I'd lay it on the line as honestly as I could. "Well, only just. The divorce becomes final in about three weeks. Took some time because my latest has been so selfish about the finances. I do hate it when these things get messy, don't you?" "Um, I haven't ever been divorced Marion. And to be honest with you, I only know a couple of people who are." "Oh this is my third; but William has been really silly and selfish about my settlement. God the man, well his company, is worth a couple of billion and he's been arguing over two million I wanted." "Tight fisted bugger." I commented somewhat tongue in cheek. Only I don't think Marion picked up on the joke. "How long were you married?" "Four years; but we only lived together for about eighteen months before I got wind of his antics with some starlet actress. If I'd been a little more patient, I'd have been able to get rid of him sooner. But when I found out, I'd already made the mistake of bedding my personal trainer; I'm sure William put the sod up to it! Anyway, net result, I'm only getting eight-hundred thousand in cash. And forty thousand a year alimony." She added as an afterthought. "Not very sporting of him, was it?" I commented, once again tongue in cheek; I was having trouble comprehending what Marion was saying to me. There I was sitting in a plush restaurant with the first woman I ever fell in love with. Marion was that woman I stilled dreamed about; her, the times we spent together and the plans we'd made for our life together. "Lucky you never had any children with William. That really would have put the cat among the pigeons. Might have got you another few grand though." I kind of threw into the conversation, just for something to say really. I've no idea how, but somehow I knew that there weren't going to be any children; from that marriage anyway. "Kids, good heavens no, I don't want anymore of them. I had one with my first husband; you'd never believe what it did to my figure. I nearly killed myself getting it back. I think I would have killed myself if I hadn't been able to. "My wife never seemed to have too much trouble. We have three you know, and she's just as trim in her figure now, as she's ever been." I surprised myself; I was suddenly and inexplicably feeling very proud of my Christina. "Oh my god, horrible little things," Marion said pulling a contorted face, "all those disgusting nappies to change and that waking you up during the night. I couldn't stomach that; made my first husband hire a nanny; two nannies to be precise; one for days, and one for the nights." "How old is your child now; what did you have a boy or girl?" I found myself asking. "Oh god I don't know, ten, twelve or something like that. I haven't seen the little cow since I divorced her father. She was always whining about something." Marion replied with a look of distain on her face. Very suddenly I felt a complete fool. This was the woman I'd secretly worshipped all those years. And she was the most selfish and contemptuous woman I'd ever met. What had happened to that lovely young woman who'd been the first I'd ever taken to bed, I was asking myself. Then the realisation struck me. I hadn't taken her to bed; she'd seduced me that night. I had been top dog in my circle of friends and she'd latched on to me. Then the question of why Marion and I had really broken up entered my mind again. The answer -- long suppressed in my memory - was simple, I'd objected to her selfishness and constant flirting. Suddenly I was thinking about all those arguments we'd had again, they could all be put down to one of those two things. And if I thought about it, the guys she flirted with, they were guys, either from money or who had more ready cash than I did. I suddenly realised that I'd been nothing more than a stepping-stone to Marion; the same as all of her apparently numerous husbands had turned out to have been. "Oh my god! Look at the time; I'm late for my appointment." I found myself saying, as I rushed down the last of my drink. "Look, Marion; please excuse me, I must rush or there'll be hell to pay." I said before dashing over to the bar and settling the bill. "You really have to go?" She asked following me to the till. "Yeah I'm sorry, work you know. I've got a lot of responsibilities nowadays." "Will you call me? I'm at the Dorchester for another week." "Sure thing, Marion; we'll get together again soon when I have more time." I lied. I just wanted to get as far away from this woman as soon as I possibly could. Outside the restaurant I called Marion a taxi but did not join her in it. I told her that the underground would get me to my appointment quicker. An excuse she appeared to accept. Then I took off as fast as I could run for the nearest station. From a payphone at the Underground Station, I called the doctor and apologised to his receptionist for missing my appointment. I Took A Memory To Lunch. "Would you like to make another?" the woman asked. "I don't think so. I do believe that what happened to delay me this afternoon has cured my main problem. I've just got to get home as fast as I can and hope that I can cure the other one." "I'm sorry, I don't understand?" The woman said. "Don't worry about it. I understand, and that's what's really important." I said before I hung up on the woman. I was in a hurry and I was running very late; several years late I suspected. Regretfully the start of the Friday rush hour was upon me by the time I had bought my ticket. To add to my woes there was some kind of an incident on the tracks, which delayed my journey even more. Consequently it was half-past-six before I ran out of our local station. Tina habitually put the dinner on the table at half six. Stopping only to buy the biggest box of Christina's favourite chocolates that I could find, a bottle of her favourite wine, a large bouquet of flowers and a selection of the children's favourite sweets; Christina and I try to discourage them from eating too many sweets, but this evening was special. Then I dived into a cab -- ignoring the shouts from the people in the queue, about me waiting my turn, and instructed the driver to get me home, pronto. He looked from the flowers to the wine, chocolates and sweets... and then he looked at me. "Big trouble?" He enquired "Deep deep doo-doo!" I replied. "Been there, got the ef-in' Tee Shirt." The cabbie replied with a smile, before jamming the pedal to the metal so hard, that I fell back violently into my seat. Rather more quickly than usual, the cab was screeching to a stop outside my front door. I just shoved a tenner at the guy and said thanks as I climbed out of the cab. "Good luck Gov!" He called after me as I hurried away. "I'll need it!" I yelled back at him. I could hear them in the kitchen as I entered the house by the front door. My car was still at the office, so I guessed -- not hearing me pull into the drive -- they would be unaware of my arrival. Carefully and as quietly as possible I put down my load on the table in the hallway and crept towards the kitchen door, that fortuitously was not quite closed. There I stood and listened to Christina gently and with the usual good-natured humour she used with them, chastising the children about neglecting their table manors. "Where's daddy this evening?" I heard my youngest asked. "Why isn't he home yet?" "I don't know sweetheart. He's very busy at work you know." Christina answered. "He'll be here as soon as he can." "But he's always late nowadays. Its like he doesn't want to eat with us anymore." My eldest chimed in. She hates not to be the centre of attention. "I told you Daddy's very busy at work at the moment and he has a lot on his mind. But he loves you very much, you know that." Christina replied somewhat unconvincingly. I thought that it was about time I put in and appearance. So positioning myself in the centre of the doorway, I gently pushed the door open. It was several moments before any of the four realised that I was standing there. "Oh my god, you made me jump,." Christina said when she finally realised that I was there. "I wanted to surprise you. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you that much." I replied. Which was both a stupid statement and a white lie, because that was what I'd intended to do even; if I hadn't thought about it. Isn't that the sort of thing most fathers do, although most would have probably shouted, "Boo!" "Why are you so late, daddy?" My eldest demanded. "You've missed eating dinner with us again!" "I'm sorry sweetheart, but I'm not really hungry; I had a rather long lunch today." I replied. "Did you go out to a restaurant for lunch daddy?" My eldest daughter persisted. "I sure did kiddo. A very swish restaurant in London." "Who did you go with, daddy?" She wasn't going to give up until I'd told all, but I'd intended to do that anyway. It was just that I wasn't intending to tell the children, it was their mother I needed to explain everything too. I entered the kitchen and moved to a point where I could look Christina straight in the face. "I'm sorry I'm late for dinner, Babe, but I took a memory to lunch." I'm not sure I can explain the expression that came over Christina's face, but somehow I knew that she knew or suspected exactly what I was about to say. That didn't stop her from asking the question though. "And who was this memory?" Christina's voice had a hard and slightly worried sounding edge to it. "Marion Holden." I replied. "Oh!" Christina commented, in a definitely disappointed tone. Christina was well aware of my long-term relationship with Marion, as was just about everyone else who'd lived in town and had been around at the time. "Yeah we ran into each other by chance and went to lunch together. "How is she, as beautiful as ever?" Christina asked. The children, sensing something was in the air, remained silent. "More so if anything. Looked to me like she's into all the latest designer clothes as well." "What did you find to talk about?" "Ah you know, all kinds of stuff. I learnt a lot from her today really. Things I should have known all along but for some reason I had forgotten." Christina had turned and sort of cocked her head to one side. You know how some folks do that when they are listening closely and trying to understand what you're saying. "What kind of things could you possibly have learnt from her?" "Well for a start that it was the..." I stopped speaking for a moment, whilst I did a quick bit of mental arithmetic; never one of my best subjects at school. "Sixth luckiest day of my life. The day I broke up with her." "The sixth?" "Yeah My first was the day I met you. My second, the day I persuaded you to marry me. The third, forth and fifth were the days you presented me with our dinner guests here. So that makes it the sixth luckiest day of my life when I finally ditched that bitch. My god, was that one lucky escape!" "I don't understand." "Babe, I'm sorry, things have been getting me down for a year or so now and... like an idiot... I don't know I had started wondering what might have happened if..." Christina suddenly smiled "I know. You've developed the habit of talking in your sleep." "Oh shi..." I began to say, then I remembered that there were six little ears sitting expectantly the other side of the table. "Very much?" I enquired. "Enough!" "Oh B...alderdash. I'm sorry. But I suppose it explains..." It was pretty obvious to me what had happened and my mind was playing with the scenario of how I would have reacted, had I heard Christina mumbling some other guy's name in her sleep. Pretty much the same way that she'd been behaving towards me lately I hoped. But knowing myself as I did know myself, I suspected that I would have gone loopy. But Christina was talking. "We can't control what we dream about, dear. Dreams are just random thoughts that your brain is trying to make sense of." "Looking back at them now, Babe I don't think they were what you'd call dreams. I think they're best described as nightmares." Suddenly a smile on Christina's face turned into a grin. "That bad was she?" "Oh my god, worse than you can ever imagine. Selfish and by the sounds of it a complete..." I couldn't finish that sentence, well not with the children present. "On her third... or was it forth... divorce as well." "I never did like her; she was one of the girls... Well you always thought she had an ulterior motive when she deigned to speak to you. And she had you of course!" "Why should Marion going out with me have any bearing on whether you liked her or not?" "Why do you think?" "Aaah, should I feel flattered?" "That sort of depends." Christina said, rising from her seat and stepping into my arms. "What are you two talking about?" My... our eldest suddenly interrupted. "Love my sweet. Your daddy and I love each other very much." Christina replied, without the slightest hesitation. "Oh, are you two going to get all soppy on us now?" "I don't believe we've been getting soppy enough lately sweetheart," I replied, "and I think that's been the biggest problem around here. But I think... or I rather I hope that I've cured that problem." "How did you do that daddy?" "I took a memory to lunch, my sweet, and learned that memories, sometimes, aren't what they're cracked up to be." Life goes on.