CHAPTER 6... is live
The story continues
If you’ve not started THE BOMB IN THE SHED yet - read chapter 1…
All previous chapters - CHAPTER 1 - CHAPTER 2 - CHAPTER 3 - CHAPTER 4 - CHAPTER 5
Previously on “The bomb in the shed…”; Arthur agrees to the investment after seeing his new lab, and and Camilla’s hot yoga session with Alex leads her to realise her marriage needs to change. In the US a figure from Arthur’s past looks set to return.
And here we go with CHAPTER 6…
Chapter 6
Jacob left work early to try and catch the physio before she left. One of the advantages of working for a VC was that he had a lot of flexibility over his time and could leave whenever he wanted. He’d probably be working later tonight anyway so why not? Barbara was just on her way out when he got back to the flat, a harried look on her face that was all too common a sight after a physio session with Jacob’s dad. It was a miracle she’d lasted six months with him, she must have the patience of a saint.
Jacob said, “How’s he doing?”
“Fine,” Barbara replied.
It didn’t look like she wanted to hang around and chat.
“Fine, but?...”
She let out a long breath of exasperation and lowered her voice, glancing back towards the living room to make sure she wasn’t being overheard. “Same as always. He keeps trying to get me to help him walk. It’s pointless, he needs to work on his upper body strength. But he’s too damn pig-headed.” She looked guilty for a moment. “Sorry, I shouldn’t say that.”
“Don’t apologise. I know exactly what you mean. I’ll try talking to him.”
Barbara gave him a half-hearted smile, “Thanks,” then collected her things in a hurry and left.
It didn’t look like she believed him and why should she? How many times had they had the same conversation? How many times had he promised to have a word? He’d tried of course, but not very hard. How do you try to convince your own dad to accept he won’t ever walk again?
“How’s it going.” Jacob tried to keep his voice bright and optimistic as he entered the living room.
Everything was just as he had expected, unfortunately. The blinds were closed and the place gloomy. There was a mild fug in the air that was an unpleasant blend of body odour and unwashed dishes. No wonder Barbara was so keen to leave. His dad was sat on his chair in front of the muted TV in stained sweat pants and a T-shirt, the mess of his day surrounding him. His wheelchair was within reach for when he wanted to get about the place. Every morning Jacob would get up early and tidy before going to work, only to find a complete mess by the end of the day.
“Hey Kidda,” replied his dad. “Get in here.”
His dad’s face brightened as the sight of his son, as it nearly always did. He seemed to genuinely love having Jacob around, which made Jacob’s heart sink with guilt every time he came home. Jacob was pulled in for a big hug, something his dad had done most evenings since he was a little boy. But the experience of it had changed. As a child Jacob could feel the hard muscles of his dad’s arms and chest though the fabric of his expensive shirts and and smell the faint musk of aftershave that was strong enough to survive the whole day. Now Jacob had to bend down awkwardly, his dad’s arms weak, his body thick and heavy from a diet of junk food and his clothes stained and ripe with sweat.
Jacob pulled away first and checked his suit and shirt to make sure they hadn’t been soiled by the embrace. It was a reflex reaction he couldn’t help, no matter how guilty it made him feel. He went over to the window, opened the blinds and let some fresh air in, taking a couple of deep breaths. Then he started clearing up the mess.
His dad was eyeing up the shopping bags Jacob had placed on the floor. “Come on then, Jakey, what have you got?”
Jacob went to one of the bags and took out a couple of flapjack bars. “You’re going to eat your dinner tonight though, right?”
His dad accepted the bars eagerly, opened one of them straight away and took a big bite. “Love these,” he said, already chewing.
Jacob went through to the kitchen to put the shopping away.
His dad’s voice followed him, “How’s your mother?”
It was always one of the first questions he asked and it was hard to know what to say.
“I haven’t really seen her since the book launch. We’ve exchanged a couple of texts since then. She’s fine.”
A grunt of acknowledgment was all he got in reply. His dad probably only asked from a sense of obligation, he didn’t ever seem interested in the answer.
“And how’s work? Kinga still busting your balls?” His dad laughed at this.
“Kinga’s Kinga. You know what she’s like.”
His dad had made sandwiches for lunch, the aftermath of crumbs and smears of margarine were all over the place. Jacob moved on to clearing it all up.
His dad said, “How’s the new deal going?”
Jacob could tell from the subtle change in tone that this was the question his dad was really interested in the answer to.
“I don’t know. I’m worried about it.”
“I thought this was the one.”
Jacob came back through with a couple of opened bottle of beers. He probably shouldn’t, but it helped make the evenings more bearable. He sat on the sofa, leaned over and handed one over. “We’ve just had Arthur’s medical and psyche evaluation back.”
“And?”
Jacob took a swig of beer before replying. “I think the guy might be crazy.”
His dad laughed again. “That’s what the report said?”
“Not in so many words. But there are flags. You know what I mean. Anyway, I told you, he’s trying to make a nuclear bomb in his shed. He can’t be completely right in the head.”
“All founders are nuts, you know that. They need to be.”
That was a fair point. You had to be a little bit crazy to have those ideas, to take those risks. But this was something different altogether.
His dad switched to preachy mode, “What do we do with risk?”
All investments had risks, especially early stage start-ups.
Jacob replied in monotone, as if a child answering by rote, “Mitigate and manage.”
“Exactly. Why should this be any different? Get him a therapist, surround him with the sanest people you know and keep an eye on things. Listen, you have real skin in the game this time. You’re done making other people rich, it’s your turn now.”
His dad said your turn, but it sounded like he almost said our turn. He probably meant my turn.
“And if he finishes his bomb?”
His dad took another long pull of beer and stared at the silent TV screen thoughtfully.
“Maybe best not let it get that far, right?”
---
The applause was ringing loudly in the auditorium as Camilla left the stage, but it was likely the audience wasn’t clapping for her. She’d been taking part in a panel discussion on the future of the publishing industry along with three other authors and she suspected she’d only been invited for window dressing. Amira was waiting for her at the front, clapping enthusiastically with a big happy smile on her face. She was wearing a lovely long floral dress complimented by a dark bottle-green hijab. She always dressed beautifully.
“You were great,” Amira assured her before Camilla could say anything.
If Amira had one vice it was that she was perpetually upbeat, which meant Camilla wasn’t always hearing things as they really were. Which was funny, because when it came to editing Amira was the complete opposite. She was brutal with the red pen.
“Really? I didn’t say much. It was hard to get a word in edgeways with David Weatherburn droning on. Is it awful that I thought he was rather pompous?”
He’d made a few derogatory remarks about the industry being drowned in mindless genre writing. Camilla was pretty sure he’d glanced over at her as he said it. He was at the back holding court now, surrounded by an eager group of young acolytes.
Amira was giving the man a dark stare. “Don’t worry about David, he’s a pretentious hack.” There was a surprising amount of vitriol in her voice. But the bile disappeared with a smile a moment later as if it were a mirage. “Anyway, he’s not the one with a Netflix deal, is he?”
How was Camilla going to tell Amira she’d decided to say no? It was all well and good running it through in your head, a whole different ball game explaining it to someone whose life and future was so closely bound up with your own.
Her agent’s face fell. “What’s going on, Camilla?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do it. Not because of Arthur. I don’t want to leave Jacqueline Devereaux in the hands of a bunch of clueless men in Hollywood. I just can’t take the risk.”
Amira looked disappointed. Then after a moment’s reflection, fearful. Perhaps the long shadow of Sandra Bellingham was responsible. But then her expression changed again. A look of steely resolve set in that Camilla hadn’t seen in her agent since she’d led the auction for publishing rights for books four to seven.
“Don’t worry, Camilla, you’re absolutely right,” said Amira. “Leave it with me.”
And then she was off, striding through the crowd. She was a good foot shorter than most of the people there but they got out of her way pretty sharpish.
“You’re going to tell Sandra now?” Camilla called after her.
Now that it was happening for real she couldn’t help but question if this really was the right thing to do. Amira clearly thought it was though, she’d disappeared from view without another word.
---
“Have you ever had therapy before?”
Amanda was a rather jolly looking middle aged women with curly hair and a round face who smiled a lot as she talked. And she was very welcoming too, she offered Arthur a cup of tea and made him very comfortable. Arthur has always imagined therapists as something rather different, older men with greying hair and serious frowns.
He shook his head.
Not that he had anything against therapy per se, he’d just never seen the point. He’d always been far too busy to worry about what was going on in his own head. They’d offered Arthur counselling after his time in New Mexico, and again when he was given early retirement from the MOD. But he was pretty sure it was less about looking after his mental welfare and more about minimising legal risk. Each time he’d politely declined. This time it seemed he didn’t have much choice.
Amanda gave him an encouraging smile, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”
They were in her studio in a building in North Finchley that housed a number of alternative wellbeing practices. If he so chose Arthur could also experience acupuncture, aromatherapy and reflexology during his visit, all probably about as effective use of his time as spending an hour chatting to a complete stranger about his life. The space was like someone’s living room, but one stripped of any personal items that might betray to whom it belonged. There was a box of toys in the corner, presumably for Amanda’s younger clients, but honestly, who knew? The layout felt a little uncomfortable at first and it took Arthur a moment to work out why. The position of the chairs forced you to look at someone else rather than a TV.
“Arthur, these sessions are all about you,” Amanda continued, when it was clear he had nothing to add. “I’m going to ask you some questions and we’re going to have a chat. That’s all. How does that sound?”
It sounded perfectly horrid, but not unexpected.
He nodded.
Amanda said, “Tell me, Arthur, why are you here?”
“I have to be,” he replied, “It’s in my contract.”
He’d tried to refuse but Jacob had insisted, and to be fair Arthur couldn’t think of a rational explanation of why he shouldn’t. Apparently mental wellbeing was part of the package for VC backed founders these days. He’d asked Elizabeth her view and she’d told him to man up and stop being such a baby.
Amanda said, “So you’d rather not be here?”
He didn’t want to offend the woman, this was her job after all. So Arthur just shrugged.
“What would you like to get out of these sessions?”
Another shrug.
“Are you experiencing any problems, is anything troubling you at the moment?”
Honestly? He wouldn’t know where to start. But these were all questions that revolved around how to finish Bella. He and Elizabeth now had access to all the resources they needed but it still wasn’t going to be easy.
He said, “Not really.”
Amanda was staring at him with some intensity, so he looked away. She took in a deep breath held it, then let it out in a long deep sigh. “Arthur, why are you here?”
“I told you, I have to be, it’s in the contract.”
She made an exaggerated play of looking around the room before her eye’s settled back on him. “I don’t see anyone holding a gun to your head.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, from what I understand you’re a grown man of sixty five years with a long and successful career who has a family. You’d have every right to be relaxing and enjoying your retirement. Why is this contract so important that it makes you willing to come to this studio and suffer talking to me for an hour a week.”
He didn’t reply. Just looked at her.
Amanda didn’t fill the silence, just looked right back at him.
He said, “I need to carry on my research. This is the only way.”
“This research must be very important to you then, why?”
An image of Bella and Elizabeth in the shed popped into Arthur’s head, incredibly vivid. His mind did this sometimes when people asked him intrusive questions, it overloading him with powerful mental images that made it even harder than normal to talk.
“It just is.”
Amanda nodded. “Ok. How about your family, what do they think about your research?”
“I don’t know, they don’t get involved.”
“Not at all? Don’t you talk to them about it?”
“No.”
Amanda paused, then shifted position on her chair.
“What do you do with your family then?”
Arthur had to think for a moment. It wasn’t something he’d really considered for a while. He was able to measure the weeks, months and even the years or his life over the last two decades by the progress they were making with Bella. But the things he did with his family? Anything he might remember doing could have been last week, last month, last year. He really wasn’t sure.
“You know, normal things.”
Amanda smiled at this, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to help me with what constitutes normal.”
“Sunday lunch… that sort of thing…”
His words petered out to nothing.
“… I guess we don’t do so much together anymore.”
“So you used to do things together? What changed?”
“My wife started writing.”
It came out before he’d really thought about it. A reflex reaction to the question that his brain had ready and prepared.
“That’s the problem then?” asked Amanda. “Your wife’s new career is the reason why you don’t do more as a family?”
Arthur shook his head. It would be easy to say yes but the truth was Bella had started taking up more of his time way before then. It was actually a relief when Camilla’s writing took off. It eased the pressure for him at home.
“Why don’t you tell me what life was like before everything changed, for you and with your family.”
Arthur hadn’t thought about those times for years, but he began to talk about it. Slowly at first, but them with more confidence. As he did it all came flooding back to him. He loved his job back then, it had been a passion rather than an obsession. As a family they had their share of problems and drama of course. But something about the memory of those times felt more real to him than what he was doing now. David and Alex grew from children to young adults on the cusp of living their own lives. He and Camilla made plans together about what they would so when the both of the kids left home. They would travel, and finally buy that house in Hampstead they’d always dreamed of.
The contract in New Mexico would make all of that possible. It was six months away in the US, which would be difficult for all of them, but the money would transform their lives so it was worth it. But six months turned into two years. And then it all came crashing to an end and nothing was the same again.
“So what happened?” asked Amanda.
Another image crowded into Arthur’s mind unbidden. Driving his car across the flat of the New Mexican desert at night, windows open, short sleeved shirt with pens in the breast pocket. Much like he was now but looking younger, a full head of hair, dark but lightly peppered with grey. The lights of the facility were ahead, winking in the darkness. Then a rumbling, the ground shaking below the wheels, forcing Arthur to pull over to the side of the road. Then a huge explosion erupting from below, the ground disappearing beneath his feet. Then nothing.
“Arthur, are you alright?”
Amanda was standing over him holding a glass of water. He was trembling and his throat was dry. He took the water and drank it all down in one. She placed her hand on his shoulder, gently. Normally such an act from someone he didn’t know might cause him to flinch. But not now.
“Maybe that’s enough for today?” she suggested.
“Yes I think maybe you’re right,” replied Arthur. Then added, “You’re not going to tell Jacob any of this are you?”
“I’m bound by patient confidentiality,” Amanda assured him. “I can’t tell anyone.”
“No exceptions?”
“Only if I believe there’s an immediate threat of harm to you or to others. Otherwise, no, I can’t tell a soul.”
That’s it for Chapter 6, I hope you enjoyed it and are looking forward to more.
NEXT CHAPTER OUT NOW - Chapter 7
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Really enjoyed chapters 5 & 6 with hints of what happened in New Mexico and I can see that Arthur's therapy sessions could prove interesting. Looking forward for the next one.....