Writing for Fun
October 2021
Prediction - Pete Norman
Brian’s life was predictable . . .
. . . and that suited him just fine.
As a young teenager he had been given a copy of Old Moore’s Almanack, which he had read from cover to cover. He was fascinated that so much of life appeared to be pre-ordained and that – Q.E.D. – life was predictable.
Brian’s life ran like clockwork – apart, that is, from his alarm clock, which was electric, so that when it let out an irritating buzz at 07:42 precisely each morning he could hit the ‘five minute snooze’ button twice to enable him to wake up a little more naturally.
His shower took exactly eight minutes and so he always hit the button on the kettle at 08:02. Two slices took the same time to toast as the kettle took to boil so he was always ready to spread the jam at 08:05 precisely.
He did not consider himself to be OCD and he did not in any way consider it unusual that the four jars of strawberry jam in the cupboard were all in a dead straight line and in date order and with the labels facing forwards – he considered it critical that the jars were always conveniently positioned with the shortest ‘use by date’ first.
He left home every morning at 08:35 precisely and the walk into town took exactly 20 minutes. In a more incentivised universe he might have been eligible for the most punctual employee of the year medal but Hardings did not subscribe to such nonsense.
His job was clerical and mindless and repetitive and almost completely predictable . . .
. . . and that suited him just fine.
Brian enjoyed his life. He had always lived alone and there was no one else in his life to make undue demands on him, to complicate his routine. . .
. . . life could not have been better.
However, on a warm sunny Friday morning in early May, life threw him a curved ball.
His day had started exactly as normal and he was 3½ minutes away from the office when he heard the loud squeal of brakes and a sickening thump.
As he spun around the dog began to yelp.
A grey Ford Fiesta drove off with its wheels spinning.
A young woman screamed at the driver to stop but it was wasted breath because the teenage driver drove as if his life depended on it. In fact it was not his life but his freedom which depended on it as he had been promised that another conviction for car theft would almost certainly result in incarceration.
Brian watched as the young woman rushed into the road to take care of her dog. He did not like to hear an animal suffering but what could he do? The dog had its owner to care for it – there was nothing he could do . . . and besides, it was S.E.P. – someone else’s problem.
He checked his watch and saw that he was still on schedule for getting to the office before his duty time but as he took his first step in that direction he heard her crying and he could not bear to hear a woman suffering. Against his better judgement he hurried into the road where she was trying to get her dog to its feet but one of its legs was laying at an impossible angle and without thinking he bent down, took a firm grip on the writhing animal and carried it to the kerb.
He was just about to put it down when he heard her say, ‘Isn’t there a vets in William Street?’
Brian was perfectly aware that there was a vets and that it was only a few minutes walk away from here . . . but that would make him late for work for the first time in over 7 years. Surely he had done enough already . . . but the dog moaned . . . and the woman stroked its nose . . . and he realised that this had now, well and truly, become his problem.
The walk to the vets took eight minutes and he unceremoniously dumped the dog in the waiting room, made his apologies and fled to the sanctuary of the office.
After making a sincere apology to his supervisor for his tardiness and promising to make up the twelve minutes at the end of the day he settled into his clerical, mindless, repetitive and almost completely, predictably, safe little world.
In the evening, when he took his coat down from its peg, there was a faint odour. Cautiously he sniffed it more closely and realisation set in . . . that dog! . . . Was that all the thanks he got? On the way home he diverted from his usual route to drop his coat in at the dry cleaners. Fortunately he had a spare at home.
The following day he left home at 08:35 precisely and at 08:55 he found himself walking past the scene of the accident. He tucked his head down and tried hard to shut out all thoughts of the unpleasant incident from his mind but he could not shake off the sound of the dog whining and the woman crying. He paused for a moment and looked around him. Everything was exactly as normal except that there was no dog and there was no woman. On reflection he realised that the two of them actually did fit into the ‘normality’ of his life and that he had actually seen them, every day, at the same time, as he passed. The woman had short blonde hair and always wore a light brown coat with a dark brown shoulder bag and black jeans and luminous orange trainers – how could he possibly forget her? He could also not forget the dog, because as a child he had had a dog just like it.
However, the mind is a strange thing – every second the eyes send a plethora of information to the brain which sifts out the interesting from the mundane and it was quite clear that his brain had filed them both away under mundane.
As he walked on he wondered what had happened to the dog. From what he had seen, its leg had been badly broken and he was certain that it must have been humanely dispatched – so at least it was not suffering any more.
At the weekend he busied himself with his weekend schedule: he dusted and hoovered; he ordered a food delivery; he dead-headed the roses and cut the lawn to within an inch of its life; and finally, because it was the 4th Saturday in the month, he cleaned out the goldfish bowl and gave it fresh gravel.
Life was back to normal . . .
. . . and that suited him just fine.
However, the following week, on a warm sunny Friday morning, life threw him another curved ball. His day had started exactly as normal and he was 3½ minutes away from the office when he saw her. There was no dog but she was looking directly at him as if intercepting him was her sole intention this morning. He had no option but to stop and find something polite to say to her.
He eventually settled on, ‘I’m sorry about the dog – you must miss him.’
Claire said, ‘Oh, William’s fine, he’s recovering well but it’s a little too early for walkies just yet – for the moment he has use the back garden.’
‘Or other people’s coat!’ Brian thought, bitterly.
Claire smiled and said, ‘I can’t ever thank you enough for what you did for him, he probably wouldn’t still be here if you hadn’t been so kind.’
He had always struggled with small talk but he managed, ‘Don’t mention it – anyone would have done just the same.’
‘But anyone did not do anything, they just stood and gawped, it was you that stepped forward and I really appreciate that.’
He replied with a smile – he could not come up with another suitable verbal response at such short notice.
Claire said, ‘I thought it would be nice if I thanked you properly – with a cream tea – there’s a lovely cafe just down the High Street.’
He panicked. ‘But I’m . . .’
‘Yes, I know you’re on your way to work and I won’t keep you but what time do you finish?’
Brian picked up the pace as he hurried on to the office – he might just about make it on time. His mind was buzzing – he was so far out of his comfort zone he would need a SatNav to find his way back. He had tried desperately to find some way of putting her off but it would have been like kicking a kitten and so eventually he had been forced to gracefully accept.
He spent the day submerged in safe and predictable mediocrity without giving the matter any further thought but when he finally left the office and walked out into the High Street his brain engaged with full force and the sheer terror of the meeting struck him. He thought that he could always walk home a different way . . . but that would mean that he would have to take a different route to work every day to avoid her and that would be such a nuisance. It seemed as if he had no alternative.
He had walked past Rose’s Tea Rooms twice every working day but he had never once been inside – it looked to him like one of those posh places where everything was gold plated. However today he did not walk past, he stopped at the door and peered inside. There she was, sat at a two person table facing the door and – horror of horrors – she was reaching down to stroke Widdling Willy!
His hand hovered uncertainly on the door handle but at that moment a couple came out and so the door was opened for him. He took a deep breath, composed himself and walked in.
Claire seemed pleased to see him and, as he sat down, he heard the sound of the dog’s tail thumping on the floor.
‘I think he’s pleased to see you,’ she said.
Brian was surprised, he had never had much reaction from a dumb animal before.
The waitress was summoned and two cream teas were ordered.
Claire asked for Earl Grey but when Brian asked if they had Rooibosh she folded the menu and said, ‘Make that two please.’
Brian was pleasantly surprised that his SatNav was guiding him slowly back towards his comfort zone . . . until, that is, William stirred and struggled to his feet. He gave a little whine and his tail began to thump once more. Claire said, ‘Get down, Munchkin, you’re not allowed to do that in here.’ Oblivious, however, Widdling Willy took an unsteady leap onto Brian’s lap where his coat shrank away in terror.
As the cream and strawberry jam was being painstakingly licked from his fingers, Brian found himself relaxing. Claire and her dog were simply lovely. This just felt so natural and he made a prediction. He predicted that his life was about to become very unpredictable, very fast . . .
. . . and that suited him just fine.