Derek was racking his brains yet again. In any spare moment, or while driving, or walking, his mind would always return to the vexing question – what was he going to do with his life? Other, that is, than leave it as it was.
He had a wife, kids, house, car – two cars – , job, pension, a few drinking pals. This all took place in Stockport, and seemed to have come about by accident. It was just normal. Very normal.
Surely he should achieve something special in life? Make more of a mark on the world? Or find something deeper within himself?
That wasn’t going to happen in Stockport, was it? He needed to get away – to Penzance? Milan? Delhi? Vladi-flippin’-vostok ….. the choices were so great; how would he decide? Well, of course, by working out what he would do when he got there. Carry on being an analytical chemist? Drive a taxi? Write a novel? Plan a crime?
This line of thinking never led anywhere. It was going to drive him mad. Why not stick a pin in the map, go to wherever it indicated, and see what happened? Why not, indeed. How would the family get on without him – without his salary? But did it matter?
Questions, questions. And no answers.
Spare moments had to be avoided. Derek took on more at work, as much as he could, but it wasn’t the sort of work you could easily take home. He needed something to seize his attention. He tried any number of hobbies but none of them seized him. It hurt his brain to concentrate on them. His mind would soon wander back to his predicament, so that his study and shed were full of the discarded remnants of failed pursuits.
One day his wife told him that his oldest child was planning to go and work in Japan when she’d finished her A-levels. Someone at the school had contacts there and would be able to help her get accommodation and a job.
On the surface Derek exhibited the normal concerns of a parent; would she be safe, have enough money, enough ability, enough sense? He and his wife agreed that they couldn’t stop her and must support her initiative as best they could. But the sensible dad concealed a raging storm of jealousy.
Her first emails from Tokyo spoke of exotic experiences that he should be having. His head ached and his ears rang. He shoved the bonsai tree he was trying to prune to the back of his desk, and moped.
In the living room he snapped at his two sons sprawling over the sofas. They were watching TV, one of them at the same time tapping at a laptop on his knee.
“What’s this racket you’re watching? Haven’t you got anything better to do?”
“ – like what, Dad?”
“ – shush Dad, aw, I’ve missed what they were saying now.”
After a couple of weeks, the emails had little to say. Tokyo had quickly become as quotidian as Stockport. “It’s wasted on her!” he thought bitterly. “If only I…”
Then one day two policemen called, on behalf of their opposite numbers in Japan. The daughter had been reported missing from her work and her room. Did they know….? No, they didn’t know anything.
His wife, boss, mates all said the same thing – he must go there. The police agreed it could be helpful. Now was his chance to travel, live on his wits, to face hardships and horrors, to square up to destiny. He rushed around renewing his passport, booking tickets, arranging insurance, buying a better mobile phone.
He was waiting in line to check in his luggage when an announcement asked him to come to an information desk. He lugged his bags across the airport concourse, his mind racing over grim scenarios.
“Could you please phone your wife?” He got out his mobile and found that he’d somehow turned it off. He had yet to get the hang of it. When it came back to life he rang home and his elder son answered. “Dad? – Lisa’s here. Yes, she just walked in. I don’t know anything, she’s been upstairs with Mum for ages… no, she’s fine, it’s cool.”
“Listen, Dan,” Derek said. “Listen carefully. Does anyone else know it’s me on the phone?” “No.” “Do you want to earn an easy £100?” “Er, yeah!” “Tell them it was one of your friends called. NEVER tell them it was me, OK?” “OK Dad, awesome!”
Derek rang off. Holding himself as straight and tall as possible he swung his bags back to the end of the check-in line, which had not reduced much in the meanwhile. After fifteen minutes he reached the front and handed over his documents. The attendant ran through the usual litany. “Now place your bags on the belt, please, sir.”
“Could I – no, er – let him go first.” Derek stepped aside in favour of the person behind him, and edged his bags out of the queue, out of the system, out of contention.
He stood there, painfully aware that he was attracting curious looks from the queuing passengers, and wondering whether he was the subject of the phone-call that the attendant was now making. He should walk away, but when he thought of home, his legs and his luggage just wouldn’t move.
He remained rooted to the spot, surrounded by his bags, until the flight had taken off, five messages had accumulated on his phone – which he’d inadvertently managed to switch to silent – and two pairs of security guards were coming warily towards him from opposite directions.