Norman Norton Writes

The White Bag

The supermarket was busy. Lines of impatient shoppers reached back from the tills and children wrestled and wriggled to get away from parents that no longer wanted to be there.

At the tills, the white plastic bags were filled with fruit, cans, bottles and vegetables. They bulged and stretched and the handles grew longer as gravity came to bear and hands became raw when the handles cut in.

The family pushed the loaded shopping cart, bulging with bags out across the car park and started to load the shopping into the car.

The doors shut and the car moved off with the bags rustling and creaking around until they got home, safe in the suburban driveway with doors flying open and the children rush out to the garden. Parents shout, kids scream and the bags get transported back to the house. They scatter on the floor as the groceries are unpacked and put away in cupboards and freezers. White bags get thrown on the floor and a dog runs away with one. “Hey” says the man “come here with that” The dog runs and the man grabs at the bag and dog growls.

Out to the garden, the dog guards the bag and the man goes inside and then returns with a treat “here Duke” and the dog runs over to the man, leaving the bag to get blown across the yard and out. Out into the street, along the pavement and down towards the park.

The old man sits on a bench and looks out at the birds who swoop and spin to dodge joggers or cyclists that distract them from the bread that man has thrown. He has a bag, an old torn bag with holes. He sees the crisp new white bag that blows down the path and slowly he stands, makes a stamp with his foot and the bag is trapped. He walks over to the grass, tips out the last of his bread and then with his new bag, he trudges home, his stick tapping along beside him. He does not look around him, but watched where he is walking.

The house was dark, tired and unkempt. The old man took his time climbing the three steps to his cracked and peeling door, which he closed behind him, with a slam. He was tired, he was alone. It was not always like this. His kids were grown up and spread out all over the globe, busy, never visiting and only in touch with the odd phone call or letter. He had a wife, but she was in heaven now and he still missed her after 6 years – I won’t be long he thought every day.

He lived frugally - not because he needed to, he had money, but he was independent.  That meant he took risks. He still smoked – his house was a fire bomb ready to happen. He kept cash in his house - he was not a man to trust banks. And he was a man of habits and he took his walk at the same time, to the same place.

Upstairs the old man carried his new bag into his bedroom, where he carefully lifted the bedding and saw a pile of cash, under the mattress, just like his Dad also taught him. He replaced the contents of his back pocket with the rest and put the bed back in place. The bag was lying by the bed and suddenly there was a knock at the door which startled him. Who could that be?

He slowly descended the stairs and opened his door. In front of him were two young men, dressed in the same blue overalls, carrying a tool bag and a clipboard.

“Mr Downs? We are from Thames Water, got to check your tank – had a report of some leaks and need to sign you off. Where is it, upstairs”? And they barged past, one climbing the stairs, the other chatting to the old man in the hall. He was confused, what leaks, where is your ID?

In a very few minutes, the young man sprinted downstairs and pushed past the old man “All good Dave, got it”. He said, rushing off down the path. “Thanks Mr Downs, take care”. The old man noticed a flash of white, looked like a bag?

They were gone. The old man was bothered, it did not feel right. He scratched his chin as he watched the two young men walk quickly down the road. Where was their van? Once more he struggled to climb the stairs.

He entered his bedroom. It was in turmoil. The mattress was flipped over onto the floor, the money was gone and so was the bag. The old man started shaking, he had been robbed.

The Policeman was even younger than the two thieves. He listened to the account of the events and wrote down the facts. He was not positive about recovery, it was cash and the chances are that the thieves were aware that the old man may have some savings and that as he went to the park at the same time every day, they could easily pick their moment to strike. The old man was still shaking and he lit his pipe.

The Policemen left with the agreement that he would send over a photo-fit expert later that day and suggested the old man improve his security and fit a chain to his door. Advice from such a young boy hurt the old man. He was tired and he went through to his front room and sat down heavily, puffing on his pipe.

The two men had thrown away the blue overalls and were now clutching the bag as they hurried down the High Street. The tool bag and clip board were gone too. “Good haul Dave – a big wad of cash”. The other man smiled “Silly old git, why not use a bank. Tell you what Barry, I am ready for a drink - let’s get down to the Red Cow”.

Petty crooks often get carried away with sudden wealth and splash out cash which draws attention to them, and Dave and Barry were no different. At 11.30 in the morning the Red Cow pub was quiet. The two men took up residence at the bar and two hours later they were somewhat more relaxed and the lunchtime crowd was in full swing.

In a corner out of the main group sat a couple of young ladies who could not help to notice the party and the frequent opening of the white plastic bag, which seemed to result in the production of twenty pound notes.

The young women were off-duty Police, on the way home from a night shift. They decided to place a call to the station and spoke to the duty Sergeant who had seen the report from the Policeman that had interviewed the old man. He sent two more officers who were waiting outside the pub when Barry and Dave, now ready to go to the betting shop, elected to stagger out, laughing.

The arrest was swift and the two thieves could not explain how they got the cash, still held in the white bag. The men were not consistent in their replies to the Police, one claiming a win on the horses, the other a lottery windfall.

In the meantime, a lady with a laptop PC was with the old man. He was shown a range of pictures, including Barry and Dave, and he identified them as the thieves as he smoked his pipe.

The vital evidence was the white bag. Fingerprints showed that both the old man and the two burglars had handled the bag. The bag remained in another thicker clear plastic evidence bag, locked away in a filing cabinet for some months.

On a bright autumn day, the bag was retrieved, taken in a van to the County Court and later that day passed around in front on a jury, a judge and several bewigged court room officials.

The case closed, a verdict was passed and the old man’s money, at least what Dave and Barry had not drunk, was returned to him. The Policeman who handed him the money also handed him the white bag, still showing black finger print dust and now free from the evidence bag.

The old man sighed. He was still tired and he shut his door once again, this time placing the chain on and turning the new lock.

He sat down and looked around him. Was this all he had now? He was so tired, and he sat back in his old chair and fell asleep. In fact he drifted in the last sleep he ever had and was found by a concerned neighbour four days later – his habits broken forever, the pipe out for good and the birds going unfed.

Again the Police came and they tracked down the relatives who were overseas. A funeral was held after that an auction and removal men came to the house, taking away furniture and possessions that recalled a full life, now over.

New ownership came to the house and the young couple grinned as they walked from room to room, planning what they were going to do and where they would start.

“Let’s go Suzy, we will come back tomorrow and really get cracking”.

“OK Phil, just want to grab a few plants from the garden to share with Mum – what can use to put them in”?

“Here” said Phil, reaching down into a kitchen cupboard “Take this old white bag”

And once more the bag came into play, this time holding bulbs, blooms and life that will be transplanted to another garden.

The next day, the white bag was lying on the ground, next to a grey haired lady who was totally absorbed in the process of kneeling over her flower beds. It was October, the wind gusted and the bag rose into the air. It flew up and away, it soared and dipped across the fields and out into countryside. It was driven up and out to the river and at last settled on the surface and was now floating out to the weir and along to the wide banks that went into the City.

Wet and sodden, the white bag looked forlorn and alone as it floated out into the middle of the wide fast moving river. Towards it motored a large pleasure boat. Its prow sucked the bag under its hull and back towards it quickly churning propellers, which very efficiently reduced the bag to tiny battered shreds and spewed them out in its wake.

In the control room of the boat the Captain turned to the helmsman and said “Did you see a white thing on the surface just there? Was it a bird”? “No Sir, just an old white plastic bag – no use to anyone”.

dream dealers

--- 1 ---

Do you remember the day that your life changed forever?  I do.

The dark blue Porsche sports car rounded the corner and screeched to a halt right outside the coffee bar. No parking zone – so what.

The girl climbed out and like about 10 other guys that drab Thursday morning, I looked over at her. Her long dark hair cascaded down past her shoulders, which were covered in a bright red leather jacket, below which she wore a dark low cut blouse. Her legs were long and covered in tight fitting jeans. She looked fantastic as she slammed the car door behind her and flounced off to the coffee bar with a  confident and sexy stride.

I would love to meet a girl like that – some chance I have.

Then I realised I knew her. I went to college with her – Janet Leys. She was the original “Plain Jane”. Quiet, shy, frumpy and a little overweight, she was studying secretarial services and whilst she often hung around with us, she never really joined in with our rowdy student parties. Surely not Jane – I had to know, so I went into the coffee bar after her.

I walked into the heady atmosphere of the room and Jane was leaning on the service counter waiting for her coffee, reading something from her phone.
“Excuse me, Jane”? I asked
“Yeah – and you are”? She turned to look at me and I was staggered by her complexion and make-up. She was a fantastic looking woman.
“Roger – Roger Blake, I was at college with you”.
“Roger, yes – hi”.
“Well you have changed – I hardly recognised you” I stammered.
“Yeah, well, I moved on. How are you”?
I was embarrassed actually. I looked like crap. I wore my tatty old Barbour, scruffy tee shirt and worn outjeans with disgusting trainers.
“Good – working at the council offices IT team, I run the web site”.
“Cool. Well done. I always thought you were geeky”!
She collected her coffee and was about to move out of the shop. “Well nice to see you – take care”.
“Jane” I was still transfixed by the change since I last saw her “What happened – you look so different, you have changed so much….”
She stopped, looked down and then stared right into my face. “Look, if you really want to know, come with me now. I have to go to the station – come with me and I will answer your questions. You were always nice to me at college, maybe I owe you one”. And she turned and headed for the car and I bundled after her.

As we drove off, she juggled the coffee and then said “So, how are you really”?
I shrugged. “OK – life has not quite gone all my way. Been tough getting the right job, still stuck in flat share and the social scene is not exactly brilliant.” I admitted.
“I was in a worse state than that.” She smiled and pulled the wheel as the car shot around a corner. “You were always into music and we all thought you would work in radio. You still could I bet. You have to willing to live your dreams – do you dream for a different life”?
I smiled this time “Yes, of course. I still try to get DJ gigs, but it’s tough when you work full-time. Radio is hard to break into and they are very selective. When I see who makes it now, I could cry.”

We waited at the light and she sipped her coffee. Without looking at me she said “If you had the chance to change your life, would you? If you could make your dream real, would you”?
What a question. “Yes – you bet. Anything”.
We were nearing the station and she was about to kick me out of the car. She stopped at the parking bay and turned to me again.
“What would you give though”?
“Not sure I have anything to give…”
“Look, you were always kind to me and you used to be the centre of all the fun at college. I can only introduce you to some people that helped me. They are very careful about whom they help but maybe you should speak to them. Take down this number.” She dictated a phone number which I entered into my phone. “If they ask, tell them that you saw me, that you have a dream and that you want to fulfil. Now I must go - good luck”. And she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, which made me blush.

I opened the door, got out and she headed for the train, with me staring after her.

Interesting, and man she looked good. I could get into being like that.

Back at the office, I was bogged down all day. The meeting with Jane was far from my mind and it was only as I was logging off, collecting my things that I picked up my phone and thought about her. I decided to Google her. It seems that she is the owner and CEO of a massively successful International lingerie business, with homes in France and the Bahamas. Her profile is low and she is very discreet about her family – no gossip cuttings or candid photos on Jane! She had started the business from nothing and in 2 years was a multi-millionaire.

I went home, picked up a microwave meal on my way, and my mind churned with thoughts of what I could be and how some people have all the luck.

Walking into the house I was handed a brown envelope by the landlord. He said nothing, just handed over the paper and looked down. The letter inside was an eviction order. The landlord was selling up and I was about to become homeless. I had no cash, weak job prospects and no one to turn to. So much for my good fortune, now I had two weeks to find a new home.

-- 2--

At 9.05am the following day, I dialled the number Jane gave me. I was on my fourth coffee and already sweating with nerves when I pressed the green button.

“Mr Blake – glad that you called” the smooth male voice said into my ear.
“Sorry”?
“Mr Blake, Mr Roger Blake” he asked.
“Yes – but how did you know who I was”?
“We hoped that you would call. In fact we have been interested in a couple of people who were at college with Jane”.
I was taken aback. “JJJane gave me the number” I stuttered.
“Glad you used it – even though she should not really have given it to you. Can we meet? I am free this lunchtime. How about we meet at the Royal Hotel? See you at 12.30 – I will be wearing a grey suit and red tie. My name is David” and he was gone.

Wow, that was a bit slick – they were certainly on the ball.

At 12.15 I left the Council offices (dodging questions as to where I was going) and headed across town to the Hotel.  Past the reception over to the left, there was a small bar and sitting there at a table was a smartly dressed man, about 40, with short black hair and large black framed glasses. He looked up at me and smiled, rising to stand.

“Roger Blake”? He asked, smiling.
“Yes. Eh - David”?
“Yes, yes – can I get you a drink? Please do sit”.

We sat together and the small space made this an intimate place, which gave us the tendency to speak quietly.

“So.” David began. “How is life treating you Roger? I can call you Roger?” A waiter came and I ordered a lager – and started to ask about just who David was working for.

“Well Roger, we are a very select group who never advertise ourselves and specialise in helping a distinct range of people. These are people with determination, drive, ambition and who have a goal - a dream. But, those people have to make sacrifices and be prepared to forsake things. We are interested in helping you Roger”. He smiled and sat back. “In fact we monitor people that have the right profile for us. We have been tracking you for a while”.

Shit – a recruitment consultant. Time to drink up, get out of there and log-on to some property rental web-sites – plus I was hungry.

“David I am really glad to have met you, but right now I am not about to look for a new job. I appreciate the drink but I need to get back – got some housing issues you see”, I said, getting up to leave.
“Yes – eviction order issued and no other accommodation options. Tricky”.
“How did you know that”? I sat down again.
“We know a lot about you Roger – as I said, we have been looking at you. We know that you were a talented and highly rated DJ at college; that you struggled with work after you graduated, that your parents died suddenly last year in a road accident leaving you with a big tax bill and that you are living hand-to-mouth doing a dead-end job for the council. Now your flat is being sold and your already tight finances are going to get even more pressure”.
“Thanks for the upbeat appraisal” I said, gulping lager.

I was puzzled. How could this David know so much about me and keep alluding to some wonderful big idea that might change my life? Time to get down to the point I felt.

Roger leaned forward and said “Look, I am being honest about being able to help. Do you wish that you could be different? Don’t you wonder how to get more success? How come others with no real talent at all get the breaks”?
 “Ok, what exactly are you and how can you help me”?
David looked right into my eyes, those glasses seemed to make his eyes look huge, mesmerising.
“We like to think that everyone deserves a chance in life and often the people that are losing out could be make it big. But, they have to have a dream, a vision, a passion to succeed. YOU have to really want that dream. Do you want that dream Roger”?

I was taken aback by the intensity of David’s tone. This was getting heavy. “David – I have a dream, I so want a better, new life. I would love a chance for success. But you are being really heavy here”.

“We have to be – we are selective with whom we help.” David sat back. “Come to my office tomorrow. Be at this address at 4.30pm and we will finalise whether we are able to help”. He handed me a stiff embossed card with an address in a really trendy office block in the centre of town. David was standing up and placed a £20 note on the table by his glass. “One thing Roger – if you change your mind, if you don’t come, there is no second chance. We will not speak again if I don’t see you at my office tomorrow”. And David smiled and walked out, leaving me open mouthed and completely confused.

Next morning, following a rowdy night at my local pub and too many pints of lager with some old pals, I surfaced and got ready for work. I felt awful.

Just as I was leaving my flat (with 10 days left before it was no longer my home) I reached for my keys and next to them, looking a little more dog-eared than when David handed it to me, was the card. I picked it up – Dream Dealers, David and the address. Can I make a 4.30 meeting? Was it all spin? The guy David seemed really serious and I wanted to trust him. Maybe I should go – what have I got to lose after all?

-- 3 --

Friday and just one day until the weekend – not that I had much planned other than flat hunting - it was not looking good. My cash resources were low and with deposits and the cost of rent, I was beginning to consider who I could approach to doss down on their floor.
I got into work 15 minutes late, clutching a large steaming coffee, when my boss Mrs. Smedley called me. “Roger, the deadline has moved on the upgrade project and we have to build the new pages today. Looks like a late night for us – have to get it done ready to load on Sunday. That said, seems you had another late night yourself”…

Mrs. Smedley was an institution and clearly felt she was the lynchpin of the Council operation – it would fail at once if she were not there. She was universally feared (up and down the management chain) and had been at the Council in various Administration roles for absolutely years. She strongly resented young disruptive and disrespectful joiners – we should appreciate the privilege of working for the community. Childless and thoroughly dedicated, I almost felt sorry myself when I realised how she intimidated me – but then I remembered the fate of poor Mr Smedley. [ what was his fate?  Not sure what you want to say. 

I was not about to argue and just grunted as I headed for my cubicle – my usual spineless approach to my relationship with Mrs. S.

The workload that day was incredible. I was driving hard to meet the programming and project goals. Time flashed past. I looked up – it was 4.10pm! I had ta major decision to make – David and my dream; or this life, the Council web-site and more years of Mrs. Smedley.

No brainer. I jumped and gathered up my things – Mrs. Smedley was looking at me across the room. “Roger”! she shouted at me.
“Got to go Mrs. Smedley, I am late for an important meeting” I stammered.
“Roger, this is the most important meeting you have – right here in front of that screen”! I was leaving the room, and she was following me, getting redder in the face and her voice was getting louder.
“Got to go…”

I walked out and Mrs. Smedley screamed at my back “Roger Blake, you will be receiving a written warning and I am going to the IT Director right NOW”! I had stirred up the beast and I would pay!

Bridges burned, now I had to get to the Dream Dealer offices before 4.30 – a cab was the only solution. Slow traffic and a confused driver that got lost made me arrive at the address on David’s card at 4.35pm. I dashed into the building, crashed into the elevator and pushed floor 3, as directed by the security guard. The doors opened and I saw a smart glass door with a classy looking reception desk behind. I pushed the buzzer, the doors slid open and I walked in. A discreet tasteful sign above the desk stated Dream Dealers – be what you know you are…

“Here to see David” I mumbled to the attractive girl at the desk.
“I think he is out” she said, reaching for a phone.

I was beginning to panic. Now let’s add screwing up my job due to a madcap idea to my list of becoming homeless and broke.

The receptionist hung up and turned to me. “David is out – no answer, I am sorry.” I was downcast. I turned around, started to walk to the door and almost bumped right into a well dressed executive in smart overcoat carrying an expensive brown leather case.

“Oh, sorry - David!”
He looked into my eyes with that amazing stare. “Well Roger – I thought I had missed you. You are late for our meeting, which I explained was not acceptable.”I searched for the right answer. “David I am sorry – I struggled to get my head around the incredible vastness of your offer to me”.
David smiled. “You were unsure, put it off until the last minute and then showed up late because you just had to check me out”.
“Yes” I admitted in a whisper.
“Well because of your honesty and because we have a significant interest in you, I will make a very special exception and continue with out meeting. Please come with me”.

David turned back into the office and I followed. We went into a modern and bright ominous conference room and both sat at the large table.

“Before we go further, let me explain about Dream Dealers. We are a very exclusive organisation that has a unique ability using a vast range of contacts and investments to help a very select number of gifted people to fulfil their potential. We are funded by independent means and we never advertise. We only have three conditions - which are non-negotiable - and we expect nothing more from our “clients”. In short, we can and do deliver dreams.”

The silence in the room was deafening. “Are you saying that you, your firm, have the power to change my life”?

“Yes”.

“I can be what I want to be – what I dream to be”?

“Yes”.

Silence.

David asked “Tell me, what is your dream Roger? What do you want to be”?

So I did. I told him how I had been striving to be a DJ since age 9 when I had first found late night radio. I had studied IT because it was obvious that digital music was the way forward and had been mixing music since age 16. How I run every major disco at college, bars and clubs; and had then tasted the slightest tinge of fame. How I made demos CDss and sent them to radio stations. How the bubble burst when I was woken at the college dorm by two policemen, who where very understanding that I was hung-over from the post exam party, but they had some bad news. There had been a car accident and my parents were both killed – head-on collision with a drugged up driver with no licence, who survived by the way. How I got a letter from Virgin Radio for trial radio session on the day of the funeral, which went into the dustbin. How I had over £30,000 of unpaid tax from the death of my parents and had to take a boring but secure job, after selling most the valuable possessions that my parents left me. I told him I was really at my worst point and that I only showed up at all because I was getting pretty desperate. In fact, I probably went too far.

“So if we agreed that your dream was actually achievable – in that you could be a professional in the music business, maybe even a household name – what would you give”?

“What do you think? Right now anything”. I was trying my best not to show my tears.

David leaned forward. “Roger, we can help you. There are things that we can do. But, do you remember the conditions? We need to discuss the conditions”.

“Go for it” I said. “I have nothing to lose”.

“Number 1, you must never, ever mention Dream Dealers, me or anything we have discussed to anyone. We do not exist beyond this meeting and you cannot talk about us to anyone. Number 2, any wealth that you have acquired above £1 million, must be willed to an account that we will provide you. This must happen now and the documents will be ready for you to sign before you leave”.
David paused.
“OK” I said.
David went on in a matter-of-fact way: “Number 3, you must never have children.”

As conditions go, bearing in mind none of these were in any way material to me at that time, I was comfortable. Kids were not in my mind – I did not even have a girlfriend.

“I suppose I agree. But what will you actually do for me. How does it work”? I replied.

“Just wait. Change will come about and we will be working for you”. David smiled, used his intense stare again and said “Roger, this is a one-way ticket. There are negatives as well as positives to being a success. I am going to leave you for a moment – have a coffee”, and he nodded towards to sideboard which was set out with coffee, tea, soft drinks and snacks. “Don’t rush this decision - we want you to be sure”.

He stood up and then said “I will go get the paperwork and you consider your position”.  And he placed a hand on my shoulder and walked out the room.

What was the risk? I had nothing, was at the bottom of my game, I had nothing to lose. Or did I? What were the negatives? I was ready to trade obscurity, no money, no home and puny career prospects for whatever Dream Dealers could come up with. What power did these guys really wield anyway? It was not like I had anything special – they want to help so why not let them? Fact is, I was going nowhere so I resigned myself to go ahead. I had taken no gambles so far in my young life and had seen what a risk averse existence had done for Mum and Dad, who had achieved so little and ended up smashed to death in a car through no fault of theirs. What could I lose?

I was on my second coffee and wondering where David was when he returned, carrying a slim blue folder.

“Well the fact you are still here must mean that you are willing to work with us Roger” said David.

“I said I agreed” I snapped.

David sat down. “Good”.

He opened the folder and once more looked hard at me. “By signing this document – which is a contract between us and a payment transfer order, which we will lodge with our lawyer - you will be bound by these terms until you die. Roger you will need to make a Will, per the draft we supply, within 5 days. This is a very strict and rigid undertaking.” He signed his copy in front of me and slid the document around to face me at the table.

My experience of formal legal documents was scant to say the least - probably the highlight of my exposure to a paper like this was the contract for my mobile phone. I read the document but after about three clauses my eyes glazed over. The words were clear, the terms did seem the same as discussed, there was little small print. Also in the file was a draft Last Will and Testament which struck home and raised the hairs on my neck.

I signed where indicated by a small bright pink sticker and pushed the folder back to David. He pressed a button on the phone in front of us. “Melanie, please come in please. I need you to witness a document”. In seconds the door swung open and the smart receptionist walked in. She smiled at us both, David turned the document to her and she signed. Smiled again and left.

David stood “Roger, we will not be making contact but from this point on, you are being helped, your Dream is about to become real. Oh – and don’t worry about Mrs. Smedley”. We shock hands and David saw me out. How did he know I was in the crap with Mrs. Smedley?

“But what if I need to reach you? How will I know what is happening”?

“Relax Roger, we are working for you now. Goodbye”. And he was gone. I was alone in the foyer and an elevator arrived and I stepped in.

Feeling a massive wave of anti-climax and still a little dazed, I walked out into the street. So what now? It was 6.30 pm – I had been almost 2 hours. I walked around for a while and then got my usual microwave meal and went home.

--4--

On Monday morning, having spent ages searching the web for both flats and jobs, I readied myself to go and face Mrs. Smedley. The weekend was OK, nothing too exciting but I did get to visit a local pub and met a good local DJ. Also ran into my ex (out with her flash boyfriend – more of her later). 

I had one option on a flat and had a meeting with the new landlord tonight, so some hope there.

I had an awful journey into work, dreading the impending conflict – a bit like going to school when you know the bully is there waiting for you. The office was just as I expected. Same drab environment and the ever vigilant Mrs.  Smedley ready for my arrival. She pounced as soon as I walked in.

“Ah Roger, you are here – I wondered if I would see you ever again after yesterday! I have arranged for Miss Byth from HR to be present when we discuss your unauthorised absence. Please come into the meeting room and I will inform her that you are here”.

No “how are you” or “Roger can we just chat about yesterday”? Right in for the kill – it was clear that she was enjoying this.

About five minutes later, after I had managed to put my gear down in my cubicle and grab a plastic machine coffee, we all sat in the meeting room. Everyone in the office was watching us and the atmosphere was a combination of dread and excitement. I was determined to stay cool. What did David say – don’t worry about Mrs. Smedley…

Miss Blyth was about 25, short blonde hair and actually very pleasant. I had never seen her before.

The conversation started with Mrs. Smedley re-capping the events of Friday afternoon, exaggerating my responses to her calls to return and that she was requesting the issue of a written warning, leading to the termination of my employment.

“Well we have to look at all the facts” Miss Blyth said. “I have reviewed Roger’s employment record to date. His work is regarded as high quality, he has had no attendance issues before yesterday – in fact he has not taken a day off for any reason in the 10 months he has worked here. His reviews all point to a highly reliable member of staff. Roger, would you class yesterday as a personal emergency?”

“Well, yes. I just had to meet someone relating to a very specific personal matter. It could not be delayed” I said sheepishly, secretly wondering if the meeting was worth the effort.

“But, Miss Blyth” interrupted Mrs.  Smedley “He just got up and left. We were at crucial point with the web programming and he just went off. The site was going live on Sunday.” She was getting agitated.

“I understand Mrs. Smedley” said Miss Blyth “But Roger is entitled to explain his reasons. It is not like this is a repeat of something that has been on for some time. Roger, go on please”.

“That’s it. I completed most of the work assigned to me – in fact I did more than I was asked and ran some test routines to make sure it was bug free. My meeting just could not wait”, I said.

Miss Blyth smiled. “So you did what was asked and then had to leave – what 30 minutes early. Did you have a lunch break”?

“No”.

“Why not go the Mrs. Smedley and explain”? Miss Blyth asked, smiling.
“Because I guessed how she would react” I said sheepishly. “She can be a little stern in her work and she gets worse when we get deadlines. And she is rather fixed in her ways – she is well known for it, as I am sure you are aware”.

Mrs. Smedley was turning bright red. “Well I must say….” She started.

Miss Blyth turned to her “Did Roger leaving early – bearing in mind he missed lunch and he completed more than he was assigned – affect the outcome of the project? The site went live yesterday and as far as I can tell, it looks very good”.

Mrs. Smedley was not happy. “Miss Blyth, this is not the point. Roger defied my orders”! She was shouting now.

Miss Blyth smiled again “Mrs. Smedley, this is not a good example to your staff. Please stop shouting and answer the question.”

“Outrageous! I have worked here for 20 years – almost long as this scruffy young lad has been alive! No, we managed to get the project done – no thanks to him”!

“I disagree actually” said the serene Miss Blyth. “Roger did more than his share it seems and because of your approach to managing him – another example I see right here – Roger was probably uncomfortable speaking to you. His work ethic was to finish what he was asked to do, and then take his leave.”

I honestly thought Mrs. Smedley would explode.

Miss Blyth turned to me. “Roger this matter is closed and will not feature in your employment record with us. As you have holiday owed and I can understand that the workplace may be uncomfortable for you at present I am going to request that you take the next week off. We will make sure that your duties are covered and that when you return this matter is behind us. Will you do that”?

“Yes.” I replied, very startled.

“Thank you Roger. We are finished with this meeting now and you can go. Mrs. Smedley and I have a few other things to discuss and please feel free to see me at any time in the future”. She smiled again.

I did not look up. I got up and walked out, picked up my things and headed to the door.

Outside I had to smile. Wow. Mrs. Smedley gets her dues!! Now I had time back to find a flat. This was a result. As it turned out I never had to be concerned by Mrs. S again.

Just as I was leaving and walking out the office door, a courier arrived with an envelope that required a signature. The package was addressed to me. That’s weird, a letter addressed to me at work?

I opened it there and then and was amazed to see it was from a local solicitor that was asking me to contact them as they had “a matter pertaining to your parents’ estate which requires your urgent attention”. Better call now before I get distracted and keyed in the numbers from my phone.

“Brockets Solicitors”.
“Hi, I am Roger Blake. I have been sent a letter from a Mr Childs asking me to contact you”.
“One moment”. Music – not even good music.
“Mr Roger Blake?” said the deep official sounding voice.
“Yes”
“Mr Blake I wonder when you could get along to see me. I have something that we need to clarify relating to your deceased parents”.
Here we go again. “I am free today actually” I replied.
“Excellent. Can you get to me this morning? I am in court this afternoon – can you get to me before lunch”?
 At 12.30, after a good browse on the net searching for flats, checking our Facebook and a massive fried breakfast, I walked in the large austere offices of Brokets Solicitors. I was shown into the typical bland meeting room and very soon after a tall pinstriped and neat man walked in, as ever, carrying the blue folder of papers.

“Mr Blake – I am Clive Childs, a partner here. Thank you for coming in so promptly. You are a difficult man to reach hence we used your work address – hope that was not a problem”.
Mr Childs sat down having shaken my hand and taken in the full vista of my somewhat shabby presentation, which the recently added fried egg stain on my NYC sweat shirt was helping to complete. “Yes – sorry, been busy I am out a lot and just got a different mobile contract…”

“Well we meet now. I understand that your poor parents died about two years ago and you had some nasty probate issues. They had no will and you have had some significant financial pressures.”

Does everyone know all about my personal situation?

“Not sure why you are asking or how you know, but that is right” I snapped.

“Mr. Blake, we needed to find you and thus we employed the usual channels – credit card companies, banks, phone services, they all have data bases and we can explore these. I am sorry to have been indiscreet but I think my news will be a big help to you. Your father, Mr James Albert Blake, owned £50 of premium bonds bought in 1988 – the year you, his only son and heir, was born. I expect that during the sorting out of his affairs you may have missed them – not something that would have stood out I expect. As you may know there is a monthly draw and the top prize is one million pounds, tax free. Mr. Blake, your father’s bond has won that prize. We have been retained by the National Savings and Investment team to find you – seems the draw in question happened almost 6 months ago and we were retained to verify your identity. If you can prove that you are Roger Blake, you are a millionaire. Congratulations.”

Now I was truly staggered. I sat there for at least five minutes, staring at nothing and for so long that poor Mr Childs had to get up and shake my arm.

“How do I prove I am myself”? I stammered.

“Do you have a passport, birth certificate, driving licence? Better still can someone in authority swear to your identity – your boss for example”? Oh yeah – Mrs. Smedley would love that! Just out from her bollocking from HR and I call up asking that she verifies that I can claim my million quid! I did have a passport, but it may have expired. But, I do have a driving licence, here in my tatty old wallet. I slowly reached into my pocket and pulled out my driving licence and gave it to Mr. Childs.

“Splendid”. He said. “I will need to detain you for about 30 minutes whilst we contact the DVLA. Can I also take your bank details? On the basis that this checks out – which I am sure that it will – I will organise a transfer over to your account.” Mr. Childs got up. “Mr. Blake, I am going to organise some coffee and see you in a few minutes. This is the part of my job I thoroughly enjoy”. And he went out.

Good old sentimental Dad. I never knew anything about a Premium Bond.

I poured a coffee, walked around the room, went to the loo and was still totally shell-shocked.

The door opened and in came Mr. Childs, grinning and holding a couple of sheets of paper. “Mr. Blake, please take this letter which explains our actions on behalf of NSI and that we have arranged payment for the winnings as instructed. I can also give you a copy of the bank transfer showing we have placed £999,478 into your account, per the information you have provided, which is less our fee to find you. I strongly suggest that you both seek advice from a reputable financial advisor and that you also pay attention to the tax elements of such a large sum of capital. I wish you every success and good luck. Do take care and if my firm can be of any help in the future, please do get in touch”. He shook my hand, helped my out of my chair and steered me out.

I was rich. Shit.

“One more thing” I stopped and said to Mr Childs. “Do you handle wills”? He did. I think Mr. Childs likes me.

Thank you Dad.

--5--

Guess what I did first? I went off to the first ATM I could find and checked my balance. There it was £998, 863.72. I had also paid off my overdraft and what a feeling to have that much cash. Now what?

 To be honest, when you are in a position where your life changes (either adversely or for the good) so fast, it is very hard to know what to do. I was a little bemused that for once, there was nothing, nothing I could not do.

I thought hard about who I could discuss my situation with and I decided to call my only serious girlfriend, Sophie – the one I saw the other day. She and I had a close and caring year together at college and she was now working at a swish advertising firm, having got her degree in Graphic Design. She was always level headed and I hoped would be able to add some perspective to my new state of affairs.

I got out my phone and sent off a text which failed – no credit!

After a trip to a mobile phone shop and signing up for the very latest high end phone/camera/pc/MP3 pod device, I texted Sophie again.

We met for a late lunch in a café bar near her office, where I explained my new situation.

“Wow, I am so pleased for you” she said. She looked good, a little tired and obviously the job was proving hard work.

“So, now what”? I said.

“Look, you have the world at your feet Rog. You can travel, get a house, get a car, move into areas that were miles away from you before. This is the stuff people dream about” enthused Sophie.

“Yes the money is great” I said “But I need direction, a goal. I am not like those lottery winners that buy a Rolls Royce for all their mates and then drink themselves silly every day. I want to be someone”.

Sophie smiled “So go and do it. What’s stopping you? How many times have you wished if only I could do that and cash or another commitment has held you back? This time, you have all the cards.”

“How about you Sophie”? I asked.

“Oh I am fine – work is good – some really creative people around, and Barry, well he is good too”. But she looked away – seemed to be a little distant and worried.

“Sophie, you will let me know if I can help, right”?

“Yeah sure” she smiled, “you always tried to look after me”.

Sophie had to go and I had to make a start on what to do next. We already covered the practical stuff over our meal – she had written down for me: -
 Get a (nice) place – at least for now
 Book driving lessons – get a licence
 See your bank manager – get your own back!!
 Pay off all your debts
 Buy some much better clothes
 Upgrade your pc
 Get a banging DJ mixing desk.

Questions remained as to where I lived longer term, whether I resigned my job and whether I should take a trip abroad.

I got up and decided that I would treat myself to a very nice glass of something alcoholic before I did anything else. Champagne or Guinness? As I recall I had both.

By Friday night, I had ticked off all the items on my priority list. The bank manager loved me and he referred me to a colleague that arranged 60 day deposits, and we all felt happy that we had covered immediate stuff. A call to a very prestigious estate agent landed me with a very swish 3 bedroom penthouse apartment, with gym and pool, fully furnished on a 3 month rolling lease.

Visits to several high street shops had updated my tired wardrobe. Much more exciting visits to PC World and Apple stores had upgraded my electronics.

Mr. Childs came through with the Will and that was checked off too.

Transport would be taxis until I had my full car licence; lessons started next week.

I loved my new life. I had money and stuff. But the job was not right and thus I did resign and decided that I had to be in London. Goodbye and good luck Mrs. Smedley.

-- 6 --

The DJ scene – like any branch of music – is constantly evolving. When I started the business was weddings, discos and hopefully a local radio show. “Dancing Queen” segued into “My Way” and ending with “With or Without You”. If you can get known, fees go up and the market opens for voice-over work for the local cinema.

At college, we all loved the mix of the latest pop songs blended with some R & B big bass – loud and singalong.

Radio stations have a massive choice of young talent and rather like a chat show host or barrister, the older you get the audience appeal seems to stay with you. It’s all about market sector.

In the DJ  game, there has been greater segmentation and polarised music styles – R&B, Drum and Base, Rock, Country or just middle of the road – drive time for the masses.A DJ skill base also has to evolve. Some still use turn-tables and vinyl records but the majority have embraced the digital world, with cd mixing decks, synchronised blending of tracks into one another and having a music catalogue of thousands of songs. 

The issue for me was what was my style? My choice of segment was the ticket to success. I could not see myself as another “Steve Wright in the Afternoon” or the next Jonathan Ross on Radio – which is in no way was a criticism of their considerable talent. Hip Hop was not me – Westwood, no threat from this quarter. And Country? No I am not into all those boots, Stetsons and fringes.

The business side of the industry has grasped the value of selling DJ mixes and this was how wealth could be created – DJ’s can get royalties for their music mixes sold or distributed via a range of web sites, just like rock stars.

I had to get out there – get into the field. So I went out into the clubs, bars and theatres. I stayed at the back and watched how the audience reacted – saw what effect the various DJ’s and bands that followed did to the crowd. 

I loved it. All kinds of clever music was being adapted, played and mixed by some of the most creative people I have ever met. And I did meet them. I talked to them as an insider – a kindred spirit. We talked technique, we looked at equipment, they let me join in and I became involved.

But this did not help me to get going, I could not get my own feeling of direction – my own vision of what my dream would become. For the first time in a while, I thought of David – should I call him? Would he answer? Dare I ask him to show me the dream he was dealing in? I still had his card and number….

What changed the whole situation was a call from Sophie.

“Roger, so glad I found you. I need some help – can I come and stay with you for a bit”?

“Sure Sophie. What’s happened? You OK”?

“No – let me get down to you in London and I will explain”

I buzzed Sophie into my new place near Spitalfields and she fell right in my arms. “Oh Roger, I have been such a fool”.

“Is it Barry”?
“Yes – he always smoked dope and stuff. But this”... she was crying now. “Roger, Barry is dealing – not the odd bit of dope, but the hard stuff. And he has been caught”.

“Serves him right” I said, going to fetch a beer “You know my feelings about drugs – I lost my parents to a druggie”.

“It gets worse. He was doing it from my flat. I have been arrested too”.

“Bastard. Look you must stay here. I have room and we are right near the station so you can get back to work ok”.

And so I had a lodger. Sophie stayed and we got in touch with my lawyer friend Mr. Childs and the charges were dropped. Barry got two years and I got to remember why I cared some much for Sophie.

-- 7 --

Pretty soon after Sophie came to stay I realised what my dream was.

I was no longer happy at the desks mixing music and being in front of the crowds – I could see so many more talented and creative people that were already doing much better than I could. I was just not good enough. These other guys had charisma, energy and a level of inner confidence that I was lacking. When they did let me have a stint, the atmosphere changed, the floor was not so busy and I could see that my ability at the desks, in front of a crowd, was mediocre.

For the first time, I accepted that fact.

But I had some real skill in the selection of who would sell, what was hot and who was a winner. I was in the London groove, I was building contacts – not as DJ myself but as the guy who know which DJ was doing the great shows and making the venue cool. People looked to me for a steer as to what worked and what was not working.

The key was making that skill into a profession, a job, a career.

I realised that the dream I held most dear was actually to help others reach their dream. In fact, was I becoming a dream dealer too?

I went back to Sophie that night and we talked until 5 am. We mapped out the business model, we set up a company structure and also drew out the framework of the web site. Sophie’s graphic artist skill and creative impact was used to build the web deign and my programming ability enabled us to get the look and feel right.

And we had the name – DJEx was born!

My cash and status in the London scene jump-started the company. I advertised in the right places, bought quality search tools and made a good impression via blogs and links.

By the end of the first month, we had four clients, a venue list of 10 sites and were providing significant music downloads - which were also picking up traction of the underground download sites.

Next was the push into broadcast media and we realised that a specific record label or distribution arm that specialised in DJ mix music was missing. So we set up a subsidiary business called S & R Music, which sold and marketed the output from our gigs. In six months, I had a turnover on the main business DJEx of nearly £500,000, with over 30 DJs signed covering all of UK and the S & R music label had become the source for a new download chart which was now covered by three national radio stations. Licence revenues came in and the DJs loved the concept that they could both get market profile for their music and earn from the download royalty too.

Sophie was working full-time for DJEx and we were very close. We were proving that we could work well together and be in love. Our life was good.

Then we decided to go international. The European scene was highly vibrant and actually grew faster than any of us expected. What made this so exciting was that we had the right model first time round and thus building on our brand and scaling the business was simple.

Within two years, I had offices in London, Leeds, Frankfurt, Amsterdam, Barcelona and Prague. S & R had the largest download market in mixed DJ musicand was being used by every major European radio station. We had also exported videos and streamed concerts across Europe.

I was also getting some media attention. At least two TV producers were after me to appear on their shows. My ability to spot talent and then market the results was turning me into an industry figure. I was in demand. I was very flattered and was keen to consider the concept.

Sophie was also making noises about something more permanent – she was on to me about settling down. She said that we were both in our mid twenties and she wanted to think about kids.

“I need more than the business” said Sophie. “I have to consider if you want to have children – if not then I am prepared to reconsider our relationship”.

Not sure if you have had an experience like this, of a good, happy relationship about to evaporate through nothing that you can avoid. I was open to the concept of kids, but that was a huge step in terms of how I viewed my lifestyle.

Then it dawned on me -  my deal with David – my contract with Dream Dealers. I could not have kids under the agreement.

For the first time I decided I had to make contact with him – I needed to sort this out.
 What penalty could he enforce anyway? I was rich – I made a great deal of money from my various businesses and still had many thousands left from the
Premium Bond. I could buy my way out of any deal I had with this firm that I had never heard of before or since.

So I picked up the phone and once more David answered right away.

“Roger. Again I make an exception for you – I said no contact”.
“Hi David. I understand what we said but a lot has happened since then and I felt we needed an update” I said, forcefully.
“I will agree to one more meeting and then we will never speak again. Your office in London, Thursday, the day after tomorrow. You owe me a drink so let’s go for 6.00pm”. And he hung up.

--8—

I had some deception to undertake. Sophie and I always had sight of each others’ calendars and we were very open with each other, but in regards to the meeting with David, I had to make up some excuse about who he was. Our days were busy - we had a lot of visitors at the London office so David being with me was no issue. What could be an issue was his identity and our discussion.

Sophie and I were in my office as he arrived and I stuck to my story that David was an old contact who was looking into a history of DJs and where the music scene was evolving, areas that Sophie was not that interested in. She left as David was shown in.

“The lovely Sophie” he said as he sat down. “So glad that you two are happy – in work and I assume at home.”

“Hi David, thanks for coming. It’s Sophie that prompted my desire to reach you – I need to speak with you in relation to the contract paperwork I signed when we last saw each other” I said.

“Of course you do” smiled David. I was getting ready for the stare. He was just the same, very smart and cool.

“As you are no doubt aware, I have done well. I have used my winnings well, I have built up a massive business and have found my true love. In fact, a very different picture than when we last met”.

“Yes, I can see why you might say that” smiled David.

“So, in the light of all our efforts, and my circumstances now being so different, I thought we should discuss the contract. I have money, maybe we can look at a release” I explained.

 “I see. Any of the three conditions that you are more concerned about specifically”? asked David.

“The issue of children, is it still in force”?
“Oh yes” said David “And for a good reason”. He leaned forward, and gave me the stare.

“Roger, you have done well. But think about, how? That Premium Bond win – you never found that certificate did you”?

“No, but the lawyer was acting for the National Savings people” I stated.

“Yes, but did Mr. Childs ever show you the certificate”?

“No. But he gave me a letter…”

“Saying what? That you were rich and not much else”. I was starting to think.

“Roger, I told you that we would be starting to help you right away”.

“Yes but all the other stuff I did with that money – I built this company. DJEx was all mine...” I was becoming upset.

“You did well. We were there with you Roger. Those contacts and signings were very easy for you weren’t they? The work you did was great and we did not see the S & R business opportunity – that was smart.” He smiled again. “Business is good though Roger. We have followed your operation over the last two years and it looks good. The long-term looks positive and I am sure that you will have a big future. And your TV career looks ready to take off”.

“Look, what will it take to get us out of this”? I asked.

“Nothing Roger. We do not negotiate”.

“You mentioned a good reason – so what is the rationale for such a draconian clause”? I was getting angry.

“Simple. We want the biggest return on our investment and the minimum problems with our collection process. When you die, we are the main benefactor of your will. Children want to see some inheritance and they are also a massive distraction from your working time. No Roger, kids are not in the plan and based on the help we have given you, the compromise you made is a good one.”

“Well how can you enforce this?”

“Let’s look at some examples of people like you. Does George Clooney, Cliff Richard, George Michael or even Kylie have kids? No. And their careers have gone from strength to strength. But, consider others such as Heather Mills or Julia Roberts. Can they be happy? They have had awful media profiles and in real terms are finished”.

“That sounds almost like a threat” I said.

“Not really. Just stating observations Roger”.

“Ok, so you expect me to not have children and keep on making you money for when I die”?

“Your death won’t be for long time we hope Roger. And you have fun with your life – our return will be some way off we expect”.

David did appear menacing, not so much outwardly “in your face” but he did make himself clear. I was also very concerned by the names David was mentioning. These were huge stars and just public figures that I knew. The scope and breadth of the Dream Dealers operation could be very extensive.

“David, I want to be reasonable – can I change the terms of my contract? My relationship with Sophie, who I care about very much, will be in jeopardy if I have to explain this matter to her. She wants kids and I want to be with her.”

“Roger, have you overlooked the first clause of our contract? You are not to tell Sophie about us”.

I stood up and paced the room. This was impossible. Not only could I not have kids with the woman I loved, I could not be truthful as to why and I had to give away our wealth on my death. Some dream I had been dealt!

“Roger, the simple fact is we have a deal. You are committed and you are living your dream. Don’t forget where you came from, what could have been and what you are now. We delivered your dream and you wanted that dream. Enjoy it”.

David stood. “Roger, we will not see you again. I have set out again to you what you already knew. Good luck and I will stay very interested in you”. And he left.

Sophie came back in as I was reaching for my coat and about to head out for a drink.

“You OK my love?” she asked.

“Yeah. Going for a beer before I head out to the Hippodrome. Got to meet Zandy Z”.

“Well don’t stay too late” she walked over and hugged me. “Come home to our bed soon”.

Man I had some challenges. The dream became a millstone, a poisoned chalice and nightmare.

--9--

So now I am sitting in my Florida villa finishing my coffee and I look out across the lake, watching pastel dressed golfers chasing their little white balls in their green and white buggies. The sun was bright and the pool beckoned.

I walked outside, through the screen door, out past the Jacuzzi and down to pool.

The girls were playing in the water and called to me as I walked up.

“Hi darling, coming in – water is great” shouted my wife.

I looked at her slicked back dark hair and smiled as she shielded her eyes from the sun. She looked great. The Florida villa was her favourite place and she always seemed more alive, more energetic in the sun.

“Maybe, just going to sit here and read for a while”. I replied.

The business issues that taxed us for almost twenty years have gone. My role now was very arms length and I was grateful for it. No long hours, no more endless meetings and at last we had time for ourselves.

The S & R business was doing well as a part of another massive media group and was pitched to be the second biggest music distribution provider after ITunes.

DJEx was also a roaring success, having been floated and then sold over ten years ago, providing the funding for world wide expansion of S & R.

We were very rich indeed.

Sophie and I were married almost 15 years ago now. Very small service held in Scotland with no fuss.

We carried as usual for about a year as we organised ourselves and the business was transferred into either trust funds or other “holding” companies. This basis placed my earnings, assets and investments into “arms length” financial vehicles that could not be viewed as my estate.

Sophie was very matter-of-fact about Dream Dealers, my contract and the consequences. Her view was this is just an issue that we had to handle together and she embraced the whole problem.

Amy was born two years later and she is the apple of my eye. I am so proud and grateful that we could have her and never regret for minute that we did.

It was about six months after Amy was born that we got the VAT inspection, which remarkably showed some inconsistencies with our treatment of royalty payment. That and the associated costs to argue the case in court, which we lost, cost most of my free cash. The “legal” fees from the other side were almost £200,000 alone.

Then we got the action from the lovely Barry, having been released from prison (early) he was claiming that Sophie presented false evidence at the trial and that she was part of the drug dealing enterprise. We contacted Mr .Childs, who was so helpful before, only to find that he was unavailable and could not recommend another person in his firm to take our case. The police were called and the case became a very high profile media circus.

Both Sophie and I had our passports frozen and we could not travel to run the business. As part of the music scene and having a great deal of exposure to drugs, we were very interesting characters to write about and much speculation ensued as to our involvement with Barry. He made the most of his moment of fame and we had another massive legal bill, not to mention a downturn in income as our clients were reluctant to work with potential criminals.

In the end, the case was thrown out, Sophie and I became old news and we did extract some weak low profile apologies from the press, but what the hell, the damage was done.

The last straw came when I went for a routine test and was found to have developed testicular cancer. This resulted in months of chemotherapy, and a distinct lack of energy. Sophie kept the business going and through hard work and our past relationships, the clients came back. The music industry is about relationships and we had built up some great contacts, which came through in the end.

Perhaps the biggest irony was that the cancer left me sterile and thus Amy was our only child.

So what now?

The TV career did not happen all those years ago but was going to happen now. A new show – a pilot of Mix Masters was recorded and I was to be one of the “Experts” on a very exclusive media and music business panel. The rationale was that we would interview DJ talent, give them a gig opportunity, a mix demo and then winner would be offered a contract by S & R. A double win for us, publicity and new artists. Good TV too – Global and the blend of X Factor and Dragons Den.

The other irony was that we were almost becoming Dream Dealer ourselves.

Of course I tried to track down David and his Dream Dealer business – prompted by the run of events after we had Amy and blatantly breached the contract terms. I went back to the office where I had met with David – all gone. The space was empty and the landlord gave nothing away. I searched for them on all the business directory and public domain information sites – nothing.

I hired two detective firms and they found nothing. I even tried to contact Jane – but she had sold up and was now living overseas – Australia I think. I hope she is happy.

The cynic in me sometimes wondered about the circumstances leading up to the Dream Dealers introduction and just what was fate and what was manufactured. Could Dream Dealers have set up the Premium Bond win? Could they have eased the way with my issues with Mrs. Smedley – not that it had any affect on my future life or career? How did I pick up all those clients so quickly?

What about the VAT case – surely they were not behind that.

Did David set up Barry in his action against my pregnant wife – the release of Barry and his aggressive legal claims only started when we had breached the contract terms? How did he afford the costs?

Even David could not have given me cancer.

The most horrifying thought was that Dream Dealers – who obviously monitored and groomed individuals like me as a source of Venture Capital investment – knew all my background an could see how I could be exploited. Did they engineer the early death of my Mum and Dad? I pray to God my cynical views were not at all founded on fact.

I got up from the lounger and put down my book. The two girls were still in the pool and I did what most good husbands and fathers would do and jumped right in to splash them.

“Dad!” screamed Sophie.

“Sorry girls” I said, shaking water from my head. “I was daydreaming”.

-- The End --

Soul Searchers

I loved my apartment near the hospital. I had a fantastic sitting room overlooking the green a large kitchen, 2 bedrooms and a massive deep bath. Plus, we had the use of a garage.

I lived there for 3 years. I lived there until the Soul Searchers came.

The winter of that year was hard, and when spring came we all enjoyed the longer days, the growing warmth and the spring flowers starting to poke through the ground. But that spring, the Souls Searchers started to appear.

I first saw them on my way to work – I am a senior nurse you see, and I recognised a person I passed on my walk to the hospital ward. I had my iPod on, head down, thinking about my shift and I glanced up and saw Mr Parish. But he was dead. He died on my ward the night before, cancer of the throat, very sad. Nothing we could do and he was only young – 45 I think.

But I saw him. He looked the same, very real, very unhappy and he looked at me.

“Mr Parish?” I said.
“I am” he whispered.
“You can’t be here – I saw you die…”
“I know – but I lost it. I can’t find it. Help me find it.”
“Find what?” I asked.
“My soul” he said, his eyes full of tears.
“I can’t do that – I am just a nurse” and I ran away.

They started showing up around hospitals. Obvious I suppose – most people die in hospital after all – but the problem was that it really upset everyone at the hospital. Patients, visitors and of course us that work there.

More and more dead where appearing, everywhere, all looking, searching. They were not at all discrete. They walked over to people and asked them to help them, they sat around everywhere, they took up every spare space in car park and no one knew why they were coming.

Church leaders and religious people all prayed at them and preached to them. Spiritual healers came over to them. We even had TV shows dedicated to the individual cases to track any links. Nothing, no change – still they came.

Soon, we could not work. Just as we moved to one location and set up another ward, more dead souls came and just got in the way. You can’t reason with a dead person, you can’t threaten a dead person and they have no remorse, no fear, and no motivation.

So where were their souls? I did not know – just like all the “experts” we were clueless.

Then I realised that we were actually being invaded. The problem was not exclusive to my area – all over the world Soul Searchers were manifesting and they were taking over the planet.

And then people started to panic. They moved away from anyone that showed the remotest sign of being ill. No one took any risks. Planes did not fly, cars moved so slowly and construction work that was in the least bit dangerous did not take place. The world was grinding to halt and we were all becoming terrified of each other.

The other issue was that we were starting to get ill. Our food supply was being used up - and farming could get dangerous.

Hospitals could not operate normally, so sick people did not get better and then disease started to take hold where before there was a low risk.

The Government implemented Marshall Law and because I was in an occupation that was of use to society, I was drafted to help the nation. I was also moved out from my apartment, away from my loved ones and into a “secure facility”.

Souls are still getting lost it seems – the dead guys still keep coming and we have no way of stopping them.

That is, until I saw Mr Parish again. I needed some things from my apartment and was driven back to my place by a Military Policeman. We stopped outside and then Mr Parish came up, walking across the green as I was walking to my door.

He looked at me and said “You should have helped me before – help me now.”
“How can I help?”
“The soul was with you. When I died, I was with you and you trapped my soul. Help me find it.”

I was confused. I saw no soul – no bright lights, no chill in the air, nothing.

“Where will we find your soul Mr Parish?" I asked.
“Look at yourself – when did you last pray for anyone?"
And I could not remember. I never went to church, I never thought about faith, I never prayed.
“When I died, you should have at least said something for me. Help me now to find my soul."
“But your family were there Mr Parish. They prayed.”
“Yes but all souls need to feel the love from an innocent stranger, not a cleric or religious person, to believe they have touched other lives or mattered to someone other than those they know. Otherwise, why are we here?”

So I did. I prayed for Mr Parish, right there, on the street.

Mr Parish smiled; he faded and then waved as he disappeared. Vanished.

I cried.