We've been expecting you

The early morning sunlight pierced through the half-closed blind of my bedroom window, causing me to skint the one eye that was barely open. It was 04:30am, I had not slept a wink. I gulped the half-empty mug of cold, dark-roast coffee left on my bedside table, in an attempt to shock my body into life using last night’s caffeine, there was no point staying in bed, I would not want to be late for the first job interview in 2 years.

I stared across the room at the freshly pressed shirt I had done the night before, hanging on the back of the door, proudly standing to attention – my time spent in the military had obviously paid off. The creases were razor sharp; the white starched collar gleamed as the early morning sun bounced off the golden pin that had kept the collar firmly in shape. First impressions last, no time to be sloppy.

As I turned on the bathroom light, the brightness forced me to momentarily shut the one good eye that was still half-closed. I reluctantly faced the toilet, steadying myself for the first of probably a dozen trips to the loo before I left the house, I closed both my eyes preparing myself for the excruciating, burning, fire-like liquid that was about to hit the pan. Beads of sweat began to gather on my forehead, waiting patiently to run in unison down the side of my head. I took a deep breath and hoped that this time I did not pass out and miss the most important day in what seemed like an eternity.

 I leaned to steady myself against the tiled wall, I started to tremor as the nerves in my arm tingled, weakening my pathetic grip, forcing me to stumble. I took one last, deep breath, and closed both eyes. The wait was infuriating, the past 2 years had made the simplest of tasks an absolute living nightmare. Without warning, I suddenly felt a feeling of calm, peace, and complete unadulterated bliss. To my surprise – and sheer relief- the event passed with no discomfort at all, I cannot even remember the last time my trip to the loo hadn’t led to me squirming on the floor like a worm cut in two . I felt elated. Through habit, I opened the bathroom cabinet, and reached for the bottle of oxycodone that had become my crutch for the past 10 months. I opened the awkward press-down cap with relative ease, now there is a first. I was prescribed 2 tablets but always took 3, as 2 never really did the trick. 3 capsules fell into my hand, I stared at them for what seemed like hours, but was in fact seconds. I do not need them today, I whispered to myself, I feel fine. I put the tablets back in the bottle shut and the cabinet door.

The rest of my morning routine after that was joyful. I felt myself smile, a real smile, not a frown, or grimace but a real happy slap my thigh, yee ha kind of smile. I threw some cold water onto my face, the feeling was amazing. I had washed my face a thousand times before, but never felt as awake as I did in that moment. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror as I started to lather my rather dishevelled face with shaving foam. The reflection had changed a bit. Still, after about 10 mins, a bit of grooming and some strategically placed hair gel, I actually looked half decent, human even, suited and booted, ready for the day ahead.

I swear I floated down the stairs I was so high, as I strolled into the kitchen. “Alexa, play ‘Perfect Day’ by Lou Reed”, I asked whilst switching on the

 coffee maker. I adored this song, the words meant so much to me. It was the chosen song for our first dance on my wedding day to Laura, Sadly, I also played it at her funeral a few years later, after she had succumbed to a very brave and dignified battle against ovarian cancer. She was my rock, my world, my best friend. But today was not about being sad, this was a Perfect Day, a new start, a new me. I was still in a complete state of shock that my usual aching body had forgotten to double me up in agony and must have decided to give me a day off. My perfect cup of coffee was ready. “You're going to reap just what you sow”, the lyrics to ‘Perfect Day’ faded out, it was still only 05:45am.

It was decision time. Do I wait till 06:15am, then board the 205 bus at the end of our street, and sit for 10 minutes glaring out the window surrounded by the lost souls of the night, spat out by the city’s bars and clubs till I reach the tube station? Do I then surround myself with the soulless faces that adorn the platform and endure the torture off being sardined into the overgrown can that screeched beneath the city streets, like an animal chased down by its prey? I managed to very quickly convince myself that this option was a definite NO!

With the words to ‘Perfect Day’ still echoing in my head, I ambled towards the mirror in the hallway, giving myself the once over. Hair done, check, tie straight, check, shirt pressed, check, shoes polished to within an inch of their life……check. I pulled on my suit jacket and reached for the clothes brush that hung by the coat stand, and gently brushed my shoulders. I was ready. I glanced again at the letter that had sat patiently on the hall table for the past few days. I checked it again, and then again, making sure I had the right day, time, location.

“Dear James, Thank you for your application to Smith Thomas & Howells London. We were impressed by your background and would like to invite you to interview at our office to tell you a little more about the position and get to know you better.” The letter started. I still could not believe my luck.

“Our address is: Floor 58, Stairway Plaza, 186 Fleet Street. London. EC4Y 1JU.” The letter continued.

My heart sunk. Floor 58! Could it be any higher? No way was I getting into a lift, but the prospect of taking on 58 floors was also giving me some concern too. I had a serious phobia of enclosed spaces. During my time in the military, I was a tank commander with the Royal Tank Regiment. On my last tour of Afghanistan, the FV4030/4 Challenger 1 battle tank I was commanding hit an I.E.D just outside of Helmand Province. These machines are awesome, they can take some serious poundings. This was no exception, the tank performed as expected, however, the building adjacent to the road we were travelling on did not hold up so well. The force of the blast removed one of the caterpillar tracks, which sent us careering into the side of the building. The whole lot came down on top of us. As I said, these machines are awesome, but with several tonnes of concrete on top of the hatches, we had no chance of getting out. We were trapped inside for over 7 hours, before we were finally evacuated to safety. The trauma of that experience signalled the end of my military career and subsequently led to a fear of enclosed spaces.

I opened the front door, and was welcomed by warm air, softened by a gentle breeze. The sun was still quite low, and the sky was a colour blue like I had never seen before. The usual rumble of traffic was replaced by birdsong, even the hum of a bee suckling on the pollen of the bluebells that grew in my front garden was amplified. The time was 05:55am, the interview was not until 09:00am, and I had already decided that the tube journey from hell was not going to happen. I did not want to turn up to the first interview I had had in year’s stressed out and sweating like a jogger’s headband, however the prospect of 58 flights of stairs was going to prove a challenge also. Still, with 3 hours until my appointment, I was going to take the scenic route and go by foot. My destination was approximately 6 miles away, but with a gentle stroll, I could make it in less than 2 hours without breaking sweat and still have time for a relaxing cup of my favourite dark roast Italian coffee by the time I arrived.

I had lived in Norton Covert for 8 years, yet as I left the familiar sights and sounds of the cul-de-sac, I had been accustomed to for such a long time, the surrounding area seemed somewhat……. different. There were houses on either side of the main road, yet they looked unfamiliar. The bus stop for the 205 was no longer there and shops I had visited on many occasions had simply vanished. I had barely walked half a mile when I came across a gate in between two houses. The gate was an old type, quite weathered with a big latch. I had no idea where I was, the town I had lived in for years had simply changed, or had it? I glanced at my watch, it was still only 06:05am, yet It felt like I ‘d been walking for hours. The lock was quite stiff, as if it had been closed for a long time and I struggled to lift the heavy metal clasp. Just then, a familiar voice called out to me, “Give it a gentle kick Jimmy”. No-one had called me Jimmy since I was lad.

My grandad used to run a farm back home, I loved staying there as a kid, I’d spend all of the summer holidays helping out on the farm, collecting eggs from the chickens and milking the cows. We would sit for hours under the old oak tree that sat a short walk away from the farmhouse, and I would listen intently to stories of when my grandad was in the army. He had served in the Second World War and was awarded the Victoria Cross for acts of bravery during the D-Day Landings in Normandy. He was a bit of a hero of mine, and the main reason I wanted to join the army myself. Sadly, he died some years before I joined, but I knew he would have been proud of me.

I turned to acknowledge the gentleman who had called out to me, but as I turned there was no-one around, just acres of fields, fields I had never seen before. With a gentle kick, to my surprise, the gate swung slowly open.  Before me lay miles of open, lush, beautiful countryside. My surroundings were completely alien to me, and I had no idea where I was, but the desire to carry on walking was intense, but not in a bad way, I felt like I hadn’t a care in the world. The morning sun stroked the back of neck, forcing the tiny hairs to stand to attention, I unbuttoned my suit jacket and casually threw it over my right shoulder as I breathed in the smell of wild flowers, primroses and bluebells, honeysuckle, blackthorn and new mown grass. Flocks of crows broke the silence as they circled above me, the brightness of the sun silhouetting them against a perfect sky. On the horizon I could make out the outline of a man and his dog, I was immediately drawn to them. As I neared, the man threw a wave as if to beckon me towards him. I had no idea where I was and I soon snapped back into the real world, as my thoughts turned towards my morning appointment. I looked at my watch, it was 08:35am. How on earth could I have been walking for over 2 hours! I hurried towards the gentleman, hoping he would know the way, I was in a desperate state of unrest.

“Good morning Sir” I gasped. “I appear to have lost my way. I need to get to Stairway Plaza, 186 Fleet Street for a very important meeting”. I continued, struggling for breath.

The elderly gentleman gave me a smile that at once put me at ease. I felt calm in his presence. He wore a tweed flat cap, that sat on top of perfectly groomed white hair. The sleeves on his check shirt were rolled up and he worn braces that sat neatly on his shoulders. He slowly raised his right arm and gestured towards a gate that was at the end of a dusty track. No words were exchanged, but I trusted him and walked briskly towards the gate. I turned to thank him, but he had simply vanished.

The gate was already open as I neared, the sun was directly in front of me, forcing my arm to shield its glare. No sooner had I walked through the gate; I was immediately hit by the smell of fumes and the sound of traffic. There I was, standing outside of Stairway Plaza, 186 Fleet Street. I must be dreaming. I lifted my head and gazed in amazement at the sheer scale of the building that was presented before me, which stretched infinitely towards the cloudless blue sky. As staggering as the view was, I quickly hurried through the revolving door in front of me. The reception hall was as busy as any city office I had visited before, dozens of people walked aimlessly together, no one speaking.  The time was 08:52am, I ran towards the reception area and presented the lady that sat behind the desk with my letter, detailing my appointment. She fixed me with a cold glare and promptly placed a ‘closed’ sign in front of her. How rude I thought.  As I turned to walk away to ask someone for directions, I was met with a deathly silence, not a soul around.

I looked at my letter to remind myself of the location, floor 58. I had no chance of making my appointment if I were to take the stairs. I simply could not be late. I sprinted towards the lifts situated at the end of a long corridor. How could a set of steel doors look so uninviting? I momentarily froze with fear. “Come on Jimmy”, I encouraged myself, “You CAN do this.”

I pushed the button of the lift door, which promptly thrust open. The lights inside flickered erratically, causing me to blink frantically.  I summoned the courage and cautiously pushed the button for floor 58.

As the doors closed, ‘Perfect Day’ played quietly in the background, gradually increasing in volume till it reached an ear-splitting crescendo. I grasped my ears to drown out the sound which forced me to the floor. Suddenly, the lights blacked out, ‘Perfect Day’ fell silent and I was met with complete and utter darkness. I was terrified. Without warning, the screech of cables and grinding metal echoed around the lift. My head crashed against the lift roof, as it fell at an alarming velocity towards the ground. I could feel my cheeks shake violently as the g-force pinned me back as I fell to the floor. I screamed in panic as faced my inevitable end. As the lift fell faster and faster, images raced through my mind. Grotesque faces flashed before me, snarling at me, laughing, screaming. I saw images of Helmand Province, bodies littering the streets, deformed, and decapitated through war. I pictured myself running through clouds of smoke, firing wildly at the hideous creatures that were running towards to me. In an act of desperation, I shouted ‘STOP!’ as loud as I could. In an instant, the lift ground to a halt. The silence was back. As deathly quiet as It was, I felt a sense of calm that shielded me from the hell of the moments that had preceded.

As I gathered my composure, the sound of a boy crying in the corner of the lift, sent the hairs on the back of my neck into a rigid frenzy. Just then, a text on my mobile phone broke the darkness. It read, ‘YOU’RE LATE’. Sender, unknown. The dim light of my phone faintly exposed the outline of a young boy in the corner, sobbing into his hands, muttering to himself, “Why me, why me”? I knew him. It was Billy Parker. Billy was a boy from my primary school years, who was new to the area at the time, everyone teased him, including me. He was small, a little chubby and wore NHS thick rimmed specs. A prime target for blood-thirsty bullies. The relentless tirade of abuse forced Billy to run one day from a group of us, chasing him down by the disused railway close to the school. He lost his footing, and he fell 100ft to his death. The feeling of guilt stayed with me for years. I held Billy’s hand, he looked up at me, I then whispered in his ear, “I’m so sorry”. In an instance, the lift sprung into life, thrusting me skywards like at rocket shooting for the stars.

As the lift gained speed, I could see faint light creeping through the gap of the lift doors, gradually enveloping the entire space with blinding white light. The lift stopped. The number 58 illuminated above the door. Slowly, the doors opened, a sense of complete calm and love overwhelmed me. A voice called out from beyond the light, “We’ve been expecting you”. I felt at home. The silhouette of a young woman seemed to glide towards me, holding out her arms. As she neared, she gently held my face and whispered in my ear, “Hello Jimmy” it was my Laura.