Eric sipped his morning coffee and checked his watch. That's me - gotta catch that train now! He grabbed his Steven Purvis made-to-measure suit jacket off the back of the chair, and pulled it over the elegant hand-made silk vest. He pulled down the double-cuffs on his Bruli shirt, straightening the 18ct gold Chisholm-Hunter cufflinks. Good tailoring can't go amiss when setting a positive impression, he thought. He checked his Niall wristwatch, purchased for a tidy sum on a business trip to Kansas last year.
He leaned over to kiss his wife, Barbara, and the baby she was holding. His nose filled with smells of milk from the baby's last feed mingled with Chanel numero quinze. Jill ran up and hugged her dad's legs, Miss you already, daddy, she opined. He lent down, hugged her and grabbed his isle of Arran hand-made MacKenzie kid leather valise. Don't forget your Phone!, Barbara shouted as he opened the front door. Eric turned back swiftly, unplugged the iPhone 15, turned it on, and pocketed it. He was glad he had opted to buy the platinum cover as it was lighter and didn't distort his jacket inside breast pocket as a gold one might have done.
Have you got your wallet, tickets and some cash?, his wife shouted across the kitchen as she settled down to feed the baby. He patted his pockets, feeling the reassuringly familiar objects in his pockets. Eric closed the door and strode along the A78 and up past the Southannan bungalows for the 600 yards from his home to the station. He checked his watch, 10:35, perfect timing. And the day was mercifully dry, so no harm to the Arrowsmith crocodile skin shoes either.
It had been a tumultuous year. When RBS had announced the huge list of branch closures everyone assumed it would stop at Carlisle. The closure of the Largs branch had come as a huge surprise to everyone, but it was the IT redundancies at the Glasgow IT centre which had hit him personally as Senior UK and EU Network Co-ordinator. Someone had once said, the rate of unemployment may be 5%, but you are personally either 100% employed or 100% unemployed. His job had finally ended, with a six months salary golden goodbye to stop the core IT staff just walking out and quickly taking a job elsewhere. He had taken the golden handcuffs and had missed the basket of new jobs available half a year back at Goldman-Sachs in Glasgow. Now there was nothing much in Scotland, unless he wanted to return to being a video games programmer in Dundee; as if! Truth be told, he needed the financial system mortgage perks to pay for his £850,000 new-build bespoke home in the prestige Southannan Estate.
Minutes after the announcement, the train approaching platform one is for Glasgow Central, calling at ... Eric Muldoon boarded the train, taking a right-side window seat to enjoy the day's clear views to Arran and Holy Island. An hour later he was sipping an americano at Gordon Street Coffee, reading The List. By 11:50 he was on the Virgin West Coast train travelling first class, of course, to London. He turned on his phone and checked out the job he was being interviewed for tomorrow.
IFD Financial Services ~ wanted senior managerial executives with extensive financial systems experience in our new data center environment ~ £260k-£320k ~ sector benefits ~ BUPA ~ relocation paid or partial work from home ~ Ceibwr Bay, Wales ~ interviews in Bristol ~ details www.ifd-fs-ceibwr.lx/vacancies/itsmexec.htm
He clicked the url and proceeded to re-read the job details. Yep, that's me, he confirmed out loud, causing the older woman sitting opposite him to look up and smile. It distracted her from her knitting, and from the snoring, slightly dribbling husband dozing beside her. She took out a hankie and cleaned his chin in one practised, gentle manoeuvre.
Children? she said to Eric. Eric nodded, took out his phone and showed her the shot of Barbara, Jill and young Eric paddling at Kilchattan Bay on Bute just a few days back. She smiled as he went through his photostream on Instagram. Just before Preston she woke up her dozing husband and they got off with the usual heavy and unstable-on-wheels overnight cases. She had her arm tightly in his. Eric imagined him and Barbara in forty years time. Young Eric would be married, greying, getting as tubby as he is now, probably, he mused. The thought made him smile, but it also created a strange longing that he couldn't quite place. Like a smell from the past which conjures up images of childhood. Like his grandfather's pipe tobacco, or baby milk mixed with Chanel.
The Lake District rushed slowly past. At Euston he had been told he would be met. There was an elegant young woman - a reminder of Barbara ten years ago? - holding a notice, Mr Muldoon below the IFDFS logo. They shook hands. She asked about the journey. He was polite and quickly in control of the conversation, glad that he taken the time five years back to clear out the Renfrewshire accent for one more Edinburgh cosmopolitan.
The hired Mercedes limousine smelt of new leather as they sped to Gatwick. You don't mind helicopters, I hope? the girl asked with a smile. No, no, Eric lied. He had lost an old school buddy who was working on a North Sea platform when the helicopter he had been flying in had ditched in the sea on a clear, calm, cloudless day. It just fell out of the sky, went the news reports. The wreckage was still out there, and his wife, Ginny, and three kids were still in Westhill near Aberdeen.
The flight was just over an hour. The 'copter landed in a broad field beside a new buildings complex. The girl pointed and said, this is the applications centre and over there is the housing campus. There was also a field with an array of satellite dishes. That'll be for data telecoms, Eric mused, taking in as much as he could as they strode across the grass. Ernst Shroeder met him, introduced himself as Head of Security, shook his hand and exchanged much the same pleasantries as the girl had done. They walked directly into a two-storey building. He signed Eric in - the girl had disappeared and the helicopter was back in the air. Shroeder said, follow me, please, Mr Muldoon.
The morning was spent in briefings, together with the other five candidates. Then lunch in a restaurant with a view across the fields and cliffs of Pembrokeshire to the Irish Sea. Well, Mr Muldoon, said a suit called James Smith, could you live in this part of the world? Eric cleaned his palette with some Brecon Beacons bottled water and sat back. Yes, but it would depend on my wife. She's from Largs originally and loves the west coast. The suit was quick, but, Mr Muldoon, this is also the west coast, as you can see through the windows. Eric laughed at the joke, but no-one else did. Indeed, the restaurant was remarkably quiet. Note to self - none of the banter of Glasgow in this part of Wales, he mused silently.
The meal and the wine were excellent. Clearly they had a full complement of chefs at the centre - or was it the center? Eric poured a little cream into his after-lunch coffee and asked, I did some research on IFD, but found little to go on. Is it Swiss backed using a Bahamas store-front? The conversation seemed to go dry at this point. Just then he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Mr Muldoon, I'm Sandra Bahmen, Senior Financial Executive. Did you get my email yesterday re the format changes for the interviews? No? I'm so sorry. Must have been an email glitch. We decided to move the conversations to head office rather than Bristol. I hope this doesn't inconvenience you? The accent was from around Toronto, certainly north of Chicago.
Eric mumbled a no, no, and shook her hand as she sat down on the empty chair beside him. He realised that he was the only candidate at the table. Perhaps they had split them up for a reason. Considering the money on offer, he wasn't surprised about IFD taking care. For a moment his mind was back in Fairlie with his family. Barbara was still beautiful, and the kids were awesome. He smiled. Sandra took this as an affirmation of her question and stood up, let me show you the data centre.
It was impressive. She was comprehensive in the information she offered, but not willing to put many answers to his questions. She showed him the data staff, management suites, gym facilities and ended with a golf cart ride round the residential part of the campus. This is where the senior staff live. It is rent and tax-free. We will buy your current home and pay all the relocation costs. Sandra continued.
If I am offered the job, inserted Eric. Oh, the job's yours, Mr Muldoon. We are just moving on to discuss the conditions which you would find suitable. Ah, here we are now. You'll be staying in Ty Owain, which I hope you will find comfortable. Good night. She shook hands and was going to leave him at the driveway. What of the other candidates? Eric asked as he held onto the golf cart. Sandra smiled, waved and drove off with an electric hum.
The door was open and the family-sized house was fully stocked. He took out his phone and found it at 1% power. No! I left the charger in the kitchen at home. He had promised to call Barbara when he arrived and had completely forgotten. It was now, he checked his watch, quarter past ten. He picked up the land line phone but remembered his numbers were all in the dead iPhone. Barbara would be annoyed, and possibly worried. He undressed, showered and retired for the night, tired.
The next morning the phone rang. Mr Muldoon, just to say that I will be with you in 30 minutes. Just take a shower and get dressed, if you aren't already. I'll come round. The gentle Canadian accent of Sandra was soothing after a restless night. He put the phone down. Must be nerves, Eric said out loud. Or worry about the family.
The day was spent in more briefings. He was almost convinced, but still a bit concerned about the corporate background to IFD. Something bothered him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. The CEO, Laurence 'Lol' Jones, invited him to lunch at his home on the campus. When they got there Eric saw the family photos on the wall and suddenly remembered Barbara and the kids again. Do you have an iPhone X charger?, he asked retrieving his phone from his jacket inside pocket. Lol leaned over, took the phone and handed it to a man behind him, we'll get it charged for you now.
It was an intensive day meeting more staff and enduring more briefings. How much Powerpoint can a man survive? Eric wondered. He turned to one of security staff, excuse me, Lol - sorry, Mr Jones - took my iPhone to charge it. Can you see if it is ready now? The suit nodded and left the room. He didn't return. After another working lunch, more meetings and a generous and delicious dinner Eric was exhausted. Sandra dropped him off at the house. Eric crashed on the bed, fully clothed.
The next day he woke to find Lol making omelette and coffee in the kitchen. Time to talk, Eric. He served him coffee and a slice of toast. By now, I'm sure you are making plans to come here with, or without, your family. Eric sipped the dark brew and added some cream. We'd like you to start next week.
Eric interrupted, where's my phone? Lol stared at the omelette and said, with security. Eric replied, when can I get it back? Lol looked at him and said, when you leave. Eric replied, I'd like to call my wife. Can I have my phone back now. She'll be frantic. I need to call her.
The job is yours, Eric. We can fix the details later. I tell you what, how about you stay a day or two longer and we can work out your package. I'm sure we could come to terms. Lol sat down and faced him across the coffee table.
Lol, I am concerned about my family. I need to call home. Can I simply go back home and tell you my decision in a few days? Eric was looking around the living room. He found his jacket, but when he checked it his wallet was gone. And, where was his valise? Come to that - where on earth was he actually right now? What was IFD, what were they doing here and who was behind them? The questions roared in his head.
OK, Eric. I had hoped that you were going to be our new man. You have all the experience and features we require. But, if you leave this campus then you are saying No to our offer. We can make it £750k, if that helps. Remember, you still owe £687k on the house in Southannan and you are currently out of a job.
Eric felt his face going red. Of course, as a finance company they would know this, but it was a breach of Data Protection to admit to this out loud. He had made his mind up. I wish to leave, Mr Jones. The other man poured him an orange juice. As you wish. Neil, he spoke to a man Eric hadn't seen by the door, take Mr Muldoon to Bristol Airport and put him on a flight back to Scotland. He reached into his pocket and handed Eric a roll of twenties.
Eric considered saying more, but after consideration took the offer of the bankroll and a quick exit. Mr Jones turned his back and Eric slugged back the chilled orange juice on his nervously parched throat. As he went for his suit jacket the room reeled and went black.
That smell woke him: milk and Chanel. He opened his eyes slowly and saw Barbara and the baby through the bars on the bed. He tried to speak but couldn't. He lay watching her feed the baby, humming her favourite song, Baby Love, from the Dreamgirls movie. As the baby unpopped, now full of milk, a dribble dropping from his lips, she looked across and saw him watching her. Barbara gasped and gave a shout. The nurse ran over and began to fuss over him as he gradually realised where he was.
Eric! Eric!, Barbara gasped. She took his hand as the baby's head lolled from right to left. Watch the baby, Eric whispered. She handed the baby to the nurse and leaned over to hug him as he lay in the bed. He felt a tear on his face; hers or his? The nurse spoke, Mrs Muldoon, and handed her back the sleeping baby, reluctantly. The nurse then sat him up, stuck a pillow behind him, and straightened him to sit slightly more upright.
Where's Jill?, Eric asked. With mum in Ayr, Barbara replied. Eric's head was clearing, but it was Barbara who had questions ready. Where were you for the past few days? Why didn't you call? What happened? Eric screwed up his forehead, trying to think. Where am I? he asked. Queen Elizabeth Hospital, she replied. I’m in Glasgow?, he asked.
You came in off a private flight at Glasgow Airport three days ago in a coma. They called me yesterday. You had nothing except what you're wearing and a roll of £5,000 in new Bank of England notes. Eric, what is going on? She had the baby tipped over her shoulder and was shaking him just a bit too severely. Eric reached out his hand and touched hers. Young Eric burped some milk up. They identified you through your suit tailoring. Police came to the door. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not that you had been found dead. She broke down.
Over a cup of hospital tea and toast Eric told his side of the story. Barbara and the junior doctor sat there and listened, then she spoke, but, Eric, Mr Jones called me on the day you flew out. He said you never arrived. He was quite concerned. The doctor, a young lady, spoke, Mr Muldoon, you've been in coma for some days now. The mind does a lot of imagining during trauma. I wouldn't put much credibility on your recall of the past days. Just rest.
Eric just sat and went over his story in his mind again. But, the private plane - the lost phone - my valise - my wallet?
The doctor rose, Mr Muldoon, you need rest. Just think, whatever the explanation for what happened to you, does what you recall really seem to be the most likely option? She walked off. Eric bit the dry toast and sipped the warm tea. Time passed.
Barbara?
Yes, Eric.
I think there has been too much pressure on me recently. What do you say, we sell the big house and we go home?
Home?
We'll, your home. St Andrews. Dave Thomas said there's a job for me back with Cloud Nine Games in Dundee. We could buy a house in the Canongate estate. It’s an easy walk from the town centre.
Barbara smiled broadly. Oh, Eric, can we? Can we afford it?
Although these were actually statements, Eric replied, Yes, I expect we can.
Babara dropped the sleeping baby gently beside him in the bed and leaned over to kiss him on the lips. Eric inhaled that alluring scent of milk and Chanel.