There was a shallowness about Shaun. There was an empty, untroubled look in his eye, an indifference, a lack of concern for the plight of others. For a man nearing thirty, he had acquired few possessions and minimal responsibilities. He drifted easily from job to job, from digs to digs and from one flimsy relationship to another. He had made a deliberate effort to make all aspects of his life uncomplicated, free of clutter, baggage or hindrance.
He enjoyed the freedom and the few demands that van driving brought, he preferred to rent a small room in a large house rather than own his own place, with all the hassles that it entailed. If the house-owner or any of the other residents rubbed him the wrong way, he would simply pack up and leave when the next month's rent was due. He could stuff his entire modest luggage and possessions into a couple of bin-liners, which he often did, shove them into the back of the van and simply drive away. All his mail, which amounted to no more than half a dozen letters per month, went to his mother's and she duly posted them on to him. They would phone each other on their mobiles every couple of weeks and he would pop round to see her every few months, a flimsy arrangement that seemed to suit them both.
After work, he would pick up a take-away, lay on his bed and watch his small portable TV or stroll across the road to the Red Lion for a few jars. He followed the Arsenal, preferably on the large screen; he enjoyed the rowdiness and the atmosphere. I'm a Red Lion season ticket holder; he would quip, when he bothered to strike up a conversation. There had been numerous girlfriends and on occasions, he had lived with them but it was always a transient, fluttering liaison, without depth or sincerity. Eventually, they would realise his lack of commitment, they would challenge his intentions and there would be the customary allegations of his flimsiness. Next day she would discover all his things were gone and his keys lying ominously on the table, without a word or note of explanation. He was rolling stone, tumbling effortlessly through life on a cloud of indifference.
“When do you think you'll settle down, get married, have a family Shaun?” asked Mum, on more than one occasion. He would look at her as if she had asked him to start supporting Spurs, or go and live in China, or take up Buddhism.
“Married? Family? Settle down? What ever for?” he would ask.
“Nothing wrong with getting married Shaun.” she would counter sharply.
He might have directed her attention to his three elder brothers, all divorced and remarried, weighed down with court orders, maintenance payments, houses full of unruly kids, all old before their time, but he would simply smile, gently, without adding any uncharitable comments and slip quietly out of the house, on some fictitious pretext.
He lacked any kind of ambition and rarely looked beyond the rest of the week, let alone, far into the future. He had no forward plan, or hopes, or dreams. He took life as it came and always sought the easiest option, the simplest and quickest solution to life's many challengers. Had he possessed the ability, or desire, to look closely into the complex lives of those around him, he would have been horrified at the tangled and complex 'can of worms' that some folks had created for themselves. But he had no such interests or concerns, no wish to tiptoe into the minefield of debt, property-ladder, job, relationship, parenthood or the myriad of pressures heaped onto modern society.
He rarely ventured into the realms of self analysis or critical assessment. He never felt the need to readjust his routine or fine tune his destiny and as such, kept his mental well being on a level course. He was never euphoric, blissful and was seldom full of the joys of spring but he never, ever knocked on the doors of depression, sadness or gloom.
The army had taught him order and tidiness about his person and his approach to his daily routine. His meagre possessions were neatly folded or stored away, his room, clean and orderly, his laundry and bed linen washed and ironed. ''No dust under my bed Sarge!' he could say, with confidence.
And indeed, he might have gone through life gathering no moss. He might have continued fending off unwanted attention and keeping one step ahead of anyone who might desire to change his happy little niche and compel him to take on some onus or responsibility. He might have stayed in his simple 'room for rent', might have remained a van driver ordinaire, a single man, answerable only to himself, footloose, feather-light and free. He might have preserved his free spirit and strolled through life without attracting a single piece of obligation............... but he didn't.
She had come along when he was least expecting it. She had popped into his cocoon of self-centred contentment when he wasn't even looking. A married woman, almost twice his age, greying at the temples, middle class, professional, charming and quite out of his league.
There was a leaving party in the Red Lion for Jack, the dispatcher. He was grateful for the work Jack had put his way and felt obliged to attend. He sat quietly in the corner, nursing a drink when she sidled in beside him. “Not joining the karaoke?” she inquired.
“Not my scene!” he replied.
“Are you one of the drivers?”
He nodded politely.
“Ex army?” she persisted.
He stiffened, “How did you know?” he asked, with an interest.
“Good posture, clean and tidy, a rare quality among today's twenty-something scruff-bags!”
He began to take an interest in her. “You? What are you doing here?”
“Wife of Gerald the accountant, I'm his chauffeur for the evening. My job to pour him into bed.”
“Oh, likes to tipple eh?” he probed, suddenly attracted to her charm, sophistication and confidence.
She nodded and smiled, “Not without its compensations though, it gives me, erm, lots of freedom!”
He grinned as he grasped her meaning, which only increased his interest in her. Then for an hour, she toyed with him, she played up to his undisguised attraction, she flattered him, soft soaped him and oozed sensuality and he became a lump of putty in her hands.
They ignored the karaoke and hoots of drink filled laughter coming from the bar. He was excited by her, fascinated by her directness and maturity, he smiled, laughed and giggled at her jokes and her witty repartee and she reeled him in like an angler might play a deep sea fighting fish.
He began to feel a deep sense of desire for this woman, an urge to hold her in his arms, to breathe her perfume, to touch her soft skin, to walk through a summer meadow, holding her hand. She had overpowered him and he opened his mouth to say something earth shattering, something dynamic and meaningful. Suddenly, the karaoke ended, the laughter faded, people began to drift away and Gerald appeared from the bar like some elderly, little boy lost. “Time for beddy-byes old thing, I'll get the coats!” he said with a slur and shuffled to the coat-stand.
“Wait, wait,” pleaded Shaun, leaping to his feet with an urgency and reaching for her arm. “Can I see you again, lunch or a show or something. I've so much enjoyed speaking to you. Can we, er, is it possible we might er..................”
“Lovely thought Shaun, thanks for the compliment, you're a lovely man but you're not quite my type. Nice talking to you, maybe see you again sometime, take care sweetie. Chin-chin.” she said superficially and she slid gracefully away towards Gerald.
He enjoyed the freedom and the few demands that van driving brought, he preferred to rent a small room in a large house rather than own his own place, with all the hassles that it entailed. If the house-owner or any of the other residents rubbed him the wrong way, he would simply pack up and leave when the next month's rent was due. He could stuff his entire modest luggage and possessions into a couple of bin-liners, which he often did, shove them into the back of the van and simply drive away. All his mail, which amounted to no more than half a dozen letters per month, went to his mother's and she duly posted them on to him. They would phone each other on their mobiles every couple of weeks and he would pop round to see her every few months, a flimsy arrangement that seemed to suit them both.
After work, he would pick up a take-away, lay on his bed and watch his small portable TV or stroll across the road to the Red Lion for a few jars. He followed the Arsenal, preferably on the large screen; he enjoyed the rowdiness and the atmosphere. I'm a Red Lion season ticket holder; he would quip, when he bothered to strike up a conversation. There had been numerous girlfriends and on occasions, he had lived with them but it was always a transient, fluttering liaison, without depth or sincerity. Eventually, they would realise his lack of commitment, they would challenge his intentions and there would be the customary allegations of his flimsiness. Next day she would discover all his things were gone and his keys lying ominously on the table, without a word or note of explanation. He was rolling stone, tumbling effortlessly through life on a cloud of indifference.
“When do you think you'll settle down, get married, have a family Shaun?” asked Mum, on more than one occasion. He would look at her as if she had asked him to start supporting Spurs, or go and live in China, or take up Buddhism.
“Married? Family? Settle down? What ever for?” he would ask.
“Nothing wrong with getting married Shaun.” she would counter sharply.
He might have directed her attention to his three elder brothers, all divorced and remarried, weighed down with court orders, maintenance payments, houses full of unruly kids, all old before their time, but he would simply smile, gently, without adding any uncharitable comments and slip quietly out of the house, on some fictitious pretext.
He lacked any kind of ambition and rarely looked beyond the rest of the week, let alone, far into the future. He had no forward plan, or hopes, or dreams. He took life as it came and always sought the easiest option, the simplest and quickest solution to life's many challengers. Had he possessed the ability, or desire, to look closely into the complex lives of those around him, he would have been horrified at the tangled and complex 'can of worms' that some folks had created for themselves. But he had no such interests or concerns, no wish to tiptoe into the minefield of debt, property-ladder, job, relationship, parenthood or the myriad of pressures heaped onto modern society.
He rarely ventured into the realms of self analysis or critical assessment. He never felt the need to readjust his routine or fine tune his destiny and as such, kept his mental well being on a level course. He was never euphoric, blissful and was seldom full of the joys of spring but he never, ever knocked on the doors of depression, sadness or gloom.
The army had taught him order and tidiness about his person and his approach to his daily routine. His meagre possessions were neatly folded or stored away, his room, clean and orderly, his laundry and bed linen washed and ironed. ''No dust under my bed Sarge!' he could say, with confidence.
And indeed, he might have gone through life gathering no moss. He might have continued fending off unwanted attention and keeping one step ahead of anyone who might desire to change his happy little niche and compel him to take on some onus or responsibility. He might have stayed in his simple 'room for rent', might have remained a van driver ordinaire, a single man, answerable only to himself, footloose, feather-light and free. He might have preserved his free spirit and strolled through life without attracting a single piece of obligation............... but he didn't.
She had come along when he was least expecting it. She had popped into his cocoon of self-centred contentment when he wasn't even looking. A married woman, almost twice his age, greying at the temples, middle class, professional, charming and quite out of his league.
There was a leaving party in the Red Lion for Jack, the dispatcher. He was grateful for the work Jack had put his way and felt obliged to attend. He sat quietly in the corner, nursing a drink when she sidled in beside him. “Not joining the karaoke?” she inquired.
“Not my scene!” he replied.
“Are you one of the drivers?”
He nodded politely.
“Ex army?” she persisted.
He stiffened, “How did you know?” he asked, with an interest.
“Good posture, clean and tidy, a rare quality among today's twenty-something scruff-bags!”
He began to take an interest in her. “You? What are you doing here?”
“Wife of Gerald the accountant, I'm his chauffeur for the evening. My job to pour him into bed.”
“Oh, likes to tipple eh?” he probed, suddenly attracted to her charm, sophistication and confidence.
She nodded and smiled, “Not without its compensations though, it gives me, erm, lots of freedom!”
He grinned as he grasped her meaning, which only increased his interest in her. Then for an hour, she toyed with him, she played up to his undisguised attraction, she flattered him, soft soaped him and oozed sensuality and he became a lump of putty in her hands.
They ignored the karaoke and hoots of drink filled laughter coming from the bar. He was excited by her, fascinated by her directness and maturity, he smiled, laughed and giggled at her jokes and her witty repartee and she reeled him in like an angler might play a deep sea fighting fish.
He began to feel a deep sense of desire for this woman, an urge to hold her in his arms, to breathe her perfume, to touch her soft skin, to walk through a summer meadow, holding her hand. She had overpowered him and he opened his mouth to say something earth shattering, something dynamic and meaningful. Suddenly, the karaoke ended, the laughter faded, people began to drift away and Gerald appeared from the bar like some elderly, little boy lost. “Time for beddy-byes old thing, I'll get the coats!” he said with a slur and shuffled to the coat-stand.
“Wait, wait,” pleaded Shaun, leaping to his feet with an urgency and reaching for her arm. “Can I see you again, lunch or a show or something. I've so much enjoyed speaking to you. Can we, er, is it possible we might er..................”
“Lovely thought Shaun, thanks for the compliment, you're a lovely man but you're not quite my type. Nice talking to you, maybe see you again sometime, take care sweetie. Chin-chin.” she said superficially and she slid gracefully away towards Gerald.