Hug

Chapter 4

But Carl would not come at her bidding now.

She woke the next morning with a headache, as if she'd slept too heavily. Normally she would have looked at her emails and her blog for comments about her stories. But she couldn't summon up any interest. She certainly didn't have any ideas forthcoming for chapter 2 of SurferGirl60's story. It was as if her encounter yesterday had imprisoned her in reality - if indeed it had been reality.

She felt better after a cup of coffee at work, and sat down for her shift on the reception desk. At 9am exactly the door entry system buzzed, and she pressed the button of the intercom.

"Good morning, Harding and Peacock, how may I help you?" she announced her usual polite, businesslike greeting.

"Hi, I have an appointment with Mr Harding at 9.15? My name is Ed Porter."

"Thank you," she checked the appointments book and pressed the door release.

Calmly, she watched his outline approaching through the frosted window of the inner door, and didn't feel any surprise whatsoever as he walked up to the desk. It was Carl Wilson.

If he remembered her from the day before he certainly didn't show it. He was polite, but distant, taking the seat she offered him and pulling out a newspaper. She busied herself with opening mail and answering the phone. She didn't feel any inclination to steal glances at him, to check his remarkable likeness to someone who meant so much to her. She was puzzled by how she felt, or rather how little she didn't feel about this strange situation. It was almost as if she had planned it, like one of her dreams.

She was sitting on the bench again. Again, the sun on the water dazzled her eyes. She turned to her right, and saw the outline of a person sitting next to her. He was looking at her. It was Carl, but a Carl of about 15 or 16 years of age.

He smiled his sweet, chipped tooth smile, took her hand in his and led her down to the beach. As she walked with him she glanced down and noticed that she was dressed in sandals and pedal pushers, with a gingham shirt. There was a lightness and ease in her body - she was young again.

She could see from her shadow that her hair was tied in a ponytail, swinging as she walked.

As they reached the beach she realised they were somewhere different. The sky was a cloudless blue, the breeze was warm and the sand was nearly white in colour.

She recognised this place from photographs. That familiar jutting cliff - it was Paradise Cove in California. Sure enough, the station wagon was parked on the sand, palm leaves jutting out of the top. The guys were standing around the photographer laughing and joking, Dennis holding the surfboard.

A transistor radio planted in the sand played a tinny refrain of 'Be my Baby'.

She turned to Carl, but he was no longer at her side but with the rest of the guys. He grinned happily from his position on the hood of station wagon. He put up his hand to wave, then paused, a frown crossing his face. He shook his head, pointing at something behind her. She whirled round to find the older Carl from the bench the day before standing behind her, hand outstretched, a slight smile on his lips which somehow didn't reach to his eyes.

The sun disappeared behind a cloud, and the breeze turned cold momentarily. She shivered, turning her head back to the station wagon, but it was gone.

She woke up, her heart hammering in her chest.

Strictly speaking, relationships with clients weren't allowed.

"But what's the harm, Grace?" Jenny, the other receptionist, had urged her. "It's just a drink. - and I'm sure you'll find something more interesting to talk about than work!"