Fate and Fatalities

By DAVID MENDOZA

A Modern Drama

Seamlessly interweaving the unfolding tale of the past and the present concerning lost relationships, Fate and Fatalities successfully encapsulates the unshakeable human emotions of love, hate, fear, anger and betrayal as they play out their tune set in the complexities of a modernising workplace trying to redefine its way in the 21st Century.

George, after a long illness, returns to work awaiting promotion to a role he believes will be his. A beautiful new member of staff, Becky, a girl half his age, stops George in his tracks as their paths inevitably cross.

Follow George in his attempt to survive his nemisis, Gavin, whose devilish plans know no bounds in his quest for all-out power.

Learn how his wicked treatment of people destroys lives.

Discover how George handles the knowledge he inadvertently uncovers as he stumbles upon the hidden, dark, inescapeable relationship intrigue between Becky and his best friend, Sandy.

Join him in his quest as he attempts to reconcile the differences of unhappy pasts.

Allow yourself time to meet the characters and for your sentiments to travel the same path, laid bare by fate, along the twists and turns that Fate and Fatalities takes until you reach the decisive conclusion.

It is an unforgettable journey!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468586367

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Illness Discovered

It was early summer a little over two and half years before ‘Old Mr. Stevens’ retirement party when George’s first discomfort was felt.

‘Just a spot of tummy trouble that’s all, a little bit of bother nothing more.’ he grumbled to himself.

His thoughts were much the same the second and third time. By the fifth instance George’s concerns were only slightly raised and that was simply because it was just days away from the two weeks walking holiday that had been booked in the Yorkshire Dales, the venue chosen this particular year with his wife Rebecca and did not relish an upset stomach as an accomplice while away but he did decide that upon their return he would have a word with Sandy.

Sandy himself was out of the country and would be for another few weeks. This was the two weeks when George, Rebecca and Sandy usually took their annual break together. Their destination had been Sandy’s home village, Murrymouth, ever since his parents moved back there thirty years ago. It had become customary for the two weeks holiday to be spent at his parents.

This year was the first break with tradition. Sandy’s engagement abroad could not be hijacked.

George and Rebecca had got to know Sandy’s parents, Jock and Catherine, very well over the years and some of the characters in their home village also. When they visited they had to sound their greetings to the same locals each time. Neighbours of course but the grocer, the butcher, the baker and had there been a candle stick maker they would have had to greet him as well.

The village was, by nature and typical of, a rather close knit community; everyone knowing each others affairs. Being close knit, when a particular event, or person, stepped outside the normality of life it was clearly defined that it was displeasure to the majority.

There was always someone having to live on the perimeter of life and so it was to be for Jock and Catherine. The ‘crime’ they had committed was known but never spoken of, even so, their own close friends they had acquired throughout their lifetime there, accepted them as they were and stood by them through thick and thin.

Their vacation always consisted of a considerable amount of healthy exercise; long hikes to the peak on some distant horizon, a considerable amount of healthy Scottish food, especially fish (the tradition of the village grew historically as a fishing settlement) and more than a considerable amount of Scotch.

They all enjoyed the Scotch!

This, as far as they knew, was the only time of the year when Catherine used the services of the small launderette. She always ensured Sandy help her take the heavy load there. It appeared that she saved up a years-worth of laundry just for this two week vacation. He had to wait while it was being washed and dried; at least an hour and a half each visit, then help bring the finished laundry back.

It seemed a strange request to ask of Sandy but it was only once a year and he never questioned it.

Rebecca had just stirred from her slumber on the second morning of their vacation.

‘George! For goodness sake! It’s only quarter past . . .’

Rebecca halted midway through her sentence.

‘It’s okay Rebecca,’ George interrupted, making light of the situation he was in as he was standing with his back to her, ‘just had a little bit of an accident, silly old me. Must have been in too deep a sleep . . .’ he said timidly.

Rebecca froze momentarily—she was not sure what to think as George stood leaning over the en suite bathroom sink—naked from the waist down—doing something . . . She did not know whether to be angry or embarrassed. Was he washing his pyjamas or . . .

‘George . . . is . . . are you . . . is this something you’re going to be taking back to Sandy? Is money that tight you’ve reverted to your student days—supplementing your income as a sperm donor?’ She asked embarrassingly, in a stern but not too hurtful manner hoping that her assumption was correct, half hoping he would actually say ‘Yes’, the alternative could be a whole lot worse.

His eyes sadly replied the truth . . .

‘Oh George . . . you fool . . .’ She fought hard but felt the warm flow of a tear roll from the corner of her eye.

‘I . . . thought I’d . . . when I get back . . . Sandy . . .’

George looked childishly at her.

‘Heavens above George!! Sandy? Sandy’s been in Germany since the end of April. He’s not due back for another three or four weeks . . . and he’s not even your own doctor!! Don’t tell me you’ve been waiting . . .’

Her anger was mixed with exasperation as she looked imploringly at George.

‘Bloody hell George, don’t you think I went through enough myself all those years ago?’

She wanted to hit him, she wanted to take out on him all the suffering she endured herself, the doubts of any future, the hollowness of existence between treatment sessions, the pain—the mental torture, the physical surgery.

‘And now here you are, trying to hide this bloody thing from me’. Her voice came from a pit of despair.

‘I know . . . I know . . . I just didn’t want to upset . . .’ George broke in trying to placate her.

‘Upset . . . upset! Oh George . . .’ her reply trailed off in desolation.

Their holiday had effectively ended at that point. Life had come to a standstill for them for the second time.

It was thirteen years earlier when Rebecca received her annual reminder to go for a smear test at her doctor’s surgery and thought not much more of it—just to remember to phone up to get the all clear two weeks later.

When she called to ask for the results she was advised by the receptionist to make an appointment to see her doctor. That sounded ominous to her. She tried to stay calm but her mind went through the emotional mill that affects one at times such as this, considering the scenario’s and making plans for the worse outcomes.

The appointment was made for two o’clock on Friday afternoon. The three day wait was an eternity away. When George came in from work that evening he noticed she looked rather perplexed and spoke to her soothingly, ‘Rebecca, is anything wrong or troubling you at all? You don’t seem your usual cheery self.’

‘Tired dear, that’s all. There’s been so much going on at work these last couple of weeks, it’s just catching up with me that’s all. The weekend’s almost here and after a nice relaxing couple of days I’ll be back to my old self again.’ She replied to him without conviction.

George took her at her word. He knew the truth was not being divulged. He also knew that if or when she wanted to tell him, she would.

Rebecca arrived early at the surgery, subconsciously wishing her appointment over as soon as possible. Rebecca chose a seat close to the exit, half hoping for a quick consultation half expecting something quite different.

Her name was called out by the doctor and she reticently made her way into his consultation room. She sat opposite and awaited his words.

‘Mrs. Robinson,’ said Dr. Downey in a tone reflecting what was to come next, ‘I’m afraid the results have come back showing an anomaly. We need to confirm there’s nothing sinister lurking. I’d like to make an appointment for you to see the consultant gynecologist if you’re in agreement.’

Even though she was half expecting those words to be the reason for the appointment Rebecca’s mind was by now in a completely different place. Her heart had sunk and a bewildering calm came over her, time stood still.

George came home from work at his normal time of six o’clock on the dot. Rebecca had not moved from her seat since returning from the surgery three hours previously.

‘Rebecca?’ George asked, ‘What’s the matter?’

‘George . . . When you asked the other day . . . how I feel . . . I didn’t want to say anything then . . . not until . . . I’ve . . . been to the doctors . . .’ she started, her eyes misting.

Only at times such as this, you know you’re truly in love when you fully understand every word your partner doesn’t say.

George remembered a quote something similar to this from a novel he read some years ago. It never occurred to him that one day he would recall it.

He understood.

There was a darkness that followed them to the appointment with the consultant the following week. The ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ was spoken of to them by Mr. Assam and they carried away with them hope and a more positive outlook than when they arrived.

Rebecca’s surgery the following month, a hysterectomy, proceeded well and the treatment that followed, as debilitating as it was, proved to be successful.

At the end of the treatment she had to attend three monthly check-ups then six monthly check-ups then after three years—no more check-ups and then the final ‘All clear’. There was no celebration, the relief of all the anxiety being over and able to resume a normal life once again was enough. There were emotional tears though as they left the clinic for the last time that neither could hold back.

Three years is a long time to live with your life on hold.

And here she was, ten years after the all clear, driving George back home to goodness knows what!

‘Why are you so bloody stupid?’ she screamed at him at the top of her voice—silently in her mind. She turned and looked at him choking back just enough to be able to say, ‘It’s okay George, we’ve had a reasonable night’s sleep,’ her lying eyes betraying the knowledge that both had barely forty winks between them, ‘and even though you’ve managed to ruin the bloody holiday,’ she then tried to joke, ‘once we’re back home again we can set about getting you sorted out. I mean, look at me, if I can get better after all the problems I had I’m sure a great big fit lump like you can manage it.’

She tried to sound reassuring but her forced smile was picked up by them both.

Being big and fit is not a certainty of getting better.

George turned his head, wound the window down a little to refresh the air in the car and gazed out, watching as the sun made intermittent appearances, drifting in and out from behind the cloud formations.

‘Cumulonimbus I think,’ he mused, ‘I wonder if there are clouds in . . .’ he cut himself short! ‘Shit! What have I done? Why am I so bloody stupid? All I had to do was go to the doctors . . .’

He closed his eyes while Rebecca continued driving, his mind recalling the times when he, Rebecca and Sandy had made their acquaintances some thirty years earlier.

Chapter 2

Sandy

John Sanderson, Sandy, had been George’s best friend since their days at University. Their friendship grew and formed an unbreakable bond. The intensity of environment, living from day to day in digs and the long nights studying, had a deep unifying effect. A lifelong camaraderie was the outcome.

Sandy’s parents had moved south from Scotland when the fishing industry began to fold. He was only ten years old at the time, the age when, for a child, it is almost impossible to be convinced that to move and lose your best mates forever is ‘for the best’ as parents say but he was not at all sorry to leave. His early school days had been difficult for him. He was a quiet, introverted lad and had spent those first few years amongst a ‘rowdy bunch’ as he referred to them when speaking to his mother.

Even at such a young age his taste was different from his school friends. Classical music took preference over pop. Reading books (not comics) was more rewarding than climbing trees. Walks through the fields supplying a plethora of heather and naming in Latin the flora he came across was his choice of excitement, much better than soccer.

That is not to say he did not enjoy sports. He did, more so as he grew older but team events such as rugby, soccer and cricket were not for him; there were just too many people around him for his liking, too much going on, too disorienting. He found it difficult to flourish within a team.

Squash, tennis, badminton and swimming, these were the type of sports he enjoyed, where wins and losses are all down to one person—oneself. This is what drove Sandy on; to become ‘something’ by his own endeavour. This self-reliance enabled him to cope with the life which was dealt out to him.

From as far back as he could remember his parents had been supportive in all he had done, all he attempted to do and what he wanted to achieve. He could not have wished for better parents and he was lucky, he had two sets of parents! His adoptive parents had always been honest with Johnny, as they called him.

They felt that it would not be fair to keep from him the knowledge of his natural parentage. He was such an inquisitive lad, always seeking the truth; it would only be a matter of time before his parentage would be questioned, by his coevals if not by him. Jock and Catherine explained to Sandy just how fortunate he was, in a casual matter-of-fact manner, not wishing the news of that parentage to burden him.

He had a wonderful adoptive father, Jack (always known as Jock) who would spend hours with him. He would read endlessly to him of an evening and once Johnny began picking up the words himself Jock set about teaching him to read. By the time he was four and a half he was able to tackle books suitable for teenagers with ease.

He would play all varieties of adventure games with him. He encouraged him in all that he wished to do, answering the most awkward questions that children seem to glory in asking, (where do babies come from? How do trees grow? Who made the world? Why doesn’t the sky fall down?) explaining to him in the ways that any child would understand.

He was told of his two mothers, Catherine and Mary both whom loved him dearly but that his natural mother, Mary, had such a difficult life and although it broke her heart she had to let his other mother, Catherine, bring him up. He was not informed who Mary actually ‘was’ but he was told that she would always love him and would never forget him and that one day when he was a grown-up they may even meet again.

Regarding this last component, Sandy’s parents did not quite see eye to eye. Would it not be better to say nothing about seeing his natural mother again? (But Jock was over-ruled).

His natural father was not mentioned and when Sandy was so young he never questioned it. When he was older it did not seem important. He already had one incredible father.

During Sandy’s secondary education he began to excel in the sciences. He found biology and the ‘building blocks of life’ a revelation. To comprehend how the human body grows and functions was seen by him as miraculous. Mr. Prendergast was his teacher and mentor in this subject as well as chemistry and physics.

He had never taught a pupil with such learning capabilities and dedication as Sandy. His future path appeared to be mapped out from the time he was ten. He spent the next fourteen years in almost constant study. It was an unquenchable thirst for knowledge that drove him on.

(In reality studying was never to cease throughout his life).

Studying for him was not a chore, it was an enjoyment. To learn and understand any subject that previously he had no knowledge of was an achievement to be proud of.

At school, because he was always studying, there was little time for serious girlfriends. He always let his parents believe that was the only reason.

After the move south, he found the remainder of his school days in secondary education not very different from his early primary education in his Scottish homeland.

Bullying takes many forms.

In his primary years it took the form of name calling, ‘sissy’ and ‘girlie’ being the most used. Occasionally he would get caught up in a scrap but fortunately there were generally teachers on hand who took a kindly eye to taking care of Sandy.

This was lucky for those taking part in the bullying. Sandy could handle himself very well. Jock, being an amateur middleweight boxer during his younger days, taught him how to defend and how to attack. Those who pushed him too far would do so only once!

Here in England, during his further education the bullying was more succinct. He was ostracised from school society brought about by the usual one or two pack leaders, those who determine the fate of school life for those who do not ‘fit in’ with the rest of the sheep. The better conversations were to be had with the girls he made friends with.

Whereas male students of his age had a completely different agenda in mind when talking to girls, he was genuinely interested in them purely socially and their different approach to life from that of males. They felt unpressured and comfortable with this approach which enraged the alpha males and their sheep even more.

They had learned not to pick physical fights with him though. The one time a lad did . . . it was not a pretty sight to see.

Do not pick fights with a tough Scot’s lad who been taught the Queensbury Rules by an even tougher Scot’s father.

The tactics used were of isolation. Being constantly ignored is a heavy cross to bear.

It was impressed upon him by his parents that you had to be yourself first and foremost—if you were not to be that—then who else could you possibly be? It was a difficult time for him without doubt.

He threw himself into his studies and refused to be intimidated by ‘those morons’ by simply ignoring them. He had very few friends, even fewer who actually understood him as a person but he was true to the one who matter above all others—himself.

He always recalled his mothers’ words whenever he had doubts.

‘Johnny, rules are put in place to channel you, to direct you, guide you into a position where you are not doing what you want to do but what others want you to do—you are not yourself—you are just an extension of somebody else’s aims. For you to be truly yourself you must make and keep to your own rules.’

His final exam results bore out that all the hard work engaged in his studies had been worthwhile—straight A’s in his ‘A’ levels. It made the case easier but not guaranteed to gain entrance at King’s University where he had set his sights on studying.

After a fraught time, the writing to different universities for an alternative placement through the clearance process, the waiting, the expectations, the uncertainties; he gained his entrance to his first choice university and was looking forward to the next chapter in his life.

He had yet to meet George—a chance meeting which came about in a most comical way . . .

Chapter 3

George Meets Rebecca

George had always fallen in love easily. This is a fair comment to make concerning his romantic interludes. Because of his benevolent nature his difficulty was, in his earlier years especially, not having the ability to discriminate between the girls who took advantage of him and those who did not. He was quite a naïve youth but with time he was to learn that not every girl was ‘nice’.

He had his heart broken on a number of occasions. The majority of times though it readily healed, waiting for the next affair where it would be shattered once again. He had a yearning, a ‘calling’ almost, to be in love. He simply loved the feeling of being in love. He felt the ache permeating from his chakra was needed for existence.

This was as much an addiction to him as heroin is to an unfortunate junkie.

His recent heartbreak was the most serious one yet. He was on the verge of committing himself to his ‘one and only true love’, Janice Richards, when she pulled the rug from under his feet.

Janice had never treated him with outwardly shown affection and friends who had seen them together always thought that she must be different when they were alone in each others company but this was not the case.

Janice was hedging her bets with George. He was of higher intellect than her, he was off to university soon of course, and she was uncertain if she wanted to hang around for years while he was studying, hoping that the time would come good for George when he would be earning enough money to permit her to live the life of luxury she aspired to.

Her decision to marry another, George had no inkling that she was even seeing somebody else, (and ‘somebody else’ was never made aware of her relationship with George) was a telling blow to his esteem. He was truly devastated by her action—vowing never to fall in love again! ( . . . until the next time).

George had been settled on the campus for a couple of weeks soaking up the atmosphere before the majority of students arrived. He was surprised that he actually secured a place at the university at all.

He applied more in hope than in expectation. When the placement came through he was rather blasé about it if the truth be known. He wasn’t 100% sure if this course was for him but his parents were overjoyed by their son ‘being a physicist’ and he did not want to upset them.

He studied physics, mathematics and history at school and studied just enough to get by. Maybe providence did shine down on him for reasons unknown.

George could have been seen to be a bit of a drifter without aim, without a focus in life. There was no overwhelming attraction or drive which spurred him on. Once the initial enthusiasm faded the embers