Sat - Nav

By K B Sykes

An unexpected journey for a seemingly insignificant device, giving an insight into the lives of the men it encounters and how their behaviours are shaped by their conditioning and masculinity.

An interwoven tale of strangers who unknowingly impact on the lives of others, driven by expectations they would rather not have put upon them, unaware of how to break their imprisoning moulds.

The story explores masculinity and why some men think, act and behave in certain ways.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9780244392888

Book preview

Wednesday

You have reached your destination.

Thank you Sally, you did it again, you little beauty!  Steve tapped the sat-nav lightly with his fingers as he pulled his old Ford Mondeo into the hotel car park.

Whoever would have thought that such a small, inexpensive electronic device, soulless and inorganic, could have become such a beloved travelling companion?  Sally had looked after Steve so well for such a long time, directing him up and down the country, from a warehouse here to a factory there and back again, with great efficiency.  Ever since he was made redundant from the chemical plant and his wife had walked out on him three years ago, Sally sat-nav, as he affectionately referred to her, had become his guiding light in his new life on the road as a travelling salesman.

Her voice was soothing and unobtrusive.  She always steered him in the right direction, never spoke out of turn and never answered him back.  Even when he disagreed with her and went against her advice, she would simply change her mind accordingly and get him wherever he needed to be with the minimum of effort.  Sally had become a great confidant for Steve; over the hundreds of hours they had spent alone together, he had poured out his heart countless times and she had never once told a soul of his inner-most thoughts and feelings. Steve trusted Sally implicitly; she had become the object on which he focussed whenever he felt the need to think aloud.

If only he could have found a woman with such integrity; unlike his ex-wife, who at first was everything he needed, all that he wanted.  They doted on each other in the early years, but with the passing of time their enthusiasm waned as they became too accustomed to each other.  They knew what to expect.  Conversation had become nothing more than planning for shopping trips and discussing their tedious days at work in the evenings over yet another uninspiring ready-made meal.  There had been nothing fresh in their lives for several years before they drifted apart; with the frivolity of youth and the excitement of young love, they had moved in together too early, settled down too soon, and the spark inevitably dwindled and died.  They had only remained together for so long for the sake of their wider families and the expectations they had put upon them; a suburban house, smart car, health plans, insurance, combined income, annual holidays, barbeques in summer, nine-to-five … the whole mundane, whitewashed existence that had slowly but surely dampened their spirits and scratched the zest from their energetic vigour.  All that was over now, and Steve had accepted that, but somewhere, deep in his heart, he could still feel her, from time to time.

As he eased gently into one of the many empty parking spaces he surmised there would be plenty of vacancies.  He yanked up the handbrake and unclipped his seatbelt while peering over to the gloomy looking four storey hotel beside him.  Built in the early seventies, when brutalism was fashionable, its faded concrete seams divided along the horizontal with dirty windows and grim plastic panels, made the building look like a long-forgotten layer-cake, slowly turning stale on a plate of black asphalt.  Mould and mildew, streaming like drips of rotten icing, streaked black stains beneath the window sills and the down pipes.  Beside the main entrance, captured in the glow of the foyer lights, were two overgrown shrubberies, seemingly walled in against their will by a matching concrete facade, one of which acted as a bench to three teenage boys, swearing, spitting and smoking from the comfort of their baseball caps and hoods.

Nice place.  Steve sighed sarcastically.

For a fleeting moment, he paused in thought as he took his briefcase off the passenger seat; his ex-wife had bought him it in happier times, seven birthdays ago.  He had pointed it out in passing once, when they were shopping for clothes in a department store, and she had remembered.  She was so attentive, once upon a time, but her attention soon strayed elsewhere as they had painfully grown apart.

With the case upright on his knee, he inhaled the smell of the leather, triggering memories of that wonderful day when he gleefully unwrapped the gift that his wife had been so excited to give.  He smiled at the memory and felt the warmth.  He had become content following his divorce; he could look back at the good times without wanting them back, and he held no bitterness against her.  It had taken a long time to find that comfort, but the soul-searching arguments within his mind that had caused countless sleepless nights following their inevitable demise had been worth it.  Sally had been there to listen to every detail of his story, and with every outpouring of emotional turmoil, Steve was one step closer to closure.

He stepped out of the car, patted the roof as he closed the door and then took his suitcase from the boot before he walked drowsily to the main entrance.  The outward appearance of his temporary home did not appeal to him, but the aches and pains that he had accumulated on the long drive encouraged him to get a room, have a bite to eat with a quick drink followed by an early night.  He glanced at his watch; it was coming up to eight o’clock. It was a pleasant surprise to see that it was much earlier than he thought, having been deceived by this dark autumnal evening pulling in much more quickly than he expected.

Lend us a fag mate? asked one of the boys as he passed.

Sorry, lads, I don’t smoke.

The receptionist wore a wide fake smile, long false lashes and bright acrylic nails.  Looking more mannequin than girl, she stood motionless, with a pen in one hand as she looked up at Steve.

She looks plastic, Steve thought, however does she manage to smile?  Or blink, for that matter…

Good evening sir, she smiled, almost robotically.

Hello there.  Do you have a single for the night, please? he asked politely in his soft tone.

Of course, sir, I’ll sort that for you. she tapped the keyboard, produced a key card and took a few basic details.

Steve glanced around the small foyer.  A pair of tall plastic yuccas stood at the door like guards reluctant to let anyone leave.  The blue-grey carpet reflected Steve’s deepest thoughts about himself; it was plain, tainted with wear and tear along the midline, scuffed and tarnished by years of being walked on, yet still refusing to break under pressure.

Pinned slightly lopsidedly to a thinly framed corkboard and surrounded by business cards for tradesmen and taxi firms, was a poster advertising The Taming of the Shrew at the Old Theatre House in the city centre.  Steve made a mental note; his mother was a fan of Shakespeare, and his father’s birthday fell on the same day; it could be a nice way to treat them both, if he could talk his father round. Avoiding the thought of talking to his father, he turned away from the notices and back to the receptionist,

Is there a restaurant or a bar? he asked, then quickly added, Or perhaps a pub nearby? hoping he could go somewhere a little less tired and more sociable for a nightcap.

The hotel looked empty from inside as well as from the car park, but then, this was just a small industrial town and not a major, or minor, tourist attraction.

We have an exclusive lounge bar for our guests through here sir, they serve food until 10:30, gestured the receptionist a semitone flat of annoying, or there are several pubs along the high street.  Just go out through the car park, turn left, and left again.  You can’t miss it. she flipped into tour guide mode,

The White Hart is quiet and old-fashioned, quite a popular place with the older locals.  The Black Stallion serves excellent food; they’ve won awards for their roast beef carvery.  The King George has big screen sports, and The Emperor has karaoke, if you want something a little more exciting. she giggled a little, like a playful school girl, and flashed another fake smile.

Exciting?  Steve thought to himself as he tapped his number into the card machine.

He picked up his case, collected the receipt with his card and almost bowed to the receptionist.

Thank you. he nodded and smiled, Sounds delightful. he added sarcastically.

Steve appreciated hotel rooms, especially after long days on the road. Walking through the door was like coming home to a friendly hug, welcoming him in to rest and offering him privacy from the busy world outside.  Even though the thrill of being ‘on holiday’ that he used to feel when he started out on this career path had long since passed, he still got mildly enthused about being somewhere new. He sighed deeply and scanned the room.  It was clean, though nothing special.  There was a bed covered in far too many pointless cushions, a cheap flat-pack sideboard, a faux-leather chair and a tiny kettle with not enough tea bags.  Corporate standards had long since suffocated any individuality and he could have been in any hotel, in any town.  He’d stayed in a hundred or more rooms just like this one, from the over-priced five-stars to the budget roadside sleepovers, and there was very little difference in quality or style. They all, however, offered him a feeling of relief; a short respite from the road.

Such was the lot of a travelling salesman; a job he had only taken because there were no others on offer at the time.  A strong work ethic had determined that if this was the only job opportunity available, then this was the job he would give his all to.  At first, it proved to be a lonely life, but Steve soon discovered he could make the most of his solitude. After spending too many evenings alone, he always managed to find somewhere to go for a cheerful evening in new places, mixing with the locals.  Steve could strike up a conversation with anyone, and enjoyed doing so.  He was content with his lot, although his father had often insisted (on every visit home actually), that this was no way for a well-educated, experienced tradesman to make a living, but Steve strongly disagreed at every opportunity.

Steve loved having his autonomy; he knew his remit and he could reach his targets in any way he saw fit.  The sooner his quota had been met for the month, the more time he had to relax and spend however he wanted, wherever he liked.  His only contact with head office was over the phone or an occasional email; he had never worked with such a free reign before.  He longed to prove his father wrong, but every time he tried to explain, his father would shut down and stop listening.  If only his father would understand that Steve enjoyed his working life.

With a headful of memories reciting numerous run-ins with his father, Steve shaved, showered and changed his clothes.  He caught his second wind and was so deep in thought that when he was ready to leave he wondered how he managed to get himself groomed without a hiccup.  After a splash of cologne left him feeling refreshed, he headed back downstairs through the foyer.

Skin up, Luke, ordered Kyle as he nudged his mate with his elbow.

The three boys had been sat chatting for a while now, and the smell of the gear in Luke’s pocket was tempting them all and teasing their patience.  Luke was always a little reluctant to share his weed, hoping that one of his friends had their own and they could smoke theirs instead.  He liked to keep his own things to himself, only sharing reluctantly if he was pressured into it.

Shut up, Luke, keep your voice down, he whispered, gesturing towards Steve coming out through the door.

Alright lads? nodded Steve, pausing to get a breath of fresh air and clear his mind.

Steve would happily say hello to anyone; good manners had never let him down.  He could usually tell by a person’s response whether or not they were sociable, but in this instance, his greeting was purely to show these young lads that he wasn’t judging them or ignoring them.  Teenage boys in hoodies were so often treated with suspicion, feared even, by some, and Steve did not think that was fair considering that the overwhelming majority of young people that he had met had been reasonably decent people; brash, young and foolish, but decent nevertheless. Meeting so many people from so many places had given Steve a real insight into how people ticked, and he sincerely believed that most people were mostly good, most of the time.

Alright? said the boys, with a hint of suspicion.

Most interactions they had ever had with adults were usually negative; parents, teachers, police, always giving orders and treating them with distrust.  What was this guy playing at?

It was a mild evening with empty air.  The clear indigo heavens were only just beginning to welcome its heavenly bodies like pinholes in the sky as the crescent moon smiled down through its pale halo.  Steve walked out across the car park, turned left and followed the short road down to the next left.  Sure enough, there was the high street, lined with bright lights, bus stops and people wandering this way and that.

He saw The Emperor across the road and headed off towards it before he remembered,

Karaoke! he said out loud as he stopped in his tracks.

A young couple walking arm-in-arm within earshot smiled in a nervous humour and gave him a slightly wider berth as they passed.  Steve smiled too, quite happy to own his mild eccentricities and laugh at himself. The White Hart was just a short pleasant stroll away, and in a matter of moments he was taking an ice cold pint of lager from a buxom blonde in a traditional English pub with miss-matched furniture, wooden beams across the ceilings and friendly groups of locals chattering away in their cliques.  The opening bars of ‘Hotel California’ came on the juke box just as Steve settled into a red leather Chesterfield sofa with his pint.

Lush. he thought, as he took the menu from the table.

The three lads in the car park had taken a short walk around the back of the hotel to get away from the main entrance.  They stood in a dark alcove alongside the industrial bins, out