Second Chances

By VP Saxton

Second Chances sets the isolation of western Australian against the hubbub of London, telling the intertwined stories of a group of colourful characters at various stages in their lives. Alan and Sylvia share a relationship of convenience. When Sylvia travels to London to attend a funeral, they both find

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sweetspire Literature Management LLC
• Release date: Oct 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781958381403

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Valerie_Saxton_1_-_Second_Chances_Front_Cover.jpg

Copyright © 2022 by VP SAXTON

Paperback: 978-1-958381-41-0

eBook: 978-1-958381-40-3

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022914586

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction.

Chapter 1

Perth, Western Australia, Tuesday

So what do you think? Alan grinned broadly and shoved his hands firmly into his pockets.

Sylvia was making a somewhat vain attempt to prevent the driving rain from running down the inside collar of her raincoat by altering the pitch of her umbrella. "Erm, it’s a motorhome, isn’t it?"

Well spotted! Alan joked, jiggling a small bunch of keys in the air. Come and look inside. Seemingly oblivious to the inclement weather, he opened the main door of the van and mounted the steps.

After folding and shaking her umbrella, Sylvia followed him in.

She looked around the interior. A rigid steel stepladder provided access to what was presumably meant to be a double bed located over the motorised cabin. Some kitchen cupboards, a stovetop, and a sink ran along half the length of one wall. Foam seating covered in bright orange curtain material filled the remaining space at the rear of the van. A small built-in wardrobe concealed …

Wait for it, said Alan, dramatically drawing the door aside to reveal a toilet.

Neat, isn’t it? Alan was still grinning.

Taking in the worn laminate flooring and the faded curtains, Sylvia chose not to comment. The rain has almost stopped now, and the casserole will be ready. Let’s get inside where it’s warm, shall we? Fearing the steps might well be slippery after the rain, she carefully dismounted. Making her way back into the house, she experienced a sinking feeling in her stomach. It had been awhile since Alan had been caught up in a glitch, as Sylvia referred to his episodes of lack of rationale.

I thought you’d be far more enthusiastic. Alan was using a spiky green scouring pad to loosen the remaining particles of baked-on chuck steak from the casserole dish.

Did you? Sylvia was drying and returning plates and dishes to their rightful places. I didn’t rate the meat much. I’m going to try the butcher next time, rather than the supermarket.

Alan stopped scrubbing and looked at her. Not about the casserole! He used his fingernails to scratch off the last few bits. I meant about the camper van.

Oh.

While Sylvia had prepared some green vegetables to accompany the meat dish, Alan had busied himself with the post and his emails. He turned on the small TV they kept in the kitchen so they could watch the news as they ate. The TV had been used far more frequently lately.

I mean when Ben and Suzanne were showing us their photographs last weekend, you were sounding, you know, really keen.

Sylvia began drying off the cutlery and sorting it into the drawer.

Alan rinsed the sink.

Alan, we had been invited around to dinner, and they were full of their recent trip in their—I must say—very grand new caravan. I was politely sharing in their excitement. Sylvia did not include Alan’s brother, Ben, or his wife, Suzanne, on her list of favourite acquaintances. She found Ben patronising and hated the way he used people. Suzanne hardly ever stopped boasting about her three wonderful girls, who were, in fact, beastly to each other and not particularly pleasant to anyone else unless they wanted something.

But you were admiring the scenery and laughing at the antics of some of the campers.

Are we missing a serving spoon? That lovely one with the black handle? Sylvia opened the drawer below. Ah, here it is. Returning the cutlery item to its station, she closed the drawer with a sense of satisfaction. A place for everything.

And everything in its place, Alan mumbled.

* * *

Wednesday

The next morning, Alan drove the motorhome around to the back parking lot of the used-car dealership. A motley collection of vehicles, in various stages of disrepair, sadly awaited their fate. Surprisingly, several of them did find new owners. There were always some unfortunate souls battling reduced circumstances in need of ready cash. Though forced into selling their current means of transport, practicalities necessitated the purchase of a cheaper vehicle. Alan had left his car in the same lot overnight. The dealership was secure and adequately lit. A mobile security firm made regular checks throughout the night.

The car lot at the front of the dealership was altogether more noteworthy. Used cars they may have been, but their polished exteriors and buffed interiors encouraged potential customers to feel that they were purchasing vehicles that would lift their profile and do justice to their rising status. Alan made his way through the double door.

Good morning, Mr. Meadows, Robert said as he pulled the plug from the vacuum cleaner and cheerfully returned it to its home behind the door marked Staff Only. Alan had grown to like Robert a lot over the short time they had worked together. He was always upbeat and positive, but right now Robert’s optimism seemed to add extra weight to Alan’s pessimism. Mr. Big asked to see you at ten o’clock—if it’s all right with you. Robert grinned.

* * *

Alan, thank you for finding the time. Ben Meadows gestured to a seat facing his desk while he vacated his own seat and walked across to the expansive windows that fronted the new-car dealership located next door to Alan’s humbler place of work. Surveying the dazzling array of glistening brand-new motors, Ben turned his head and smiled at Alan. I know it’s crass, but I think they’re beautiful.

Alan was never quite sure how much of his older brother’s discourse was deliberately designed to belittle him. Considerably taller than his younger sibling (hence the childhood moniker of Big Ben, coined by his Cockney father), Ben had worked hard on developing a persona that paid little heed to his early years in London as the son of a market stallholder at Covent Garden. The family relocated to Australia. Both parents worked in and eventually purchased a market garden of their own. Attending a high school in Perth, Ben came to possess an affinity with language. He toned down the rougher edges of his accent yet maintained the charm of apparent working-class sincerity that seemed to win over the majority of clients. Injected Americanisms such as crass confused Alan and left him wordless.

There was no doubt his brother had been good to him. On completing a business course at college, Alan had taken an alternate route and had begun to make his name in real estate. He developed a pleasing rapport with clients and made a point of jotting down their particular needs or requirements, memorising them and referring to them often.

At the age of twenty-five, Alan fell hopelessly in love with Nina. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She worked in the florist shop next to the railway station. A year after they met, when Nina was twenty, he persuaded her to be his wife. Blissfully happy at first, they lived in a small flat, to which Nina lent a slightly bohemian air. As time progressed, Nina became more and more delicate—not so much physically as emotionally. It was as if she were a rare butterfly caught in a net, struggling to be set free. Alan felt he should love her more, but his greater attentiveness seemed to exacerbate the situation. After three years of marriage, Nina left.

Alan fell to pieces completely. His whole world shattered around him. Moving back home with his parents, who were at a loss as to what to do, he earned his keep in the market garden and drank himself into oblivion every night.

Alan, is there anybody there? Ben had grown accustomed to what he referred to as Alan’s zombie zones.

Sorry.

I said favourable month, as usual. Kerry gave me the figures. Ben returned to his leather-bound chair and threaded his fingers together as if he were about to pray. A favour, if I may.

Alan knew what was coming, and it sickened him.

A new girl, Delvine, is starting tomorrow. If you could, you know, take her under your wing, show her the ropes, I’d be grateful. Paperwork mostly, but see how she gets on with clients. She’s a looker, of course. Ben straightened his tie unnecessarily.

Ben had married Suzanne, a good-looking blonde whose most exceptional talent appeared to be spending money. Suzanne had been well trained in this field of expertise by her indulgent parents—their fortunes accumulated through house building and, Alan was inclined to believe, some dodgy deals with one or more of the city councillors. Ben felt entitled to enjoy female companionship whenever it suited. Suzanne either didn’t notice or didn’t care, so long as she and their three daughters were well maintained. Delvine would be the latest in a long line of devotees. Passing them on to the used-vehicle part of the business meant that, at least for the sake of outward appearances, nothing untoward seemed to be going on. Alan privately referred to these temporary assistants as used bicycles. They soon lost their shine.

Walking back to his office, Alan berated himself on several counts. He would always be grateful to Ben for eventually intervening in his sorry state, getting him back on his feet, and providing him with his current job. Nonetheless, did he not owe it to Ben’s wife and daughters to remonstrate with him about his lack of moral fibre? Then there were the impracticalities of finding boring and monotonous tasks to occupy the latest conquest without interfering with the daily running of the business. He would need to talk to Robert about handing over some of his functions to Delvine and then being gracious enough to take them back when the lustre wore off and she departed. Also, he was in a stew about the events of last evening. The motorhome couldn’t compare to Ben’s recent purchase. But he had hoped to open up a bit of a discussion about himself and Sylvia having a few breaks away. All he’d managed to do was alienate Sylvia. It hadn’t gone well at all.

Chapter 2

Perth, Western Australia, Wednesday

Oh, yes. You’ve done a fantastic job. I really can’t see the repair at all.

Sylvia folded the leather jacket and put it into a bright yellow plastic bag emblazoned with the Hutton’s Repairs and Alterations logo and completed the transaction. It sometimes amazed her how much people would pay for alteration, but in this case, the torn pocket on a finely cut jacket had spoilt an expensive garment. The cost of a repair was money well spent.

Well done, as usual, Sylvia. Another satisfied customer. William deliberately turned his attention towards Crystal, who returned his gaze while continuing to chew doggedly on the bright pink gum that was rolling around in her mouth. You need to emulate Sylvia, Crystal. She has learnt her trade well and doesn’t expect to get away with any slipshod work. And will you get rid of that gum! William stapled the previous customer’s invoice to the job description sheet with unnecessary force. He watched as Crystal slowly got up from her seat in front of the third sewing machine, strolled towards the curtain concealing the small staff area at the back of the service desk, and disappeared behind it. She returned a few seconds later, minus the gum, and picked up her mobile phone.

William appeared to be about to say something but clearly thought better of it. He stood and retrieved his suit jacket from the coat stand in the corner. William was always well dressed. The grey suit he was currently wearing was bespoke and complemented his carefully groomed, still rather boyish, good looks. What he lacked in stature, he made up for in style.

I shan’t be too long, Sylvia. I’m sure you can find a suitable task to engage Crystal.

William walked briskly to the opposite end of the shopping mall. He was pleased to see three potential customers either picking up or dropping off items for dry-cleaning.

* * *

Sylvia was the number one seamstress/machinist for Hutton’s. As a rule, business was steady. Ruth, her retired predecessor, could be called in if ever there was a need. William could operate a machine if push came to shove, though he preferred dealing with overall concerns. William was supposedly taking Crystal, his great-niece, under his wing. However, that didn’t seem to be working too well.

Mounted on the rear wall at the back of the workshop, a range of shelves and compartments held all the accoutrements and necessities for them to ply their trade. One compartment was reserved for Sylvia. Knowing she had soon become highly valued by William, she negotiated the right to work on her pieces whenever all current jobs were up to date. After all, busy staff made for a good impression, she reasoned. Regularly scouring second-hand stores for items that inspired her imagination, Sylvia would unpick, remake, restyle, and revamp to create one-off masterpieces, sold via the market stall of Vivienne, her good friend. They commanded a fair price too, and occasionally she might get a commission. Alterations and repairs provided the bread and butter. Creating quality garments was the icing on the cake.

Sylvia handed Crystal a pleated full-length skirt that swirled with purples and pinks. Would you unpick this for me, please, Crystal?

Sure. Beats replacin’ zips.

* * *

William greeted the dry-cleaning staff and went straight through to the small office at the rear of the store. A three-drawer filing cabinet constituted the hub of his business empire. There was a lock in the top right-hand corner of the unit. The top drawer held all things related to Hutton’s Repairs and Alterations, along with Hutton’s Dry-Cleaning Agency. The suspension files had been pulled forward to allow room at the back of the drawer for a good bottle of Scotch and two glasses.

The middle drawer dealt with matters relative to the two units he owned. Both were in good locations. William lived in the smallest, passed on to him by his paternal grandparents when he was quite young, along with an old-fashioned tailor shop. The area underwent drastic changes in the nineties. Roads were closed, shopping malls erected, and arcades knocked through. William was well compensated for the loss of his business premises. He promptly opened up the dry-cleaning agency as well as the repair shop in the Brightwater Mall. As soon as a flat became available in one of the more desirable residential developments, he purchased it and rented it out.

The bottom drawer revealed documents pertinent to two cars. One was William’s regular vehicle. The second was hired out for special occasions or used to pick up visiting business associates; transferring them to and from the airport, casino, or hotel. More often than not, William chauffeured it. He prided himself on knowing how to be discreet. He had found, of late, that there were more of these trips than he liked to fulfil. Rather than turn down business, an advertisement in the local paper had resulted in the employment of a pleasant young man, paid directly per kilometre, to take William’s place when he wasn’t in the mood.

William