Shards

By Keith Lowry

Six semi-fictional stories that illustrate how seemingly small decisions can lead to colossal consequences.

An Ill Fated Friendship

The Bonds of a Breed

Falcon Summers

The Law and the Limo

Karmaleon

Cairo

• Language: English
• Publisher: Keith Lowry
• Release date: May 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9783981979091

Keith Lowry

Retired freelance cameraman/field producer/ author

Book preview

AN ILL-FATED FRIENDSHIP

The Letter

It arrived in the morning mail, slotted between a crumpled flyer for chintzy lawn furniture and the monthly electricity bill.

"Remind me to call the post office and ask what’s not to understand with the ‘No Advertising’ sign on my mailbox," Thomas told himself as he tossed the flyer on the kitchen table. Noticing the envelope bore no return address or identifiable postmark, he carefully slit it open, removed the single sheet of folded paper, and began to read its contents. It was dated July 22nd, 2012.

Stop contacting me. I feel harassed. I don’t want any contact with you, which I have already made clear in the past. I feel my boundaries are disrespected and I won’t hesitate to report this as stalking if it doesn’t stop.

Several days later, the letter stuffed in his breast pocket, Thomas stepped out of the elevator on the twentieth floor of a glass-fronted tower in central London, and entered the plush, wood-panelled offices of a lawyer recommended to him by a friend.

What can I do for you Mr. … Watkins, is it? the grey-haired man in his mid-fifties asked, after perfunctory greetings had been exchanged.

Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Thomas told him, removing the letter from the envelope and handing it across the desk. It has to do with this letter I received.

As the lawyer donned a pair of reading glasses to scan the text, Thomas’ gaze drifted to the floor to ceiling windows, beyond which was a spectacular view of St. Paul’s Cathedral, backed by the twin pillars of Tower Bridge in the distance.

When did you receive this? the lawyer asked, tilting his head forward to peer over the top of his glasses.

About a week ago, Thomas answered, shifting his vision back to the lawyer.

Did you respond to it? the lawyer asked, setting the letter down on his desk.

No, Thomas said.

Have you had any contact with this person since then?

None.

"And when was the last time you did have any contact?"

I’m not sure. I’d have to think about it, Thomas admitted, his concentration momentarily distracted by the wall of framed diplomas and numerous photos Thomas assumed were of famous and not so famous former clients. I think it was probably a postcard I sent her from a small village in Mexico.

And when was that?

About a month ago.

Well that may explain why you just got this letter now. Has this… Kelly, is her name? he asked, glancing at the signature on the letter.

That’s right.

She’s previously told you that she did not want any contact?

She has. But she’s never gone as far as issuing threats before. I didn’t really think a postcard was contacting her. I just wanted to let her know what a fascinating place it is and recommend she see it for herself.

A person has the right to dictate the parameters of their privacy and that has to be respected, the lawyer stated, the tufted leather chair crackling under his shifting weight.‘No contact’ seems pretty explicit to me, he added, raising his eyebrows. She wasn’t required to spell out all forms. And did you respect her wishes? With the exclusion of the postcard…

Sort of.

Sort of? the lawyer echoed. Mr. Watkins, before we go any further, may I remind you that while guilty or not guilty would pass the muster in any courtroom I’ve been in.  ‘Sort of’  would definitely fall short of the mark. I would advise you to be more precise with your answers.

We did stay in contact for awhile after we split, but it was sporadic. It was only later that she said she didn’t want me to write or call any longer.

What sort of time frame are we looking at here? How long have you known this person?

In total about ten years. I was at a conference in Bournemouth back in…

Ten years? the lawyer interrupted. Give or take a few months. I was attending a conference in Bournemouth and a group of us had gone out to dinner in the evening. Kelly was working as a waitress at the restaurant we went to.

The Initial Encounters

Caught up in a heated discussion with a colleague, Thomas was only peripherally aware of the waitress, when she came to clear the table.

Are you done? he heard her ask, hesitating to remove another colleague’s half-finished meal. Wasn’t everything okay?

Fine, fine, Robert told her. I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought. I had a big lunch.

Had too big a lunch, did we now? the waitress repeated. That ’s a pretty lame excuse, she added, as she picked up the plate.

Intrigued by the remark, Thomas broke off his conversation and turned for a closer look at its source.

Funny… I don’t recall anyone having ordered sarcasm for dessert, he butted in, looking at the waitress over the top of his glasses. Are you always this snarky with your customers?

Would you rather I simply smile vacuously?

No, not at all, Thomas replied. I guess I just didn’t expect such a response.

I try hard to behave myself, she answered. But I slip up from time to time.

And this is one of those times?

Let’s just say that I know how to handle troublesome customers, she said, visibly enjoying the playful banter.

Is that what you take us for?

Not necessarily… but anything’s possible I suppose, she said with a wide grin. I can usually spot the tendencies pretty quick.

Jeez, Robert said. I really did have a big lunch.

I was just jerking your chain a bit, the waitress told him. I find it breaks the monotony to engage in a battle of wits, especially  with unarmed opponents,she added with a smile.

Thanks to the cumulative effects of three beers, Robert remained silent.

Wow… that was certainly unexpected, Thomas mused aloud after the waitress had walked off with an armload of dishes. How often do you have an encounter like that? he asked, puzzled as to why the entire conversation had unfolded amidst an atmosphere of  extraordinary calm; as if he’d been sparring with an age old friend.

Rather than catching an earlier train home when the conference ended shortly before noon the following day, Thomas decided to join several colleagues on a guided tour of the local art gallery, that had been arranged by the conference organisers. Unfortunately, most of the works on display were not to his liking, and he soon found himself struggling to maintain a polite degree of interest. It was while listening patiently to the guide finish explaining the circumstances behind a painting by a local artist, that he turned around and nearly collided with the waitress from the night before.

Wow! Thomas sputtered with genuine surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Although somewhat thrown off balance by the abruptness of the meeting, the waitress quickly regained her composure to delivera curt reply.

What… waitresses can’t enjoy art?

No, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, Thomas apologized. It’s just that I didn’t expect to see you here… I mean, again.

Well I do tend to have a life outside of the restaurant.

I’m sure you do… I’m sorry if I sounded a tad snobby just now, but it’s so weird to run into you again like this. I mean the odds must be phenomenal. Ten seconds later and we would have missed each other.

Like two ships that pass in the night, you mean?

Uhhh, yeah… I guess so, Thomas replied.

Or perhaps more like the Titanic and an iceberg, Kelly said with a smile.

Return to the law

As I was saying, Thomas continued. The next day I was at an art gallery with the group from the conference. We were about to move to another room when ‘boom,’ there was the waitress from the previous night standing in front of me. She was with another woman and a little boy and we only spoke for several minutes. But it was long enough to enhance the impression she’d made at the restaurant. Should I explain what happened after that?

Only if you think it’s relevant, Mr. Watson, the lawyer said, with a hint of impatience. I’m more concerned about this letter.

After I got back home, Thomas went on. I kept thinking about these two encounters. I mean, what were the chances of running into the same person the very next day? My curiosity was piqued and I wanted to know more about her. The problem was I didn’t even know her name. I managed to track her down through the restaurant, and sent a message saying that I had enjoyed our brief conversations and felt that despite her somewhat snarky attitude, she had a smile that inspired friendliness.

How could you contact her if you didn’t know her name? the lawyer asked.

Through the restaurant’s customer service link, Thomas explained. I briefly described her, and mentioned when I had been there. I knew it was a long shot, but just hoped she would somehow get the message. Two weeks later, an email with an unfamiliar address appeared on my screen, Thomas told the lawyer. At first I thought that it might be spam. Needless to say, it was a pleasant surprise to find that the link had worked and I now had a name to a face.

And what did she have to say?

She started off by thanking me for the ‘generous’ compliment about her smile. That it had been her experience that friendliness goes a long way, but she’d never expected it to come back to her like that. That for her, ’moments of natural interaction’ as she put it, were precious. She didn’t say anything about wanting to continue communication, but did admit she had been just as gob-smacked as me by our second meeting at the art gallery. She said it left her feeling there was an unfinished aspect to it.

And you took that as a signal to write back? the lawyer asked.

I did, so I did, and she answered within the hour, telling me that she was no longer sure whether the original reasons for our paying attention to each other at the restaurant and that ‘nano second,’ as she called it, at the gallery, were what was driving us to continue the conversation.

Well, it’s difficult to judge what she meant by that, but she  certainly didn’t waste any time on small talk, the lawyer remarked, methodically arranging a pen and letter opener on his desk as he spoke. I think I have a rough idea of how this all started. Just so I’m clear on this point, the postcard was the only communication you’ve had since she asked you not to contact her?

Except for one other card I sent from New York. But that was a few years ago and I only  sent it because I knew she had been there in her early 20’s.

"Did she respond to that card in any way?"

No.

A few years ago, you say… Can you give me an approximate date as to when she asked you to stop contacting her? the lawyer said, jotting a few notes on a legal pad.

The first time must have been seven or eight years ago, Thomas answered. But we continued to have an off and on correspondence. To explain all that I’d have to give you the whole picture of just how entangled we became in each other’s webs.

I don’t think that will be necessary at this stage, the lawyer said, tilting back in his chair. If need be, we can get into what precipitated her decision to cease contact later. But seven or eight years is a considerable length of time. Why were you  still sending her cards?

I just wanted to relate my impressions of Mexico and New York.

No ulterior motives?

I suppose a part of me was hoping she’d be open to communicating again, but that wasn’t my primary reason.

Just how long did this initial communication last?

The intense phase was only a few months, but then things changed.

A few months… seven or eight years ago, the lawyer repeated. I’m starting to understand why you received this letter, he added, picking up the sheet again. You admit that she asked you to stop… more than once, but you didn’t honour her wishes. I must warn you that if she decides to take this further, she could bring charges against you or request a restraining order.

What do you suggest I do? Thomas asked, glancing at the clock.

Well, it seems pretty clear what she’s saying; respect my request or face the consequences.

I read it that way as well, Thomas said.

So why did you need my advice?

You don’t know what this woman is capable of. She’s unpredictable. I thought it advisable to get some legal advice in the event of a worse case scenario.

Worse case scenario?

For all I know she may have already instigated something.

If she has… then why send a letter as a warning? the lawyer asked. But seeing as you’ve sought it… My advice is to simply stop sending her postcards or anything else for that matter. If you’re lucky, this will turn out to be just a threat; a shot across your bow, as it were, and nothing more. For the time being let’s just hope she doesn’t take further action.

With the session having reached its denouement, Thomas retrieved the letter, stood up and offered his hand.

Thank you, Mr. Davison. I hope you’re right about this just being a warning.

Time will tell, the lawyer said, rising only half way from his chair to accept the handshake. Let’s hope we don’t have to see each other again. Remember no more postcards.

Back out on the street, thoughts were still swirling around what had taken place twenty floors above. As he made his way through the crowd, occasional glances from passing pedestrians made him feel that people had somehow become aware of the contents of the letter, presuming him guilty of being a stalker. Able to grab the last seat on the subway car, he couldn’t help wondering whether it had been a mistake, not to have told the lawyer about an event that had taken place years earlier.

A Fray in the Park

It was just past 9:30 a.m., as Thomas walked through the park gate and made his way to a row of benches adjacent to the art gallery. The bulk of office workers, early morning joggers, students and dog walkers  had long since vanished, leaving him to have the dewed grounds of the Common pretty much to himself. He’d chosen the location for two reasons, convenience and symbolism;  convenient in the sense that both parties were familiar with it; symbolic because it was there he and Kelly had met for the second time seven years prior. On the trip down from Coniston this time, the closer he got to Bournemouth, the more he’d felt the chainmail of invulnerability weakening.

Kelly showed up ten minutes later, her shoes crunching loudly on the gravel path as she approached from the opposite direction. Clad in a red blouse, light blue windbreaker and beige cargo pants, she extended her hand as she reached the bench where Thomas was seated.

Thank you for coming, he said, rising to greet her.

I almost didn’t you know, she answered, glancing around to see if anyone else was present. I was surprised to hear from you. I appreciate your letting me know in advance that you were coming to town, rather than just showing up on my doorstep unannounced, she said as they both sat down. It gave me time to think about your request. I must admit, that a part of me, not to mention many of my friends, thought I was insane for having agreed to meet.

For what it’s worth, I’m glad you did. You look very nice by the way.

Don’t start, Thomas, she told him, with more of a smirk than a smile. An awkward pause followed as they briefly debated whether to stay or move. Here is fine, Kelly said. But just out of curiosity, why here?

"I don’t know Bournemouth that well and figured the Common would be empty at this time of day. The few people that are here aren’t paying us any attention, Thomas assured her, gesturing to a pair of buggy-pushing mothers, too busy chatting to take notice of them. Except maybe for that guy in the trench-coat over there, who looks like he could be auditioning  for exhibitionist of the month."

Thomas…I didn’t come here to listen to you crack jokes. And I don’t plan on making this a marathon session, so whatever it is that was so important that it couldn’t have been handled in an email, I’d suggest you start talking. The clock is ticking.

I was hoping being face to face again could help us work things out.

Work things out? Kelly repeated scornfully "What things are you talking about?" she added, her attention momentarily diverted by two workers shouting at each other while scraping paint off  a bandstand gazebo twenty yards away.

A trusted confidant

Long before matters were to culminate with the arrival of the stalker letter, Thomas had repeatedly sought advice from various trusted friends, hoping to gain a better understanding of the basis of his interest in Kelly. One of those ‘advisors’ was Sarah, a platonic friend he’d known for over 30 years, and whose opinion he valued highly. Previous experience had taught him that Sarah had few qualms about bluntly voicing her views on any given situation, and was likely to warn him about any potential trouble she felt he might be getting himself into.

Hey, it’s good to see you again, Thomas said, as the two of them settled into opposing chairs in Sarah’s fourth floor apartment, that overlooked the slate-coloured sea on Blackpool’s coastline. I’m really grateful for the chance to unload some of this stuff on you. It’s not really something I can talk with Melissa about, especially before I’ve figured things out for myself.

Ohhhh… Thomas, my boy. You make it sound so mysterious and juicy…something right up my alley, Sarah said, rubbing her hands together in mock glee. I can’t wait to pass judgement. So, enough with the suspense. What is this all about? And don’t spare me any gory details.

A few weeks ago I was at conference in Bournemouth.

Bournemouth?  Oh, you lucky dog, you, Sarah interrupted.

It wasn’t so bad actually. I’ve been to worse places. Anyway… on the second night I was there, a group of us went out to dinner… Hey, hang on a minute, Thomas remarked, his eyes having fallen to a small black box atop the mantel directly over Sarah’s head. Is that what I think it is?

Oh that, Sarah grunted, turning to look. I picked that up at a flea market a few weeks ago. When I saw it, I just had to have it.

God, I haven’t seen one of those in ages. I didn’t know you could even buy them. How much did you pay for it?

Believe me, you don’t want to know. You’ll think I’m crazy to have paid so much. But like I said, I had to have it. I’m probably the only person in Blackpool who has a coin meter box. It even had a few 5P coins still in it. Brings back memories of my bedsitter days and the occasionally functioning electric heater. I must have pumped thousands of pounds into one of those… Anyways, as you were saying.

Where was I?

The restaurant.

Right… We were seated outside and while we were waiting for our food, I was having an in depth  conversation with a colleague. But skipping ahead; I wasn’t really paying any attention when a waitress came to collect our plates, but heard her ask the standard question, how was everything, to another colleague. He told her he couldn’t finish because he’d had a big lunch.

God, I hope the rest of this story is more exciting than the first part, Sarah said, offering a fake yawn.

Believe me, it gets better, Thomas said in response. Rather than simply nodding and walking away like most waitresses would  have done, this one rebuked him by telling him she thought it was a lame excuse.

Really? Sarah said, her interest piqued. She actually said that?

Yeah.

Cheeky little tart.

That caught my attention, so I asked her whether that was how she treated all her customers. We immediately fell into a conversation. We couldn't have spoken for more than several minutes, but she sparked something in me. Later, I found myself thinking how incredibly calm and natural it had felt conversing with her. But I probably would have forgotten all about the whole episode, if it hadn’t been for what happened the next day.

I’m still with you.

The conference ended early and a bunch of us took off for a guided tour of the Bournemouth art gallery. We hadn’t been there more than fifteen minutes when I turned around and there, standing right in front of me, was the waitress from the previous evening.

I know Bournemouth’s not exactly London, but all the same, that’s a pretty odd coincidence, Sarah said. 

That’s what I thought. She was with someone else and the group was moving on, so we only spoke for a few minutes. Again there was this inexplicable calm, like you were talking to an old friend. I didn’t ask for her name or number because that would have seemed too presumptuous. Besides, I was too busy enjoying this ‘strange coincidence’ and the feeling of familiarity. But once I got back to Coniston, I couldn’t stop thinking about these two encounters.

Why do I feel like I know where this is going? Sarah added with a smirk. Just how old was this waitress?

I didn’t ask… but she was young. I’d say mid-twenties. Please let me finish. A day or two later, she was still popping in and out of my mind, so I decided to try and get in touch with her.

Why? Sarah asked, with a frown.

I guess I wanted to learn more about this person. What was behind this mysterious calm. In any event, I wrote to the restaurant, describing this waitress, who I said had a smile that inspired friendliness.

Inspired friendliness?

Okay… It wasn’t exactly Shakespeare, but it was all I could think of. I sent it off, but after a week or so  there was no response. I admit I felt a mild sense of disappointment but nothing of tragic proportions. Again… I probably would have forgotten about the whole thing.

So what happened next? Sarah asked.

I turned on the computer one morning and there in my incoming mail was this unfamiliar name staring back at me. I must have sat there gazing at it for several minutes. Then something really weird happened. Just as I was about to open it, a tiny voice in the back of my head, said ‘opening this will only bring heartache’.

Are you serious?

I kid you not. Long story short, curiosity overwhelmed caution and I ignored the warning. That started the proverbial ball rolling and over the next week or so, she and I must have exchanged a couple of dozen e-mails, each more remarkable than the last. It was all happening so fast I didn’t know what to make of it. It was literally overwhelming.

Well Mr. Watkins, Sarah drawled, as she sat back in her chair. I have to say this doesn’t exactly come as a big surprise.

How’d you mean?

This Kelly… she’s not the first waitress to have brought you to the edge of a predicament. Anyone looking at your track record might even think you had a ‘thing’ for waitresses, Sarah said, folding her arms on her chest. Wasn’t there a woman in southern France a number of years ago?

You mean in Nice?

I don’t recall where it was.

You can’t compare that waitress to the situation with Kelly. I never even spoke to that woman.

But she was memorable enough for you to tell me about her.

I was simply having breakfast at a sea-side restaurant, when I noticed her at the far end of the patio. There was something fascinating about the way she was gravitating from table to table, carefully arranging cutlery and condiments for what I assumed was the expected lunchtime crowd. We were the only ones there so I could discreetly observe her for a few minutes. It was when she paused to survey her progress that she briefly returned my gaze. She had one of the saddest expressions I’d ever seen.

That’s what I mean. For as long as we’ve known each other, I’ve always thought of you as someone who wears his heart on his sleeve, at least you did until you met Melissa.

Now that you mention it, Thomas mused aloud. A similar thing happened one winter in Brussels. I was out for dinner with a colleague. We’d just sat down in this crowded restaurant and I hadn’t really noticed the waitress approaching with the menus. With no warning, no explanation, and no logic, when I glanced up to thank her, it was if I’d been struck by lightning. In that instant, I felt like I could have abandoned it all."

I rest my case, Sarah said with a grin. Maybe the only difference with this Kelly… at least as far as I know, Sarah emphasized, Is that none of the interest in the others had been acted upon.

The plot thickens

In their first few weeks of contact, emails between Thomas and Kelly had been chock full of personal revelations, predictions, hopes and dreams; all part of the mutual process of people getting to know each other. As the communication continued, often on a daily basis, the content was becoming increasingly intense. In one of her earliest missives, Kelly had started off by quoting the 17th century, French philosopher, Blaise Pascal, saying, ’The heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing,’ before going on to express her thoughts on a book about the practicality of Benedictine lifestyle, with tips on transcendental imperatives thrown in. In the midst of this rather weighted material, she revealed that in addition to being a waitress, she was also a struggling to establish herself as a freelance writer, something that endured her to Thomas even more.

Thomas:

"Not that waitresses can’t be articulate, but you seem to have moved well beyond that. I admit this may come across as somewhat simplistic, not to mention a bit elitist; but if you’re a