Chapter 1

It started before I even got to the office that day; although I suppose it had really started two years previously.

Too years to the day, to be precise. Some idiot, being a flash BMW driver, didn't believe he needed to bother to look up and down the road properly. He pulled out in front of a motorcycle, which follow-up reports say was travelling at around forty five mph, well within the fifty mph speed limit. I had bought that bike, a Honda VFR, two weeks earlier, as a silver anniversary present for my wife. The young police sergeant, who had the unenviable task of informing me of the accident, said the only consolation was that my wife had died instantly. Somehow I couldn't find any comfort in that. I wished it had been me, Jane would have coped a lot better than I did. Also, selfishly, I wished she'd lived long enough for me to say at least a last goodbye.

To say that I loved her would be the biggest understatement you could make. Out of the blue, at forty-eight years old, I was left alone, with just my anger and guilt.

Everyone around, especially our two adult children, told me it was not my fault and on a cerebral level I knew they were right, yet I couldn't help dwelling on the new bike. Would she have been in the same spot had she been riding her old bike? I didn't think so, therefore I had had a major influence on her death. My anger at the driver and the world in general drove all but the most loyal of my friends away.

When, at the court case, the BMW driver, a wealthy businessman, got away with a small fine and a virtual slap on the wrist, my twenty-one year old son had to forcibly keep me back from attacking him. To show how our so called justice system works in the hands of left-wing do-gooders, I was fined more than the killer for contempt of court, which was ironic because that is exactly what I felt for the people there; utter contempt.

I'd only been in my job a couple of years when the accident happened and, looking back, I am amazed at how well I was treated. Julie Thompson, head of Personnel or in these PC days, should I say H.R., was great. She was very sympathetic and gave me as much time off as I needed, and I needed a lot.

The intervening couple of years had proved difficult, and at times I'd sunk low enough to consider suicide, although fortunately never low enough to actually try it. It was my children, and a surprisingly amount of my work colleagues, that always managed to lift me from that particular pit.

As I drove into work that day, the events of two years ago were on my mind, perhaps even more so because I followed a motorcyclist. The bike was green, which inevitably meant Kawasaki, this particular one being a 600cc Ninja. I might not ride now; I hadn't ridden a bike since Jane died; but I still knew and was interested in them. The Ninja was easy for me to identify as my son had an identical bike, even if his was a few years older.

About a mile from work a car pulled out directly in front of the bike, causing him to brake hard. To make matters worse for me the car was another BMW. The rider, mainly because of the traffic, had not been riding quickly at all and even then could not stop in time. The bike was only doing about five mile an hour when it collided with the side of the car; just enough to force the rider to fall off, but not enough to cause any serious injury. I felt a red mist, as I stopped some ten feet from the incident, jumped out of my own vehicle and ran to the rider. Seeing that he was okay, I literally pulled the driver from his car shouting and yelling abuse at him. I'm afraid that he took a lot of what I wanted to say to the driver two years before. As I am 6'6" tall and weigh about 18 stone (250 lbs) I can be quite intimidating at the best of times and the young car driver was cowering against his car as my tirade continued.

Eventually it was the bike rider himself that pulled me away; he had removed his lid (helmet) and was actually smiling. He said that he couldn't have said it any better, nor put the fear of god up him anywhere near as well as I had. About the same time two police officers approached. They had obviously seen what was going on even if they hadn't seen the actual bump. The elder of the two took me firmly by the arm and led me away whilst his colleague spoke to the rider.

He asked me politely what the hell I thought I was doing. As my breathing gradually slowed down to a more normal level I explained what had happened. The officer nodded but then asked why I had reacted so strongly. I reluctantly explained the anniversary and the coincidental make of car. He said that he understood but didn't condone my actions, before taking my contact details and suggested I resume my trip to work.

Needless to say, I was not in the best of moods at work that morning, so when Terry started her diatribe it wasn't too surprising I reacted.

Teresa McGinnis, Terry as she preferred, was head of the company's test team, which itself was part of the IT department, where I worked. I didn't know her that well, as her office was on the floor above ours, but our paths had crossed a few times. She had a soft Irish lilt to her voice but that was all that was soft. She was standing a few desks away when I became aware of her voice increasing in volume. I looked up and saw that she was dressed as usual. That is, to put it bluntly, like a tart; ultra short skirt, blouse chosen to display the most cleavage and heels way too high for the office. Her face was plastered with make-up. Apart from her lovely voice, an accent that I love, her only other redeeming feature was long and wavy copper hair, a colour you either love or hate; I adore it. The hair and accent went well together, though I nastily thought that they were wasted on Terry.

During my twenty-six years of bliss; we were together a year before we married; I always looked at other women, but that was all, something made so much easier, as they all paled in comparison with my Jane. I had started looking again about eighteen months after her death, but in the same way, that is assessing them sexually, sensually and for intelligence, which has always been a prerequisite for me. I had no inclination to do anything other than look; anything more would seem a betrayal. There were many women in our office that passed inspection with flying colours; Terry was not one of them.