Chapter 2

With my anger still bubbling close to the surface, I left the office and crossed to the park opposite. My rage was still simmering when I reached my usual bench and sat down. Just opposite was a school, and as it was still early the playground was full of screaming, laughing children. Almost immediately the laughter that made this a favourite place of mine, started having its therapeutic effect. and once more I gratefully retreated into the past.

Back in that other, happier, world, I was still sat in the same place, although with some significant changes. The office where I now worked was still a decade away from being built; the bench was old and dilapidated, with peeling paint and a missing lath, making it slightly uncomfortable. The head against my shoulder more than made up for it though, as we both sat in and easy silence, listening to the children playing.

This time, there was one child's voice that stood out from the crowd. It was that of our first-born. Although Emma is now in her twenties and will soon be married herself, the ten-year-old minx she was when she attended this school was how, I more often than not, remember her. The bench was having its desired effect and I was lost in that world I could only visit briefly. Those visits were what kept my sanity, what made suicide a viable option, yet perversely kept me from it.

I was interrupted by a deep masculine voice. Although my eyes were open, no vision of the present penetrated, so I was just a little startled.

"Excuse me sir!" Said the tall, burly police officer.

"Yes officer?" I asked sharply, annoyed at being forced to return...

"We've had a complaint sir."

I had no idea what he was talking about, so I waited for him to continue.

"About you sir, watching the children." He nodded in the school's direction. "It appears that you sit here often and look at the children." His tone was polite to a degree, but I could hear an edge to it.

It took a few minutes for me to realise what he meant. I was horrified that anyone could possibly think that of me. For the second time that day I had to explain about my wife's death, this time adding personal information about my daughter and her school. I then pointed to a plaque attached to the bench I was sitting on.

"Read that." I suggested.

The policeman read the commemorative without understanding its relevance until I pointed out that it was I who had paid for the new bench, in memory of my wife. Pre-empting his next request I took out my driving licence and showed him my ID. He radioed in to run a check on me and when that came back clear, he visibly relaxed. He apologised but said that they had to follow up all complaints especially one that may involve children. By then I'd had the sense to see how my almost daily visits may have been misinterpreted. I think, like anyone with his training, he sensed my mood and he sat down with me and we talked for a while, which to my surprise I found quite helpful; enough that when his radio called him away to the next incident, I felt up to returning to work.

As soon as I sat down my phone rang and Steve Vickery summoned me into his office. Trevor Phillips, the head of my department was away today and Steve was his deputy. Where I liked Trevor, and much more importantly had a lot of respect for him as a boss and as a person, I had nothing for Steve except contempt. He was a short man, only about 5'6", who managed through bullying and shouting. How he had attained his current position always amazed me, and most of my fellow workers.