Chapter 13: Ray
He bolted the door to the lost property room at Birmingham airport.
Ray, a six-feet-five, bulky, bronze skinned, Brazilian security guard with thick curly, black hair, who oozed “don’t mess with me”, was on nightshift duty. Nights were usually quieter at the airport because flights were more frequent during the day.
His presence was one that most people would fear, and as bulky and scary as he looked, the truth was he was just a big friendly giant. But he was excellent at his job and the people he protected didn’t need to know of his friendly and caring side. He took great pride in protecting the people in his care – staff and public alike.
After twenty years in the security business of one kind or another, he knew exactly what he was here to do and exactly what it took to keep people secure.
On his rounds of checking the landing conveyor belts, he’d spotted a small brown box on conveyor eight. It was a parcel. The last goods to come from here were Air Mail goods.
The post guys must have missed it, he thought. But then again, it’s also used for passengers flying into Birmingham just before that. Maybe one of them has accidently left it behind. In an era of random terrorist threats and attacks, any stranded item like this had to be treated as suspicious and guilty until proven innocent.
So he didn’t pick it up straight away because he didn’t know what might be in it. Why would he? Knowing it was best not to touch the package any more than is necessary, he did the initial checks of the surrounding area and looked for any visible warning signs that might suggest it was dangerous. He couldn’t find any, so he approached with caution and reached towards it slowly to pick it up.
What would be the best way to hold this little thing?
Slowly he placed his right hand around the package, handling it with care – just in case. He didn’t shake or bump it although a slight rattle from the movement made him stop and place it flat in his left palm to keep it balanced and sturdy. It was a gut feeling that this package was no threat. Gut feelings usually worked well for him – or anyone in this game to be honest.
He continued musing for a while before his brain kicked into left gear and action mode. What else could he find out about the package? He checked the address on the box ‘Dad, 1 The Hill, Thornton, Nottingham’. Interesting and ironic.
Instinctively he knew Nottingham was only an hour away because he lived there. Being naturally helpful, he entertained the thoughts of how simple it would be to go ahead and post the box to the address – but it had no postcode!
“It’ll only take me a few minutes to take it to the post office room and get them to find the postcode to send it – if I passed it one to be posted. But they don’t open for another three hours. I’ll have finished my shift by then,” he continued to consider the options.
“Maybe I could drop it off on my way home. Apart from the fact that I live on a hill (he smiled sarcastically with the thought), I know a place called The Hill not far from where I live. I’d be doing ‘Dad’ a favour. Then again the package doesn’t have the stamps and stickers on it that it should have if it was actually from the Air Mail dispatch. Had it been processed surely it would have them on it. But what if it was a passenger who left it behind? Surely they’d come looking for it when they realized it was gone.”
“Ok maybe trying to help will do more harm than good.”
Back into security mode, he recalled a key code of conduct that all security guards knew and worked by.
‘He or she must carry his assigned duties as a Security Guard or watchman as required by law to the best of his or her ability and safeguard life and property to the establishment he or she is assigned.’
Recalling this code was enough to bring him back to reality. And so it was decided. He was wiser to safeguard the property he’d found, and the position he was in to do his job. Oh well. It would have been nice to see the package to its final destination but it wasn’t meant to be.
How interesting the conflict between personal and professional judgement. To be faced on a daily basis with choices between being a natural or un-natural human, he mused. He often thought deeply about these contradictions in life and spent many a night-watch reading philosophy and psychology to make some sense of it all.
But now wasn’t the time for such thoughts. He was here to do his job and leave parcel passing to whoever’s job it actually was. Besides it was better to take it to the most likely place that the Air Mail staff or passengers would go to in search for it – lost property.
He hoped they would come to look for it. Because as a father himself who missed the chance to see his children since he separated from his wife, it would be a happy ending if this ‘Dad’ got the parcel that was meant for him. Better still what if it turned out the package was actually for him? “That would just be spooky!” he heard himself say out loud. And the thought of not seeing his children started to make his nose get the tingle-before-tears feeling.
With that, he went to lost property, filled out the relevant paperwork, put the parcel safely on the ‘recently lost’ shelf, and turned out the lights. Finally, he bolted the door.
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Chapter 14: Paul
Paul Williams puffed out a long breath of air as he watched the postman walk up the path. Opening the door as the bell rang, Paul nodded and put on a smile.
As if reading Paul’s mind, the postman said, “Don’t worry, no bills today. Just this.” He held out a small parcel. “Sorry, bit battered. Looks like it’s been round the block.”
“Or three,” Paul said, and the postman laughed.
“Nothing to sign.”
“Thanks.”
“Welcome.”
“See ya,” Paul said but the postman didn’t reply, his head bent towards his bag, fishing out the next item for delivery.
Paul closed the door, walked into the kitchen, put the small box on the work-surface then flicked on the kettle. Having spotted the ‘Dad’, he wanted something stronger but knew a cup of tea was more appropriate in this situation and dropped a tea bag into a mug.
As he waited for the kettle, he unwrapped the parcel, and took out the contents: a letter and small cardboard box sealed at all its edges but the lid with sellotape. Frowning, he read the letter.
Hi, Dad. I’ve been hanging on to these for months while I decided what to do with them. She was your wife as much as my mother so know she would have wanted me to do this.
Sarah.
‘Hi, Dad’. No ‘dear’. That was to be expected, he supposed. And ‘Sarah’. Just ‘Sarah’. No ‘love’ but he knew by the gesture of sending the parcel that she loved him, cared at least.
Before opening the box, he shook it gently. Teabags, he reckoned. She knew he drank lots of tea… or used to before the stronger stuff had taken over. When the contents were revealed, he thought he’d guessed correctly but then looked closer and knew they weren’t tea leaves. They were dark but too fine to be tea leaves and it dawned on him what she’d sent him; ashes. But why? As he gently shook the contents he knew they weren’t all there – Paula had been a large woman; big-boned she’d always said in defence at the diet adverts on TV – but probably about half. Exactly half? Despite his name not appearing on the parcel, replaced with a simple ‘Dad’, he knew Sarah was a stickler for detail. He imagined her with scales, weighing out two portions, emptying one into the box that he had in front of him.
After making the tea, Paul picked up his mobile.
“Sarah? It’s Dad… Thank you.” He closed his eyes as he heard the sobs at the other end, and could no longer remember what the argument had been about but knew that the one person to bring them back together would have been Paula, his wife, Sarah’s mother.
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Note from the Editor, Morgen Bailey
Hello. Thank you again for downloading this free eBook. My co-authors and I hope that you enjoyed it.
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