The Old Remington: Part Seventeen

This is the seventeenth part of a fiction serial, in 1120 words.

When his eyes opened, Martin looked to his right. The naked form of Vanessa was stretched out on top of the duvet, and she was snoring quietly. He felt like he had just endured a workout at the gym. She had been insatiable, and he certainly couldn’t complain about what they had been doing for most of the day. But something would have to be done. He couldn’t allow this current life to carry on. Being married to Pam was one thing, but being blackmailed and tempted by his next door neighbour was always going to end in disaster. He eased himself off the bed, and grabbed his clothes and shoes from the floor. Slipping quietly out of the bedroom, he dressed downstairs, and walked next door into his own house.

His own house, that felt weird to even call it that in his mind.

Before he could even think about searching the place for clues, Martin got into the shower. After a good scrub, he had a shave, smiling at how all the necessary stuff was there. His mark on this life. His large toothbrush, can of shaving foam, razor, and deodorant spray. He didn’t want Pam and Daisy to come home and see him still unwashed from the morning. Daisy! The thought hit him like a hard slap on the head. Pulling on some clean clothes in the bedroom, he checked his watch. He was going to be so late to collect her. He checked his phone as he rushed to the van. No calls. Hopefully, it would be OK.

There was no sign of Daisy on the deserted school entrance, so he drove the van into the car park, and ran across to the doors. He buzzed the entry system, and a flat voice answered. “Yes”. Trying to sound harassed, which wasn’t difficult, he almost shouted into the speaker. “It’s Martin Harwood, to collect Daisy. Sorry, I got held up”. The girl was sitting inside, by a reception desk manned by a woman who looked too old to still be working. The grumpy-looking thin woman shook her head at him as he approached. “You really should call us if you are going to be late, you know. Five more minutes, and I would have called your wife”. He managed a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Thanks. Won’t happen again”. He knew it wouldn’t, as he had no intention of being in Basildon tomorrow.

Daisy didn’t seem concerned. She wanted to play the Satnav game again on the way back, and as soon as they got back to the house, she took off her blazer and shoes, before running upstairs to her room. Forgetting about searching the house for clues, Martin decided to look for the Remington instead. There was no trace in the two downstairs rooms, so he went outside to the garage. It was almost empty, save for an old child’s bike, and a folded-flat Wendy house. No doubt Pam had a car, and actually kept it in there. He went back inside and started to look around upstairs. The small third bedroom was decked out like a study. Desk, laptop, printer, and some shelves containing box files. It was all very neat and tidy, and it was easy to establish that the typewriter was nowhere to be seen. The main bedroom required a more careful examination. But it wasn’t that big, and almost everything was in its place in the fitted wardrobes surrounding the bed. That left two options; Daisy’s room, or the loft. He suddenly wondered if there might be a shed in the garden. If it wasn’t in the house, then maybe the Remington was stored out there.

He walked down the stairs, to check outside, but was only halfway down when he heard the unmistakable sound of clattering typewriter keys. The sound was coming from behind the closed door of Daisy’s room. Rushing in, he surprised the girl, and she scowled at him. “Daddy, you didn’t knock. We said you would knock now that I am eleven. I’m not a baby anymore”. He smiled at her serious expression. “Sorry honey, I completely forgot. I will go out and come in again, OK?” He had spotted the typewriter between her legs on the bed, still in it’s case. Biting back the frustration, he closed the door, then knocked carefully. “Daisy, it’s Daddy. Can I come in?” She had obviously decided to play with him. “Just a moment, I’m not ready”. He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for what seemed like ages. “OK. Come in, Daddy”. She was sitting at the small dressing table, taking her hair out of the bunches. As he walked in she turned and smiled, continuing her charade. “Hello Daddy, what did you want?”

Martin kept it going, not wanting to cause any fuss. “Oh I was wondering if I could use that typewriter, the one on your bed here?” She waved a hand in a royal gesture. “Yes you can have it back. I don’t know how to use it, and I was just typing because I like the noise it makes”. He smiled, and picked it up. “Why thank you, young lady”. In the small study room, he looked at the sheet of paper in the roller. It was half-covered in all sorts of nonsense.
‘Daisy Harwood. DAISY HARWOOD. MISS DAISY HARWOOD. Basildon XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX ###~~~ }]{{ 11111 qazwsxedcrfvtgbyhnujmik,ol.p’

He wondered when she had typed all that, and hoped it was just now, when he had heard her. Then he pulled the paper out, and inserted a clean sheet from a stack next to the printer. If he was quick, he would have it done before Pam got home. But he had to be careful, he knew that by now. The thought came to him, and he acted on it immediately.

‘Martin Harwood was one of the most successful traders in the City of London. When he started out, big firms had tried to poach him, even the powerful Harris-Coyle. But he kept his integrity, knowing they were involved with insider trading. He decided to start up his own company, playing by the rules. That earned him a reputation throughout the money markets, and despite the financial problems affecting Europe, he saw steady growth, and was left with a solid and respected company.’

He sat back and re-read the paragraph. Back to the beginning. No dodgy dealings. No Harris-Coyle, no Chloe, and no Pam.

One night to get through, playing the devoted husband and father. being nice to Pam and Daisy, and listening to Pam tell him about her new job. Eat the Chinese food, drink some wine, and get an early night.

Tomorrow, it would all start again.

36 thoughts on “The Old Remington: Part Seventeen

  1. Somehow, Daisyβ€”whether by sheer luck, uncanny intuition, or a bizarre quirk of fateβ€”has typed the Remington’s secret power code: XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX ###~~~ }]{{ 11111 qazwsxedcrfvtgbyhnujmik,ol.p.

    What do you suppose the consequences of that will be, huh?

    Liked by 3 people

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