Past Imperfect

by Graham Debenham

part 8 of 10

“Are you all right, Mr. Compton?”

The voice prompted him to open his eyes. He did so, slowly. His vision cleared and he was in a large, oak-paneled office. He was standing in front of an antique mahogany desk, not dissimilar to the one in Governor Hardcastle’s office, only larger. The man standing behind it was middle-aged and smartly dressed. Both he and the office looked extraordinarily familiar. He seemed quite concerned for Nigel’s welfare.

“My goodness, I thought you were going to faint. How are you feeling now? Would you like a glass of water?”

Nigel blinked a few times to clear his head. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Jolly good. Now as I was saying, my name is Arthur Smedley and I’m Head of the Motor Department.”

Arthur Smedley. This must be Metropolitan Mutual Insurance. No wonder the place looked so familiar.

“Shall I take that?” Smedley asked, holding out his hand.

Nigel looked down. He was still holding the A4 envelope. He handed it across the desk.

“Thank you, take a seat please.” He sat down and opened the envelope. He scanned the page, nodding here and there and giving the odd smile. When he had finished, he put the letter on the desk.

“Well, Mr. Binghampton certainly gives you a glowing recommendation. I understand that you have recently spent a bit of time ‘at her majesty’s pleasure’ so to speak?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Nigel replied. “I just want the opportunity to get my life back on track.”

“Quite so. Well, here at Metropolitan Mutual Insurance, we like to pride ourselves on our sense of civic duty.

“The position that we’re offering is for a filing clerk. It isn’t exactly chairman of the board, but it’s a good starting point for somebody in your... er... position. We do find, however, that young people, especially with your background, don’t usually stay very long. Just long enough to get back on their feet really.”

Nigel smiled. This was obviously another bifurcation in his journey back to the future. In the normal course of events, in this existence anyway, he would probably stick at this job for three or four months until he had a bit of spending money. Then he would most likely resign and try to pick up another temporary job; then another and another and so on and so forth until he gradually drifted back into a life of crime.

“Well, actually Mr. Smedley, I’d prefer to think of this as the first day of the rest of my life. I’m not really the type of person who would be satisfied staying on the bottom rung of the ladder. If you’re prepared to take the time to teach me, I’d like to undertake a tertiary course in insurance so that I can make something of my life.”

Smedley removed his bifocals and sat back in his chair. He looked at Nigel long and hard for several seconds. He leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the desk in front of him. “You know, normally I would dismiss such a speech as empty rhetoric. I have seen a number of ex-offenders pass through these doors, and none of them has ever amounted to much.

“But I think you might be different, so I’m going to give you the chance to prove yourself. If you think you’re cut out to be in this line of work, I’ll give you every opportunity for advancement.” He stood. “Welcome to Metropolitan Mutual Insurance.”

“I appreciate your taking me on, sir,” Nigel replied, standing. “As you say, it’s a starting point and I’m prepared to justify your faith in me by working hard and improving myself.”

“That’s the spirit. Now pop down to personnel and see Mr. Smythe. He’ll give you all the appropriate forms to fill in, and tell you when to start.”

He held out his hand and Nigel reached across and took it. As they shook hands Nigel felt that old familiar vertigo. This time it wasn’t so bad. Either that or he was getting used to it. He closed his eyes while the white pinpoints of light danced across his field of vision.

When he opened them again, everything looked the same. The same oak paneled room, the same mahogany desk, the same Arthur Smedley.

Or was it?

The hair was a little greyer and a little thinner. The bifocals were gone and he was wearing a different suit.

“Are you all right, Nigel?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes... yes, I’m fine, thanks.”

“Good. You’ve been with us for almost fifteen years now. I didn’t think this promotion would be that much of a shock to you.”

The ripple of laughter made him start.

He looked around and saw the small knot of people standing along the wall behind him. They were all familiar faces from his past, or was it his future? He still hadn’t quite got a handle on this whole time travel thing.

There was Mr. Smedley’s secretary Mrs Dunlop. Next to her were the members of the new business section, most of whom, for one reason or another, were no longer with the firm back in Nigel’s time; or should that be forward?

Also present were various filing clerks and Claims Department personnel. But the one face that stood out from the rest was Daniel Winstanley.

He stood next to a young, acne-scarred junior from the mail room, whose name Nigel couldn’t quite remember.

Nigel looked along the line of smiling faces and remembered the last time he had been in this particular room with these particular people. On that occasion, twenty years ago, he had been standing next to the spotty faced mail clerk, and Daniel had been up at Mr. Smedley’s desk.

“Well,” Smedley said when the laughter had died down, “Back to the business at hand. As I said before, I shall be retiring as head of the Motor Department at the end of this month, and the powers that be,” he raised his eyes to the ceiling, “have asked me to choose my replacement. Naturally it will come as no surprise to any of you that my choice is Nigel.”

There was a ripple of applause from the assembled staff.

When it subsided, Smedley went on. “Fifteen years ago, Nigel came to me looking for work. As you all know, he had spent several years ‘at her majesty’s pleasure’, and was keen to make a new start.

“I was impressed by his attitude and decided to give him a second chance. It was probably one of the better decisions I have ever made. Nigel has been an example to all of us in how one can change one’s life and overcome disadvantage.

“Not only that, he has been one of the best new business underwriters that this firm has ever had. It is therefore with great pride that I declare Nigel Compton to be the new head of the Motor Department.”

Another round of applause started up, and Nigel smiled. He had done it. He had completely turned his life around. Obviously, as he had become older, he had gained enough maturity to handle the catalytic changes that he had made to his own past.

It seemed like only a few hours ago that he had woken up in his old bedroom. Well, actually, it was only a few hours ago in real time. Since then he had exorcised the demons of his school years, drifted into a life of crime, seen the errors of his ways and become a model citizen and head of department.

But was it all worth it? In order to achieve all of this he had sacrificed the one good thing in his life.

Cynthia.

True, he had made a success of his life, but at what cost? So what if he had had a miserable childhood? So what if he had missed out on promotion at work? So what if he was an under-achiever? All the success in the world meant nothing without Cynthia.

This whole exercise had been to find out what might have been. To find out how his life might have turned out if he had only had the courage to stand up for himself. Well, now he knew. And he didn’t like it one little bit. He knew that his trip back in time had something to do with the old man on the train, but he didn’t know who the old man was or why he had singled Nigel out for his little experiment.

All he knew was that he wanted to go home. He wanted his old life back. He wanted the regularity of travelling to work every morning on the 7:37 from East Croydon to Victoria. He wanted the regularity of buying a new suit from Burton’s every six months. He wanted the regularity of being just another cog in the engine of Metropolitan Mutual Insurance.

But most of all, he wanted Cynthia.

The applause from his colleagues was becoming louder. Several of them, including Daniel Winstanley, were singing ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow’.

The room began to spin, slowly at first, then gathering momentum rather like a merry go round. It was spinning around him and he was the axis. He felt as if he was going to fall. He reached down to hold on to the edge of Smedley’s desk, but his hand could not make contact. It was as if the desk was a hologram and his hand just passed through it.

He didn’t want to close his eyes for fear of falling, but eventually he had to blot out the spinning room. As his eyelids slowly began to droop, the clapping and singing began to recede, as if moving off down an empty hallway. Bright lights flashed before his closed eyes like a strobe light beating time to the applause. He felt himself falling and braced himself for impact.

* * *

Proceed to part 9...