Chapter 1: A curious meeting

Search through history for accomplishments and you will find countless tales of heroic passion and resolve in the face of adversity. But search history for heroic passion and you will discover an ever more harrowingly large pile of failures. To alter mankind’s belief’s one requires more than just passionate drive but with it a grip of reality and tact. Sometimes, it is more your destiny to plant seeds in a forest than only the select few shall visit – slowly watering the fragile shoots and nurturing them through their vulnerable infancy. As the stem gradually grows, man will grow taller with it to see eye to eye with its beaconing light. Rather this than witness their demise with disastrous publicity. But to the sowers themselves this is seen as nothing but cowardice; for them the reaped rewards become an obsession so dangerous than it engulfs them.

Chapter 1: A curious meeting

“The train arriving on platform 5 is the 8.45 service to London Bridge” the tannoy announced to the long, crowded platform of commuters. The platform’s arrangement was almost symmetrical to any other in London and anything but would perplex a resident of the metropolis; the in-out ebbing effect of severely packed areas followed by areas of absolute clearance. That said, a few individuals could be seen standing solitarily in the areas unsure of the unofficial platform code. Amongst the many at the front of the disorderly queue was a rather insignificant looking figure. Dressed in a unbuttoned long black jacket and white shirt, there was nothing striking about this young gentleman. In his right hand, he held a small black briefcase with numerical locks and a folded newspaper in his left. Everything from his black shoes and dark trousers to his blue tie and combed dark hair was typical of the English commuter. Even his expressions were blank and onward looking with only the occasional glance at the overhead train indicator.

As the train arrived, at first he was fairly motionless even with those around him trying to push forwards but achieving little more than a disconcerted sideways jive. Of course, he knew better than to do so as the train doors opened perfectly in front of him like a genie upon calling. This was of course not a sign of sheer luck and neither was it so that he was able to rather graciously get a seat in a carriage where even lottery odds seemed more probable. Upon sitting he immediately placed his briefcase neatly between his legs, took a quick glance out of the window and began to peruse through the newspaper’s headline article. His elbow gently clipped the adjacent passenger for which he slowly turned his neck across and apologised, accompanied by a warm smile. His neck turned back and he continued to learn of the day’s events.  One could not ascertain any emotions on this individual, but one could also not fault the man on what appeared to be engineered perfection, although at the same time, it was nothing special nor striking and be blended into the black and white canvas of the commuter train making its way towards the London train terminus. And on the journey continued for Ray.

Not too far on the other side of the city was the sight of another rammed London train platform. Similarly arranged as its counterpart resembling the ebbing and flowing shapes of cut jigsaw pieces.  At the back of the platform, among the many lone standees, was a rather well built young man appearing flustered, frantically trying to catch his breath from his dash to make the train on time. Though rather than being relieved not to have missed the train, he shook his head when he looked up to see the indicator showing the train being late.
“Typical!” he muttered under his breath, whilst donning his long creased trousers alongside his shirt, distinctive red tie and beige satchel.
Constantly he kept looking at his watch, almost every ten to fifteen seconds, a time period so short than even he must have known that the second hand would’ve barely moved. Next to him, was a large lilac pram, out of which began a shrill so loud it could only be that of a baby demanding attention. Its mother looking unsurprisingly embarrassed. This facial expression on the whole drew comforting smiles from the crowd, understanding the tribulations of motherhood. The man however, shook his head.

Several minutes past before the train could be finally seen pulling into the platform, teasingly slowing down at every passing metre. The already agitated man crept sideways trying to find some space in the middle of a crowd, hoping this would mean the doors would open right in front of him. His advances though were quickly shut down, not unlike the scenes at a animalistic mating ritual of a newcomer naively trying to be the alpha male. He did however take this opportunity to exchange some cold looks. Despite his best efforts, as the train doors opened, he would be one of the last to board and if anything, lucky to enough to standing space on it. Finally though, the train was on the move and it was able to meander its way through the dark and dusky underground tunnels.

“The train will shortly be arriving at our destination, London Bridge....” a deep voice called out across the carriage, whilst prematurely interrupting the standing man’s nap. He took a gaping yawn before rubbing his left eye as it struggled to adjust to the relatively dim lights of the train. Dashing up through the escalators, he exited the station and turned right before looking up to reaffirm the name of the coffee shop he was headed towards. Barista it read on an authentic looking wooden sign with bold black lettering on a dark green board, hanging above the equally traditional looking wooden door. He gently pulled the brown, wooden handle and entered the small establishment. Beneath his feet was a velvety purple carpet, regal in nature, with wooden chairs, tables and front ordering desk – all in keeping with the exterior decor. The walls were adorned with frames of abstract art; one could make out images of people and some of landscapes but not much through the abstract nature of the artwork. At the wooden desk, stood a young lady wearing a green apron inviting him in with a warm, yet innocent smile.

His eyes scanned the small room quickly before fixating upon a table with a gentleman who was sat reading his newspaper with a large white, porcelain mug. Sat facing away from the door, his attention had not yet been drawn. The stood man checked his watch, looked again at the table somewhat nervously. He walked confidently at first towards the table, before checking his progress and approaching quite slowly.
“Ray, never late these days eh?” the man remarked whilst still a few feet away. Made his way around the table, placed his satchel on the floor to sit down and reply to the smile of his expectant companion.
“Don’t get me wrong Peter, I’m all up for 10 year reunions but a little bit confused” Peter replied with a more direct tone, followed by a gentle chuckle.
“You not gonna ask how I’ve been?”
“Sorry, so Peter how have the last 10 years treated you?” he asked in a more friendly tone.
“Well honestly, you know how you always told me to believe in myself and chase my dreams” Peter continued as Ray nostalgically nodded “You know the screen writing dream isn’t as simple to one would hope!”
         Ray looked up at his old classmate with a sympathetic smile but offering little more. “Well the big break’s only around the corner, besides there’s more to life....” Peter was interrupted as he put on a gentle, consoling tone.
         “Wendy left me last month” he stated softly, before getting up to order himself a large cup of coffee without allowing Peter to so much as make an apologetic gesture. He sat back down a minute later with an similarly large white cup and took a large sip.
         “Sorry to hear that Pete! Guess at least it helped you remember an old pal, if nothing else” he said, trying to use humour to deflect the tension.
         “Oh don’t worry about it, not gonna lie, it’s nice to hear that name again but that wasn’t really why I called you here today.”
         “I thought not” he replied back in an assured voice.
         
         Peter swivelled his chair to reach into his bag and pull out a large A4 envelope, which he carefully peeled the adhesive seal to pull out a sheet – his treatment of which would convince an onlooker that he was handling gold dust. He passed it to his friend face down with an overly excited face gleaming with brightness. Ray turned it over and having quickly inspected it for no more than a few brief moments, he passed it back in reciprocal fashion. His face remained expressionless, verging on cold and simply said “Not here, call me tonight”, before grabbing his things and storming out of the coffee shop.

         Peter’s reaction was one of shock in the intervening moment but this quickly faded and there was little surprise on his face other than at the swiftness of Ray’s exit. He securely replaced the sheet of paper and the envelope back into his satchel and continued to finish his hot drink with a contemplatory look on his face.