It' s late at night. The DJ is talking about incompatibility, riffing slowly over the life story of a couple who couldn't live together but couldn't face life apart. It's all part of a build up to playing a Bob Seger song that the man who sent the story in thinks will mean something to the former partner he's imagined in the letter. What the real woman will think is anyone's guess, but this is radio where the immediate is all that matters as the audience doze in their beds or turn their radio down lower so they can hear the taxi controller sending them to their next pickup. The DJ's voice is laden with sympathy, a spoonful of honey with just a hint of cough medicine about it, the perfect voice to evoke strong feelings while conveying as little meaning as possible.
What the listeners can't see, mustn't see is that for the last five minutes the DJ has been mesmerized by a sequence of text messages on his mobile phone. Not the studio phone, the one plugged into a PC that even as Bob Seger starts will be buzzing with messages from Marie in Tyneside telling Lonesome Jon to get over himself, or Nympho Nancy in Consett (who may actually be a drunken teenage boy misusing his mum's mobile) offering to help Jon feel less lonely after hearing his sad tale. No, even as our DJ is manually setting up the digital feed that will play a nationally syndicated programme until six am he's paralyzed with indecision. What can he do about the texts?
It's not the first time in his life a plan has gone awry. He was going to be the next Kenny Everett on national radio, except crazy voices went out of fashion just as zoo radio came in. He was going to be the next Chris Evans starting with a show on local TV, just as TFI Friday turned into TFI Over. And now here he was. The Simon Bates of the late night airwaves, staring disaster in the face.
Not that he'd foreseen the potential for disaster. He'd thought it would all work out fine. What could go wrong? For five years his sex drive with his wife had been changing. He'd blamed his hours of work, her job as head of a primary school, his diet and yes, maybe even the drinking problem that had led to a three year driving ban. But he'd been eighteen months dry and he still couldn't get a hardon without either dressing in his wife's under wear so she could humiliate him or without imagining her with others. It had been a solitary fantasy, enhanced by her stockings on his legs, her panties crookedly arranged over his hips, but the inadequacies of their sex life had brought it to life. She'd wanted to know what went through his head while he played with himself, listening to her recite his failings in bed. And in the end she'd been the one to push him to do what he fantasized about, to arrange for a man to meet her and make love to her in the ways he was no longer capable of.
So he'd done it. Tonight was to be the night, in an identikit hotel in Seaton Burn.. Except, if the texts were to be believed, it was all going wrong. And that was where the quandaries began. Did he tell his assistant to take him to the Travellodge by the side of the A1, and live in fear that the gossip would be all round the station by morning? Did he send the assistant home and try and persuade a taxi to take him to theTravellodge, ignoring the fact that he only had five pounds in his wallet? He felt the feeling in his stomach again, the one that said a drink would make all this go away. Which was why he didn't carry cash, or bank cards, for fear the siren voice would get him.
The journey from Gateshead across the Tyne Bridge was normally a gregarious occasion. Justin would drive while Tim regaled him with stories of other radio stations, celebrities he'd interviewed and events he'd compered. Not tonight. Tonight they drove in silence, the distance between them almost palpable. Tim had explained they needed to make a detour via Seaton Burn, then sat silent in the passenger seat, hands twisting together in his lap as the car surged through Gosforth, onto the A1 then off at Seaton Burn. If Justin had any thoughts about his boss's silence he kept them to himself. Not that boss was exactly how Tim could be described: Justin simply felt it easier to tell Tim he was the boss. It settled the relationship and let Justin get on with earning his allowance as a student trainee. His house mates teased him about how proud he was to be driving around in a car with the station logo on the side but Justin knew he was amassing the kind of experience that would stand him in good stead when his cv was one amongst hundreds on the desktop of station controllers looking for the next bright young thing. So he turned off the roundabout and into the country lane that led to the travellodge, ignoring Tim's patter about it being the A1 once, the Great North Road from England to Scotland.
Justin may have been ignoring Tim's patter, but he couldn't ignore the obvious change in his demeanour. He was moving in his seat, repeatedly picking up up his mobile then putting it down. It was several minutes before Justin asked Tim what they were waiting for. Instead of a reply Tim looked down at the mobile one last time, then pressed a speed dial button. Justin genuinely wasn't that concerned about the conversation; as far as he was concerned if the late night DJ wanted to meet his drugs dealer in a car park that was fine by him, so long as no-one thought they were two gay men looking for the cruising spot a few hundred meters away on another lane that led to the local golf club.
When Tim reached the end of his conversation and finally made a decision the words were strangled, clipped, the honey in the voice gone, leaving only the harsh medicine.'I may need your help here - I want you to follow me inside.' Justin was happy to do anything that meant he'd get home sooner rather than later; in his mind he was already composing an email to the station manager about Tim's fragile mental state. Justin was more inclined to see Tim's point when a man approached them out of the shadows at the back of the car park, where the light from the petrol station forecourt was least likely to penetrate.
'Are you two here for the party?' Tim stumbled over his words, leaving Justin to fill in with a hurried explanation about collecting someone. He fought the urge to take Tim's arm and steer him across the car park - it was, after all, Tim's errand and despite his stumbling manner Tim wasn't an elderly relative to be guided across the road.
If Justin noticed the young woman at the reception desk giving them a quizzical look as Tim unconvincingly explained that they were here to collect someone he didn't comment on it. It was all just colourful detail that would add to the story. The walk along the corridor to the room had something of the gallows procession about it; Justin confident and calm but completely uncomprehending of what it was that made Tim so hesitant and uncertain.
When Rose opened the door Justin was astonished, but no clearer as to what was going on. He'd met her at the Christmas party of course; a sombre and quiet counterpoint to Tim's frenetic story telling. He'd tried to make conversation with her then, to win her over as an ally but while there was alcohol in the room she was inseparable from Tim. So what was she doing here? And why was she dressed for a night out in the Bigg Market, heels as high as her skirt was short, but bristling with anger?
The atmosphere in the room was spectacularly wrong. Rose was giving off fury. Tim was bumbling, muttering inanities. Justin was attempting a facade of cool to cover his confusion. And the stranger in the corner was giving off anger; frustrated, foot tapping with malicious intent anger. There was a distinct lack of communication, but Justin was going to be the last one to set the ball rolling in such a situation So they all stood and watched and waited. It gave Justin chance to revise his opinion of Rose; in tonight's outfit she looked a completely different woman to the staid schoolteacher he met at the Christmas party.
Not surprisingly it was Rose who broke the silence. The mixture of resentment and barely managed restraint made her voice crackle like a fluttering radio signal.
' I told you he would come to make clear this is all a mistake. Now go.' The stranger's voice didn't convey the same range of emotion as Rose's. Rather it mocked, the slow tones of a Birmingham accent defusing the implied threats. 'Oi'd loike to 'ear it from yore man meself loike...' The bitter edge in Rose's voice was unleashed on Tim now.
'For once Tim be a man and get rid of him.' Justin strained hard to discern Tim's words, any pretence of a microphone voice gone. He could pick out words or phrases, but not sentences. 'Some mistake.' 'One person.' 'Not a party'. The words tumbled over themselves like rats leaving a sinking ship as Tim's confidence took on more water. The stranger wasn't impressed.
'So you've changed your mind and he's the one. It doesn't seem fair to me.' Justin took in Tim's desperate expression, and the imminent explosion of rage that lurked behind Rose' eyes. That explained the impulse for him to act, but why he did what he actually did he couldn't explain. He moved across the room, took the stranger's arm and span him into a hammer lock half remembered from an OTC self defence course. He wasn't even sure he recognised his own voice.
'I'm not anyone or anything except pissed off - now how about you fuck off and leave us.' The stranger subsided quickly, the mocking tone gone to be replaced by something much more whiney. 'I don't know what the fuck's going on like.' Justin leant forward and whispered in his ear 'If it's any consolation neither do I.'
The next five minutes were marked only by Rose staring at the window, Tim staring at the floor and Justin checking his watch. Justin remembered one of the plays he'd studied at university, modern, a tale of two men waiting for something to happen but not knowing what. He was wise enough to know that Tim knew more than he, but he wasn't going to place any bets on how much more. He wasn't content to wait for ever though.
'Are we going to go or am I needed to chauffeur people?'
Rose's tone was still as acrid.
'The plan didn't include me needing to drive home after drinking. Can you give us a lift and I'll come back for my car in the morning.' Eager to make the solution happen Tim volunteered 'I'll come over in the morning and bring you back.' If he was expecting gratitude he had to settle for a gruff whatever; at least though it was uttered in a tone that didn't threaten lacerations.
So this time they walked the opposite way down the hall,Justin leading this time, Rose close behind him, Tim trailing in the rear. The receptionist paid them no attention, as if such things were all in an evening's work. If she reacted to Rose's intake of breath and hesitation at seeing the stranger from the corner standing in the carpark she didn't show it. Justin took Rose's hand but she hesitated still; she would only walk forward when he put his arm round her shoulder, turning her slightly inwards towards him so that her view of the stranger was less straight on. He was struck by her lack of response to the gesture, neither resisting or accepting him but remaining pliable. The stranger made great play of standing on his cigarette butt, then stared at Tim and made a two fingered gesture towards him.
At the side of the car Justin got his first response from Rose; he moved his right arm to reach for his keys in his left hand pocket. Her response was to move closer to him, hooking an arm around his waist. Popping the locks on the car Justin began to explain his actions. 'OK Rose, we'll sit you on the passenger side, then Tim can get in the back from the driver's side.' He wasn't sure why it seemed important to explain himself, but it worked. Tim made no noise but walked round to the driver's side and clambered in If Justin thought there was something odd about the quietness of both of them he put it aside. If he thought Rose's lack of reaction to his doing up her seatbelt for her unusual, he put it aside. Like so much else he ignored it while he got on with the task in hand.
The task in hand was made easier by the fact that Rose was calmer. Not quiescent, like Tim, but calmer now whatever had been stressing her was behind her. She directed Justkin fron roundabout to junction calmly, so that even though he was off what was, for him at least, the beaten track, he could drive confidently. By the time the roadsigns started to announce place names he recognised from the A1 there was even an element of warmth in the car. From the edge of Morpeth Justin could navigate for himself, slowing down for the narrower roads of the 1970s housing estate and the cars parked randomly on verges and corners as if they'd been abandoned. If you ignored the slightly subdued tone Rose was her normal self.
`I've always told Tim it's daft to make you drive home from here. Both guest rooms are made up - if you stay over you can give me a lift back to collect my car.`
He'd always stubbornly resisted Tim's offers that he could stay over on a Friday night even as he resented the drive back down the Western bypass he'd been determined not to be indebted to Tim, but wrapped up as it was in the idea of doing Rose a favour the temptation of a warm bed was too good to resist. So for once he didn't stop by the kerb just long enough for Tim to climb out. He pulled onto the block paved drive and waited for Tim to get out before following Rose into the house. Not sure of what to do next he went with Rose into the kitchen. Under the clearer lights of the kitchen he was able to make a clearer inventory of Rose's clothes; a cream strapless top, a peach skirt, well above knee length, sightly flared, in silk or something like it, and backless shoes that matched the skirt. The finishing touches were simple; a gold bracelet on the left wrist mirrored by a thin gold anklet, the amber and glold earrings matched by a ring on the second toe of her left foot. If he'd pondered for months it wasn't an outfit he could have imagined her in.
In what was evidently her kitchen, all Shaker simplicity and cooured tiled, Rose was completely self assured.
'If you're worrying about Tim, don't. He'll do what he does if the show hasn't gone well; he'll go up to the sunroom and stare at the stars. Eventually he'll fall asleep, fully dressed, then wake up at seven am with the closest thing to a hangover that he gets these days.' Justin tried to manage a light tone; the last thing he wanted was to be Rose's confessor, listening to her woes, but if there was information to be gathered about Tim he was interested.
`So you're used to his ups and downs then?`
Rose gestured at the coffee mugs.
'Let's go through to the living room'.
In the living room they settled into chairs positioned so that the occupants could see the Tv but not each other, not without turning their heads. Justin turned his body toward Rose: she simply stretched out in her seat, feet up on a square leather stool that matched the chairs.
