The Waterwheel

British English spelling and grammar.

***

The Waterwheel

"But you promised we'd go this weekend!" said Sue.

"I know I did." I replied. "But the warehouse had a power cut yesterday. We have to get this order out on Monday morning and if I don't go in and help Friday night, and over the weekend, I could lose my job."

"Fuck it!"

"I know you're disappointed, but what can I do?"

"I'm not disappointed Larry; I'm furious!"

"So I see. But it's not my fault."

"I'm sorry, of course it isn't. I'm not angry with you; just pissed off that we're not going, yet again."

We live in Reading and had fallen in love with an old hotel in Bourton on the Water, fifty miles to the east. It's called The Waterwheel and we'd stopped there once on a trip back from Sue's mum in Birmingham. We stayed on for an extra half day and admired their working waterwheel. But it had been an unscheduled stop and there was not enough time to expore the town. The visit was slightly blighted when we found the hotel had a bridal suite. Sue said she'd never seen a room so romantic. I admit I was not that enthusiastic but it was a nice room, dominated by a beautiful four-poster bed. We stopped for petrol in Witney half way home, and promised we'd return.

That was back in April, and we agreed we would book a long weekend at The Waterwheel. We'd stay in the bridal suite and spend time exploring the area. We waited till payday and tried, but they were fully booked over the May holiday and the week after. The third week in May, the warehouse had a weekend stocktake, and the following weekend we were going to a wedding. And so it progressed, week after week. A summer cold, my mum admitted to hospital, a family friend's birthday bash -- everything conspired against us. The bridal suite itself was rarely booked, but we just couldn't get our ducks in a row.

My mum got better, the schedules cleared, and at last it all came together. We paid a substantial credit card deposit and Sue bought a sexy red dress and matching underwear. We both arranged to take the Friday as holiday as well, so we could drive over there on the Thursday night. Then disaster struck; the power cut. My company's biggest order for years would be in jeopardy if it wasn't picked and loaded by Monday. It was all hands to the pump -- even the top bosses were coming in to help. Refusing to to do the unpaid overtime would be a permanent black mark. Getting the order out on time would almost certainly lead to a big Christmas bonus.

"We'll re-schedule for next weekend." I suggested.

"That's Beth's hen night. We're all in the London Road Hotel on Saturday night."

"The weekend after?"

"It's your parents' wedding anniversary. We'd better cancel our Fridays off."

"Perhaps we should go the whole hog; book a few days off mid-week?"

"Not next week we can't." She was sounding less and less interested. "I've got to attend that three day sales seminar up in Northampton."

"I remember."

"And as I'm the senior manager, I'll have to go and pass on the important learning points to the sub branches. Those visits will all be mid-week as well. So what with screwing up our weekends, we might as well write the whole thing off for this summer!"

Now she was just being sarcastic, and she flounced off. It was definitely all my fault then.

Everyone at the warehouse chipped in with the extra effort and it was more fun than I'd thought; the job was finished Saturday night. Relations with Sue were strained throughout. And they were not improved when I rolled home at one in the morning on Sunday. Two of our higher management commandeered a private room at the London Road Hotel, and paid for a late dinner and limitless beer. I hoped she would be asleep when I staggered home, but those plans rarely work do they?

It was Tuesday morning.

"Well have a good trip." I said, giving her a hug. "I'll see you Thursday."

"You'll see me Friday; we'll still be in Northampton on Thursday night."

"We?"

"Stephen, our top salesman, is attending. I'm sure I told you."

I didn't think she had told me, but it wasn't a surprise; senior management always took the top performing salesperson. Last year it had been a woman."

"Oh, ok. But I thought you said it finished Thursday lunch; why are you coming back Friday?"

"It finishes after lunch. Most of we managers met last year, and a lot of useful networking was done after the seminar. Many are staying the extra night."

"Is Stephen staying too?"

"Of course; he's tavelling with me. The company would hardly pay expenses for two cars to make the same journey."

It made sense, but was not very comforting; especially considering the crap mood she'd been in for a week.

Ironically, that mood changed once she'd arrived. Phone conversations were full of 'I love you's and 'I miss you's. She couldn't wait to get back Friday lunch time, and could I get the afternoon off? For some reason that was not very comforting either. The temper before she left? The amorous mood once she was away from me? If she was going to have an affair, she wasn't hiding it very well. I called a friend, who worked in her company's accounts department. I claimed I was also away from home and wanted to get back before her. I'd forgotten when she was leaving Northampton. He said the seminar finished early Thursday afternoon, but Sue was paying for an extra night out of her own pocket. The Nottingham hotel was equally forthcoming. Yes, many of the seminar delegates were staying an extra night. Mrs Susan Walmsley had booked her same room again and Mr Stephen Norris had done the same: with his credit card. They were not even on the same floor.

I was on the wrong track. Sue called after lunch on Thursday, to say they were winding down and heading for the bar and she may not be in touch for a while. The delegates would chat there, and later have dinner. There would be a last informal get-together at breakfast tomorrow. I asked if Stephen was with her, and she said no. He was off chasing the top saleswoman from Birmingham; she didn't think she'd see him again till breakfast. I'd misjudged her. There was not a single lie I could pin down. I didn't call her again and went to bed that night feeling ashamed. My suspicions were unfounded; she'd simply been angry about our missed Cotswolds opportunity; and now she was over it. I thought I'd better buy her some flowers. And next day I did though, as things turned out, she never saw them.

Next morning two police came to my office just before eleven. I immediately thought that one male officer and one female looked ominous.

"Mr Larry Walmsley? Your wife is Mrs Susan Walmsley?"

"That's correct."

"I regret to inform you ..."

We were at Reading hospital ten minutes later. But were too late; they hadn't been able to save her. Mrs Sue Walmsley had died on the operating table, and Mr Stephen Norris had died in the next room, five minutes earlier. There was a lot of information passed to me, but I didn't hear any of it. All I remember was the car was a write-off. I stumbled into the corridor, on the arm of a nurse. A woman wearing a business suit was flying towards us.

"That'll be Mr Norris' wife." said the nurse. "I'd better go. Will you be all right?"

I met her later in a room called 'Visitor's Private Lounge' -- someone must have pointed me out to her. There was a coffee on the table in front of me, but I'd spilled most of it. She introduced herself as Chloe Norris, and arrived with a second coffee. She was certainly coping better than I was.

"Do you know any details?" she asked.

"Nothing; they gave me some information, but I didn't really take it in. I think I'm still in shock. What do you know?"

"They were hit head-on by a tourist coach. It swerved onto their side of the road; no-one knows why yet. The medics worked on them in the ambulance, but they died in here; about five minutes apart apparently."

I sobbed.

"I just hope they didn't suffer." was all I could get out.

"Your wife; Sue isn't it?"

I nodded; she should have said 'wasn't it?'.

"Have they given you any of her belongings?"

"They haven't, why do you ask?"

"It's just the ambulances brought them here from Witney; the wrong direction to be travelling from Northampton. It's halfway between here and the Cotswolds. I'm sorry to confront you with this but I think it looks suspicious."

I sat up. Suddenly my head had cleared.

"I know exactly where Witney is!" I said.

"And I've just checked Stevie's wallet." she continued, ignoring me. "He had a receipt from some place called The Waterwheel; any idea where that is?"

"What?"

"The Waterwheel; I think it must be a hotel. If this means what I think it means, l should go and check it out. Will you come with me?"

"I will if you think it's really necessary. But why not just phone them? You'll find your husband and my wife stayed in the bridal suite."