(4) Life Of Riley
Who had said he had a life of riley? His mother? Someone else, not Scottish but familiar with Brit dramas and sitcoms? His cousin Heather, two yolk Heather he called her, just to piss her off. She wasn’t the braggart the nickname implied, but the suggestion got her going and that was always good for a laugh. Maybe it was Jordan, he liked to tease.
Andrew sat propped up in his own bed, sipping the coffee that Hetty had only just delivered. He’d been pleasantly surprised and then unpleasantly embarrassed. It was Hetty’s vacation after all, and he was the host. She didn’t seem bothered. Mind you, other than the Sophia-Mervyn-Polly triangle, little seemed to bother her. Well maybe the Murdoch scandal.
He was pleased to see blue sky through his window. Maybe the day would unfold accordingly. He was to travel with Dennis to an undisclosed location, which Dennis had already indicated, much to Andrew’s amusement, could not be revealed beforehand on the grounds of national security. Andrew had asked if he was to be blindfolded. Dennis hadn’t anticipated that eventuality but thought it sounded like fun. Andrew had observed that the car’s dimensions might severely inhibit any attempt at blind man’s buff. Dennis played dumfounded, he hadn’t said anything about going in the buff. Yes, Andrew thought, mid-reminiscence, today would be fun.
Dennis picked him up a little after ten. Vee hopped out from the back seat, surprising him. She was going to babysit Hetty. Girl couldn’t be trusted in her own. Maybe they’d stroll into town for a bit of shopping. Andrew had just finished apologising for leaving Hetty to her own devices, and, despite her I-rather-like-my-own-devices retort, was relieved to hear this. Vee kissed him lightly on the cheek, wished them happy hunting and scooted off. Dennis smiled and nodded, and Andrew slid in beside him.
They seemed to be headed in a Kitchener direction, highway first then sideroads. A weekday morning, with little traffic and certainly no-one tailing them, unless they had, as Andrew observed, some kind of invisibility shield, the freshening countryside unfolded itself for their pleasure. That and a newish performance of the Bach keyboard concertos, whose rolling gait seemed to perfectly match their mood and speed. And although the planned deceit of the near future hung between them, it seemed suspended with more firmness than fragility. Neither felt like airing the issue, each suspecting the other’s comfort zone had been favourably established.
As the outskirts of Kitchener surrounded them and Andrew allowed himself to wonder if they had reached their destination, Dennis pulled into a motel lot and parked. Glancing at his watch, he announced his imminent return. Noting the still running engine, Andrew asked if there were any last minute instructions. Was he to be the default getaway driver perhaps. Dennis pursed his lips pensively, looked skywards for a second and said No, he thought not. But do keep the Bach warm.
Andrew looked about. Nervously. High value targets usually brought their own highly prized assassins with them. Perhaps Andrew would be the last person to see himself alive. His mocking thought amused him and kept him charmed for the few seconds it took for Dennis to lead the two men from their anonymous lair to the car’s back seat. Each had a small suitcase and looked for all the world like two farmers dressed for Sunday church. As they settled Andrew turned and nodded. Each looked at him warily with watery and perfunctory smiles. Dennis backed up and they exited the lot smoothly and methodically. The Bach concertos were still playing as they ratcheted up to highway speed and Andrew got the impression their passengers were enjoying the culture. He half turned and saw them both with small smiles and glad eyes.
