Life, fate and injured dogs

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It's funny how life is. How the smallest and most insignificant thing
can utterly change your life forever. Have you ever thought about how a
seemingly unrelated chain of events can combine in mysterious ways to
take you places you would have never dreamed of? Some call it destiny.
For thirty-five-year old Jack Palmer the last thing on his mind was
destiny or fate. As he sat on a train packed full of grey suits he
would never have guessed that destiny was about to hit him full in the
face, his life changed forever by a broken alarm clock, a broken down
truck and a dog with a broken leg. For Jack it was just another grey
Tuesday. He worked as an accountant for a large firm that was based in
a grey concrete building, in London, where even the pigeons were grey.
He sighed as he turned the pages of the newspaper, looking around the
carriage as it sped through the grey overcast morning. All were
business men and women in grey suits. He saw most of them everyday, but
never bothered to talk to them and avoided eye contact when he could. A
mobile phone rang, a cough and the monotonous rhythm of the train. The
same everyday. Jack rubbed his eyes took a sip of his half-empty coffee
and contemplated his life. Was he going mad stuck in this train, or was
it the onset of a mid life crisis? Wasn't there more to life than
working nine to five, then playing golf and drinking on the weekend?
Twenty five minutes later and the train ground to a halt at the station
and the doors hissed open. The grey suits poured out and rushed towards
the exit sign, disappearing down the stairs like a mass of water down a
sinkhole. Jack was the last off the train and paced towards the exit
sign. He paused for a moment by an advertisement, not caring that the
drizzle was slowly soaking his overcoat. A picture of a tropical
island, with crystal blue sea, and luscious green hills. A smiling girl
with coffee brown skin and a red flower behind her ear looked outwards.
The caption read, 'Taylos. Taste paradise.' He studied it. Normally
sceptical about advertisement ploys, Jack thought that the people
behind the ad had chosen a perfect location for the picture, in the
middle of a dull train station. Yet for the first time since he
splashed out on a brand new BMW, Jack surprised himself by making an on
the spot decision - he would visit Taylos. His short walk on the
congested streets to his office building was a lot brighter than it had
been for a long time. During his lunch break Jack amazed his colleagues
by not eating his usual egg salad baguette at the office canteen, but
instead rushing out of the office to the nearest cyber café. Within
minutes he had found a cheap flight leaving on Saturday 22nd at 10:55am
and booked it. The ticket was non refundable and the last one left, but
hey, there was no way he'd miss that plane. The next step was
convincing his aged boss it was a good idea. A little later he knocked
on the solid door of Sir Henry Arthur Burns, the retired army officer
who still believed it was 1943. He stood before the oak desk, behind
which the bald headed eagle sat. He felt like a nervous schoolboy
trying to excuse his lateness. He gave his case, "I've been working
quite hard recently, there's no urgent need for me at the moment, and I
could use the break." The old man scowled and Jack waited for the
inevitable war story about the desert rats, and how back then men
didn't need to take breaks. Instead the man scratched his head, stared
up from the spectacles that were perched on his nose and said,
"Alright, but you better be back in time for the Sanders account." Two
weeks later, Jack had packed his most colourful shirts, bought a new
pair of flowery shorts and was peacefully dreaming of warm beaches and
beautiful brown girls. Tickets and passport lay on the table, next to
the picture of his ex-wife and a half-full coffee cup from the day
before. He slept soundly, something he had not been able to do for many
years, and when his eyes pried themselves open to see the morning
sunshine peaking through the curtains, he felt as if he was already on
holiday. He stretched, got up and smiled to himself. Then sudden panic
kicked him in the ribs and slapped his cheeks! His bed side clock was
not ticking as it usually did, had he overslept and missed his flight?
He grabbed the clock and shook it, but of course that did nothing.
"Shit!" he exclaimed, before throwing the thing into the dirty pile of
underwear in the corner of the room. "Shit, what time is it?" Rushing
up he searched for his wristwatch, found it and almost screamed when he
saw the time was 9:30. He was late and the morning traffic meant it
would take forever to get to the airport. Without further thought he
moved like lightning, dressing himself and frantically brushing his
teeth. Deciding not to shave he rushed downstairs grabbed his suitcase,
which he had fortunately packed the previous night, and jumped into his
car. The engine roared and he sped out of his drive, turned left at the
road and raced towards the airport. The dashboard clock kept good time
and informed him that he better move fast. He stepped on the
accelerator and shot past a traffic light just as it was turning red.
He could just make it if he were lucky. But his luck was out. The road
ahead was a solid wall of traffic. "Shit!" he shouted to himself, his
knuckles white as he grasped the steering wheel. Stopping behind a
lorry he flicked on the radio to hear any traffic reports, and reached
for the road map. There had to be a way out of this, had to be! As the
traffic paced slowly onwards he leafed through the thick city map. He
saw an alternative route, at the next junction. He felt a relief that
he could still make it, but the damn clock reminded him otherwise. The
car waited for five tense minutes before the traffic inched forwards
again, the adrenaline pumping in his body made him want to ditch the
car and run. Another five minutes later the smirky radio DJ told him
that a lorry had broken down and was blocking the road. Yet the
junction was in sight, and he was shortly driving down it, happy to be
moving again. This route was strange to him, through a residential
area, but he had faith that it would be faster than waiting in traffic.
If only that clock had not died he would be waiting at the airport now,
enjoying a coffee after checking in. He jammed the pedal to the floor
and burned down the street at breakneck speed. He could still make it.
A roundabout put him in the right direction and fortunately the gods of
the road had given him a traffic free route. Doing a quick calculation
in his head he realised that he could get to the airport with maybe a
minute or two to spare, if he was lucky. Overtaking an elderly driver
he sped past rows of brick houses, all with small gardens and parked
cars. The radio played a soppy love song and¦ Thump! A brown shape in
the corner of his eyes had flown into the road; instinctively he
stamped on the breaks and swerved. But it was too late. The car
screeched to a halt and out of the window Jack saw a little coal
skinned boy with eyes and mouth wide open in horror. "Shit," he said to
himself before jumping out of the car. The boy bent down beside the car
and began crying wildly. A closer inspection revealed a small brown dog
lying mangled up beside the back wheel. Without meaning to be callous
Jack checked his watch, and a momentary idea from the dark side of his
psyche told him to get back in the car, reverse over the dog and drive
off. His better half took control when he saw the boy's tears dripping
onto the dog. It was still alive and looking sadly up at its master. He
bent down beside the boy. "I'm really sorry," he said, "where's your
house, shall I take him there?" The boys watering eyes looked up at the
middle aged man with receding hairline and the sobs were replaced with
a loud sniff. "Is he gonna be ok?" "I dunno kid, let's take him home
shall we?" An old woman appeared behind them. "There's a vets on the
next street, it's very close, you can take him there." "Thanks," Jack
said, resigning himself to the fact that his flight would take off
without him. "Let's put him in the car." Gently Jack picked up the
whimpering animal and carried him to the vehicle. "I'm coming too," the
boy said, between pitifull sobs. "Ok, but you better call your mum and
tell her where you're going." Opening the passenger door the boy got
in, and Jack passed the dog into his arms, hoping that the blood
wouldn't stain his upholstery. He got into the drivers seat and gave
the boy his mobile phone. "Here, call her now." He drove off, nodding
to the old woman who was looking worried. The vetenary surgery,
fortunately, was not far. He drove into the car park and opened the
door for the boy. Together they rushed into the building and towards
reception. A young lady behind the counter saw them come in, and saw
the dog in the boy's arms. "Can you help us?" Jack said. "I ran over
this dog and it looks quite bad." He must have sounded concerned
because the girl tried to calm him down. "It's alright sir, we'll look
after him." She called to someone called Judy and an older lady
appeared as if from nowhere and took the dog away. "He'll be alright,"
Jack heard someone say. Jack and the boy sat down together, and must
have looked a sight to the other people waiting in reception. One sat
sniffing with a hopeless look on his face, the other staring blankly
into space. They sat there in silence for a long while. After a time
the nurse came back out, and both boy and man looked up expectantly.
She came over. "Will DJ be ok?" the boy asked, barely suppressing a new
round of tears. What the fuck kind of name is that for a dog? Jack
thought to himself. "Now don't be worried," the woman said, "DJ has a
broken leg, but apart from that he is alright. We're just fixing him
up. It will take a few weeks to heal and he may have a limp afterwards,
but I think that he will be fine." A sudden emotion overwhelmed Jack,
and he had to bite the tears back. He didn't know why, but the whole
situation; the crying boy, the injured dog, the missed flight and now
this woman who was so soothing and nice just made him want to cry. A
mixture of sadness for the boy, happiness that the dog was okay, added
with the stress of the day so far was just too much for him. He got up,
told the boy he would be back and went and bought a packet of
cigarettes from a corner shop. He hadn't smoked for eight years, and
the first one tasted horrible. He came back with red eyes and stinking
of smoke, his hair ruffled. A tall fat woman, obviously the boy's
mother stood when the boy indicated, "That's the man." Jack walked
over, the woman had a stern look on her face like she was about to spit
at him or slap him with her leather handbag. "I'm so sorry," he said,
"you don't have to worry about expenses I'll cover everything." Her
face lightened upon seeing the accountant in that state of
self-loathing and concern. "Well the important thing is that DJ is
going to be alright, and it wasn't your fault. He's a young dog and you
have to keep an eye on him or he'll be off in a shot." "If there's
anything I can do¦" he said reaching into his wallet to give his
business card. "Just call me¦ anything." The clock above a grey haired
old lady with a mangy old cat indicated it was 10:45. "Thank you," the
woman said taking the card. "It's not my dog, it's my sisters. We were
just looking after him for a while; she had to go to Liverpool for the
weekend. She'll be worried sick. I'll give her your card and you can
sort it out with her but I'll give you my phone number and address for
now." She scribbled down an address in messy hand writing on a scrap of
paper with a shopping list on the back. "I'll put my sister's there as
well." He took in and put it in his wallet. "You look so worried," she
said. "Why don't you go home now and get some rest." "Okay, but I'll
call later to see if everything is alright." He left, and drove home in
silence. He cursed the day, cursed the damn alarm and himself for
driving so fast. He cursed the broken lorry and cursed his life. Why
didn't anything go right for him? A failed marriage, a boring job, and
a decreasing hairline. He was reminded of a saying he had heard once
'life's a bitch and then you die,' or another favourite 'nobody dies a
virgin because life fucks us all!' He got home, left the car in the
drive and walked straight down the local where he got thoroughly drunk.
The next morning he awoke with a pounding head, and a terrible ringing
in his ears. The phone was bellowing and the high pitch ring cut
through every fibre in his body. Tearing himself out of bed he searched
for the source of his present agony. The phone lie next to the smashed
alarm clock, he picked it up. "Hello?" "Mr. Palmers?" "Yes." "Hi, this
is Tracy Stone." "Tracy Stone?" "Yes, you ran over my dog." "Oh yeah,
look I'm really sorry¦How is he?" "No it's okay, he'll be fine." "Thank
God." "Yeah the bill is here for the vets¦" "Alright, I'll go there
today and settle it. I'm really sorry; it was my fault I was driving
too fast." "Don't worry about it, my sis told me you were very
concerned." "Yeah, I felt so guilty, such a cute dog. If there's
anything I can do¦" "No really, I should say thanks really, he's a
hyperactive dog - never stays still. And you were so kind." "It's the
least I can do. Are you sure he's alright?" "Yeah sure. He's recovering
very fast." "That's good." A little while later, Jack forced himself
into the shower, had a badly needed shave and then breakfast. He drove
straight over to the vets with the window wound down despite the chill
of the morning. Driving down the same streets he remembered vividly the
previous day. The thump and the tears. It stressed him, and he
immediately thought of smoking again. Soon he was at the vets. The
sleek BMW glided into the car park and stopped. Just as he was about to
step outside he realised there were no other cars and it was Sunday,
everywhere was closed! "Shit." He head butted the steering wheel and
the horn sounded. Beep, beep. "Shit, shit, shit." Driving all that way
and the place was closed. His head ached and he felt sick. He was still
in England instead of a beach on a hot tropical island. Just then it
started to rain. Not wanting to come back tomorrow and settle the bill,
he suddenly remembered he had Tracy's address in his wallet. It was
better to square things with her instead of wasting his time driving
all the way out here for no reason. Taking the shopping list out of his
wallet, he flipped it over and tried to read the writing. 15 Palace
Place, Roesham, hmmm not far. A second later the car reversed, turned
and was back on the road. This part of town was very quiet this time of
day on a Sunday, and he quickly found his way using the road map.
Within minutes he was outside of a fairly large house, with a beautiful
garden and a big red door. This was it, he thought and stepped out of
the car. A gravel path lead him to the door, and he rang the bell.
Moments later he could see movement behind the blurred glass, and the
door swung open to reveal a young woman in the doorway with an
expectant look on her face. She was quite beautiful, dark brown skin
the colour of ebony, slim, and an intelligent look in her eyes. "Ah,
good morning," Jack began. "Er, I'm Jack Palmer." The woman looked
quizzically at him. "The guy who ran over your dog." "Ah, yes, I'm
Tracy. Why don't you come in?" She stepped aside and let Jack walk in.
The house was tidy and neat, with yellow walls and the faint smell of
dog mixed with incense. He followed her past a stereo playing light
music, into the living room. "I'm really sorry about all this," Jack
said. "Take a seat," Tracy said gesturing towards the sofa. He sat and
felt comfortable. "Coffee?" "Yes please, that would be lovely." Moments
later Tracy came with two steaming cups of coffee. As she bent to put
them on a small table loaded with fashion magazines, Jack couldn't help
but look down her top. Nice. His gaze shifted when she stoop upright.
"I just went down the vets, but totally forgot it was Sunday," he said.
She laughed, her pearly white teeth showing. "You must think I'm really
stupid." "Not at all, I do that myself." She sipped the hot drink. Jack
looked around, an empty dog basket lie beside a fire place. Some dried
flowers on the television and a bookcase stuffed full of literature.
For the next two hours they talked easily about dogs, art and films.
They laughed and joked. The hours seemed like minutes and Jack saw the
time and thought that Tracy might be uncomfortable with a stranger in
her house. Perhaps she was just talking to be polite and didn't want to
tell him to leave. "It's getting late, you must be getting bored of
me," he said. "Not at all," she replied. "I'd better be going." She
showed him to the door and he shook her hand before leaving. He took
two steps towards his car, stopped and turned back. Tracy was watching
him go. "One more thing," he said, "would you like to go for a drink
with me sometime?" She smiled, "Okay, when?" "Tommorow?" "Okay, great."
Two years later Jack went on his knee and proposed, Tracy accepted.
They spend their honeymoon in Tylos and Jack never cursed his bad luck
again. He understood the meaning of destiny. If it wasn't for his alarm
clock, the broken lorry, or DJ's broken leg, he would never have fallen
in love.