[37] The Dream

Monday evenings were always the worst for George Mellor. A long week of monotonous nights was all he had to look forward to. As security guard for Mason and Son, manufacturers of household furniture, there was very little he could do to shake off the boredom and frustration of a job he detested. He looked round the small, cosy security office and wondered how long he could go on turning out six nights a week in all weathers, with nothing but the soporific ramblings of a radio presenter to keep him company, and the occasional stray cat which brought him out of the comfort of his chair in lukewarm pursuit.

Now and then he would encounter a stray of the human variety with mischievous intentions. George always allowed them the benefit of the doubt as they made their protestations of innocence while sitting astride the top of an eight foot iron fence. Not that he wished to face any real danger. After all, at fifty-eight he knew he wouldn’t stand much chance against a gang of villains. No, he simply longed for the unexpected; something which would break the repetitive nightly routine.

George lit his pipe and rested his feet on the low coffee table and thought of his sick wife tucked up in bed back home. Immediately he stopped thinking about his own predicament and remembered why he had carried on for so long in such a soul-destroying job. He promised himself he would give it all up in two years to look after her full-time. He knew that by then her arthritis would have overwhelmed her and no more would he be able to leave her each night to look after the property of Mason and Son.

George was quickly brought to his feet as the bright beam of a car’s headlights lit up the office momentarily as it turned into the parking area in front of the main gate. He picked up his torch and moved abruptly into the cold air. He watched the dark silhouette of a man climb out of the car and walk briskly towards the gate. George immediately raised his torch and pointed the beam towards the man’s face.

“Switch that thing off Mellor. It’s only me,” said Robert Mason, raising his arm to shield his eyes from the bright light.

George sighed with obvious relief and nervously unlocked the gate.

“Good evening Mr Mason,” he greeted his employer. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

Robert ignored him and moved off towards the main office block. Soon George was at his side.

“I’m flying to New York in the morning on urgent business,” he explained. “I’ve come to collect some important documents I need for the trip. I shan’t be very long.”

George watched him disappear along the corridor, switching on lights as he went.

“Yes sir,” he mumbled in mock respect.

He stood outside and took in the cold night air as he waited for Mr Mason to return.

George certainly did not care much for young Robert Mason. He considered him too brusque and uncaring towards his staff. He had a short temper and a sharp tongue; not the kind of employer who commands loyalty and respect, he thought. Old Mr Mason was a different man altogether, he recalled with some affection. He had always been very kind and friendly towards George. Once he had promised him a comfortable office job when a vacancy arose but old Arthur had died suddenly, leaving his son Robert in charge of the business. From that day he no longer found any pleasure or purpose in his work and whenever he brought up the subject of Arthur Mason’s promise of an office job, he was met with an air of indifference.

“He never mentioned it to me,” was his usual response.

In a few moments Robert returned carrying a pile of documents under his arm as he walked back towards his car.

“Goodnight sir. Enjoy your trip,” shouted George as he locked the gate.

Mr Mason ignored him and drove off noisily into the darkness.

“Miserable young upstart,” George whispered to himself, feeling the contempt build up inside him.

Back in the office he made himself comfortable once again, relit his pipe and picked up the evening paper. As he scanned the sports pages he had to struggle to stay awake as sleep began to overcome him. The words on the newspaper were a blur and the music from his radio faded into oblivion as his body slowly succumbed to the onslaught of sleep.

George looked down at the scene of horror below him. The peaceful calm of the sea was destroyed by the thunderous roar of the Jumbo jet as it hit the surface. He could hear the screams of the terror-stricken passengers and in an instant he saw the face of Robert Mason at the window of the jet before it disappeared. He held his hand out towards George and screamed.

“Help me George. Please help me.”

George was unable to move, no matter how hard he tried. He watched helplessly as the plane vanished in a second, leaving behind it a calm sea once again. George screamed and tried to shake himself out of his nightmare. He read the headline in the newspaper.

London to New York Jet disappears over Atlantic Ocean - No survivors.

Again George screamed as he leapt to his feet and held his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes as he came slowly back to reality.

He picked up the newspaper and searched in vain for the dramatic headline. He sat down clumsily and wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead and loosened his tie. He was shaking visibly.

***
Muriel Mason handed her husband a cup of coffee and kissed him gently on the cheek.

“You must get some sleep darling.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and watched him.

“You’ve got a long journey in front of you.”

“Just a few more minutes, I promise,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the papers in front of him as he sipped his coffee.

“Does it have to be you who makes the trip?” she protested half-heartedly.

“You know I must.”

At last he pulled his attention away from his work and smiled affectionately.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

He touched her gently on the cheek before she got up and headed towards the kitchen.

“As long as you don’t forget our visit to the country this weekend,” she called from behind the door.

“Of course not,” he assured her as he returned to his work.

In a moment she came back with a glass of milk and climbed into bed beside him.

“Isn’t it about time you delegated some of those boring business trips to someone else?” she kept up the protest.

“So that they can have a good time on fat expense accounts you mean.”

“So that’s what you do on these trips, have a good time.”

“Don’t you believe it. It’s all work and no play as far as I’m concerned.”

“Your father never troubled himself with such mundane tasks,” she challenged him. “He always had someone to represent him on such occasions.”

“My father was far too generous if you ask me,” he argued. “Sending employees abroad on expenses is one sure way of wasting good money.”

“Oh you’re impossible,” she replied with a smile.

The sound of the telephone made them both jump and they looked inquisitively at each other before Robert picked up the receiver.

“Five, six, seven, three,” he recited, looking at his watch.

“Hello...er...Mr Mason?” the voice was nervous.

“Yes, who is this?”

“It’s George, George Mellor.”

“It’s Mellor, our night watchman,” he asided to his perturbed and attentive wife. “What’s the problem Mellor?”

“Well, I...I don’t quite know how to put this sir.”

“It’s one o’clock in the morning man. I suggest you put it as briefly and simply as possible.”

“It’s just that...you know you said you were flying out to New York this morning.”

“That’s correct.”

“Well...I...you mustn’t get on that plane sir.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I had a dream...you know...a sort of premonition.”

George braced himself before continuing.

“The plane will crash into the ocean and you will be killed sir.”

“Have you gone stark raving mad?”

“I assure you Mr Mason. I am perfectly serious. You must not take that flight.”

“You expect me to miss out on a lucrative business contract at the whim of a neurotic old...”

“I beg you sir. Listen to me. You must believe...”

“That’s enough Mellor.”

Robert could not conceal his rage.

“I’ll deal with you when I get back.”

He slammed the receiver down and breathed in deeply.

“Bloody fool,” he murmured.

“What did he want darling?” asked Muriel nervously.

“Oh nothing to worry about,” he assured her. “He’s probably been drinking.”

He returned to his work.

“What was all that about a premonition?” she persisted.

“It’s nothing. Just a silly old...”

“He begged you not to go to New York didn’t he.”

“Look darling, I can’t...”

“He had some premonition of disaster and he warned you not to go.”

“It really is ridiculous,” he laughed. “I mean I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“These things happen Robert,” she pressed him. “I’ve read lots of stories about dreams and premonitions.”

“Not you as well Muriel. I really cannot take this thing seriously.”

“You mustn’t go Robert,” she pleaded.

Jumping to her knees, she faced her husband and held him by the shoulders.

“You must cancel the trip.”

“My dear, you can’t seriously believe...”

“Please Robert,” she begged him. “You can never be sure about these things.

“But the contract.”

“There’ll be other contracts.”

Robert thought for some moments before relenting.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’ll postpone the trip till Wednesday.”

“Thank you darling.”

She snuggled close to him.

“But on Wednesday I’ll have no more of this nonsense.”

“I promise.”

She kissed him gently. Robert returned her kiss and smiled contentedly.

“Premonition indeed.”

***
George walked solemnly along the elegant tree-lined terrace and braced himself against the biting wind as he searched the luxurious houses for number seventy-three. He silently admired the tasteful villas and bungalows with their well groomed gardens and expensive cars. He felt envious as he compared the splendour around him with the dreary flat he had to return to each morning. He thought again about his poor wife and how he wished he could provide for her properly with a large, comfortable house in just such a street.

He was still quite shaken after his nightmare and subsequent telephone call to Mr Mason. Soon he stopped in front of the mock Tudor mansion with it’s luxurious garden. He immediately recognised Robert’s silver Jaguar sitting regally in the driveway.

George paused at the gate and gathered his thoughts before walking slowly along the path towards the front door. He pressed the doorbell and heard the musical tones reverberate into the large house. In a second he heard the voice of Muriel Mason above her rushing footsteps.

“I’ll get it darling.”

The door swung open and George was confronted with the warm, smiling face of Mrs Mason.

“Good morning ma’am.”

He instinctively took off his cap.

“I’m Mr Mellor. I telephoned your husband earlier.”

“I thought I recognised you,” she smiled. “Please come in.”

George was suddenly struck by the contrasting warmth inside the house as he was escorted into the kitchen where Robert was enjoying a hearty breakfast.

“It’s Mr Mellor darling.”

She offered George a seat. Robert stopped eating and looked up at him.

“Don’t tell me. You’ve had another dream.”

“Robert!” Muriel chastised her husband.

“Would you like a cup of tea Mr Mellor. Or coffee?”

“No thanks Mrs Mason. I won’t stay. I only called round to apologise to Mr Mason for last night. Only I...”

“Don’t mention it,” she reassured him, then glancing directly at her husband. “We’re really very grateful, aren’t we Robert,” she prompted him.

“Er, yes. Yes...you did the right thing Mr Mellor.”

“It was just, well, at the time I thought...”

“No need to apologise,” Muriel intervened. “Besides, he’s decided to go tomorrow instead. So there’s no harm done.”

“Oh I am glad. I wouldn’t like to think that I’d caused...”

The telephone rang.

“Excuse me,” said Robert, grateful for an escape from what had become an uncomfortable situation.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of something Mr Mellor?” Muriel tried again.

“Perhaps just a quick tea then thank you. Black no sugar.”

Soon Robert returned and stood at the entrance to the kitchen. His face was a ghastly pale and his mouth hung open in shock. Muriel instantly became alarmed.

“Who was on the phone Robert? What’s happened?” she implored him.

“It was Thomas Hollister, our sales director,” he replied, his voice trembling with emotion. “The London to New York flight...it was on the radio...crashed into the Atlantic...no survivors.”

“Oh my God,” cried Muriel.

She dropped her cup which hit the floor and smashed into little pieces. She ran to her husband and threw her arms around him and wept uncontrollably. Robert stared at George in disbelief, unable to speak. George returned his gaze for some moments before he fainted, crashing to the floor amongst the shattered crockery. When George came round he was propped up against the door of the kitchen as Muriel slapped him gently on the cheeks. Robert offered him a glass of water.

“Are you all right Mr Mellor?” said Muriel with some concern.

“Yes...I...I’ll be fine in a minute or two,” he whispered, raising himself shakily to his feet.

“Sit here for a moment,” said Muriel as she pulled a chair towards him.

“Yes take it easy man,” said Robert. “You’ve had a bit of a shock.”

“Haven’t we all,” said Muriel.

“I really don’t know what to say George,” said Robert. “It’s absolutely incredible.”

“Robert, the least you can do is give George a lift,” said Muriel.

“That won’t be necessary,” replied George.

“No problem,” said Robert. “I’ve got to call in at the office this morning anyway. I’ll drop you off on the way.”

George felt much better now as he took his place beside Robert in his luxury car.

“Damn it,” exclaimed Robert. “I’ve forgotten something. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He took some keys out of his briefcase and got out of the car. In his haste he let the case fall off the seat, the contents spilling out onto the floor. George carefully picked up the case and began to replace the documents. His eyes fell upon his own name. It was a memo signed by Robert Mason, Managing Director, addressed to Personnel. It read:

Please prepare P45 and one month’s salary for Mr George Mellor (Security) - Dismissal due to industrial misconduct.

George could not believe his eyes. He read the words several times. Each time his heart sank ever deeper. Quickly he replaced the memo as Robert returned to the driving seat. They drove through the town in silence as George tried to convince himself that he had not imagined it. It was raining heavily now and a strong wind made their progress hazardous. Robert was in quite a hurry and was driving too fast for comfort. But George had other things on his mind.

“Why are you sacking me?” he began suddenly.

“What do you mean?” said Robert.

“I saw the memo in your briefcase. Is it some kind of joke?”

Robert was silent, not knowing what to say.

“Well, is it true or not?” George pressed on relentlessly.

“Alright, yes it’s true,” Robert took a deep breath. “I’m firing you.”

“But why?” pleaded George. “What do you mean by industrial misconduct?”

“You slept on the job.”

“I what?”

“You’re supposed to be employed as a night watchman and you slept on the job,” said Robert, spitting out the words.

“You mean because I dreamt of the plane crash?”

“You can’t dream without sleeping can you?”

“I don’t believe it. I save your life and you reward me by giving me the bloody sack?”

“It was a coincidence,” said Robert.

“Whether it was a coincidence or not, if I hadn’t phoned you’d be dead.”

“I suppose so.”

“You suppose so,” shouted George. “But still you’re prepared to fire me.”

“I have a business to run.”

“Don’t give me that rubbish about business,” he spoke with venom. “Give me the real reason.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Tell me the real reason behind this. There’s something I don’t know about. You’re not firing me because I slept on the job. Tell me the truth.”

George grappled frantically with Robert in his demands for an explanation. The car swerved perilously on the wet road.

“Alright, alright,” said Robert. “Take it easy and I’ll explain everything.”

George sat back and regained his composure.

“I’m waiting,” he said in a much calmer voice.

“Your father and my father started a small business back in the late thirties.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he began to unfold the details.

“Your father put up most of the capital but when war broke out he was called up.”

“Never to return,” said George bitterly.

“My father had a shrapnel wound from the first war and had to stay behind. The war was a real boon for the business and when it was all over, well, the firm went from strength to strength, until we got to where we are today.”

“What has all this got to do with me?”

“I’m coming to that,” said Robert, preparing himself for the crunch to come.

“Before my father died he made a last will and testament.”

Robert took a sharp right turn onto a narrow country road.

“In the will he stated that if you are still employed by the company at sixty years of age you are to be given an honorary directorship with a salary equivalent to three times your final salary.”

Robert paused to let the words take effect.

“Only if you are still employed at sixty.”

“So now you have found a convenient way to get rid of me.”

“My father always did have a strange sense of loyalty towards you because of your father. I suppose he felt guilty in a way.”

George let the words run over in his mind before snapping.

“Let me out of here. Stop the car,” he shouted as he opened the door and tried to jump.

“Don’t be bloody stupid man,” said Robert as he leaned across and tried to grab hold of him.

It was at that moment he lost control of the wheel. The car swerved before leaving the road. It rolled down a steep embankment as George leapt out of the open door. He hit a tree stump with an agonising thud and cried out in pain as the car plummeted into the swollen river with a tremendous crash. George looked down at the scene of horror below him as he watched the car sink slowly below the surface. He was unable to move as he watched Robert stretch out a hand towards him.

“Help me George, please help me,” he screamed, trapped inside the sinking vehicle.

George watched helplessly as the car vanished, leaving behind it a peaceful, flowing river.