CounterPoint (4 page)

“Yeah sounds good but we have to be home before midnight. I want a clear head tomorrow,” David said half-jokingly. Last thing he wanted was to travel with a hangover; he hated flying even at the best of times.

“Yeah, yeah it’ll be ok we’ll be fine,” replied Thomas flashing his cheeky grin again.

The storm continued to pelt the house. It had been raining constantly for months now. Experts were calling it a freak year for weather, which obviously meant they didn’t know how to explain it.

After dinner, they showered and changed. Thomas always dressed in the style David called ‘trendy’; funky t-shirts and trainers with a nice set of jeans. David himself always knew he dressed a little more demure than that, some would call it boring, but Thomas found it very sophisticated. A nice shirt and blazer with plain dark jeans and nice shoes seemed to him like the perfect outfit. Besides, as long as he felt comfortable, what else mattered, mused David smiling to himself while making sure his shirt was properly tucked into his jeans. At a just below average height of 5”10 he had a good build to counter it along with short neat brown hair. He had foregone his glasses long ago in favour of contacts whenever he went out socialising, but still kept a few pairs around the house for reading.

The bar music was pumping. Even the tiniest bars in Soho pumped good, loud music. David and Thomas stood at the bar catching up with Matt and a couple of others they hadn’t seen in a while. David had been under pressure with his job and it had been exam season, as Thomas called it. He had spent night after night marking hundreds of exam papers with a couple of bottles of wine for company. It was nice to get out and chill for a while.

“And how’s that mother of yours back home then?” shouted Matt over the music.

“Doing good Matt, never really changes to be honest. Heading over there tomorrow for a week. Can’t wait to get away,” replied David, sipping his vodka and white lemonade. He immediately picked up on a Whitney Houston track beginning to play and felt instantly happy. If he had one favourite artist, it was her. Thomas turned round and laughed seeing David grinning. Thomas had always joked that if David wasn’t gay, he’d have tried to marry Whitney.

“Still living in the same house over there, is she?” asked Matt, looking over his shoulder to ensure the crowd was being served at the bar. Sometimes his bar staff could be so engaging with one customer, they’d forget about the others.

“Oh yeah, we’ll never get her out of that house!” laughed David. The disco lights had just came on round the bar, bathing everyone in a full spectrum of bright party colours.

“You’ve always lived there isn’t that right? Well the family I mean. I’ve seen the photos and it’s impressive.”

“We built the house a couple of years ago but it’s still on the same plot of land. Same plot of land now for fifty years or more probably. We moved Mary in with Paul when the old house was demolished and the new one built. Amazing job, too,” answered David whilst asking for another round of drinks for everyone before heading to the bathroom. The one thing he liked about this gay bar was it had gender separate toilets. Most didn’t, which he just found disturbing.

Drying his hands under the electric dryer, David saw something move in the mirror facing him. Slightly drunk, he turned round to find an old, average height and lightly made up man in a grey suit standing in the corner of the bathroom, in the opposite corner from the door. Taking his hands away from the dryer, there was now complete silence in the room. 

“You ok mate?” queried David. The man simply stood there, staring at him through grey eyes and thin wiry glasses. He then walked forward slowly, step by step. His polished black heeled shoes clapped sharply on the white marble tiles. 

“Mr Bassett. Good evening. I am here to deliver a personal message, from who is not your concern. Suffice to say I am acting on the will of God,” he said confidently with the tone of a far older knowledgeable man.

David backed up against the stone sink cabinets, feeling the coldness touch his back. Now inches apart, David could do nothing but simply stare, overcome by a sudden sick feeling, that feeling you get when you’re walking down a street late at night on your way home and there’s no light. A strange, inexplicable power emanated from this person. He was so imposing despite his advancing years; if he was human David would have estimated around seventy years.

“Things are changing Mr Bassett. A storm is approaching this world and not one living thing can escape it. Events are about to unfold which will place you and your family at the centre. Just remember, nothing is as it seems. Trust no one. When the time comes, stand firm,” he said, before vanishing in front of his eyes. No smoke, no noise, nothing. He simply vanished. David took a moment to breathe, and wipe the sweat from his forehead. He suddenly realised a distinct coldness had overtaken the room as a result of the presence of this creature. His breath made small clouds of vapour in the frigid space. He turned round and looked into the mirror which was now iced. He was light-headed and sick to the stomach. After splashing his face with warm water, he composed himself and went back to the bar to try and enjoy the rest of the night. That may have been asking too much.

“Were you ok tonight?” asked Thomas in the taxi on the way home, looking at him with concern. “You seemed very quiet half way through.”

The taxi swished down one of London’s main motorways towards the Thames. The motorway was deserted and the storm continued to pelt down. David turned to look at him, gripped his hand and smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine. Was a good night, just think the drink hit me a bit hard. I’m not a seasoned alcoholic like yourself just yet,” joked David hoping to take the edge off the conversation.

Thomas mocked a ‘How dare you’ face and then smiled broadly. “As long as you had a good time,” he said.

“Oh I did,” replied David.  Staring out the window of the taxi into the dark woodlands beyond the motorway, he got a cold shiver like the one in the bathroom.  He glanced down to make sure the door was locked. He asked the taxi how much longer, wanting to get home as quickly as possible. What a depressing evening altogether.

Chapter 4

Across the Irish Sea was Dublin, capital of the Irish Republic and home to David’s small, close-knit family.  Living in an upmarket area in the South of Dublin on Henderson Road, the family mansion stood proud. Mary, David’s grandmother and certainly the matriarch of the family lived here. Mary Bassett was your typical ‘old Irish battle-axe’; never afraid to speak her mind, and in very blunt, candid terms at that. As head of a small but very independently minded family, she occasionally had to crack the whip and give whoever was starting trouble a good ‘talking to’.

At just four foot ten inches, she was a small lady with a loud voice. Although now slightly plump due to her advancing years of retirement and love of biscuits, she cared not. She was past that stage. She now enjoyed a simple quiet life, due in no small part to the kind-heartedness and compassion of her children and grandchildren.  She often mused that whilst she may have lived in this beautiful detached house all she really wanted was the best for her children. If they were happy then she was happy. There was little interest from her in the expensive cars or designer clothes the children indulged in. She didn’t mind of course, they were successful in their own right and entitled to do what they please. Her two children both ran successful million-pound businesses and Mary herself possessed a lavish inheritance which even now was still providing for the family. The family was small though, compared to other Irish families with Mary only having one daughter and one son. She always believed the only people you could truly rely on were family. That had been drilled into her from a very young age.

“Mum, do you fancy a cup of tea?” asked Mary’s daughter. Whilst slightly taller and slim, she looked like a younger version of her mother through and through. Catherine and her daughter, Claire, lived with Mary. As the years progressed Mary had needed more and more care. With David pursuing his career and Catherine able to delegate most of her responsibilities in work they were fortunate enough to be able to concentrate on Mary’s failing health.

“Yes please, darling,” replied Mary while taking off her large gold coloured rounded seeing glasses to clean them on her colourful jumper. “And a couple of chocolate biscuits as well, the nice one’s we got from Macker’s bakery today.”

“Yes, Mum.”  Catherine busied herself in the kitchen making the tea and finding the biscuits her mum was talking about. She took a moment to giggle to herself. Her mum was an insulin dependent diabetic and wasn’t meant to be eating chocolate or sweets. Yet in every cupboard of the house were stockpiles of chocolates and cakes and buns. When confronted, Mary simply retorted, ‘Well I’m not getting any younger, there’s not much that’s going to help me now.’

“Here you go Mum,” said Catherine, putting the tea and biscuits down in front of her TV dinner table she always had beside her when sitting in the living room.

An episode of
Mrs Brown’s Boys
, one of Mary’s favourite TV programmes, was playing on the television. Catherine looked at her Mum’s ring, which was sparkling brightly. It was truly beautiful.

“Cathy, can you make sure we have some candles handy. That storm outside is getting worse and knowing the reliability of Dublin’s electricity we’re probably gonna have a blackout,” said Mary, dipping her chocolate biscuit into a mug of hot milky tea.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine, Mum, it’s not the Stone Age anymore,” laughed Catherine.

Suddenly, all the lights in the house cut out and the television screen was reduced to a blank black surface. They were now in complete darkness.

“So, yes dear, if we’ve any candles handy that would be great,” replied Mary casually, dunking another biscuit into her tea and smiling broadly.

“I’ll go and get some candles,” replied Catherine, rolling her eyes and using the light from her mobile to guide the way.

***

The next evening, David and Thomas were never as glad to see Claire waiting for them outside Dublin International Airport. Their plane had been repeatedly delayed due to the raging storms, and Thomas’ severe hangover forced him to rush to the bathroom on more than one occasion during flight. 

Claire, David’s sister, was a young woman of strong will and deep talent. With striking flowing brown hair and hazel eyes she always ensured she looked her very best, even when doing a simple airport collection. The weather was horrid, thunderstorms continued to rain down on them. It was even bad for Ireland. People ran around the entrance area in feeble attempts to dodge the massive dollops of rain catapulting down from the sky.

Putting the suitcases into the back of the black 4x4 jeep, David jumped into the front seat.  “Hey sis,” he said, grabbing her for a bear hug and kiss on the cheek, which she enthusiastically returned. “How’s things?  Gran keeping OK?”  The vehicle sped off in the torrential downpour, throwing water on every surrounding pavement. He turned the heated seats on. Damn, either it was real cold or he was getting old, he thought.

“She’s doing fine; you know Gran. Rough and ready as ever,” laughed Claire, putting the window wipers on full blast and switching the side lights on. “This weather is crazy bro, absolute madness. The government’s talking about massive road works to try and help the sewage system. I’m just glad we live on a hill. And how’ve you been keeping Thomas? See you’re looking as fine as ever,” she teased. Claire and Thomas always had that sporty, playful relationship from the very start. He was the only person Claire ever approved of, she could be quite an intimidating and hard to impress person.

“I’m good, missus, though living with your brother would put years on anyone,” cracked Thomas, laughing at his own joke along with Claire. David replied that it was probably the other way around and that he was shocked that he hadn’t succumbed to alcoholism before now. Something then caught David’s ear on the radio and he turned the volume up.

“….
it has been confirmed that Pope Vincent VI has passed away. This sudden announcement has shocked Catholics around the world. The young Pope was considered to be in excellent health and the Vatican is not yet releasing any information on the cause of death. We’ll bring you updates as we get them.”

“Jesus!” gasped David. He wasn’t religious in any way but the suddenness of the news shocked him.

“That’s awful,” said Claire, visibly saddened.

She always reminded David of Mum, considerate for others she didn’t even know.

The car sped along one of Dublin’s grey, dull looking motorways which now resembled shallow lakes. Every country around the world had been trying to improve its infrastructure over the past few months to cope with the astronomical amount of rain pouring down. Not to mention the extreme wind and lightning that had damaged almost every skyscraper across the world. Visibility was almost zero. He couldn’t wait to see his mum and gran; the sooner the better.

That evening before dinner, the family sat in the living room mesmerised by the news on the television. While the décor of the living room had changed over the years as Mary grew older and her daughter took over running the house, the layout had always remained the same. Mary insisted on placing all the sofas around the fire and not the television. A compromise was eventually reached with a flat screen attached to the wall above the fireplace. The rest of the living room was light neutral colours with a lot of warm wall lights and family photos.

Mary was in her usual armchair with a small table close for all her ‘essentials’ – television remotes, phone, sweets and a box of hankies. She was knitting a light pink jumper for the neighbour’s soon to be fourth child across the road. David, Thomas and Catherine all sat watching what was now sporadic violence spreading across the Catholic world. Momentous claims of foul play, murder and conspiracies illuminated the news channels like nothing before. Claims had just made world headlines that the current Pope had actively engaged in the assault of children during his time as a Cardinal. The Vatican itself had come out blazing in its denial. The late Pope, however, had not been seen in many weeks before his death and had cancelled some of the major calendar events. Some feared there may be some truth to the allegations, thus his notable absence in a time of digital media and 24 hour news reporting. He had been kept more and more in the confines of Vatican City, shrouded in secrecy and protection.