terristories

Across a slate sky showing the first signs of dawn, streaky clouds were beginning to soften with a pink glow. The hurried footsteps of commuters echoed off darkened buildings and people streamed into office blocks, like ants being sucked into a Hoover. Cars roared along the still-quiet roads, demons taking possession of the city while they still could, before the madness of the morning rush hour that would bring traffic to a standstill. Nearby a siren wailed, shattering the peculiar peace of the winter morning in Dublin.

As sharp air bit at exposed skin not hidden under jacket, gloves or hat, Jayne blinked to clear her vision, which had become misty from the cold, as she walked towards one of the new characterless buildings that were springing up all over the city as part of the urban renewal projects. It was her opinion that the authorities would have been better off insisting that the new buildings be in keeping with the style of the older buildings - the stately georgian facades or those with graceful colonnades added a touch of character and class to what she saw as an ugly, grey, sprawling mass. But that wasn't going to happen in a place where deals were made on brown paper envelopes over a friendly pint of Guinness.

What did she know, anyway, she thought as she entered a cavernous, pristine foyer and pressed the button to call the elevator. She was merely one of the thousands of faceless office workers who filled the buildings during the day, Monday to Friday, nine till five.
A disembodied voice announced that the lift had arrived at the fourth floor, accompanied by a "ting!" designed, she supposed, to be cheerful. Shiny stone-coloured floors reflected up at her as the doors slid open and she wondered just how stupid engineers thought people must be to think that something like that would cheer up the little grey people who spent their lives filling the big grey buildings.

The rubber soles of her shoes squeaked across the tiles and she was relieved when she reached the carpeted floor, because the sound seemed eerily loud in the quiet of the early morning. As usual, Jayne was the first to arrive in her section. She flipped the light switch and a brief buzz was followed by a low, long hum as all the lights came on in sequence, one by one, lighting up patches of the wing at a time. The sight of rows of desks and partitions stretching out endlessly reminded her of a chicken farm she had once visited as a child. She hadn't eaten chicken since, her silent protest in defence of the poor creatures who were fooled into believing they were living in a natural environment when in fact they were destined to never see real daylight, shut away in a simulated environment of false days and nights.

Sometimes Jayne thought she knew how they felt. In the depths of winter it was dark when she arrived at work, and by the time the day was over daylight had already vanished. She barely had time to eat lunch in the canteen downstairs during the day, never mind take the entire hour's break to which she was entitled in order to take a walk in the fresh air. Not that there was often sunshine to be enjoyed anyway in this bleak, dreary country.

Jayne was a foreigner in Dublin. A native of Australia she had flown to the other side of the world, a bright-eyed nineteen-year-old during her year of breaking out and seeing the world before settling into whatever career choice she had assumed would make itself apparent, given enough time. She had gone to London first, and within a month had met Conor, a handsome Irishman who had swept her off her feet with his wit and charm.
That was four years ago.
At first things had been wonderful. Conor had been captivated by her bubbly, outgoing personality and they had travelled together all over Europe, working in bars and restaurants or any other place that would pay them enough to keep them in food and wine. After two years, though, his Irish-ness had called him home to the Emerald Isle. At twenty-five he had wanted to settle down and make a home, have a family.
It had sounded wonderful to her and she had accompanied him willingly.

But Conor in Ireland had turned out to be a very different person to Conor anywhere else. His Mammy ruled their family with an iron fist and had taken an instant dislike to Jayne, not least because she wasn't Irish. Nonetheless, Jayne was nothing if not stubborn and she held onto the belief that in time, the man she had fallen in love with in London would re-emerge and her happiness would be secured.
Now she was no longer so sure.

Setting her handbag down at her desk she switched on her computer, opened her email and went off the little kitchenette in the corner to make herself a cup of the brew that passed for coffee here. On returning to her desk she saw that she had 78 unread emails. Sighing, she started scrolling through the list, deleting the spam and glancing quickly at those marked for the attention of "All Staff". She stopped as one of the message subject headers caught her eye. It read "Opportunity in Paris", from someone called John Bergmann. Instead of deleting it as she normally would anything from someone she didn't recognize, something prompted her to read the message.

"Dear Jayne,
I was given your email address by Cathy McCabe who recommended I get in touch with you regarding a position that has become available here in Paris with my company.
We are looking for someone who is fluent in French but also knows something about Australia and Cathy said that she thought you may be interested in the job. It would involve some travelling but the rewards would be excellent for you.
If you are interested in hearing more, please contact me by reply email and we can arrange a telephone call so that I can give you the details.
From what Cathy has told me, I realise you may be a little sceptical so please feel free to get in touch with her and check up on me.
Regards,
John Bergmann"

Cathy McCabe? Jayne shook her head in bewilderment. She had met Cathy on her travels a couple of years ago, and Cathy had flown over to Dublin for a spot of sightseeing last summer, spent a night at Jayne and Conor's place and then left again. They had probably not exchanged more than three emails in the entire time since then, although she and Jayne had gotten along really well. She knew Jayne lived in Paris and travelled a lot but the details of her job had somewhat escaped Jayne. Now she wished she had paid more attention.

Paris. Now there was a place she loved. She been to the city four times so far and each time had fallen more in love with it. It had been tempting, the last time, to stay there but Conor's need to come home to Ireland had put paid to that idea. Staring out of the window, she wondered what it was that had made Cathy refer this person, John, to her.
Daylight had crept up on the city outside but it was now merely dull and overcast and as she stared it began to rain, a few soft spatters at first before turning into a torrential downpour. She thought it was, quite possibly, the most depressing sight she had seen. The rain just never seemed to end in this place and suddenly she knew that this email may be the beginning of the rest of her life.
It offered a glimmer of hope that she hadn't realised she so desperately needed. She shot off an email to Cathy and then got on with her daily tasks.

An hour later, Cathy replied. It turned out John Bergmann headed a company that had business dealings with Australia, which was why she had thought of Jayne.

"I hope you don't think it too presumptious of me, Jayne, but you really didn't look all that happy the last time I saw you and I just thought you might be ready for a change. And I remember how much you loved Paris, so it was a natural choice. John is a good man and he looks after his people well."

That was all the encouragement Jayne needed, so she replied to his email and sat down to wait. Half an hour later her mobile phone rang and a strong, friendly male voice introduced himself as John and asked if she was free to talk. Grabbing her coat she hurried downstairs and out the back of the building to a quiet, sheltered spot where she couldn't be overheard by her colleagues, who had by then started filling the desk farm around her.
After a long conversation with a man she had never met but instinctively liked, she knew she had made her decision. There were still details to sort out but the job sounded like a challenge she could take on with enthusiasm, involving some administration, some PR, some translating and some travel. Since travel was her favourite pastime she didn't see this as a problem and silently thanked her mother for insisting she learn to speak French like a native. At the time it had been because her mother was of French ancestry, but the why's and wherefore's didn't matter now. It had paid off and John Bergmann seemed happy with the way the phone call had gone. All that remained was for Jayne to organize her exit from Ireland.

The first thing she did was email Cathy to thank her for the referral.

The second thing she did was make herself another cup of sludge-in-a-coffee-cup.

The third thing she did was type out her letter of resignation.

All of this, of course, was designed to delay the fourth thing she had to do and that was to talk to Conor.

"Conor here." He answered his direct line in his business voice.

"Hi, Babe it's me, Jayne," she said.

"Yeh, I can hear that. What's up?" She was glad to hear him relax. It meant he was alone and would be able to talk.

"Listen, I was just on the phone to a bloke in Paris," she started, deciding to blurt out the whole thing before she lost her nerve.

"What the hell? Where did this come from, Jayne? Why didn't you tell me you were out looking for another job? Feck's sake, woman, what's got into you? You can't just drop a bombshell like this on a man out of the blue!"

"Conor, calm down!" she hissed over the phone, trying to keep her voice down. "It's not like I went looking for this. He came to me. I just think, you know, it would be good for me. This is just not working out the way I thought it would. I hate living here. You must know that! There's no way you could possibly be blind enough to see how unhappy I've been."

"What, so that's it? Don't you love me anymore, is that what you're saying? I know it's been a bit rocky for a while but I love you. You know that, don't you?"

Jayne was silent for a moment, then she replied, "No Conor, I don't know that. I used to think I did, but lately it just seems we're always fighting about something." Mostly your mother, she thought.

"Jaysus, Jaynie, I had no idea."

"Yeah, well..." she trailed off.

"So are you saying you're leaving me?"

Jayne thought her heart would break at the way he said it, his beautiful deep lilting voice cracking slightly.

"Oh God, Conor, I don't know. I just know I have to do this. I do love you, I just don't think we can carry on here, you know?"

"So what if I come with you?" he said.

She thought he was joking. "Oh would you be serious please! You couldn't stay away from this God-forsaken place before, what makes you think you could do it now?"

"Jayne, if it meant I not losing you, I'd follow you to the end of the earth," he said quietly and her heart leapt. Maybe there is hope after all?

"Tell you what, Babe, you think about it a bit before you make any hasty decisions, okay. We'll talk about it when I get home tonight."

She could see her boss beckoning her into his office across the room so she quickly ended the conversation and headed over, taking a deep breath to steel herself for what was coming. He started by glaring at her, asking if her resignation was some twisted ploy to get a raise in salary. When he saw that there was more to it than that he tried to pull a guilt trip on her - they were in the middle of a project and she would be leaving them short-handed and besides, she was the only one who knew the system properly. She couldn't help but marvel at the man's idiocy. After two years of abusing her willingness to work hard, taking credit for things that she had done and short-changing her on her overtime, he actually believed he could charm her into staying.
He failed miserably and she left his office suppressing an urge to laugh out loud.

When she got back to her desk, her phone was ringing. She groaned when she saw the number on Caller ID. It was Conor's mother. Great! Oh well, best get this over with, she decided and answered with her best syrupy-sweet voice.

"Hi Margaret."

"Don't you 'Hi Margaret' me, you little Aussie tart!"

"It's a pleasure to hear your voice too, Margaret..."

"You may have my Conor under your spell but you don't fool me, missy!" she shouted.

Jayne held the phone away from her ear to avoid permanent hearing loss from the volume and acidity of the woman's voice.

"Whatever do you mean, Margaret?" she said, as calmly and innocently as she could.

"Trying to steal my boy away from me, is what you're after. Turn him into some wanderer, dragging him away from his roots... well it will be a cold day in hell before I see him leave his home for a no-good foreigner like you! He'll never leave! I'll be glad to see the back o' you though, then he can find himself a nice Irish lass and settle down and have babies, like he's supposed to. You're not going to win this one, girl, I promise ye'!"

And with that she hung up.

Jayne blinked.
That had gone pretty much as expected. She sighed. Unfortunately she knew the old bag was probably right. This was a side to his mother that Conor refused to see and the woman had a hold on her son that Jayne had always felt she could never compete with. It made her sad, because she still thought that she and Conor could have a future together. As long as his mother wasn't around to talk holes in his head. Oh well, she had made her decision, now he would have to make his.

"Delivery for Jayne Banks?" she was startled to see a little grey man in a little grey uniform standing beside her with an enormous bunch of red roses. Who would be sending her flowers? A little embarrassed and slightly shaken, she thanked him, ignoring the curious stares of the heads that had popped up from behind the partitians around her desk.

"Wow, Jayne, secret admirer?"

"You got a new boyfriend, Jayne?"

"Wow, Conor must have really done something wrong!"

"Is there a card?"

There was a card.
It read:
"So when do we leave?"

Her phone rang.

"Conor?"

"Did you get the flowers?"

"Yes, they're beautiful."

"Good."

"Does this mean..?"

"Do you really think I'd let my mother get between us, Jayne? I love you. She'll come around eventually, and if she doesn't, well... she can't keep me warm at night, now, can she?" He chuckled and her heart warmed.

"She rang me, you know."

"Yeah, I thought she might. I hope she wasn't too harsh - she was pretty upset when I told her I'd decided to go with you."

Jayne smiled.

"Nah, it wasn't too bad. Nothing a tough Aussie lass can't handle anyway."

"I bet," he laughed.

"So, I gotta go, I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yeah. Love you."

"Me too."

When she hung up Jayne sat back in her seat and looked out of the window. It was still raining outside. The kind of rain that wasn't going to let up for days, by the look of it.

Thinking back to what Margaret had yelled at her on the phone, Jayne let out a laugh.

A cold day in hell, huh? Well, it certainly was!