As the train slid past the outside world, Richard sat, gazing beyond the window. There was nothing as beautiful as England in mid summer. The joyous feeling in his heart reflected the external beauty. With one, well considered decision, he had changed the course of his and his family’s lives for ever. Quite simply, from this morning on, nothing would be the same again.
His mind wandered to thoughts of his family. His grandfather, that austere, Victorian throw back. Then his own father who had inherited so much of his father’s bitterness and anger. Richard could feel traces of them both, stern and agitated by his decision. Horrified to think that one of their own had let go. Still, Richard smiled to himself. It didn’t matter. None of it did.
Charlotte, his wife came to him next. Her calm, smiling face, always so reassuring. Just how he had come to love her so much was a mystery to him. Not the act of loving Charlotte, but the depth of his love. He had had no idea he was capable of such devotion. After years of heartache and suffering disguised as ‘doing one’s duty’, Charlotte had patiently taught Richard how to love, and for that gift alone, he owed her everything.
He thought back over the weekend just gone. How it was the culmination of a series of events that started with him meeting Charlotte while she worked as an intern at the firm. Their awkward courtship and subsequent marriage, followed very quickly by pregnancy and the beginnings of a family.
Then Richard’s father dying and Richard inheriting. He felt out of his depth, but Charlotte was always there to guide and help. The conversion of the West Wing in to their family home and the ‘shutting up’, of the remainder of the house. (Richard thought for a minute on the last game of snooker he played with his brother in the billiard room. He missed those games).
Out the window, two horses galloping across their paddock together, caught Richard’s eye and he smiled to see their playfulness. He turned to continue watching them as the train rolled on. A light, summer shower tapping at the glass.
Resting back in to his seat Richard returned to his thoughts. Yes, Charlotte. She was the making of him. Something as simple as her compassion toward him on Friday evening when he arrived home drunk. ‘Bloody Phillip, what sort of trick was that, to give Richard a triple whisky just before he got on the train’. Charlotte found Richard stumbling about on the platform, took him home and got him in to bed. He loved her for that. Her understanding.
Without Charlotte none of this would have happened. It was Charlotte who set up the retreat centre and organised the Ayahuasca ceremonies. He smiled to himself as remembered that torturous first experience. Purging, what seemed to be his everything, from everywhere. Writhing around on the floor, being terrified as a big cat desperately tried to rip open his chest to tear at the snake around his heart. The facilitator ‘River’, repeating in his ear, ‘let go Richard, let go. Stop fighting’.
Richard felt, that morning, like he had finally surrendered. Not only had he lain down his sword, but he was also making sure that his children would never be expected to weald one. The choice Richard had made had broken a chain forged over nine hundred years ago, when William the Conqueror gifted land to his family for their part in the invasion. Through all those years Richard’s family had remained loyal to the crown. His ancestors had given their very souls in return for that land.
Slowly the green fields were giving way to the suburbs. Sprawling estates and allotments. ‘Garages for the workers’. He felt a pang of guilt at his family’s involvement in the ill treatment of the people of these islands. The ayahuasca had helped to shift his perspective. He’d been raised to believe that the people needed leading and that he and his kind were the natural leaders, chosen by God for the role. Next in line to the monarchs, who the people must serve unquestioningly. The ceremonies and Charlotte’s love had shown him otherwise. He could see now that the land had been stolen from the people and he had the opportunity to make amends.
For a moment, these thoughts made him anxious. Richard was, after all ‘turning his coat’. Becoming a traitor to his heritage and blood line. He would be ostracised from his society. He thought for a minute on the reaction from people at the firm. They’ll think he’s had a breakdown. Treat him like a mental case. What did it matter? Nothing mattered, that was the point. His family had been held to ransom for nine hundred years on the pretext that it all had some sort of meaning. He could see now that their allegiance to the crown, did little more than served to facilitate the ‘establishment’s’ desire to remain in power. Nothing more than that. It was a great game. He felt relief again at the thought of leaving it all behind.
The city became more and more built up. The buildings becoming taller, more modern. Richard swallowed in anticipation, shuffling in his seat. ‘Not long now’. From the over crowded, stuffy carriage, he watched the city go by, through the rain spattered window, that was now misting up.
Wiping away the condensation released a memory from his childhood. His mother clearing the mist from the car window on their way to his first day at school. How she held him, tears in her eyes. Richard had been explicitly forbidden to cry and he was ashamed of his mother for her ‘letting the side down like that’. How archaic and absurd it felt now. How cold and lacking compassion. His poor mother having to give up her children one by one to a system that she knew very well was going to teach them to be cold and detached in order that they may, unquestioningly ‘do their duty’. It made Richard feel nauseas for moment. He’d learnt to love his mother, but how could she do that? ‘It was just the done thing dear’, but no, he mustn’t judge her, she had suffered enough.
Richard heard his station announced and automatically rose to his feet, just as he had every day for the previous fifteen years, but this would be the last time. He was going to walk straight in to Sir Stephen’s office and tell him he was leaving, with immediate effect. ‘Keep it simple’, Charlotte advised, ‘you don’t owe him an explanation. Just tell him you’ve had enough and you shan’t be coming back’. Richard took a deep breath and imagined Charlotte by his side, holding his hand. ‘It was going to be alright’.
The doors beeped and someone pushed the button, releasing a crashing, human wave of grey in to the station. Richard moved through the door and put a foot on the platform, his heart racing in side his chest. This was really happening. Everything was changing. Nothing would ever stay the same.
Ben Greenland
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