An hour in the life of Edison barnes (standard:other, 3496 words)
Author: kiwi	Added: Sep 11 2000	Views/Reads: 4322/2411	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Edison and his mobile phone create an unusual situation. Is there a psychic explanation?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

Something is going wrong, badly wrong.  He walks out to his secretary 
in the outer office. 

"Did you speak to him before I came in?" 

"Not really. Only to say you were in" 

"But the earlier calls....?" 

"He left messages on the answerphone. Just saying he wanted you. Three
of them"  She is aware of his concern.  "What's wrong?" 

Daniel doesn't know.  His unconscious mind is nagging him but not
letting go, yet. "He was telling me what to do.  He never does that."  
She raises her eyebrows, but she knows that Daniel's worries are more 
serious than that.  She has worked for him long enough to understand 
the unspoken messages. 

* * * * * * 

Let it not be that cursed answerphone again. Please.  Now that he has
finally spoken to Daniel he must speak to Diana.  He glances at his 
watch as he counts the rings. It's 0845.  She should still be at her 
flat at this time.  Unless...  One, two. Damn! The answerphone is still 
on. He waits, hoping that she'll pick it up. She must be there. She has 
to be there.  He regrets now what he said last night. He had thought 
about it for many weeks and it had felt right.  Yes, he expected her to 
be a bit surprised. But why was she so upset? 

"....and if you leave your number after the tone I'll get back to you as
soon as possible" 

Oh, no! 

"It's me. I desperately needed to talk with you. But it's too late now.
Perhaps you'd better get an explanation from Mary". 

He knows he should be feeling pain but only feels detached. Feels
frustrated at not being able to contact people. All these modern 
communications are supposed to make it easier.  It's good to phone.  
Like hell! Got to concentrate. Order is important.  Must contact them 
in the right order, get the most important things done first. 

* * * * * * 

As she takes her coffee through to the conservatory from the kitchen
Mary hears the post landing on the hall mat.  Well-timed!  She'll be 
able to deal with anything urgent before she goes out. 

She puts her coffee and the post (three letters, a couple of bills, and
a management Journal) down on the glass table, opens the curtains to 
let in the early autumn sun, switches on the TV and turns down the 
sound, and settles herself into her chair.  Her schedule this morning 
is light so she needn't leave before ten.  She rather enjoys this time 
on her own.  Edison was away on business last night and although she 
misses his company she also appreciates the space he gives her. Tonight 
they have friends coming round.  Edison will cook, and then it will be 
several hours of relaxed conversation. Funny, she has always called him 
Edison, though to almost everyone else he's just Ed.  You might call 
them a reasonably self-contained couple.  No children, no close 
relatives, but there are many in the town who enjoy their friendship. 

Having flicked through the journal and put it to one side for a more
detailed perusal later, and ignored the bills, she is just opening the 
first of her letters when the phones rings.  The time clock in the 
corner of the TV screen suggests about ten to nine.  Probably Edison. 
He usually calls if he's been away over night. She reaches for the 
cordless handset. 

"Hello?" 

"Mary, I thought I might have missed you.  I can't seem to get anyone I
want this morning.  How are you?" 

"Fine. I'm having a relaxing start to the day.  I've just opened a
letter from.." 

Edison cut in, somewhat abruptly. 

"I'm sorry Mary but I haven't much time.  Just bear with me for a
moment.  There's a couple of things that need doing.  On the desk 
there's a letter for the insurance company. I meant to send it off last 
week. If you could just pop that in the post on your way out please." 

"Of course. That's no problem.  What's the other thing?" He doesn't seem
to hear her question. 

"Mary, I sometimes wonder if we talk to one another enough.  We used to
talk so much in the early days.  Now if we talk it always seems to be 
business.  or organising our social life.  And there are probably so 
many things I probably ought to say to you.  They say that the message 
is the response you get.  I don't even understand the response much 
less what I thought the message was.  I wonder what I assume that you 
know, that I never say?" 

"What on earth do you mean, Edison?  You sound very philosophical for
this hour of the ..." 

"I'm trying to say that I love.......
and..................I.............." 

"Edison, are you still there?  Your voice faded a bit at the end."
"Edison?" 

There is no reply.  Silence, except for the slight hiss in her handset. 
The battery in his mobile must have run out. Not the first time.  For a 
very intelligent man Edison seems strangely inept with modern 
technology.  She puts the phone down and picks up the letter.  What an 
odd call.  The business must be getting to him. He had seemed a bit 
preoccupied during this last week.  She'll tell him that he needs a 
break.  Still, it's nice that he tells her of his love.  Used to a lot 
in the past but they've both got out of the habit. 

She starts to read but can't concentrate.  Gets another coffee and
ponders.  Something is not quite right. 

* * * * * * 

"No, I'm sorry, Mr Barnes is not in this morning.  Would you like to
speak to Mr Bates?  I'll just see if he's free" 

"Dan, it's Diana Williams on the phone. She was asking for Edison but
said she'd speak to you if he wasn't in.  Shall I put her through?" 

"Mmm, Yes. OK."  Daniel is intrigued.  Diana has worked for them
occasionally on some of their more difficult contracts.  She is 
extremely competent and worth the high fees she charges. Unusual for 
her to be ringing the office though. As far as he is aware she's not 
working on any of their contracts just now.  And she is usually very 
circumspect where Edison is concerned.  Daniel is aware that Edison and 
Diana have been having a very discreet affair for some years, although 
they would probably be surprised to find that he knows. 

"Diana, How are you?" 

"All the better for hearing you again".  She is teasing him, her voice
warm as the morning's sun, knowing that, unfortunately, he is not 
interested. 

"Well, I must say that you've brightened my day already.  When are you
going to come and work for us again?" 

"When you offer me a job!  How about lunch instead?"  Not quite teasing.
She needs someone to talk to.  So too does he, but not yet perhaps. 

"Maybe.  Yes, I'd like that.  Can I call you later?  I'm not sure how
this morning's going yet." 

"That's OK.  Actually, I was hoping to get Ed.  He left a message on my
answerphone." 

There it is, out in the open.  They both know that the other knows the
situation is revealed.  Not that it will make any difference.  Except, 
possibly different questions are now legitimate. 

"Have you spoken to him recently?" 

A pause.  "Actually, I saw him last night......." 

"How was he when you saw him?" 

"OK..........Why do you ask?"  She feels for some reason that Daniel is
about to take her into his confidence. 

"Oh, nothing really.  It's just that he was in a funny mood when he rang
in this morning.  Probably only me. Should I tell him you've called?" 

"No, it's not that important.  I'll call him later some time."  She
doesn't want to test the boundaries just yet, unsure about how much 
Daniel knows, and even more uncertain about Edison's reaction to him 
knowing. 

"The Red Lion OK?....for lunch I mean?" He does know, or at least
suspects, and he wants to know more.  That suits Diana because she 
feels in need of a confidant. 

"Yes, I'd like that. About one?" 

* * * * * * 

Diana puts down her phone, picks up her coffee, and broods.  It's not
quite nine in the morning yet the well-ordered life which was hers at 
this time yesterday seems to have been an illusion.  She is 
independent, self-confident, running a demanding professional life, 
with space, carefully created, for a private life.  Space created for 
just two things.  She writes poetry, with flare and feeling, her poems 
well-known, but not under her name.  And she is Edison's lover.  A 
relationship which satisfies each and is sufficient in itself.  She has 
no desire for more than the sexual friendship of one man.  He is in 
love with his wife. [He has never complained of being misunderstood, or 
unloved, but his appetites exceed hers.] This is how it has been for 
the ten years since they met. 

At least, that is how it seemed until last night.  Last night Edison,
sober, serious, asked her for more, offered to divorce the wife he 
loves, to exchange faithful polygamy for monogamous ties.  Diana, 
horrified, wept.  She was fearful of ties and the constancy (monotony?) 
of companionship, and the implication of sole responsibility for 
satisfying his physical needs. 

Today the mood is different, the autumn sun like spring, and the true
value of Edison's overture appears in a different light.  The 
prospective ties seem a lesser threat than no ties at all.  And what of 
the latent threat in the taped message of her phone?  What should she 
make of that?  Always preferring action to reflection she taps out a 
number she has always known but never used, her fingernails clicking on 
the keypad. 

"Mrs Barnes?  I'm Diana Williams.  I wonder if you could help me?  I've
been doing some work on a contract for your husband and he left a 
message this morning for me to call him.  He's not at his office and I 
wonder if you know where I could find him?" 

"No, I don't, I'm afraid.  He was away on business last night, and I'm
not expecting to see him until this evening.  And you say the office 
don't know where he is...?" 

"No. I spoke to Dan Bates, and he suggested you might know." 

"Sorry. I'll let him know you've called" 

Diana puts the phone down, and then wonders whether she wants Ed to know
that she's called his home.  What did that phone message mean? 

* * * * * * 

What is it that makes her think something is up?  Mary reflects on the
phone call she has just taken.  The office never gives anyone Edison's 
number, and she is pretty sure that Daniel wouldn't either.  But apart 
from that, there was something about that Diana woman's voice.  There 
was another message hidden there.  Mary is very perceptive when it 
comes to communicating.  [In the unacknowledged corners of her mind 
Mary hides that which she cannot deal with. That the perfect balance of 
their marriage exists because Edison satisfies the excess of his 
desires elsewhere, and presents no threat to her.  Or didn't..] 

The doorbell rings.  She's not expecting anyone.  The hall clock has
just chimed nine. 

"Mrs Barnes?   May we come in for a moment please?  This is WPC Jameson,
and I'm PC Wilson." 

She takes them into the conservatory. Probably something to do with
neighbourhood watch or parking on their narrow lane.  Except that they 
seem ill-at-ease. 

"Mrs Barnes?"  It's the WPC. "I'm afraid we have bad news.  Your husband
was involved in an accident earlier this morning.  His car left the 
road and hit a tree. He was killed instantly we think." 

"But I was talking to him on the phone.  Only ten minutes or so ago.  It
can't be him.  What made you think it was?" 

It couldn't be true.  Could it?  Edison is a good driver.  And she would
have known if something was wrong.  Of that she is firmly convinced. 

The two constables are looking at one another.  Everyone reacts to shock
in a different way.   Gently they describe the car, its registration 
number, the wallet  with his credit cards, the mobile phone. 

"It's possible he was using the phone, ...may have caused the
crash,.....was still in his hand when they found him." 

Through the windows she sees the autumn colours,  berries of the
mountain ash bright red, and japanese maple leaves orange red gleaming 
in the sunlight.  White flowered clematis entwined with the rich 
crimson-leafed glory vine  on the wall. A cat stalking at the bottom of 
the garden.  Breeze-ruffled border flowers, and in the distance the 
murmuring of the traffic.  No birds.  The slowly-rotating hanging 
crystal is catching the sun and throwing it in bright patterns around 
the room. Air redolent with commingling aromas of the incense she burnt 
last night, the roses in the bowl on the table, and the constable's 
aftershave (do WPC's not wear perfume. she wonders).  Over the TV's 
murmuring tones she hears her own breathing, controlled. 

"Thank you for telling me. It can't have been easy for you"  She is
collected, emotionless.  "What time did it happen, did you say?" 

"The Sergeant thinks about eight.  A motorist on the motorway viaduct
saw it happen, called from an emergency phone.  It was difficult to 
find, the car that is.  The Sergeant knows your...The Sergeant knew 
your husband, recognised him." 

She interrupts what is starting to sound like the beginning of an
endless monologue.  "When did your sergeant find my husband?" 

"The Sergeant called us about five minutes ago.  He couldn't have been
there long. Left the station when we did." 

"I need to be alone now"  She show them out, consoling them in their
sense of helplessness. 

* * * * * * 

The sorrow, the anguish, the rage will come later.  Just now she is
driven by the need to discover the truth. 

"Daniel, I'm very sorry to have to tell you like this but Edison is
dead." 

"WHAT?..." 

"The police have just been here.  Please, did he call you this morning?"


"Mary, I'm so terribly.." 

"Please, Dan, when did he call?" 

"Just as I got in, about half-past eight.." 

Almost cruelly. "He died at eight.  Who is Diana Williams, Dan?" 

"Oh, Mary, I.."  He is almost in tears, she a tornado of destruction. 

"Who is she?"  Demanding. Driven. 

"She works for us occasionally." Mary can't know, can she?  He is
protecting, but who? Mary or her husband? 

* * * * * * 

"Miss Williams? It's Mary Barnes.  Have you any idea when my husband
called you this morning?" 

Responding instinctively to the imperative tone on the phone she answers
unquestioningly.  "I popped out to get the paper.  About eight.  The 
messages were on the phone when I got back." 

"Messages?" 

"Yes, he called three times. Why?" 

"He was killed this morning,  at eight o'clock, the police tell me." 
She puts the phone down, walks into the garden, to the seat beside the 
wall, and weeps. 

* * * * * * 

Again the autumn sun is beaming into her conservatory as she sits
reading.  It has been a difficult time, grieving seemingly suspended 
awaiting Edison's burial and then the Coroner's report.  Now, perhaps, 
she can start to live again.  Mary reads yet again the trainee 
journalist's account in her local paper, its melodramatic headlines at 
odds with her memory of the subdued atmosphere of the Coroner's 
deliberations.  She recalls his verdict, delivered pedantically in what 
she describes as a dark brown voice. 

"I find a puzzling discrepancy  in the matter of the time of death.  The
accident was reported to the police at 0800, and the police surgeon 
states that death was probably instantaneous.  This evidence was 
verified by the time on the deceased's watch, and on the dashboard 
clock, both of which had stopped at 0800.  On the other hand I have 
convincing evidence from the records of the phone network company that 
the deceased made a number of calls, nine in all,  from his mobile 
phone between 0800 and 0850.  This information has been corroborated by 
the recipients of those calls.  However, other than noting this 
discrepancy, I do not wish to surmise on matters beyond my experience 
to explain.  It appears that the time of death has no critical 
implications in this case.  The verdict of this court is, therefore, 
that the deceased, Edison Washington Barnes, died as a result of a 
motor accident at 0800 on the day in question, and that no other person 
was involved.  It is possible that the deceased was distracted through 
using his mobile phone and I would like to highlight the dangers of so 
doing." 

She misses Edison, Oh how she misses him.   But she has always had a
life of her own, and it now continues.  Daniel has proved a good 
friend. She trusts him because he is not attracted to her.  The memory 
of Edison's love is enough for her at present.  While he may have had 
other women Diana Williams was certainly not one of them.  One glance 
at the funeral told her that Edison would never have, not with a woman 
like that.  Of that she is quite confident.  No, Edison loved her and 
had proved it.  He had always joked that he would never die without 
saying goodbye first.  His very last call had reaffirmed his love.  She 
sits, missing him but knowing. 


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