The Bench - Part 2

Daniel Singh

Daniel Singh stood up from the bench, picked up his briefcase and began walking towards the park gates.

Behind him, the elderly woman remained seated beneath the plane tree while her dog wandered across the grass in pursuit of some new adventure.

They had exchanged only a few words.

He didn't know her name.

She didn't know his.

For a few minutes they had shared the same bench and then, as happened countless times every day in London, their lives drifted apart again.

Daniel joined the flow of commuters moving towards the surrounding office buildings.

Most of them walked quickly.

Heads down.

Coffee cups in hand.

Phones already pressed to their ears.

Nobody seemed particularly happy to be there.

Then again, Monday mornings rarely brought out the best in people.

Daniel checked his watch.

8:42.

Still enough time.

Yet his stomach tightened all the same.

The meeting had occupied his thoughts for the entire weekend.

Late on Friday afternoon, shortly before everyone left for home, an email from Mr Griffiths had appeared in his inbox.

Could you come and see me at 9:00 on Monday morning?

Need to discuss a few things.

That was all.

A few things.

Daniel had spent two days wondering what those things might be.

At first, he had convinced himself it was probably good news.

Perhaps a new project.

Perhaps additional responsibilities.

Perhaps a discussion about future opportunities in the company.

Then the doubts arrived.

Had he made a mistake?

Had there been complaints?

Was he not performing as well as he thought?

The uncertainty had followed him home on Friday evening and remained there all weekend.

He had slept badly on Sunday night.

By Monday morning he felt exhausted.

As he crossed the road towards the office, he found himself thinking about his parents.

They had been delighted when he secured the position.

His father must have told half the local community.

His mother had phoned relatives in both Britain and India.

Their youngest son had a respectable job in the City.

A proper office.

A salary.

A future.

Daniel understood why it mattered to them.

His parents had arrived from India during the 1960s with very little.

The early years had not always been easy. They worked long hours, saved carefully and built a life piece by piece. Everything they achieved had required effort.

Education had always been important in the Singh household.

Daniel and his brothers were expected to work hard.

And they had.

Daniel had gone to university, earned a good degree and done what was expected of him.

Yet lately he had begun to wonder whether the life he was building was really the one he wanted.

The telecommunications company paid the bills, but it was never his long-term plan.

His real ambition lay elsewhere.

Finance.

Professional qualifications.

A different career entirely.

For now, though, the job was a necessary step.

Or at least it had been.

Daniel adjusted his grip on the briefcase.

The office building was now directly ahead.

Glass.

Steel.

Rows of identical windows.

Hundreds of people working inside.

He slowed slightly.

The truth was, his career was not the only thing troubling him.

At home, another conversation seemed to be waiting for him.

Marriage.

His parents had recently begun discussing a match with a distant relative living in India. Conversations between the families had progressed far enough to become uncomfortable.

His parents seemed delighted.

Daniel felt considerably less certain.

He knew almost nothing about the woman.

He wasn't opposed to marriage.

He simply wasn't sure whether he wanted other people deciding who he would spend the rest of his life with.

Sometimes it felt as though there was always another expectation waiting.

Study hard.

Get a good degree.

Find a respectable job.

Build a successful career.

Get married.

Have children.

Make everyone proud.

Daniel occasionally wondered where, amongst all those expectations, his own wishes were supposed to fit.

The office entrance stood just ahead.

People streamed through the revolving doors.

Daniel stopped for a moment and looked up at the building.

Somewhere inside, Mr Griffiths was waiting for him.

Perhaps the meeting really would be nothing.

A routine discussion.

An ordinary Monday morning conversation.

The sort people forgot about by lunchtime.

He hoped so.

Straightening his tie, he took a deep breath and stepped through the glass doors.

Whatever awaited him, he was about to find out.

The Meeting

The office felt exactly as it always did.

Telephones rang.

Keyboards clicked.

People carried coffees between desks and discussed things that had seemed urgent five minutes earlier and would probably be forgotten by Friday.

Daniel wondered whether there was anything in life more unsettling than walking into an ordinary room knowing that something was about to change.

He checked his watch.

Nine o'clock.

The email from Mr Griffiths had said nine.

Daniel stopped outside the office door, adjusted his tie and knocked.

"Come in."

He opened the door.

Mr Griffiths was sitting behind his desk.

What surprised Daniel was that he wasn't alone.

Two other men sat beside him.

Neither looked particularly comfortable.

A feeling settled heavily in Daniel's stomach.

Mr Griffiths looked up.

He was in his late fifties and had always seemed slightly tired, as though the demands of management had gradually worn him down over the years. His thinning grey hair was combed carefully. His dark suit was neat enough, though his tie sat looser than usual.

Daniel had always liked him.

Not because he was an exceptional manager.

Because he seemed decent.

And at that moment, he looked miserable.

"Morning, Daniel. Come in and take a seat."

"Morning."

The two other men introduced themselves.

Daniel shook hands automatically.

Their names disappeared from his memory almost immediately.

He sat down.

His briefcase rested beside his feet.

The room seemed unusually quiet.

Mr Griffiths shuffled several papers before him.

Then stopped.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Daniel suddenly remembered sitting beside the elderly woman in the park.

Margaret, he realised now, might have recognised what was happening before he did.

Teachers always seemed able to read a room.

Mr Griffiths cleared his throat.

"Thank you for coming in, Daniel."

Daniel nodded.

Mr Griffiths looked down briefly at the papers on his desk.

When he looked up again, his expression carried the awkwardness of a man delivering news he wished belonged to somebody else.

"I'm afraid we have some difficult news."

Everything inside Daniel seemed to tighten.

"The company has been experiencing financial difficulties for some time."

Mr Griffiths paused.

"We've had to make a number of decisions regarding staffing."

Daniel stared at him.

No part of him wanted to hear the next sentence.

"I'm very sorry, Daniel, but your position is being made redundant."

For a second, the words failed to make sense.

They seemed to hang in the air between them.

Redundant.

Daniel had heard the term countless times.

On the news.

In conversations.

In stories about other people.

Never in relation to himself.

Mr Griffiths continued speaking.

The company was restructuring.

Several positions were being eliminated.

It wasn't a reflection of Daniel's performance.

He had done nothing wrong.

The business simply couldn't justify maintaining every role.

Daniel heard the words.

But they seemed strangely distant.

As though somebody on the far side of a wall was speaking.

He looked at the three men opposite him.

They continued explaining the process.

Paperwork.

Notice periods.

Final payments.

Support services.

Future references.

Daniel absorbed almost none of it.

Instead, he thought about his parents.

His father telling relatives that his youngest son worked in the City.

His mother's smile when he received the job offer.

The pride in their voices.

The certainty that their years of sacrifice had been worthwhile.

All weekend Daniel had worried about this meeting.

Not once had he imagined this.

"Daniel?"

He realised Mr Griffiths had asked him something.

"Sorry?"

Mr Griffiths gave a small sympathetic smile.

"I said that you have the option of staying for the rest of the day if you wish. Or, if you'd prefer, you can leave now."

Stay.

The idea felt absurd.

How could he possibly stay?

Sit at his desk.

Answer emails.

Discuss projects.

Pretend everything was normal.

When nothing felt normal at all.

"I think I'd like to leave," Daniel said quietly.

"Of course."

Mr Griffiths nodded.

"I understand."

More explanations followed.

Daniel listened politely.

At least he hoped he appeared polite.

The truth was that his thoughts had already moved elsewhere.

To the train journey home.

To his father's reaction.

To his mother's disappointment.

To the conversation that awaited him.

Eventually the meeting ended.

Daniel stood.

The others stood too.

Hands were shaken.

Words exchanged.

He heard himself thanking people without really knowing why.

Perhaps because they looked almost as uncomfortable as he felt.

Mr Griffiths walked him to the door.

"I'm sorry, Daniel."

For the first time, Daniel believed him.

"So am I."

It was the only reply he could think of.

He stepped into the corridor.

The door closed behind him.

For a few moments he stood still.

Nothing around him had changed.

The phones still rang.

People still talked.

Someone laughed at something near the photocopier.

Monday morning continued exactly as before.

Yet somehow the world felt completely different.

Only an hour earlier he had arrived expecting another ordinary day.

Now he wasn't sure what tomorrow looked like.

Or next week.

Or next month.

Slowly, Daniel turned and walked back towards his desk.

Daniel Returns to His Desk

Daniel walked back across the office floor in a daze.

The journey couldn't have taken more than a minute, yet it felt strangely detached from reality.

People sat at their desks answering emails.

Someone laughed at a joke from the next department.

A telephone rang repeatedly near the reception area.

The ordinary working day continued uninterrupted.

Daniel wondered whether anyone else could see that his life had just changed.

Probably not.

To everyone around him, he was simply another employee walking back from a meeting.

Nobody knew that less than ten minutes earlier he had lost his job.

He reached his desk and sat down.

For a moment he simply stared at the computer screen.

The inbox remained open.

Messages waited for replies.

Tasks remained unfinished.

Meetings were scheduled later in the week.

It all looked exactly as it had before.

Yet none of it belonged to him anymore.

The thought felt surreal.

He opened a drawer and began gathering his belongings.

There wasn't much.

A pen.

A notebook.

A few papers.

A framed photograph of his family taken at his older brother's wedding three summers earlier.

His mother insisted on displaying copies of it everywhere.

Daniel slipped the photograph into his briefcase and paused.

His father had been especially proud that day.

Not because of the wedding.

Because both his sons had graduated from university.

He often told people they were proof that all the sacrifices had been worthwhile.

Daniel swallowed hard.

How was he supposed to explain what had happened?

His parents had worried about money for most of their lives.

Security mattered to them.

A stable job mattered.

A future mattered.

They had worked too hard for too many years not to value those things.

Daniel closed the drawer.

For a moment he considered sending a message to one of his brothers.

Then decided against it.

Not yet.

First he needed time to think.

Around him, colleagues continued working.

Nobody paid much attention as he packed his things.

Perhaps they didn't know.

Perhaps they did.

Either way, Daniel was grateful nobody stopped him.

Sympathy was the last thing he wanted.

He switched off his computer.

The screen faded to black.

Something about that small action made everything feel final.

Daniel stood.

Briefcase in hand.

The office had seemed full of possibilities when he first arrived there.

Now it felt like somewhere he no longer belonged.

He walked towards the lifts.

Nobody stopped him.

A few minutes later he stepped out onto the pavement.

Back to the Bench

Outside, London carried on exactly as before.

People hurried past carrying coffees.

Buses moved through the traffic.

Delivery drivers unloaded parcels.

The city had no interest in one young man losing his job.

Daniel stood for a moment, unsure what to do next.

He could go home.

But he wasn't ready.

His parents wouldn't be expecting him for hours.

His mother would immediately know something was wrong.

His father would ask questions.

Questions Daniel wasn't yet ready to answer.

Without really deciding, he found himself walking back towards Postman's Park.

Perhaps it was because he wasn't ready to join the crowds.

Perhaps it was because, for a few minutes that morning, the bench had been the only place where his mind had felt quiet.

Whatever the reason, his feet carried him there.

The park was calmer now.

The rush of commuters had largely passed.

The elderly woman was gone.

So was her dog.

Only the bench remained beneath the plane tree.

Waiting.

Daniel crossed the grass and sat down in the same place he had occupied earlier.

The wood felt colder now.

Or perhaps that was simply how he felt.

He placed his briefcase beside him and stared at the path ahead.

What now?

He needed another job.

That much was obvious.

But jobs weren't found in a day.

Nor was confidence.

An hour earlier he had felt reasonably certain about the future.

Now even the next conversation seemed overwhelming.

His phone began ringing.

Daniel glanced at the screen.

Mum.

He stared at the name.

For a moment he considered ignoring it.

Instead, he let it ring until the call ended.

Perhaps she wanted something trivial.

Perhaps she had forgotten to mention something at breakfast.

Either way, he wasn't ready.

The phone rang again almost immediately.

Still his mother.

With a sigh, Daniel answered.

"Hello, Mum."

"Daniel! I've been trying to reach you."

Her voice sounded cheerful.

Too cheerful.

Immediately Daniel knew this conversation wasn't going to help.

"Sorry. I was busy."

"At work?"

Daniel looked down at his briefcase.

"Yes."

The word came out before he could stop it.

His mother continued.

"I've had a call from your aunt."

Daniel closed his eyes.

Of course.

"The family I told you about remember? The girl in India?"

There it was.

The conversation he had been avoiding for months.

"We were speaking this morning."

His mother's excitement grew with every sentence.

"They're very interested in meeting you."

Daniel rubbed his forehead.

"Mum..."

"They've heard all about you."

He almost laughed.

He wasn't sure whether the feeling was amusement or despair.

"They know you went to university."

"Mm."

"They know you have a good position."

Daniel stared at the damp grass.

"And your father thinks it might be time for the two of you to speak."

A good position.

The words echoed inside his head.

Less than an hour ago he had possessed a good position.

Now he possessed a redundancy package.

"Mum," he said quietly.

"What is it?"

For a moment he almost told her.

The words reached the edge of his lips.

Then stopped.

He could hear the happiness in her voice.

The hope.

The pride.

He couldn't take it away from her over the telephone while sitting alone on a park bench.

"Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Well, we'll talk this evening."

Daniel stared at the path.

"All right."

"We'll be waiting."

"I know."

His mother paused.

"We're very proud of you, Daniel."

The words hit harder than anything Mr Griffiths had said that morning.

After the call ended, Daniel sat motionless.

The phone remained in his hand.

He looked at it for a long time before slipping it back into his pocket.

Around him, the park remained peaceful.

Somewhere nearby, water dripped from branches.

A pigeon landed on the path before wandering away.

For several minutes Daniel sat without moving.

The bench seemed to absorb his uncertainty just as it had absorbed Margaret's grief earlier that morning.

Different lives.

Different troubles.

The same piece of weathered wood.

Then, faintly at first, he heard music.

A guitar.

Somewhere beyond the trees.

A few notes carried on the damp March air.

Daniel listened.

The melody grew clearer.

He had no desire to go home.

Not yet.

And he couldn't remain sitting on the bench forever.

Picking up his briefcase, he stood.

The music drifted through the park once more.

For the first time since leaving Mr Griffiths' office, Daniel felt curious about something.

He followed the sound.