A COLD DISH

A COLD DISH

“Did you enjoy that sir?” the waitress asked, picking up the empty plate that looked as though it had been licked clean. Fresh lobster, cooked to perfection, in a lemon garlic butter sauce, was always a menu favourite.

James leaned back in his chair, letting out a loud belch that confirmed to those dining at his table, and to the diners in close proximity, that he had indeed had his satisfactory fill.

Polly, his wife, tried to conceal her embarrassment by hiding behind her wine glass, and his fellow diners looked every which way but at him.

“Well, that was some celebration” James declared. “Well worth the effort, and well worth the reward, and I want to thank you guys for your part in it. Let your imaginations run wild because we’re going to make enough out of this deal to keep you in lobster for the rest of your days”.

Public relations boss Brad’s imagination was already off and running. He could just see himself in a waterside apartment, with a Lamborghini in the garage below, and a motor cruiser moored at the end of a private jetty.

Anxious to keep his dream moving along, he put up his hand to raise a question.

“So, when are we getting started then Jim?” he asked. Only those in James’s inner circle were permitted to call him Jim.

James was energised. “Well Brad”, he went on. “The plans are through the local Council and the contractors are on board, so once the bowling club mob ’s packed up their balls and buggered off, the bulldozers will roll on in. The burger and pizza joints are signed up, and the supermarket, and we’re just waiting to get the pumps going on the fuel station deal. That’s when we’ll start to see the dollars raising their beautiful little heads.”

“It was a bit of a shame about the bowling club though, wasn’t it?” Sadie, one of the executive team, piped up. “I mean they’ve been there for 30 years, and the old codgers have won a lot of trophies”.

James was quick to interject, before it got sentimental. “What do you mean Sadie”, he challenged. ”I know we gave them a nudge and they didn’t want to go, but I told them it was for their own good and they’d end up thanking me. We’ve given them that piece of land on the other side of town, and we’re going to build them a club house like no other, sitting in the lawns of ruddy Versailles, so we’ve done the right thing and they should be grateful”.

Over the following year, AVIDO INVESTMENTS did indeed deliver on their contractual obligations and built a clubhouse that was the envy of the League. Unfortunately, though membership numbers had dropped markedly, as it was quite a hike to get to, and parking was shared with the huge sports centre next door.

Eighteen months after the land acquisition, James was in his palatial office looking firstly at his Rolex watch to confirm the date, and then casting an eye over the large ‘Gilberts Grove Plaza’ project board. The title ‘Gilberts Grove’ was a nice touch he thought because it was the name of the bowling club and he was sure they’d appreciate the gesture.

The map was tagged and flagged with brightly coloured stickers indicating progress on the site, and James took particular pleasure when he was able to change the red, still in development, stickers, to bright green and gold stickers, because they indicated the tying up of yet another money-making piece of the jigsaw.

The last remaining red space was that of the fuel station and James was leafing through the relevant file. Earthworks had begun that day, and he was congratulating himself on the imminent completion of a job well done, when there was a knock on the frosted glass door of his office.

“Come in Brad”. he invited,” What are you still doing here? It’s ‘Fuck off Friday’ isn’t it? I thought you’d be in the pub with the rest of them by now”.

Brad entered cautiously and with a look on his face of somewhere between fear and abject fear. He carried a file similar to the one on James’s desk, and his mobile phone, but neither appeared to be of any help to him.

He’d decided to get straight to the point, and after taking a long, deep, breath and summoning up every ounce of courage he could muster, he delivered his message. “Well, Jim, there’s been a bit of a hitch with the fuel station site, and it’s a tricky one.”

James looked quizzically at Brad, but thinking it would be something to do with the weather or traffic management, he wasn’t too concerned. He was used to problem solving, that’s why he was the boss.

“Well go on then, what is it?” he asked, and Brad, having run through all possible preludes, carried on with his ‘no frills’ approach.

“Well, an immediate stop work order was issued this morning”, which means we’ve had to down tools and walk off the site”.

Brad watched as the news sank in. James began to blow up like a balloon, the whites of his eyes bulging, and his chest expanding with infuriated air. Then the balloon burst and his desk bore the full force of his fist

“What the fuck are you saying Brad?” Never one to hold back, and with his decibel meter off the register, he continued his rant.” Who’s the bastard who reckons he can come in and stuff my game up, and does he really think he can stop AVIDO INVESTMENTS? I’ll bust his balls so bad he’ll need a transplant, and he’ll never show his face around here ever again.”

Brad stuck to his tactic of not wasting words and carried on quickly to explain that in the process of excavation for the station’s fuel tanks, which had been wider and deeper than for previously laid footings, bones had been found and had yet to be identified. As a result, work had been halted immediately, and the site had been cordoned off by police.

The realisation that it was a situation over which he had little control didn’t come easily to James, and he was momentarily lost for any words to cover the situation. After a minute or two of indecipherable grunting and muttering, he regrouped his thoughts and gave Brad his orders.

“OK we’ve got bones”, he reasoned. “Could be animal, could be human, could be last century’s Christmas turkey. What I want you to do Brad is to get it sorted. We’re losing a lot of money here. Every day those machines are parked up without a driver in the cab, my retirement fund is taking a hit, so let’s get those bones into a soup bowl”.

Brad was reaching the extent of his fortitude, but he pushed himself one more time. “I’m sorry Jim’", he said.” It’s out of my hands. Apparently, the bones will have to be forensically tested. If they are human, which seems likely, then they’ll have to be identified and every spec of surrounding dirt will have to be sifted through. I’ve asked for a timeframe but all I get is ‘it’ll take as long as it takes”.

At that point, James realised that it was a situation over which he wasn’t going to have any control. He leaned back against his desk and shook his head, conceding that it was a problem for which he had no immediate solution.

Meanwhile, back at the new bowling clubhouse, the members were huddled around the bar. The stalwarts who’d made the transition, while appreciative of the state-of-the-art sound system, and the suite of male, female and transgender changing rooms, they weren’t convinced about the synthetic bowling green which was supposed to improve the consistency of playing quality, while increasing the life of the green but with minimal maintenance.

“I reckon it smells funny”. Tom stated. He’d been a member for 20 years, and along with a band of volunteer greenkeepers, he’d taken great pride in keeping the lawns in perfect, competition ready, condition.

“And it gets bloody hot”. Fred, another greenkeeper, chipped in, ” Do you know that a study from some University in America, tested natural grass, synthetic grass, and a parking lot on a 100 degree day, and they said that the natural grass reached 94°F, the artificial grass hit 157°F, and the parking lot peaked at 140°F., so that’s telling you something”.

“I think it comes with some sort of special treatment so that it doesn’t burn anyone,” Stan, the Team Captain, offered, “and anyway, we shouldn’t really grumble, should we? That lighting set up for the greens makes it like daylight at midnight, so it means we can play in the evenings if we want to”.

“What are you talking about, playing in the evening?”, Terry, another long-time member, disputed. “We’re all buggered by 5 o’clock, and in bed by 8, so I can’t see that there’ll be a queue to make up the teams. Not unless we get to have a nap after lunch first". He paused, looking into his beer. "I don’t know about you lot, but all this new stuff is all very nice, but I really miss the old place. It fitted much better somehow”.

“Well, it wasn’t up to us, was it?” Stan said. The lease got bought out by that AVIDO INVESTMENTS and then it was curtains for us, and they’ll go on to make millions”.

Sandra, who was behind the bar, heard the mention of AVIDO HOLDINGS and walked over to join the conversation. “I heard something about them this morning and about the site". she said. "Apparently, they’ve had to stop work because they found a coffin, or something. It might have been a burial chamber, and someone said it used to be King Arthur’s Palace, but either way, they won’t be doing any more digging for a while”.

Tom, Fred, Stan and Terry all stopped mid glass to mouth, and it was Terry who spoke first. “That means it could be months, or even years before they get going again, especially if those archaeology types get involved. I saw a programme once where they had to stop building a motorway, because they found skeleton bones. It turned out to be a donkey when they put all the bits back together, but they kept on looking because they thought that there might have been someone riding on the donkey’s back.

Pondering the scenario, Stan sighed, “I reckon it’s a dose of karma, don’t you?”, he asked the others. “What went around, is coming right back around now”.

They all smiled to themselves, and Fred summed it up. “And it’s definitely a dish best served cold”.