goodnessâ sake, accustomed to piecing together the reality from fragments of evidence, yet I hadnât spotted what had been happening right under my nose.
I had tried to get her back, but what was done was done, the trust between us had been shattered and there was no going back.
I even spent an unhealthy amount of time finding out everything I could about her new man, a commodity trader called Tony Pickering who worked at the London Metal Exchange in Leadenhall Street, at the very heart of the City of London.
I suppose I was fascinated to discover what Lydia thought he had that I didnât.
Money, for one thing. As a trader he would probably be earning several times what I was getting from the BHA. And he had a family fortune to go with it.
I tried to tell myself that it must have been more than just the money, but, if so, I couldnât see it. I would have found his jobdeathly boringâbuying and then selling derivatives involving thousands of tons of yet to be mined copper for meaninglessly large sums in the hope that the selling price was a tiny fraction above the purchase price in order to make a âmarginâ and hence a profit.
He never actually saw any copper. The transaction was all on paper or on a computer and may as well have been for buttons, for all it seemed to matter.
How
could
Lydia have preferred him to me?
My wandering thoughts were brought back to reality by the ringing of my cell phone. I could hear it through the wooden walls of the sauna, tantalizingly close yet so far out of reach.
It rang six times, as always, before switching to voice mail.
I wondered who would be calling me.
Faye maybe.
Faye was my big sister, twelve years my senior, who had acted as a mother to me after our real mother had died when I was just eight. She still called me regularly to check that I was eating properly and to make sure I had washed behind my ears in spite of the fact that I was now thirty-two years old and she had more serious problems of her own to worry about.
The phone rang again.
It would be voice mail calling. Great.
â
T HE SAUNA had been well madeâfar too well made for my liking.
It was a pine cube, each side being about six feet long, set on the concrete floor of the garage.
I tried to lift the whole thing, but it wouldnât move. I couldnât even shift it sideways across the floor.
Next, I tried to separate the walls in the corners, to no effect. I even lay on the top bench and tried to lift just the roof off with my feet, but it wasnât budging, even when I kicked at it ferociously.
All I did was expend a lot of energy and aggravate my thirst.
I had been trying to ration the water in the small wooden pail. I took another tiny sip.
The only movable part of the sauna was the set of wooden slats on the floor, three five-foot lengths of pine held together by three shorter crosspieces. I picked them up and used the slats as a battering ram against the door.
Nothing.
Think.
The door was probably the strongest part of the structure, with all the extra wood used to make the frame. How about one of the other sides?
I started to batter the opposite wall at the point where the thin sliver of illumination was visible, but the slats were too long and unwieldy to be able to get a decent swing.
I switched to using one of the rocks from the heater, searching through the pile until I found one with a nice sharp corner on it.
After ten good hits, I tried to convince myself that the sliver of light was bigger.
I struck the wall again and again, using both hands on the rock to apply as much force as I could. I tried my best to always hit at the same point just beneath the point of light.
After another twenty or so strikes, I took a rest. The wood was beginning to splinter. I could feel it with my fingers.
I went back at it, standing with one knee on the wooden bench to give me a better angle. Over and over I lashed out at the wood until I was sweating again as
I had tried to get her back, but what was done was done, the trust between us had been shattered and there was no going back.
I even spent an unhealthy amount of time finding out everything I could about her new man, a commodity trader called Tony Pickering who worked at the London Metal Exchange in Leadenhall Street, at the very heart of the City of London.
I suppose I was fascinated to discover what Lydia thought he had that I didnât.
Money, for one thing. As a trader he would probably be earning several times what I was getting from the BHA. And he had a family fortune to go with it.
I tried to tell myself that it must have been more than just the money, but, if so, I couldnât see it. I would have found his jobdeathly boringâbuying and then selling derivatives involving thousands of tons of yet to be mined copper for meaninglessly large sums in the hope that the selling price was a tiny fraction above the purchase price in order to make a âmarginâ and hence a profit.
He never actually saw any copper. The transaction was all on paper or on a computer and may as well have been for buttons, for all it seemed to matter.
How
could
Lydia have preferred him to me?
My wandering thoughts were brought back to reality by the ringing of my cell phone. I could hear it through the wooden walls of the sauna, tantalizingly close yet so far out of reach.
It rang six times, as always, before switching to voice mail.
I wondered who would be calling me.
Faye maybe.
Faye was my big sister, twelve years my senior, who had acted as a mother to me after our real mother had died when I was just eight. She still called me regularly to check that I was eating properly and to make sure I had washed behind my ears in spite of the fact that I was now thirty-two years old and she had more serious problems of her own to worry about.
The phone rang again.
It would be voice mail calling. Great.
â
T HE SAUNA had been well madeâfar too well made for my liking.
It was a pine cube, each side being about six feet long, set on the concrete floor of the garage.
I tried to lift the whole thing, but it wouldnât move. I couldnât even shift it sideways across the floor.
Next, I tried to separate the walls in the corners, to no effect. I even lay on the top bench and tried to lift just the roof off with my feet, but it wasnât budging, even when I kicked at it ferociously.
All I did was expend a lot of energy and aggravate my thirst.
I had been trying to ration the water in the small wooden pail. I took another tiny sip.
The only movable part of the sauna was the set of wooden slats on the floor, three five-foot lengths of pine held together by three shorter crosspieces. I picked them up and used the slats as a battering ram against the door.
Nothing.
Think.
The door was probably the strongest part of the structure, with all the extra wood used to make the frame. How about one of the other sides?
I started to batter the opposite wall at the point where the thin sliver of illumination was visible, but the slats were too long and unwieldy to be able to get a decent swing.
I switched to using one of the rocks from the heater, searching through the pile until I found one with a nice sharp corner on it.
After ten good hits, I tried to convince myself that the sliver of light was bigger.
I struck the wall again and again, using both hands on the rock to apply as much force as I could. I tried my best to always hit at the same point just beneath the point of light.
After another twenty or so strikes, I took a rest. The wood was beginning to splinter. I could feel it with my fingers.
I went back at it, standing with one knee on the wooden bench to give me a better angle. Over and over I lashed out at the wood until I was sweating again as
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