At the time, it was a little scary but, coincidentally, in line with our wishes. We arrived here on Anna's birthday, 5th September 2009, and decided we'd do the four seasons and leave at the beginning of September 2010. A month ago we were told we'd have to leave by 3rd September! Perhaps we actually created the whole scary situation by our stated intention to God, the universe and many friends … who knows?
It's all very well having these wonderful intentions but, when they happen and we've actually got to face the spectre of change, it can be scary.
So, as the 3rd September loomed closer and closer, our stress and adrenalin levels increased, higher and higher, in perfect relationship to the closing of the gap. And still no job has been found and, without a job, we cannot get accommodation as they will not let houses to unemployed people. The 3rd September moved closer, with each passing day, and our stress increased and sleep was harder to have and it was harder and harder to remain in the place of peace that A Course in Miracles suggests for us. The gap closed and the stress and fear grew.
Then, yesterday, eight days before D-Day, when we should have been stressed to overload, something went ppfffttt and then nothing. No stress. No fear. No adrenalin. No anger. Just stillness. Just peace. Just a quiet smile, resignation and, weirdly, we have no answers and really don't care. Maybe the stress is just too much for our tiny minds to encompass so it gives up and stops caring … stops knowing how to care. Maybe it's insanity setting in but who cares! We're currently in peace, in the void and in surrender, which is what A Course in Miracles suggests for us. Maybe we're finally getting it, that nothing matters and it's all just a silly game played out to amuse us while we realise the bigger (real) game of being our true Godliness.
Who knows? I sure as heck don't and knowing that I do not know does nothing but bring the peace I've been looking for for aeons. Aahhh!!
So, what does Arthur do or think when his back's against the wall? His story is continued from the previous blog ...
He thought of Joan and how she'd like him to act - cool and decisively. This was not a natural state for him but, for her, he tried to pretend. He noticed the clock on the wall said 11.37 and that time stuck in his head.
He noticed the black suits, nearly identical, and he noticed that one man, the one who stepped forward - the one with blonde cropped hair and who could have easily passed for an American sailor - had a faint scar from his left ear to his mouth. As he extended his hand a tattoo showed on his forearm, under his cuff-linked shirt cuff.
His colleague was slightly shorter and broader with a shaven head. Arthur noticed that he kept his right hand clenched and was sure the fourth finger was missing.
Then a strange thing happened - perhaps because his focus was strongly on some things and not on others. Anyway, a shadow, a flicker - maybe it was a trick of the light or the dread in his brain - passed the left corner of his eye. It was there and gone and he felt a faint whisper of wind, a zephyr. His left hand felt lighter but he daren't look down; he needed his focus on these men who, he assumed, were Financial Services Authority auditors. Rather more rugged looking than he'd imagined, they had obviously caught the scent - as auditors are wont to do - of whatever intrigues surrounded the Atkinson case. And here he was, Arthur Bayly, walking from the crime scene with the stolen jewels on his person, so to speak.
"Arthur Bayly, I presume?" said the blonde man, a missing tooth marring his smile.
"Ah, yes, correct. Arthur," said Arthur. "And you are?"
"You got da Atkinson stuff ..."
"The Atkinson file," said the shorter man, interrupting his friend. "We just want to ascertain the whereabouts of that information, Sir."
Arthur felt the prickly heat intensify and spread down his neck, as the man moved closer, his sickly deodorant filling Arthur's head. His legs felt a little unsteady. He was determined not to betray the precious information he carried but he couldn't help himself. He glanced down quickly ... and glanced again. The briefcase was not there! He knew he'd carried it out and now it was gone, like a phantom. He glanced around and saw Halee, the receptionist, smiling sweetly at all three gentlemen.
"Excuse me, sirs," she said in her New Zealand accent, "would you like to talk to our director about that?"
"Your director, whose dat?" asked the blonde man.
"Mary Collins, sir, she's our director."
"But we were told ... we need to talk to Arthur Bayly about this," said the shorter one.
"Who should I tell her you are?" Halee asked with great efficiency as she held up her handpiece, ready to call.
"But it's the Arthur Bayly we need to see," said the blonde man, looking a little uncertain.
"Did you have an appointment with Ms Collins, sirs?" asked Halee, apparently unable to hear their wish to see Arthur.
"No, no appointment. We just here to see Arthur Bayly and get the Atkinson file, thank you young lady," said the blonde one, losing his smile.
"Yes Ms Collins, they're here at reception now ... no, they don't seem to have any warrant or authority to take any client files ..." said Halee into her phone piece. Arthur was sure she had not dialled anyone or that anyone was at the other end of the line. However, the two men stepped back a little. "The police? You think I should call the police, Ma'am?" said Halee into her phone.
Arthur suddenly found himself suspended and being carried towards his office.
"Yours is the second on the left, here, isn't it?" said the shorter one, the stench of his bad breath mingling discordantly with his strong deodorant.
"Ah, yes, just here," said Arthur, wondering how he knew.
"Right, so where's the Atkinson file, buddy?" demanded the blonde one.
"Ah, the Atkinson file," muttered Arthur, trying to remember his activities five minutes prior to this. He gulped as he realised the Atkinson file was in two places and neither was in his office. "The Atkinson file," he said again, deciding to act dumb. Though, as he smiled to himself, it wasn't acting at all, really. "It should be in this filing cabinet. I just need to unlock it," he said, fumbling in his pocket for the office keys. They weren't there. Mary had them. "Look, I most awfully sorry, I don't have the keys."
The shorter man dashed to the filing cabinet, knocking Arthur aside, and yanked on the handle, several times. The cabinet tipped towards him, spilling a pile of paper onto the floor. By now Arthur had noticed a growing number of people passing his office, looking in while pretending not to. The two men noticed this, too, and Arthur could tell they were not happy.
"Yes," said Arthur, "it's locked and so I'll just go up and get the keys for you."
"You're not bloody goin' nowhere, buddy," said the blonde chap sharply. "Just open this willya!"
"I … I don't have the key," said Arthur, trying to sound calm and helpful. "I need to get the keys. They're not here, sir."
"Don't sir me, just open the cabinet," said the shorter man, grabbing Arthur by the coat collar and pushing him towards the cabinet. "We haven't got time to piss around. Now open that damned cabinet!"
"I'm very sorry, sir, I don't have the keys," said Arthur turning his pockets out, quickly, to show that he was carrying nothing but a white handkerchief.
"Good morning, gentleman!" said Mary breezily behind him. "What is it you're looking for?"
"The bloody key ..." said the blonde man.
"Ah, the Atkinson file, Ma'am," said the shorter one, frowning at his colleague. "We just need to get the Atkinson file."
"Of course," said Mary happily, walking up to him. "I'm Mary Collins, Regional Director. And we don't keep keys for confidential files down here on this floor. You'll have to come with me."
The two men looked at each other uncertainly. Their quarry was right there - do they risk leaving it?
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