A New World Begins

Exploring options

Speed Dial: Dad.

Connecting…

Dad:“Good morning, Craig. Very early morning. What’s so urgent? Have you burnt the house down or something?”

Craig:“Hi, dad, nice to hear from you too. No, I haven’t burnt the house down. It’s not stupid o’clock early, you’re always up at this time. It’s only six o’clock for you. You’re just getting ready to go out running, right?”

Dad:“Yuppity, Junior.”

Craig: “Junior? America’s getting to you dad. You’ll be having those bloody awful grits for breakfast next. Traitor…”

Dad:“Careful, I may start chucking tea in the harbour…”

Craig:“Quit fooling dad, I need to talk to you. I’ve only got a few minutes between lessons. It’s about Mr Allardyce and the stuff from Will. It’s actually serious, isn’t it?”

Dad:“Yes, it seems so. Your friend Nat has been calling me too. It seems he’s the brains behind the company that they are starting up.”

Craig:“Hardly, dad. Will’s the smart one, Nat will just be looking after the business side of things. Will is the one who does the coding. That’s the real clever stuff. Actually, they’ll make a good team. Will concentrating on the tech and Nat on making money. It’s what he does for Noah. You remember Noah? The weird kid that’s good at art? Noah draws and Nat sells his pictures. What did Nat want? What did he say?”

Dad:“Just that he’s running Will’s business, and that they want to make you a partner in it. Or pay you a fee for consultancy.”

Craig:“Consultancy?”

Dad:“Yes. He said you did some work for Will, checking his maths and advising him. They either want to make you a partner, give you 5% of the company, or pay you a consultancy fee of $5,000. The choice is yours. I…”

Craig:“$5,000? Are you sure, dad?”

Dad:“Yes, that’s what he offered. I thought it best to get some professional advice and so…”

Craig:“Bloody hell, dad, $5,000! Just for a couple of hours work on some maths? That’s about £4,000. I only get paid £8 an hour at the garage. I’ll take that any day! I’ve been wanting to save some money for a car when I pass my test, and it will go towards a nice shotgun too, and a nice present for mum’s birthday and…”

Dad:“Craig…”

Craig:“Your birthday too, dad…”

Dad: “Craig. Listen a moment.”

Craig:“Dad?”

Dad:“I’ve looked at the software Will sent me to assess, and showed it to a couple of my American colleagues. We’re all of the view that it is pretty good. It’ll probably sell well. Maybe even more so to the civil communications industry. The final decision has to be yours, but I’d suggest playing the long game and opting for a share in the company rather than a quick payoff now. I know $5,000 seems a lot to you right now, but in the long run owning part of the company and having a longer-term income may well be the better option.”

Craig:“Yes, but dad, $5,000 is a lot of money, and it’s guaranteed. Will’s company might never get going, or might not ever make a profit. A bird in the hand…”

Dad:“I know, Craig, and it’s a risk you have to evaluate. But look at it this way. If you really needed $5,000 in the next year or two, that’s the sort of money me and mom could provide for you if we had to. The potential earnings from a share in Will’s company could amount to much more than that. Or, as you say, nothing at all. But it does put the $5,000 in context. I’d like you to think about that. I’ll talk to Mr Allardyce and some others, check up on the tax situation and all the rules that there might be for you being a shareholder in the USA, so don’t worry about that side of things. Just think whether you prefer a bird in the hand now, or a chance of a whole flock of them later.”

Craig:“Yes, sure, dad. Err, how about having my cake and eating it? You giving me $5,000 now and me paying you back if I get to be a millionaire?”

* * *

“Craig, what are you doing? Why have you got your socks tipped all over your bed?”

What does mom think I’m doing? It’s bloody obvious I’m looking for something. I can’t find my passport. I always keep it in my sock drawer. At the bottom, right under all my socks. It’s always there when I’m not using it. That way I know where it is. And why does mom want to know anyway? I never heard her coming up the stairs. I could do without this.

“I’m searching, mom. I had something in my sock drawer, now I can’t find it.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Oh, nothing mom.”

“That’ll be why you can’t find it then. Nothing is always hard to find. It doesn’t exist, so you can’t find it.”

“Thanks, mom, that’s really useful.”

“If you tell me what you’re looking for, Craig, I might be able to tell you where it is. There’s never anything in your sock drawer except socks and your passport. Not that I’ve seen anyway.”

“Err, mom, how often do you go looking through my sock drawer? It’s private. You shouldn’t go looking in my sock drawer. I might have private stuff in there.”

“Craig, I don’t go looking through your sock drawer, as you put it. But I do go in there every week after I’ve done your washing to put your socks away. We can always change that if you want more privacy. You could do your own washing and ironing and put your own socks away. All your clothes in fact. It’d save me some time and effort too. Actually, I think that’s a good idea. Shall we say that from now on you’ll do your own washing and ironing?”

“Er, no mom!”

“Right. So, what’s missing then? Or is it too private to tell me? If it is, maybe you shouldn’t be keeping it in your sock drawer, Craig. You’ve got other cupboards I never go into. Or your desk drawer.”

“If you must know, mom, I can’t find my passport. It’s always here. But it’s not now.”

“Why do you need your passport? You’re not going anywhere. Unless of course you’re sneaking off for a weekend break in Barbados. Can I come too?”

“I don’t need my passport, mom. I just kind of noticed it wasn’t there when I was tidying my sock drawer, so now I am curious as to where it is.”

Mum doesn’t look convinced. She’s got that look on her face that says ‘I’m not going to make an issue of this but I don’t believe a word you’re saying.’ The same look she gives me when I open the fridge, just to browse, and she doesn’t believe I’m actually just browsing. Nat used to give me and Travis and Shane the same look when he caught us not actually doing anything, but looking as though we might have done something. Or were planning to do something.

“How old are you, Craig?”

What’s that got to do with anything? Why do parents always start off asking ‘How old are you?’ when they’re going to criticise you for something? I can see where this is going.

“Fifteen, mom. Well, fifteen and half just about.”

“And what age does a child passport expire?”

Oh, bloody hell! I’d forgotten that. My passport is running out of date. Dad pointed it out when I came back from America. I need to apply for an adult passport. Child passports expire at age sixteen, and most countries require six months remaining on a passport so it can still be used. Mom said she’d sort it out and renew my passport, convert it to an adult one ready for summer. In case we go abroad for a holiday. Or even back to America. Mom’s just looking at me as if I’m a sandwich short of a picnic.

“Oh, yes, mom. The renewal. You said we’d get a new one for me. An adult one. You were going to send it off…”

“Exactly, Craig. So that’s where it is. Back at the Passport Office, being upgraded to an adult one. Though sometimes I do wonder…”

* * *

“Mandy?”

“Yes, Brat?”

“I’ve told you, stop calling me Brat. You’ve been doing it for years.”

“I know. About ten years. When you stop being a Brat, I’ll stop calling you ‘Brat’. Deal?”

Well, I’m not going to start that argument now. It’ll last all the way to school and she’ll keep on calling me ‘Brat’. I just need to know what she told mom. I’m sure she has.

“Did you say anything to mom, Mandy? About what we said a few days ago. Me going back to America at Easter?

“No, Brat. I thought you’d given up on that stupid idea. It would never have worked.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. You’d never have got through security. Even if you slipped through here, the Americans would have caught you and shipped you right back. Probably have banned you for life.”

“No, I mean are you sure you didn’t say anything to mom? It’s just that she’s sent my passport away to be renewed. No way will it get back in time for Easter. Just seems so convenient. Like she had an idea of what I was trying to plan.”

Now Mandy is glaring at me.

“It’s just, well, it seems such an odd coincidence, Mandy. Why send it away now? She could have done it ages ago when dad first pointed out it needed doing. Or next month, after Easter. Or closer to the summer holiday. I’m sure it was in my sock drawer last week. I think it only disappeared this week. And mom never said anything. She could have said, ‘Let’s send your passport away to get upgraded this week.’ She never said anything like that. Big coincidence, don’t you think, Mandy?”

“Yes, Brat. Unlike you, I do think. Now, are you going to whinge about this all the way to school, or do you have something sensible to say? Interesting, even?”

* * *

Nat was busy talking with a few of the other cadet Sergeants in the ante-room before dinner when Riley nodded and whispered “Incoming” to attract his attention to the approach of Mr Williamson, the senior history master.

“Sergeant Bauer, do you have a moment?”

“Yes, Sir,” said Nat, noting how quickly the group around him was trying to dissipate. Though undoubtedly a good historian and a fine teacher, Mr Williamson wasn’t noted for the breadth of his interests and conversation. If he was coming over to chat, the subject was definitely going to be related to the teaching syllabus.

“I’ve just been reading your dissertation for this semester’s project, Nathan. Quite an unusual approach, I must say, but not without some merit in this case. You haven’t fallen into the trap so many do when presenting an alternative consideration of events of putting forward an implausible hypothesis and then ignoring all challenges to it. Your contention that the war of 1939-45 could have been limited to several separate conflicts between multiple co-belligerents rather than a global World War between two opposing power blocs was certainly a bold statement, especially as it was in itself just a prelude to an alternative contemplation of the Cold War that followed as a consequence. Yes, certainly a very radical approach…”

Riley, who being pinned between Nat and the coffee table and a couple of chairs, hadn’t been able to slip away, raised his eyebrows and glanced towards Nat. His lips didn’t move, but his face said “What on earth is he talking about?” Mr Williamson, his attention laser focussed on Nat, wouldn’t actually have noticed if Riley had shouted his question out loud.

“I understand from Miss Dalton that you have actually carried your concept over to your Creative Writing assignment for this semester too, Nathan. Miss Dalton was kind enough to let me see a copy of that submission. I must say, we were both intrigued and not a little impressed. The combination of the two pieces of work certainly shows an excellent understanding of the subject and an ability to explore it in two quite different areas of study. Not to the detriment of either, I must add. Most unusual.”

Nathan raised his coffee cup, took a sip and nodded. “I was quite getting in to the subject: doing all the background research needed to try and ensure my arguments were cogent was quite a task but enjoyable. So, I thought why not try and kill two birds with one stone? Some of the stuff I uncovered was interesting and I thought I could use it for my Creative Writing assignment too.”

Mr Williamson mirrored Nat’s actions, sipping his coffee too as Riley looked on, still trying to figure out what they were actually talking about.

“I’ve put your dissertation back in your project folder, annotated with a few comments and suggestions for you to consider. I know the deadline for submission is tomorrow, but I don’t expect you to make any changes by then. The work as submitted is quite good enough to get you the grades you need this semester, but I was thinking you might perhaps like to spend a little time further refining it and then submit it for consideration for publication in a journal, perhaps the Proceedings of the American Colleges’ Historical Studies Society. I’d also suggest sending a pre-publication copy to one of my colleagues at West Point for his comments. Along with the creative piece too. It could be quite beneficial to your future prospects…”

As Mr Williamson smiled and then moved away, Riley exchanged glances with Nat.

“What was that all about, Nat? I got the bit about you passing the project, and that he wants to publish it, so it must have been good, but what did you actually write about? And how did it link in with your English assignment?”

Nat smiled. “I got the idea to do something different. Everybody does the same thing for their sophomore year history dissertation. Selects one of the suggested topics and analyses it to death. There’s nothing new to be said about any of the topics offered. So, I took a different approach. Looked at the causes of the Second World War and decided to think about what might have happened if things had been just a little bit different. Like that proverbial butterfly flapped its wings a bit faster. Or not at all.”

“Kind of like an ‘Alternative Universe’? You actually submitted an ‘Alternative Universe’ history dissertation to Williamson?” said Riley, his face expressing amazement. “And you actually seem to have got away with it?”

“Looks like it,” smirked Nat.

“What did you actually write about then?”

“I suggested that if Hitler hadn’t declared war on the USA, there would have been regional conflicts but not a World War. The USA would have fought against Japan, and won of course because of our greater economic and industrial power and Japan’s limited resources. But we wouldn’t have got involved in the European conflict. That would have allowed Germany to concentrate on the Russian front, and the Russians wouldn’t have got any Lends-Lease help from us, and so would have been beaten. The second flap of the butterfly wings was if Churchill had kept Britain out of the European conflict too. Sat by and allowed Germany to eliminate Britain’s European rivals so Britain could preserve her Empire. Possibly increase it, snapping up the overseas territories of those countries that Germany conquered.”

Riley contemplated for a moment. “I guess there’s a kind of logic to that. But what was that stuff about the Cold War? If Russia gets beat, there wouldn’t be a Cold War afterwards.”

Nathan was getting into his stride. “Actually, there could have been, but a far more complex and dangerous one. That was really the main thrust of the whole dissertation. The stuff about World War Two not really happening was just the scene setter. Imagine what the 1950s could have been like in that case. You’d have us, of course, emerging as a superpower, but you’d also potentially have two more superpowers. The British Empire would be around still, bigger and better, and mainly sea based, covering lots of Africa and Asia. In Europe you’d have a huge, primarily land based, German Empire, stretching all the way to Vladivostok.”

Riley nodded thoughtfully. “And so…?”

“And so, give it a few years into the fifties, and you have these three big power blocs beginning to compete for political dominance and resources in the rest of the world. Any one of the three is possibly able to face off against either one of the others, but what if two of the blocs gang up on the third? That was the basis for my dissertation. How would a young, dynamic, first-term US President react if faced with a potential threat on our doorstep?”

“Sounds like you’re describing Kennedy, Nat.”

“Exactly, Riley. I was looking at the Cuban Missile Crisis, but from a different viewpoint. Considering what might have happened if Great Britain had put missiles on Bermuda.”

“The Bermudan Missile Crisis?” smiled Riley. “I like that…”

“What my version of Kennedy has to deal with,” continued Nat, “Is deciding if he’s facing the British on their own, or if the Germans will take advantage of us being pre-occupied with Bermuda to create mischief somewhere else in the world. That’s bad enough, but what if the Germans are just being opportunistic? What if they are actually colluding with the British, the two Old World powers secretly allied to take down the young upstart New World power?”

“How does it turn out? Are they working together? How do we beat them?” Riley was clearly engrossed in the concept.

“I don’t say, Riley. I leave it to the reader to contemplate. Provoke their thought. My dissertation ends with a briefing in the Oval Office. The President is being updated on the latest intelligence. Advisors putting different facts in front of him. Different opinions. Often contradictory. Ultimately, the President has to sift through the facts and opinions. Come to his own conclusions. Decide if the British are bluffing. Does he dare send a fleet to blockade Bermuda, knowing that a huge German fleet out of Vladivostok is holding ‘exercises’ off the Aleutians and Alaska?”

“Alaska?” queried Riley. “What’s special about Alaska? Where does that come into things?”

“Maybe it doesn’t,” said Nat. “But maybe it does. The Greater German Empire doesn’t recognise the Russian sale of Alaska to the USA. They want it back…. Well, its resources mainly.”

“Alaska would be easy enough for us to reinforce,” said Riley. “Even if we do send a lot of the Pacific Fleet through Panama to reinforce a blockade of Bermuda. We just send the Army up the Trans-Pacific Highway. The Germans would struggle to get enough troops ashore against an opposed landing.”

“Yes,” smiled Nat. “But will the Canadians, part of the British Empire, just sit back and let our Army pass through…?”

Riley was grinning. “You’ve thought this through, haven’t you? I don’t want to be that President. How does he make the correct decision?”

Nat grinned too. “I don’t know. That’s why I left it to the reader to decide. Put the facts out there, lace them with possibilities and a sprinkling of possible red herrings, then stand back and watch the ensuing chaos. Politics is like that. Nowhere near as clear cut and logical as most people think. Whims and opinion usually beat reason. You should hear what my pop says about most of his meetings.”

“Well, it sounds like Williamson thought you’d done a good job of putting it together Nat, and that’s a rare praise from him. But what was that about your Creative Writing? Doing the same stuff there?”

“That was a bit different, Riley. Not so much history and facts or even politics. Just the human face of things. If you remember, Miss Dalton tasked us with writing an emotional piece. So I wrote a story, set in the same times, from the viewpoint of a young air force aircraft mechanic sitting on the tarmac of an airbase, waiting for the aircraft he looks after to return. It’s overdue. In his mind he’s turning over the things that could have happened. Is it just late, coming back against a headwind? Mechanical problems? Something he was responsible for? Maybe didn’t do right? And then there’s the mission. The world situation. It’s a top-secret aircraft. Tasked with carrying out a reconnaissance overflight of Bermuda. It flies so high that it is invulnerable. Even if the British did try and act against it – which they wouldn’t dare, surely, that would mean war - they just don’t have a fighter that can get up there and reach it. Do they? It’s tougher too because he’s friends with the pilot. But the plane’s long overdue. It would be out of fuel by now if the weather was the only problem it had encountered. And the pilot would have been able to get off a radio message in that case. Alert the search and rescue teams that are on standby. There hasn’t been a message.”

“That’s an interesting combination,” thought Riley to himself. “On the one hand you’ve got a guy with power, facts and fingers at this fingertips, cold and analytical, everyone looking to him to make the right decision. On the other, you’ve got a young guy, just being blown along by fate and happenstance, trying to make sense of it all. Opposite sides of the same coin…” Riley looked over to Nat who was waiting for him to comment.

“So, not like the real world at all then, Nat?”

* * *

“Craig, are you sure you’ve lashed those two mountain bikes down securely to the carrier? And secured the carrier to the tow ball properly? Your dad won’t be happy if we lose the bikes on our way to the airport. They were expensive.”

“I guess the people in the car behind us won’t be too happy either if the bikes fall off. Of course I have done it properly, just like dad showed me. Look, I can jump up and put all my weight on them and they don’t move a bit.”

“Craig! Stop doing that!”

“It’s fine mom, I’m just showing you. They’re totally secure. It’s the kayaks on the roof rack that are more of a problem. I still think we should have bought a proper carrier for them too, not just rely on some old rope and an ancient roof rack.”

“I thought you said the knots wouldn’t come undone, Craig. You said you were an expert in knots.”

“It’s not the knots I’m bothered about, mom. They’re fine. Just we could do with stronger rope. Once the slipstream gets under the kayaks they’ll lift like aerofoils and try to fly off. Stronger rope is always good.”

“You’ve already used the proper rope and my washing line too. What do you want next? Steel hawser?”

“Do we have any, mom?”

“Craig! I’ll be glad when we get to the airport and pick your dad up. Then he can start dealing with you. You’ve been like a bear with a sore head for the last few days. I don’t know what’s got into you. You’re not usually like this.”

“Like what, mom?”

“Like this. Arguing and finding fault. You’ve been at it all morning as we ‘ve been packing.”

“Mom, I’ve always said we should have a bigger car. We’re going to be cramped to death. There’s your case and mine in the boot, plus some bags for dad. Then whatever he brings back home with him. We’ve got our bikes on the back and kayaks on the roof. It’ll be okay for you and dad up front from the airport, but I’m going to be squashed on the back seat with all the things you’re taking with us to gran and grandad’s. If we had a bigger car, there’d be space in the boot for that stuff.”

“Craig, when you can drive, and buy your own car, and the petrol, and the insurance, you get to say how big a car we have. Ninety-nine per cent of the time this one is fine. It’s small, easy to park and plenty fast enough.”

“Yeah, perfect for a woman driver…”

“What was that, Craig?”

“Nothing, mom.”

* * *

Airports are always so bloody crowded, and full of idiots. I can put up with them when we’re flying off somewhere, but today we ‘re just here to pick dad up. Then we’re off to Yorkshire to my grandparents for Easter. I love it when we stay with them, but getting there is a pain in the arse. Especially this time since dad had to get a civilian flight and we had to go to Heathrow to pick him up en route. Normally he’d fly in on an RAF trooping flight to Brize or Lyneham and we’d stay overnight in the base transit accommodation. Break the journey up and travel on to Yorkshire the next day. Mom looked at the hotels near here for us to do that too but the prices were stupid and the only ones with rooms left looked to be right under the flight path. Like anybody is going to get to sleep with 130 decibel jets taking off every ninety seconds. We should have planned this at least a month ago. Found a hotel twenty miles further on. Fat chance of doing that just one week before Easter.

“Move up a bit, Craig, make space for me. We can both squash onto that bench. Here’s your can of pop. They’d run out of Kit-Kats so I’ve brought you a Mars bar. Now, you’re sure you’ve been keeping an eye on that exit gate? Your dad hasn’t arrived and slipped through? His flight landed half an hour ago.”

“No mom, he’s not slipped through. He’ll be ages yet. He’s got to get all the way from the terminal to this hub, then passport checks. Baggage reclaim. Then through that zig-zag system where the Customs are waiting to pounce on you if they think you’re smuggling in an armadillo.”

“What? An armadillo? Craig, sometimes you say the weirdest things.”

“It’s rife, mom. Armadillo smuggling. Makes heroin look like small beer. Can’t be too careful about armadillos.”

“Well, looks like you’re wrong for once, Mr Smarty Pants. There’s your dad coming through now!”

Bloody hell, she’s right. There he is. Must have been first of the plane. Elbowed the First Class passengers out of the way and sprinted all the way here.

“Hey, dad! Over here!”

“Hi, Craig! Good to see you. Where’s your mom? Oh, here she is. More beautiful than ever...”

Dad always says that when he comes home on leave. Well, he has to, doesn’t he? Then spends the next five minutes snogging her while I look at my feet and pretend I’m not with them. Parents, huh. Maybe this isn’t the best time to ask if he’s brought me an armadillo.

“Did you bring me an armadillo, dad?”

“What?”

“Oh, just ignore him for a few minutes, Mark. He’s been moody and weird all the way here. All week in fact.”

“Oh, thanks mom.”

Dad’s laughing. Mom too. Looking right at me. Right through me.

“Armadillo? I’ve got you something better than that. Look behind you.”

“Hi, Boots. Do I get a kiss like that too?”

“Bloody hell! Nat! What are you doing here, Nat? I mean, well, I… No-one said you were coming. Mom…Dad… What?”

“That’s a fine welcome for your friend, Craig. Still, if you think the back seat of the car is going to be too cramped we can put him on the next plane back. Hello, Nathan, I’m Julie, Craig’s mom, as you may have gathered. It’s nice to meet you at last. Mark has told me a lot about you. Craig, not so much…”

* * *