07:15
Chapter 1 – Cavan Tansey
Cavan wanted to go to University, but there were a couple of barriers. He lived in Plymouth and the ones which offered him a place were some considerable distance away. And as a West Country boy, he wasn’t going that far north for anyone. The second issue was debt. That scare the shit out of him.
He’d read an article and worked out what he’d repay over his working lifetime. That was a scary number. He also thought the six percent annual interest rate was usurious. Cavan’s dad said that rate of return was better than most pension investments. He also figured it was an extra 9% tax on his annual income, before the fun and games of buying a house, a car, food and all the other things which were necessities of life were bought.
That meant Cavan would have repaid at least £120,000 over and above his original debt. It meant years of extra tax, which he felt morally obliged to avoid paying.
Cavan secured a summer holiday job with a local engineering company. After two months, the owner pulled him into a meeting and offered him a full-time job. In return, the owner said he would pay for Higher National Certificate in Engineering. To Cavan, that meant a job and no debt. Result all ‘round!
By 21, the company allowed him extra time to upgrade his HNC to a degree in Electrical and electronic engineering. He could combine the academic with the practical, but the company saw this as a good investment. In return, Cavan signed a contract to stay for five years after his degree finished. It meant Cavan Tansey, at the age of 24, could write BSc after his name without the student debt.
Two years later, he was asked to move into sales and cover a territory they called The North. Being Plymouth-based, the company thought the north was anywhere above Bristol. The Arctic Circle was at Birmingham and the North pole was somewhere above Manchester.
Armed with this glowing geographical description, he agreed to relocate and cover an area north of Stoke-on-Trent. It was difficult to refuse the offer when it included a pay rise, commission, a company car allowance and a relocation package. Cavan was delighted, as indeed were Mr and Mrs Tansey. They became empty nesters and could now begin planning the life they had before conception.
Cavan mounted a map of his territory on a board. It was old school, but he could see more about his new area. He put coloured pins in the board to denote different customer types. That quickly showed the towns and cities he would need to spent more time.
Everywhere was a drive, so he plumped for a central point. Home base became Lancaster. He could get to Teeside, the M62 corridor, the Scottish central belt and Aberdeen was a pain, but driveable.
He spent three nights a week in hotels. He used cashback and booking apps which yielded a significant amount of reward points. He changed credit cards which added to his rewards. Being away from home for so much time meant his living bills were negligible. Gas and electricity cost very little. He bought food when he was at home over weekends. Anyone who wanted him used his company mobile. Cavan was stashing cash like fury.
He also learned a great line in questioning hotel receptionists. Cav would check in, unpack then go back to Reception. He asked if they had any deals or free tickets at local nightclubs. Most did. The responses he got went along the lines of I finish at 10/10.30/11. I can take you if you want.
It meant he was often accompanied by a girl. If that struck out, they often had friends who he could chat to. He started to learn his way around the fun bars, clubs and restaurants in many cities.
Cavan’s mobile phone’s contact list started to fill with girls had met on his travels. Many of the relationships didn’t last that long. Girls moved on to more regular boyfriends and someone who dropped in once every few weeks ran out of appeal. It didn’t matter. He never went short of company.
One of his regular routes was a drive back from the North Wales coast. Cavan had booked himself into the Atlantic Tower hotel in Liverpool. It had a wonderful design like a funnel, symbolising the city’s maritime history. It overlooked the River Mersey and drinking at the bar was a pleasurable view.
He could see the Liver Building, with its liver birds still tied down to the roof. There was an amazing shopping and restaurant complex nearby, plus a tons of bars with live music.
This particular night he was due to see Rowyn. They’d met at a nightclub and dated a few times. When he was in Liverpool, they had dinner together and she stayed over at the Atlantic Tower.
Their routine was the same. They spent the first hour in bed. Afterwards, they showered and went out for a few drinks around the Liverpool 1 area. There was a Beatles memorabilia hotel nearby which he liked. Rowyn had told him about a new Italian restaurant which she had hoped to try. It was good bragging rights to her friends. Travelling boyfriend, dinners out, nights in hotels. What wasn’t there to like?
Cav’s alarm went off at 5.30. He’d had over six hours’ sleep so he could cope. He had a meeting in Bradford at 8.30. He should have stayed closer to the customer, but Bradford nightlife had never produced any results.
‘Don’t move!’ instructed Rowyn, going to the loo. ‘You’re not getting away that easily.’
Her accent went up at the end of sentences. It was different to his rolling accent, which was noticeably reducing. Customers didn’t get a west country slang. He’d began the process of blending in better.
Cavan reached into his draw as she slumped on top of him.
‘Breakfast voucher, Rowe, assuming you can eat when I’ve gone.’
‘Nice one, Cav!’ she smiled.
She attempted to join him in the shower.
‘I’m late and need to get on the road.’
‘Next time?’
They kissed after he’d dressed. ‘You’ve not shaved.’
‘Got an electric one in the car. It saves cutting myself at Christ knows when o’clock.’ Cav grabbed his bags and left the hotel. He always pre-paid the bill so there was no standing around waiting for an inefficient night porter to check him out. He went into the hotel’s car park, started up and left.
As he drove on the M62 east-west motorway, he started to think. Lancaster wasn’t the most ideal place to live. His business in the Liverpool-Manchester-Yorkshire-Hull corridor was
increasingly. Scotland was a week-long trip, but fortunately it was only once a month. He had recently got permission to fly to Aberdeen, which saved two days in a car.
Cavan was looking at buying a house in the Preston-Manchester area. There were plenty of good housing stock and he’d seen some good deals on-line. His mortgage would be less than renting, but with the added dangers of council tax and repairs. As an engineer, he could hold a spanner and maybe renovate a place. That would increase its value and less travelling hours would mean more time to spend on a house.
He was putting more horsepower into that idea. He was banking a ton of money each month. There was a big slug of his relocation allowance left and he was paying his car down like hell. The plan was to minimise debt. At the current run rate, he could buy a three-bedroomed, semi-detached house place for around two-eighty grand. The key location driver was Cavan needed quick access to a motorway. No point in wasting more time driving through a town.
His phone was in a cradle below his eye level. He saw a message from Rowyn, to which he replied with an x.
At 07:15 he was crossing the Pennines into Yorkshire.
© Peter Hardman 2026