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 Teesside, 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.

Chapter 2 – Dick and Betty

Dick Brennan set his alarm for 05:40. He turned it off and took a few moments to come around. He could no longer jump out of bed. He turned on his other side. Just as his hand caught Betty’s breast, she removed it.

‘I can read you like a book, Dick! We don’t have time. You should have set it earlier,’ said Betty, without moving.

‘If you said yes, we could have started a few minutes ago instead of wasting time discussing it.’

‘You said after retiring we’d never get up when it was dark,’ she mitigated.

‘Do you want to want to tell that to Cheryl and Josiah?’ he grumbled, going to the bathroom.

Dick was faster at getting ready. It meant he could do the jobs which needed doing before they left home. Betty liked to have a cup of tea and a slice of toast before they got on the road. He could tidy up and make the place look good for when they returned from their daughter and grandson.

‘What time do we need to be at Cheryl’s?’ asked Betty, pretty sure she knew the answer.

‘I said some time after nine, depending on the traffic. The Leeds morning traffic’s a pain in the arse and York’s no better.’ He turned the shower off. ‘If we get on the road by six thirty, we should be good.’

Oh my Giddy aunt! I’ve only got 45 minutes.’

Dick heard the rustling as Betty got out of bed. She pulled off her pyjamas and came into the bathroom.

Dick dried and went out. He put both set of nightwear under the pillows, pulled the quilt over the bed and turned back the top. Just how Betty had instructed. He put on the bolster pillow which spent nights on the floor. He couldn’t understand why she bought these things, but arguing was a waste of energy.

Dick put on his jeans, T-shirt and a pullover. He put their suitcase on the bed, ensuring the wheels didn’t touch Betty’s white line. It was already loaded with clothing for the next three days. Cheryl was going away on business and Dick, more accurately Betty, had volunteered them both to look after Josiah.

He was three years old looked forward to being ruined by his grandparents. They would take Josiah to eat at his favourite fast-food places. An out-of-town shopping mall had a kids’ adventure playground and they could take him and let him to run off a little steam. Betty liked the shopping. Dick would sneak a beer in once Josiah was tucked up in bed.

Secretly, Dick enjoyed the few days looking after his grandson. It was nice to be away from home and he gladly broke his rule about getting up only when it was light.

Betty started getting ready, which always seemed to take in inordinate amount of time. She applied moisturiser, some make-up and then dried her hair. The dryer was switched off to ask a question or listen to a news item. Dick watched the clock tick by.

‘Check the case with me,’ she instructed from behind her dressing gown. ‘Have you got your clothes?’

‘Three shirts. Two T-shirts. Spare jeans in case Josiah chunders on me. Socks. A spare pair of undies.’

‘One?’ Betty saw Dick’s face. ‘Stop being irritating!’

‘I’m only breathing.’

‘That’s close enough.’

He went downstairs to make a cup of tea, which Betty could drink as she got ready. It didn’t speed things up, but at least she’d had a hot drink. When they visited Cheryl, they had a routine of stopping at Skelton Grange Services on the M1 for a bite of breakfast. It meant they didn’t arrive starving.

Betty had filled a number of shopping bags with food and presents. Cheryl could more than afford to live, but it was the mother in Betty. It never stopped. One bag had red wine, white wine and beer. The other had the ingredients for a roast dinner which Betty would make for Cheryl’s return. She always complained there was no need. Josiah knew he could have an extra evening with his grandparents.

To Cheryl, it meant she didn’t need to cook or buy food, which always helped. She took the decision to keep Josiah when she got pregnant. Her man took the decision to leg it as far and fast as he could. They had little contact, except for the four hundred pounds a month he paid. It wasn’t enough, but him being out of their lives was a blessing in return.

Dick took the shoulder of lamb out of the fridge and put it in another bag.

Most of Cheryl’s work was done from home and fitted around childcare. That was a financial boon. This was her three-day work jaunt. She was invited to attend and loved meeting the team face-to-face. Zoom calls were a poor substitute. She was increasingly friendly with Manager of the Optical Instruments business. They had arranged hotel rooms next to each other. There was a connecting door which he had secretly arranged to be unlocked. She was much more careful about her contraception.

She would return home full of enthusiasm and her new secret lover.

‘Can you do my bra up?’ asked Betty. ‘And keep your hands to the back!’

‘It was only a crafty reach-around!’ he complained. ‘Toast in five, Bet,’ he reminded.

Betty put butter on her toast and checked over the bags, looking for something Dick had missed.

‘They’ve got shops in York, you know. If we’ve missed anything, we can always buy it.’

‘That’s not the point. I don’t like Cheryl spending her money.’

‘We’re saving three days of child care, feeding Josiah and providing her with a meal. It’s not a bad quid pro quo.’

‘I want to leave her some money.’

Betty went to the drawer in her bedside cupboard and took out a few hundred pounds. Dick didn’t waste energy complaining. If Betty had made her mind up, there would be no budging. He’d retired two years previously and taken the full tax-free lump sum. The state pension would kick in shortly and Betty was able to draw from her company pension.

The house was paid off, as was their car. Their monthly bills weren’t horrendous, so giving his daughter a few quid wasn’t a big deal. He packed the car and they left.

They got on to the A627(M) motorway heading north out of Oldham and tracked towards the M62 eastbound.

‘You go right at this roundabout,’ said Betty, hand pointing to the left. He checked the slip road and put his foot down to get up to motorway speed.

 Dick indicated right and moved into the lane. He had a couple of miles before the M62 junction and he needed to turn right.

‘They’re breaking ahead,’ she observed.

 ‘I managed to drive all over the country before I retired,’ he complained, pulling on to the M62. ‘I didn’t realise this car has a bug in the computer.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s started to give me instructions. Perhaps it’s one of the new wife-sat-navs.’

‘Are you saying I tell you how to drive?’

‘You absolutely are telling me how to drive,’ he blustered. ‘If you didn’t, I’d be jumping red lights, running pedestrians over, going across roundabouts and smashing into parked cars. This is so convenient!’

He stayed in the middle lane until he passed the Rochdale turning. It avoided pulling out when cars were coming on to the motorway.

‘You’ve been in the middle lane for a while now, Richard!’ she scolded. ‘You used to hate that.’

‘And I still do, but we’re coming up to a bugger of a hill and it goes to four lanes at this point. The hill knocks the wind out of the trucks and I’d prefer to be safe, not weaving out because some truck tosser changes lanes without looking.

‘Well, perhaps you should consider doing it now,’ she said.

‘Thank you, helper. You’ve no idea how helpful this new system is. Don’t you think, Betty?’

Her fingers dug into his thigh. Dick duly moved into the outside lane. He pushed his foot down to get more speed up and cross the Yorkshire-Lancashire border.

It was 07:15.© Peter Hardman 2026