Chance
Chapter 2: A Novel Idea
Chance drew in a great breath as he finally crossed the shallow horizon. He stood, hands on hips, and gazed out at the world spread before him. He had just crossed the zenith of the hill after an hours' gradual uphill walk. Before him lay a patchwork tapestry of English countryside. Fields bordered by dark, interlacing hedgerows. Small clumps of trees and woodland hugged tiny villages and buildings. The landscape was dotted with buildings and structures. Behind him, the sun was just beginning to set. The light caught on the occasional window, creating brilliant points of light on the vista before him. The villages almost twinkled like gems in the afternoon haze.
It was a glorious sight. Chance simply stood still for a time, taking it all in. Trying to savour everything his eyes rested on. He searched for landmarks on the horizon, desperately wanting to be able to name at least one of the jewels before him. He pointed towards one church tower among a cluster of trees. That must be Lewes, surely? Yes, he could just make out the river snaking through the town, glistening a pale yellow in the sun.
He slowly lowered himself to the grassy floor and removed his rucksack. While he still had good light, he took out his battered map to check his bearings. Tracking his route up the hill with one finger, and then tracing the red trial of the footpath, Chance tried to size up his destination. He could see the footpath tracking across the top of the hill, then disappearing over a ridge a short distance away. It would lead right down the side of the hill – surprisingly sheer for this part of the country – and into a shallow woodland. About an hours' walk through there, he reckoned, and he'd reach the village of Thrilby.
Chance had been walking since dawn again. He hadn't had much luck the night before. He had dragged himself through two different villages in the darkness, but neither was able to accommodate him for the night. He wasn't too far away from Brighton town, but he hadn't wanted to visit there. Many years ago, he had struggled through a university degree there. Technically, two degrees, he mused. The one failed spectacularly, while the other had been a long and drawn out success. It had been his famous second chance, and he had somehow pulled through after five long years of academic tedium.
No, he wasn't ready to head back there yet. He did miss the town though, and the company he had occasionally enjoyed there. He had also missed the South Downs dearly. It was here, on hills like these, that Chance discovered his love for the wilderness. After a year of walking the country, alone, he was all too comfortable to keep the busy town as a memory. Thrilby was a fairly large village and Chance was confident of finding a bed for the night there.
But first, he opened his rucksack and drew out two very important things. His bottle of water – still half full – and his battered reading book.
~o~
“What's that you're reading, James?”
James looked up from the tatty novel and across the kitchen. Jen stood in the doorway, looking curiously at him.
“Oh, just a book. It's Chance, by the way.”
“Chance? Oh this new name of yours! Yes, Dave mentioned it. Erm, at risk of sounding daft, why are you reading in the kitchen?”
James gestured towards the worktop with the book. A cup of tea stood brewing, the teabag gently bobbing. “Just waiting for my tea.”
“Oh” said Jen, clearly not entirely satisfied with the explanation. She walked over to the kettle, “This has just boiled then?”
“Er, yeah. You'll probably need to refill. How is Dave?”
Jen and Dave were visiting James' housemate and occasional best friend Rob. Sadly, Rob wasn't the best host in the world, and frequently left his guests to wander through any open doors. It was little events like that which upset the general domestic equilibrium that was so carefully cultivated in the house. They also tended to make James lose his page. He tried to read his sentence again, giving Jen half an ear.
“He's alright! He's got his driving test next week, did he say?” James was startled away from his book again as Jen turned the tap on high pressure, noisily filling the kettle. “He's very nervous” She shouted over the noise.
“Yeah he said something about it last night. I'm sure he'll be fine.” Jen resat the kettle and clicked it on, then turned around to look at James again.
“It's a very old looking book. Ever thought of trying something new?”
James raised an eyebrow at Jen, then lifted the book, making a show of inspecting it. It was a thin volume – only a couple of hundred pages. There were several small tears in the front cover, and the pages were worn to a deep tan colour from age.
“It's second hand. I picked it up from the shop this morning. Saving the pennies, you know.”
“You paid for that shabby old thing?”
“Actually it's nice to buy books second hand. The book has a story of its own that way. There's a sense of... almost a sense of prestige about the book itself.”
“I'd never really thought about it like that” replied Jen, as she turned around and began to hunt through the cupboards.
“Top-right cupboard, second shelf. And most people don't.”
Jen looked in the top cupboard, took down two clean mugs, and added teabags. “Thanks. Don't what?”
“Don't think about books. I mean, a book can be a very personal thing! Take this story, for example. It's a story which, no matter how many times I read it, still manages to feel fresh, to take on new meaning, and to give me food for thought. I've sat through some tough times with only this story for company. It's pulled me through pretty nicely too.”
The kettle clicked off and quietened down. Jen reached for it and filled up the mugs. “You can do that with a good CD. And you wouldn't want to buy one of those second hand.”
“Well, no. I have CD's to pull me through hard times too. But this book, this precise set of carefully printed and bounded pages -” Jen turned to him and raised an eyebrow at this “Well alright, this once-upon-a-time cared for, frequently dropped sheaf of papers – has been read by someone else. Clearly well read too. What times did this book help it's owner through, I wonder? How many train stations has it been dragged through? How many sleepness nights has it rescued? How many times borrowed, re-read, discussed, passed around, and flicked through? I mean, you can take a book anywhere. Read it any time.”
Jen carefully stirred the tea, tossing the bags in the bin. “Hmm. I really hadn't thought about that. Shall I?” She asked, motioning toward James' stewing teabag. “You get all this from an old book?”
“Thanks. Well, sort of. It all comes bundled in together. It's a part of it's charm. It's history. Even if the words of the book have been read to death; the stories which have lived around the book can live on a little. The smell of the pages, the wear of the paper, it's all there. Look here, this one has an inscription inside the front cover, see?” James held the book up and pointed to the faded blue writing scralled inside it. Jen raised the tea to her mouth and peered at it. “It says, 'Dear Simon. Have a very happy birthday, love Tara'. It's like the first clue. What happened to Tara? Simon clearly sold this lovely gift. Why do that for a couple of pounds? Did they fall out? Did Simon himself ever read the book? Maybe Simon died, and the book was sold on to raise funds for the funeral.”
“James!”
He shrugged. “Alright, probably not. But who's to say? I think it's a fantastic way to read a book. Better to read something with a bit of value and history to it. I only hope that the previous owners loved the story as much as I do.”
A silence descended on the room. James used the opportunity to finish his sentence. He knew where it was leading, but the next chapter was a real cracker, and he wanted to get to is as soon as possible. Jen watched for a moment with a thoughtful expression. A shout from the next room pierced the silence.
“Where's that tea, babe?”
Jen tutted, picked up the other teacup, and headed out of the kitchen. She paused in doorway.
“It was nice talking, Chance. You'll be at The Duke on Thursday, yeah?”
“Wouldn't miss it”, replied James, taking up the book again and immersing himself in its mystery once more.
Jen hesitated a moment, then turned and walked through to the living room.
~o~
The sun was quite low in the sky now, the skies a deep orange. Chance packed his book away and rose once more. He really wanted to get to Thrilby before it was too dark. Although there was little chance of that now.
As he walked down the hill, following the narrow stony path across a stubbly grass field – Chance reflected on Jen. She had always been a split character. She could sometimes be very sweet. Especially when Dave wasn't around and she would let herself relax. But she would so often try too hard, and let herself down. Things didn't work out with Dave, and Chance took the opportunity to get a little closer to Jen himself. That quickly turned into a disaster. Even with Dave out of the picture, and Chance trying to keep her calm, Jen would try to live too fast. The poor girl had never understood the value of silence or of dignity. They had split up some four years ago now; about six months before Chance finally graduated.
Even now, after so much time for reflection, Chance still couldn't make sense of those years. So much had gone wrong. They were years where he frequently let people down, and was let down by others. Years when every potential good thing had somehow gone bad. Years of constant catching up with some confused dream. Even after university, the world of work had offered Chance little improvement. He still couldn't get up to speed with the world. He could never let himself hold onto the important things, and never spend his time wisely.
And yet, through all that bad news, and all those mornings of utter despair and dread: Chance had occasionally been happy. Fleetingly, haltingly, even unwittingly. But he could never figure out just why he had been happy. His time alone was supposed to shed light on such things. He had intended to spend a month trying to find out what was really important to him. To re-assess his priorities, and to re-evaluate himself. All he had found was more confusion. More cause for regret.
So Chance kept walking, down the hill into uncertainty. Having passed the crest of the slope now, the sun was off his back. He ambled down the shadowy slope. He was content enough. But he could never shake the feeling that somewhere, in the vastness of the world, was a special place for him. A place where he was missed already, although people didn't realise it yet. A place where he could be himself, and set himself realistic targets. A place where, just once, he could get it right first time.
Chance kept on walking.