Open Roads - Meet Hal Corbett

Some customers at September’s are instantly recognisable, either because of their larger-than-life personalities or because they stand out from the crowd visually. Hal Corbett is neither of these, but Nessa always notices him nevertheless. Each Wednesday afternoon, at around 2.30pm, Hal enters the café, seeking a seat on the roof terrace if the weather is fine or, if it’s raining or too cold, somewhere near a window. On sunny days, he can often be found enduring barely-whispered criticisms from Annie and Edie, resident elderly spinsters at September’s, as they vehemently object to the laid-back manner in which he rests his feet on the lower rung of the cast iron tables or tucks a leg up under his chin as he enjoys his coffee.

But the reason Hal catches Nessa's attention isn't for the irritation he causes to certain fellow customers. From the first time she encountered him – during one of her first shifts at the café – Nessa has found herself fascinated by the air of complete peace that seems to surround the quiet, unassuming man. Whilst they only ever exchange polite words briefly as he orders his coffee, Hal’s steady countenance speaks volumes to Nessa as she studies him covertly from the serving counter.

Hal is a man of uncertain years; Purdy and Nessa have guessed anywhere between mid forties to early fifties. His greying hair has receded completely from the top of his head, settling happily in a half-ring from ear to ear, yet his face is surprisingly young. He always enters September’s with glossy, string-handled bags from one of Northbridge’s designer boutiques, resting them on a vacant chair by his chosen table (much to the further annoyance of Annie and Edie) But far from bearing the visible signs of a man caught in the iron grip of a mid-life crisis, Hal exudes classic, relaxed style – clearly taking pride in his appearance. Purdy suspects he may be gay, a verdict she proclaimed too loudly last week: ‘No straight man ever looks that good’ – much to Nessa’s alarm.

In truth, Hal is a man reborn.

For twenty-three years, Hal Corbett worked for the same company – L&H Pharmaceuticals – in the nearby town of Netherborough. Joining straight from college, he gradually progressed from trainee lab assistant to Department Head, always diligent in his work, never happy to accept praise for his successes without including his colleagues in the equation. Yet despite his generosity and great humility, Hal never fully received the recognition he deserved in his position – either verbally or financially. Instead the plaudits fell to his immediate manager, Derek Lorrimer – a small, spiteful man of limited intelligence, short temper and over-inflated ego, who greedily snatched sole credit for Hal’s work time after time.

Year after frustratingly fruitless year, Hal endured Lorrimer’s endless personal insults, blatant disregard and professional jealousies – all without a word. Promotions eluded him, vital funds for his work were denied and blame for Lorrimer’s own mistakes was planted firmly on Hal’s head. Despite the crushingly personal blows rained mercilessly on him by a man whose only virtue was an ‘old boy’s network’ frequently called upon to save his sorry hide, Hal never spoke to anyone – neither colleague nor friend – about his predicament.

Until six months ago.

On a completely unremarkable Tuesday, he opened his email to learn of Lorrimer’s plan to take a personal patent out on Hal’s recently formulated anti-bacterial hand-wash, which had been proved to eradicate hospital-acquired infections. Quite by accident – but devastatingly indicative of his woeful lack of skill – Lorrimer had copied Hal in on a private memo to another colleague in the company. Without warning, something inside him snapped. Moved by an ice-cold compulsion, Hal calmly typed his resignation, emailing it – together with a copy of Lorrimer’s email – to the CEO of the company. Then, his feet propelled by an almost unearthly force, he marched into Lorrimer’s office slapped a copy of the evidence on his desk.
‘I’m leaving.’
‘When?’
‘Right now.’

And with that, Hal Corbett magnificently abandoned the only job he had ever known, walking out into the bright sunshine. Three weeks later, he patented his hand-wash and, a month after that, sold the formula to a global pharmaceutical conglomerate for a figure with more noughts than he ever bothered to count.

Sitting in his favourite spot on the roof terrace, gazing beyond the froth of his cappuccino to the meandering silver river curling through the valley below, Hal has no plans beyond this moment. He may travel the world. He might write a book. He may even buy his own personal Caribbean island. But for now, Hal is enjoying the priceless luxury of simply waking up every morning without dreading what lies ahead…

© Miranda Dickinson 2008

The Policeman's Secret - Meet PC Minshull

Whilst many of the customers at September’s have their favourite tables around the café, there are a few who prefer to sit or stand at the small bar by the back door, looking out at the roof garden terrace. One of these is PC Rob Minshull. A young beat officer, PC Minshull likes to include a quick visit to the coffee shop on his route most days, popping in around 11am for a swift coffee and a chat with Nessa and Purdy. Coincidentally, 11am is also the time when the day’s batch of freshly-baked muffins usually emerge from the oven…

Nessa is convinced that PC Minshull’s frequent visits have more to do with his attraction to her best friend and work colleague Purdy than his penchant for baked goods – despite Purdy’s vehement protestations to the contrary.

‘You are so way off the mark on this one, Nessa.’
‘I just think it’s odd that he always manages to visit on the days you work,’ Nessa smiles, much to the annoyance of her friend. ‘I don’t think it’s just your baking that he's fond of!’

Whatever her crazy best friend says however, Purdy finds more interest in the details of PC Minshull’s job than in deciphering his feelings for her. Growing up, Purdy always longed to do something exciting, exhilarating - dangerous even - with her life. For a long time during her childhood, she wanted to be a fighter pilot – until an unkind careers advisor at her secondary school crushed her hopes with one cruel condemnation: ‘You can’t do a job like that with those thick glasses, girl!’

Denied her dream profession, Purdy made the decision to keep her thrill-seeking tendencies for free time instead – leading to her participation in a dizzying array of white-knuckle experiences, from sky-diving to bungee-jumping, wing-walking to abseiling. Meanwhile, the discovery of contact lenses banished her much-hated glasses to the back of a drawer forever. Content, for the time being at least, to be working with Nessa, Purdy still loves to hear about people doing the kind of job she secretly craves.

As for Rob Minshull, the almost daily grilling he receives about his career from the confident red-haired girl with sparkly green eyes is easy to endure if it means he can spend a few minutes basking in the warmth of her full attention. In many ways, he would prefer not to have to think about his day job – the intricacies of which hold nothing more than a lifeless occupational obligation for him. He frequently tells himself that he should be used to the lack of passion in his heart for his chosen profession by now – after all, he has lived with its depressing reality for the past two years since he became a fully-fledged police officer.

With his father, two uncles and younger brother all choosing careers in the Police Force, it was perhaps inevitable that Rob Minshull would follow in their footsteps. His mother – herself the daughter of a Chief Constable - often referred to the Force as ‘the family business’ when he was growing up, yet Rob resisted the lure of the profession for several years. But as time went on, other available options gradually dwindled. A stint in computer sales proved unsuccessful; his office job with an insurance broker ended abruptly when the owner was prosecuted for fraud, and his brief foray into the murky world of telesales left him with nothing but a few new swear words and an unmitigated hatred for cold-callers. Finally, at the age of twenty-three, Rob gave up fighting and surrendered to the welcoming arms of the Force.

So he continues his beat, the daily drudgery of his job livened only by his brief visits to September’s and many discussions about arrests, self-defence techniques and thrilling pursuits with the gorgeous Purdy.

But what nobody in the coffee shop knows, what no-one in his family could ever conceive of, is that PC Rob Minshull has a secret life. A life so impossibly wonderful that he longs to share it with someone - to be able to fully revel in the surge of delicious excitement that washes over him whenever he thinks about it - instead of consigning it to a few stolen moments in the dullness of his day. Maybe one day, when Purdy’s enthusiasm for his job wanes sufficiently, he can reveal the truth to her. Maybe one day soon…

For Rob Minshull is so much more than just a young police constable pounding the beat of Northbridge’s streets. Away from his day job, Rob Minshull is Alice George – bestselling romantic novelist, whose debut novel sold out its first print within five weeks, garnering the plaudits of critics and readers alike. His visits to September’s provide him with more than just conversation and homemade muffins; when PC Rob Minshull is apparently making operational notes he is, in fact, sketching customers, scribbling imaginary life-stories for those that catch his eye, recording them in his Moleskine notebook which, like its owner, is pretending to be engaged in police duties.

But Rob now faces a new dilemma. An unexpected twist of fate led to his agent deciding to break with her usual email communication and call ‘Alice’ instead – unwittingly stumbling across his true identity. Far from being angry, she sniffed the publicity potential in his remarkable story and now wants to reveal his secret to the world.

‘It’s like George Eliot in reverse!’ she gushed, in a hastily arranged meeting with him last week. ‘You posed as a female in order to be taken seriously as a romantic writer. The world should hear your story!’

If only he could muster the courage to tell Purdy the truth…

© Miranda Dickinson 2008