3:AM Magazine

By Sam Jordison.

“They had that little boy.”

“Yes, I heard. I was surprised they had him, you know.”

“Well I was too. I don’t think I could have, in her place. But she was that kind of woman. Yes, she was that kind of woman. She had to see it through. Bloody minded. Or, not the sort to shirk responsibility, Bill always said. Not that she they saw Charlie as a responsibility after a while. Nobody did. Oh he was a sweet thing. They all loved him so much. He was such a sweetheart. I don’t think they ever regretted it. In spite of… Well she had a career and… The thing I always remember is they had this sculpture by Gourain. A great big heavy thing. About as big as this table in front of us. It was lovely smooth, dark, metal and Charlie just adored it. And because he adored it, he used to lick it. I know. I know! It was worth at least six figures. But he didn’t care about that, did he? How could they explain? And they just decided he was worth more to them than some dead metal and let him lick it. They just had to make sure they kept it clean — for his sake. They taught him to read, you know. He wasn’t as touched as all that. Not as handicapped I mean. It’s such an awful word, isn’t it?”

“It makes me think of them all on buses.”

“Drooling?”

“Quite. It’s demeaning to say handicapped nowadays, isn’t it?”

“I find it so hard to keep up with what we’re supposed to say and not say.”

“I don’t think I ever knew.”

“So Charlie. He was special. That’s how Bill put it, back then. And I think he really meant it. Meant it in the sense of being wonderful. It was so sad. But they’d not be stopped from having normal lives. They even used to take him to restaurants. How they coped with that, I don’t know. But everyone loved him in Gianni’s. Do you remember Gianni’s? On Dalton Street?”

“Where James had his fall?”

“Right. Poor old James never could hold his gin. But anyway. All the waiters in Gianni’s. Or was it Giovani’s? Never mind. They loved that little boy. Charlie they called him. They really did love him. Even with all the mess he made. Bill said maybe that’s what he was for. To spread love. Maybe he wasn’t so useless and such a burden as everyone said he would have been. Charlie brought a little light into all their days, everyone said. But, of course he’s dead now. Died of a cold, can you believe it? Couldn’t breathe with his little narrow throat. Down’s, does that you know. Hard for them to cope when they have a cold. Something to do with their piping. I don’t really know. Oh the poor mite was just eleven. Of course, it’s probably for the best. Him going beyond the onset of…”

She stopped.

“Yes,” said her friend, shaking her head. “Quite so. Poor thing.”

“That would have been hard for them. For all of them. Charlie too. At least he was always happy, I like to think. But even so, they were so cut up, when he passed. Bill and — was she called Jane? I can’t remember. And anyway, she’s dead too now. Car crash. The year after Charlie. Can you believe it? Bill was so cut up. He never recovered, you know. I heard he even took to drink. Properly. Not just the odd day with the gin like James. Anyone that knew Bill before wouldn’t have believed it. But can you blame him? Anyway, he got cancer so he wasn’t in pain for too long.”

“Oh how sad. What kind of cancer?”

“Pancreas. Diagnosed and in his coffin in a week. It’s awful, but, again, I can’t help thinking it’s for the best. Poor Bill. He was a shadow, anyway, even before it got him. Not like the man we knew.

“Nasty thing that pancreas cancer. Nasty. You know that Richard’s dead? Richard from the cafe?”

“Where we used to have our meetings?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh he was a nice man. Always used to pretend to be scared of us. Gave us free cake all the time, didn’t he?”

“He said it was to keep us sweet.”

“Such a funny man!”

“Well he’s dead too now. Pancreas too. That’s why I mention it. But it didn’t take him quickly. Months. I never saw him, towards the end. But Jane said it quite brought tears to her eyes. Said she couldn’t speak at first when she saw him. Had to do her best, but what on earth can you say to someone in that situation? She just ended up talking about the weather. Can you imagine? Probably the last thing you want to hear about, she said, afterwards, the bloody weather, when you’re trapped in a bed in some hospital room where you don’t even see the sun. But it was talk about that or talk about the cafe and she’d been told he couldn’t bear to think about the cafe. It was the fact that the business was all carrying on without him — as if he weren’t there, that upset him, Jane said. So she had been told. You can see it can’t you? His life’s work, and it made not a blind bit of difference if he was there or not. He’d almost have preferred if it had gone under, Jane thought.”

“Which Jane?”

“Champion. She’s dead.”

“Oh yes, I heard about that.”

“Bloody fool for thinking she could still get that horse over a fence at her age. “

“What happened to the horse?”

“Dead.”

“Do you remember that vet who lived on the Avenues?”

“The one with the funny eye.”

“That’s right.”

“Not him too?”

“Last year. I couldn’t go to the funeral. Was quite surprised to have had a card, really. I didn’t know him that well, although I always thought he was a very nice man.”

“Oh so did I. That’s so sad. I always found it hard to talk to him. You know. Because you couldn’t tell where he was looking.”

“He was handsome in spite of it though, I always thought. Didn’t he have a carry-on with that woman from number 19.”

“Well, who didn’t?”

“Goodness me. I thought she was after my Tom too, at one point. Though he’d never have noticed, of course. I didn’t mind so much. It was just her way. I felt so sorry when she had her accident.”

“Oh goodness me, wasn’t it awful?”

“Two children, she had too.”

“It always struck me to the bone that that could happen. Just from walking past a building site at the wrong time. What are the chances?”

“There weren’t many women at the funeral, from what I heard. “

“Well some people hold grudges. But he didn’t mind, her husband I mean. I know he threatened to leave her a couple of times. Her poor husband. But I think he really loved her. And she him. Though how anyone could love him. Perhaps that’s what drove her. Anyway, he married again, believe it or not. Did you hear about that?”

“No, I didn’t. Who would have him, I wonder?”

“Perhaps he had money? Though it didn’t do the new wife much good because their boat sunk on their honeymoon. Can you believe that? Thank goodness they didn’t have children.”

“My uncle died on his honeymoon.”

“Good gracious me. It’s awful, isn’t it?”

“Quite dreadful. His wife — my aunt, I suppose, strictly speaking, though I never met her — she got herself addicted to heroin. A doctor prescribed it. Can you believe that? This was back in the 1950s. Well, then they made it illegal and she was in a hell of a mess, I was told. The family didn’t talk about it much, but my mother — it was her brother that died — told me the whole story. She’d tried to track this poor lady down, for her brother’s sake. She found her too. But in the cemetery. Not even in the cemetery, really. They’d cremated her, she said. There wasn’t even a plaque.”

The train began to slow and a few yellow lights began to show in the blackness outside the windows. The lady in the blue suit began to gather her things together as she continued talking.

“They told her no one had gone to the funeral. Five years after she got married. She’d had this whole life laid out and it was snatched away just like that. You know he died in his sleep. Adult cot death, they said. I’d never heard of it, but apparently it’s not as rare as you might think. She was lying next to him. She woke up in the morning — this is their honeymoon too, remember, and he wasn’t breathing. She hadn’t even heard anything in the night. She’d been sleeping by him all that time and he was cold dead. Can you imagine?”

“I can’t. Thank goodness. I’ve been lucky really.”

“We both have.”

“Well dear, this is my stop. It’s been lovely talking to you. Cheered me right up. Will you be at Frank’s?”

“Oh gosh, yes. It feels like I’ve barely put my hat away. I feel so awful wearing black all the time.”

“I shall instruct them to wear red at mine. But have you spoken to Lizzie?”

“Poor Lizzie. She doesn’t know how to cope.”

“Who does?”

“Well, quite. Goodbye dear.”

“Goodbye.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sam Jordison is a regular contributor to The Guardian. He is the author and editor of several books including Sod That: 103 Things Not to Do Before You Die and Crap Towns. He still hasn’t written a novel.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Wednesday, April 14th, 2010.