All the Lonely People

by Mike Gayle

  “I wish David was here.” Joyce sighed as a couple of latecomers appeared at the end of the pew, forcing everyone to shuffle up two seats. “It feels wrong being here without him. This is a big family moment.”

  “I know,” said Hubert. “But the last thing we all need is another row. All we can do is hope and pray that he’ll find his way somehow.” He couldn’t help but frown at the thought of his son, who claimed to be too busy to attend his sister’s graduation. This in spite of the fact that since leaving school two years ago, he had done nothing other than drift from one low-paid job to another, leaving himself plenty of time, Hubert thought, to get into all kinds of mischief. At the height of the rioting Hubert had even wondered if David had got himself tangled up in it, but although he kept erratic hours, he seemed uninterested in the whole business whenever Hubert brought it up.

  Having finished his mint, Hubert was about to nudge Joyce for another when there was a loud blast from the huge organ pipes at the front of the cathedral that reverberated around the building, and the other parents around them began rising to their feet. Joyce and Hubert stood too, and as the organ continued playing, they turned to see the university’s white-haired chancellor, dressed in all his finery, leading a procession of similarly gowned academics through to the front of the chapel. Following on behind came the students, dressed in their black gowns and mortarboards, sporting their faculty colors.

  Reaching down into Joyce’s handbag, Hubert took out the brand-new camera he had purchased especially for the occasion and trained it on the passing parade, ready for the first sight of Rose. She had warned him beforehand not to embarrass her by taking photos during the ceremony and for the sake of peace Hubert had agreed. But that was then, before he realized just how much his heart was bursting with pride. He couldn’t let this moment pass undocumented; he wanted to capture every second and not miss a single thing.

  He’d taken two or three shots before she noticed him, and even when she did, rather than scowling as he’d imagined, she just rolled her eyes and flashed them both a huge smile.

  Joyce cried when it was Rose’s turn to receive her degree but Hubert just couldn’t stop smiling, and as they both clapped, it was all he could do not to yell at the top of his voice, “You see that gal there? That’s my daughter!”

  Afterward, as they waited for Rose, Hubert was still on a high, unable to stand still for more than a few moments, desperate to give his daughter the hug of her life. Scanning the crowds, he was so focused on the graduates congregated around the front of the cathedral that when he felt a tap on his shoulder he nearly jumped out of his skin.

  “Rose!” reprimanded Hubert. “You trying to kill me? My heart is already beating fit to burst with all the excitement.” Throwing his arms around his daughter, he hugged her tightly, and as she let go to do the same to Joyce, he noticed a tall, handsome young man with sandy-colored hair lingering a few feet away, looking uncertainly in their direction. This must be the boyfriend, thought Hubert, vaguely recalling the dog-eared Polaroid Rose had propped up on her bedside table when she’d come home for Christmas. They’d yet to meet him, but Hubert couldn’t think of a conversation he’d had with her in the past six months where his name hadn’t been mentioned.

  Hubert held out his hand to the young man.

  “You must be Robin,” he said as the boy stepped toward him. “Me… I mean I’m Rose’s father and I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  “Pleased to meet you too, sir. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for such a long time. Rose has told me so much about you.” Robin had an accent that made him sound like a minor member of the aristocracy. Was this why of late Rose had started to sound quite plummy?

  “So lovely to finally get to meet you,” said Joyce. She shook Robin’s hand warmly. “And, of course, congratulations!”

  Robin darted a confused glance at Rose.

  “She means on getting your degree,” she said quickly.

  “Ah, of course, thank you, Mrs. Bird. I wouldn’t have been able to get through any of it without Rose’s support. She’s been marvelous.”

  They chatted for a while, mainly about the splendor of the ceremony and setting, before Rose whisked Robin away, saying something about needing to have some photos taken.

  “Well, he seemed nice,” said Joyce.

  “Hmm,” said Hubert pensively, “me suppose so.”

  “And he was so polite and well-spoken.”

  “He certainly was,” said Hubert, still thinking.

  “Do you think we ought to invite him to come along with us for lunch?”

  “We could do but he probably already fixed up something with his own parents.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt to ask though, would it?”

  Hubert didn’t reply, concentrating instead on his coalescing thoughts as he watched Rose and Robin posing for photographs with their friends. They took numerous shots in various poses, culminating in them all throwing their mortarboards in the air. Throughout, Hubert remained thoughtful, mulling over their earlier conversation and that look the two of them had exchanged. Something wasn’t quite right here; something was going on that Rose wasn’t telling them, something big.

  Rose and Robin returned, forcing Hubert to shelve his musing for a moment. They chatted some more about the day and their plans for the evening, then Rose fell suddenly quiet, before taking Robin’s hand and clearing her throat as if about to make an announcement.

  When Rose spoke, there was something about the timbre of her voice and the look in her eyes that convinced Hubert he knew what she was about to say.

  “Mum, Dad.”

  “Rose Lillian Bird,” he said stiffly, “please tell me you’re not in the family way.”

  The effect of Hubert’s words was immediate. It was difficult to work out who was most shocked. Rose gasped, Robin blushed scarlet to the roots of his hair, and Joyce covered her mouth with both hands.

  “Dad! Why would you say such a thing?”

  “Because me can tell that something isn’t right.”

  “Of course I’m not pregnant!”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Dad!”

  “Well, if you’re not pregnant, then what is it?”

  Rose sighed heavily in defeat and, reaching inside her gown, pulled out a diamond ring on a chain around her neck.

  “We’re engaged, Dad. It only happened last night and I’ve been dying to tell you since you got here but I was waiting for the right moment.”

  Robin stepped forward.

  “But, of course, if you think it’s a terrible idea and decline to give your blessing then we give you our word that we’ll wait. I’ve plenty of job offers to consider at the moment and perhaps once I’ve secured a position you’d feel happier about the situation. As you know, Mr. and Mrs. Bird, Rose is an amazing girl and I just didn’t want to let her slip through my fingers.”

  Hubert looked at Joyce, and while he could see that she was just as stunned as he was, he was also aware that she too was recalling the moment he proposed all those years ago. Their own engagement had caused so much trouble, so much heartache, and he knew that neither of them wanted to show even a shadow of that same reaction to their beloved daughter.

  “It’s wonderful news,” said Joyce, “absolutely wonderful! Isn’t it, Hubert?”

  Hubert reached out to shake the young man’s hand again but then thought better of it and instead gave him a hug. What a day this was turning out to be.

  “Welcome to the family, Robin,” he said. “Me hope you will both be very happy.”

  In light of this announcement their plans for lunch were reconfigured to include not only Robin but also his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Callaghan.

  The Callaghans were a smart, professional couple from the Sussex borders. He was a tall, solid-looking man with a firm handshake and owned an engineering business making parts for small aircraft. Mrs. Callaghan was a petite, glamorous blonde whose life revolved around her husband, the tennis club, and h
er local embroiderers’ guild.

  While they were clearly as taken aback by the engagement as he and Joyce had been, Hubert was relieved that they showed no signs of prejudice toward Rose. In fact, they seemed to go out of their way to demonstrate how much they liked her, not only constantly engaging her in conversation but also inviting her to join them on holiday to Italy in August.

  Although things were noticeably better than they had been back when Hubert first arrived in England, that didn’t mean racism had suddenly disappeared. It was still there every day in newspaper headlines, in the stereotypes appearing on TV, in the assumptions strangers made about people who looked like him. The only difference with this kind of racism was that it was marginally more likely to result in graffiti scrawl across a family’s front door than a physical attack or a beating. Instead it remained an ever-present background noise that, from time to time, if the situation allowed, could be tuned out for a moment’s respite.

  While relieved that Rose and Robin wouldn’t be facing the opposition he and Joyce had experienced, Hubert was unsure how he felt about this new development. It wasn’t until he and Joyce were in the car on the way home later that afternoon, stomachs full of steak and red wine, that he finally gave voice to his feelings.

  “Well, me know me said it a lot today but me certainly wasn’t expecting that.”

  Joyce continued staring out of the window at the passing scenery.

  “Me either. She looked so happy, though, didn’t she?”

  Hubert smiled.

  “Like she wanted to burst into song!”

  “And he does seem like he adores her.”

  “True,” said Hubert. “He did have the look of a man in love.”

  “But?”

  Hubert laughed. Joyce had effortlessly seen through his efforts to remain upbeat.

  “You know me too well.”

  “He loves her, he comes from a nice family, and he’s got excellent prospects. What’s your objection?”

  Hubert thought carefully before answering. His list of reasons was extensive: they were too young, Rose had a career to think of, they were from different backgrounds. But he could overlook all of this if he could shake the fear that this young man, pleasant though he seemed, was one day going to break his daughter’s heart.

  Hubert was reluctant to give voice to his fears.

  “Me don’t know. Maybe it’s just that she’s my baby girl and nobody, not even Prince Charles himself, is going to be good enough for her.”

  It was late by the time they reached home, and although they had hoped David might be in so they could tell him the good news about his sister, the house was shrouded in darkness and he was nowhere to be seen. These days he often stayed out late and while Joyce constantly begged him to call and let them know where he was, invariably he wouldn’t and they would both spend a fitful night worrying, ears straining for the sound of his key in the front door.

  As Joyce brushed her teeth, Hubert closed the curtains in Rose’s room as he always did. Taking a moment to look at her things, the books on her shelves and the posters on her walls, it dawned on him that now she was engaged she might never come home to live again. That this room, once her refuge from the world, might finally be handed to David, if he even wanted it anymore.

  Joining Joyce in the bathroom, Hubert reached for his toothbrush just as the phone rang. They exchanged anxious looks, neither one of them fully confident that this was just a wrong number. As he went downstairs to answer it Hubert hoped that it was nothing more serious than Rose checking to see that they’d arrived home safely, but the moment he heard a male voice at the end of the line, a voice belonging to a stranger, a cold fear overcame him. In that instant he knew this must be about David.

  “Hello, sorry to call so late but I wonder if I might be able to speak to a… Mr. Hubert Bird?”

  Hubert swallowed hard.

  “Speaking.”

  “I’m Dr. Murray from Westleigh Hospital, and I’m calling about your son, David. He was found collapsed in the street. He’s stable now but he’s going to need to stay with us for a few days.”

  Hubert felt sick. He’d read about a recent spate of racist attacks in the area and prayed that David hadn’t become the victim of one.

  “What happened? Did someone hurt him?”

  There was a pause before the doctor spoke.

  “I’m afraid to say we think it might be solvent abuse.”

  29

  NOW

  By the time Hubert arrived home, having stormed off following his outburst, he was more embarrassed than angry. Why hadn’t he just pretended not to know David? It wouldn’t have been hard, given that the truth was he didn’t really know who his son was anymore and hadn’t for a very long time. Instead he’d made a fool of himself and now everybody would be asking questions, questions he didn’t want to answer, questions that would hurt even to consider.

  Letting himself inside the house, Hubert went straight to the kitchen, filled the kettle with fresh water, and set about making a cup of tea. As he reached to get a mug down from the cupboard Puss came in through the cat flap and began mewling loudly. Hubert glanced at her dish, now empty, and tutted.

  “You hungry?”

  Puss regarded him hopefully.

  “Well, tough, you shouldn’t have been so greedy and eaten your lunch as a midmorning snack!”

  Puss continued to mew but Hubert noted that she had made an attempt to look suitably chastised and so, feeling more soft-hearted than usual, he reached into her food cupboard and took out a packet of her favorite flavor of Dreamies. She gobbled them up greedily from her bowl, purring between mouthfuls while Hubert scratched behind her ear.

  As Hubert straightened his back, the kettle came to a boil and as he reached for the tea bags, the doorbell rang. He remained still, hoping he’d misheard. When it rang again, however, there was no mistaking it.

  Much as he wanted to ignore it and wait for whoever it was to go away, he knew that he couldn’t. It would more than likely be one of the members of the committee. Probably Ashleigh. He didn’t want to worry anyone, and after all, he’d agreed to be the campaign’s president and the last thing someone in his position should do was leave those relying on him in the lurch.

  Hubert opened the door and was surprised that rather than Ashleigh, it was Jan standing on his doorstep. She looked worried and was pink in the face.

  For a moment neither of them spoke, then finally, a little breathlessly, Jan said: “You left this on Layla’s buggy.” She handed Hubert’s umbrella to him and then glanced up at the sky. “You might need it if you plan on going out later.”

  “Thank you,” said Hubert. “It’s very kind of you to go to the bother.”

  There was a long pause and then Jan spoke again.

  “Everyone was worried about you, you know? They all wanted to come and make sure you were all right, but I told them it might be best if it was just one of us. You know, so you didn’t feel overwhelmed. It was a toss-up between me and Ashleigh—that girl really does think the world of you—but in the end, I came because Ashleigh had to get Layla back home for her nap.”

  “Thank you, Jan. Me think it probably would be a bit much if everyone was here.” He paused, watching as a few drops of rain started to fall. “Come in out of that. Me just about to have a cup of tea. You want one?”

  Jan followed Hubert into the kitchen, where she sat down gratefully at the table. Aware of the heavy silence between them, he flicked on the radio, hoping it might make things feel less awkward, but somehow the sound of people arguing on Any Questions? seemed to make things worse. Finally, with a pot of tea made and having spent far too long arranging biscuits on a plate, Hubert took everything to the table.

  “Well, it’s really coming down now,” said Jan, glancing toward the kitchen window. She helped herself to a custard cream. “I hope the others don’t get soaked.”

  Hubert sat down in the chair opposite Jan.

  “It’s just a show
er. It’ll be over before you know it.”

  Jan took a bite of her biscuit, chewed it slowly, then swallowed.

  “Still, it’ll be good for the plants.”

  “Yes,” said Hubert, wishing things would somehow get back to normal between them. “That’s true.”

  There was another long, awkward pause, then Jan said, “Hubert, I don’t mean to pry but about earlier… you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. But I just want you to know that if you need to talk, I’m here to listen.”

  “That’s a very kind offer, Jan,” Hubert replied, having not quite realized until now just how grateful he was to have company. “And one day me will be ready to tell you everything, okay? But the truth is, this afternoon has left me pretty shook up and me just don’t feel like talking about it yet. One day me will, just not now, not yet.”

  A whole myriad of emotions swirled around inside him. He hoped Jan might be satisfied for the time being with the little he had offered.

  “Of course. I won’t bring it up again unless you do and I’ll make sure all the rest of the campaign know not to bother you about it either.”

  “Thank you,” said Hubert, and the swell of emotion he felt made the words catch in his throat and for a moment he feared the whole story of David might spill out of him like so much floodwater.

  Jan stayed for another cup of tea and a few more biscuits, and by the end of their time together, the earlier awkwardness had all but disappeared. As Hubert walked her to the front door once again, he was overcome with gratitude for her companionship.

  “You is… you is… what me call a good friend, Jan.”

  “It was nothing. Us old folks have got to stick together.”

  Hubert smiled.

  “Less of the old. Me still feel like a spring chicken inside!”