by Mike Gayle
“Are you okay, Mr. Bird?” asked PC Pancholi. “You’ve gone very quiet.”
“Me fine. It’s just… it’s just…”
The doorbell rang.
“Do you want us to get that?” asked PC Enfield.
“No, thank you,” said Hubert. These two young people had earned their break. “You finish your tea. Me deal with it.”
Hubert went to the door and opened it to find an anxious Ashleigh looking back at him.
“Are you all right? Randip was just dropping by mine with some campaign stuff when she saw the police car outside your house and I came round straightaway. Is everything okay?”
Hubert shook his head, trying his best to keep hold of his emotions.
“What’s wrong, Hubert? What’s happened?”
“Them filthy buggers rob me!” His voice cracked as hot, angry tears began rolling down his cheeks. “Them take Joyce’s wedding and engagement rings! The very last bit of Joyce me have and them take it!”
It had been just over an hour since Hubert had opened his front door and made the terrible discovery that the home he had worked so hard for, the home where he’d raised his family and nursed his wife, had been violated by strangers. Shaking with fury and fear, he’d reached into the umbrella stand for his walking stick, the one he only ever used when his knees were really playing up, and, raising it above his head as if brandishing an ax, had crept into the chaos of the front room, checking first behind the door and then behind the sofa. With his heart pounding, he had moved down the hallway to the living room, which was in a similar state of disarray. His TV was still there, probably too heavy for them to carry, but all the drawers in the sideboard had been emptied out onto the floor, scattering a lifetime of bills and paperwork across the carpet.
In the kitchen he’d discovered how they had gained entry. The back door was wide open and shards of glass were scattered everywhere—on the floor, the table, even in the sink. Gripping the walking stick even tighter than before, Hubert had raised his eyes to the ceiling, fearing the intruders might be upstairs. He would beat the living daylights out of them if they were still there. He would beat them and beat them until they begged and screamed for mercy and then he would beat them some more. This was Hubert Bird’s house, this was his home, and he and Joyce hadn’t worked their fingers to the bone over all those years just to let some thieving lowlifes break in and take whatever they wanted.
Aware of every loose floorboard and creaking tread, Hubert had navigated his way up the stairs and, after pausing on the landing, had tackled his own bedroom first. His chest of drawers had been emptied and the contents of his and Joyce’s wardrobes strewn around the room. Checking the rest of the upstairs, Hubert satisfied himself that he was alone, but the relief he felt was immediately replaced by dread as he caught sight of one of Puss’s toys abandoned next to the radiator in the hallway. Walking back through the house, Hubert had desperately called out her name, reassuring himself that even if the burglars had seen Puss they wouldn’t have hurt her. All they wanted was money or things they could sell. But then he remembered all the horrible stories he’d read in the paper, all the terrible things he’d heard on the news about people being cruel to poor animals, and he could barely breathe, such was the horror he felt in the pit of his stomach.
The moment he saw Puss wandering in from the garden, wearing a look on her face as if to say, “What’s all the fuss about?,” Hubert had whisked her up into his arms, held her as tightly as he dared, and, no longer able to hold back the tidal wave of emotion, he had finally given in, letting it wash over him, sobbing bitterly into her soft, warm fur.
Hubert hardly remembered what he’d said to the operator when he’d dialed 999, but the moment he put down the receiver he suddenly saw things he hadn’t noticed before. The twenty-pound note that had been on the side table with his shopping list ready for the morning was gone, the list abandoned on the floor. A sudden dread struck Hubert as he thought of all the other things they might have taken, and with a cry he had rushed back upstairs.
As he entered the bedroom his eyes had darted to the empty space on Joyce’s bedside table where her wedding and engagement rings usually sat, in front of his favorite photograph of her. It was a color picture, taken when Rose had booked a surprise session with a photographer as a present for their thirtieth wedding anniversary. Now the frame was facedown on the floor and no matter how desperately Hubert searched, there was no sign of the rings. It had slowly dawned on him that they hadn’t just fallen on the floor or rolled under the bed but had been stolen. At this realization, a fresh wave of grief had crashed over him, causing him to sink heavily onto the bed, his head in his hands, his heart breaking.
“I’m so sorry this has happened to you, Hubert,” said Ashleigh, setting a fresh mug of tea in front of him. The police officers had left, Hubert had calmed down, and now it was just the two of them sitting at the kitchen table. “I hate that there are such horrible scumbags in the world. Why have people got to be so cruel? I mean, what have you ever done to anyone to deserve this?”
“Them all just filthy animals!” said Hubert with a conviction that came from the very core of his being. “Breaking into people’s home, taking them things, and all for what? So them can buy drink or drugs? Not even food because them hungry, but drink and drugs!” He shook his head sadly. “Me tell you, this whole world is going to the dogs!”
“I know it feels like that at the moment, Hubert. But people aren’t all bad. Think about everyone we’ve met doing this campaign, for instance. There are some wonderful people out there and we can’t ever forget that, because that’s how the bad guys win, isn’t it?”
Hubert didn’t reply, but that didn’t mean he agreed with her. Right now he felt like the world was past saving, beyond redemption.
“As soon as I finish my tea,” said Ashleigh, assessing the room, “I’m going to settle you down somewhere and crack on sorting this place out. Sitting looking at this mess isn’t going to help anything, is it? The sooner I get things back to normal the better, eh?”
Hubert said nothing.
“And while I think about it, I’d better call someone to get your back door sorted before it starts to get dark. Have you got a number for your insurance people? I’ll give them a ring first.”
Hubert gestured over his shoulder toward the hallway. “It’s in the living room in the sideboard drawer that them tip all over the place.”
Ashleigh got up from the table and left the room, returning moments later waving a manila folder on which was written IMPORTANT INSURANCE DOCUMENTS.
“You’re so organized that even in that mess it was pretty easy to find. I’m just going to give them a call. Shouldn’t be too long.”
She disappeared out of the room once more, leaving Hubert to consider the lengthening shadows creeping their way across the kitchen cupboards, heralding the close of the day. Would he feel safe sleeping here come nightfall? Would he dare for a moment to close his eyes, knowing how easy it was for strangers to enter his home? His earlier bravado with the walking stick now struck him as almost comical. What could he, an eighty-two-year-old man, really do to defend himself against a single intruder, out of his senses and beyond all reasoning, let alone two or a whole gang of them? For the first time ever, he didn’t feel safe in his own home, and what made it worse was that he wasn’t sure he ever would again.
When Ashleigh returned, it was to ask him to speak to his insurer to confirm that he was happy for her to sort things out for him. Once he’d handed the phone back, he sat and finished his tea quietly in the kitchen and five minutes later she announced, “Whatever you’re paying for that insurance, it’s well worth it. They’re sending a bloke round now to board up the back door and they’ve promised you’ll have a new one by Monday at the latest, and they’re posting out claim forms, which should be here for Tuesday. And don’t worry, I’ll help you fill those in.” She paused and then added brightly, “So that’s something, isn’t it?”
Finishing his tea, Hubert stood up and rinsed out his mug, and as if responding to something he’d said, Ashleigh remarked, “Good idea, Hubert. I’m going to give Randip a call and see if she’s all right to hang on for a bit with Layla while I make a start tidying up.”
Insisting that Hubert let her get on with things alone, Ashleigh supplied him with the pen and pad he usually used for shopping lists and suggested he write down everything that was missing. Starting upstairs in his bedroom, Hubert wrote the words “wedding ring” and “engagement ring” and then just sat on the bed staring out of the window. He didn’t know how long he sat there. What roused him from his stupor was the sound of a van pulling up in front of the house, followed by the chimes of the doorbell.
“It’s the bloke from the insurance come to secure the back door!” called Ashleigh up the stairs, but Hubert didn’t respond. Instead, picking up the pad, he got up from the bed and continued cataloging missing items. He had barely managed to add half a dozen things to his list when Ashleigh shouted that the man was all done and needed Hubert’s signature before he left.
Slowly, carefully, clutching the banister, Hubert made his way downstairs, feeling with every step as if he had aged twenty years. He scrawled his name at the bottom of the form attached to the workman’s blue plastic clipboard, saying nothing in response to his constant stream of cheery chatter. Once he’d gone, Ashleigh’s phone buzzed.
“It’s Randip. She’s got to get off. Listen, Hubert, why don’t you stay the night at mine? You can have my bed and I’ll get in with Layla. She’ll love that. I don’t like the thought of you being here on your own until everything’s properly sorted.”
“Me not going to let them chase me out of my own home. That is not going to happen.”
“Of course not. It’s just for the night. While you get over the shock, that’s all. You’ll have a new back door in a day or so and maybe we can get them to add a few extra security measures while they’re at it, just to be on the safe side, like. We’ll have you back here before you know it. It’ll be like nothing’s happened.”
“No, thank you. Even if they come again with more besides, me not going anywhere.”
“But, Hubert—”
“Me said no!”
“Okay, okay, you’re right. You shouldn’t have to leave your home. How about I get Layla and bring her round here? I could pick up fish and chips for us all.”
“No, thank you. You’ve already done plenty to help me. Anyway, the last thing me want is for that lovely child of yours to see what them animals do to my home.”
“She’s only two. She won’t even notice.”
“No, you go and be with her. Me fine.”
“Okay, you win. But at least let me call Rose for you and let her know what’s happened.”
Rose, thought Hubert. She wanted to call Rose.
“No,” said Hubert. “You’re not calling Rose.”
She reached across and placed a hand on his arm. “Hubert, listen to me. I know that you don’t want to worry her, but she’s your daughter. I know if something like this had happened to my mum, I’d be gutted if she hadn’t told me. Let’s call her together. I can reassure her you’re fine and tell her I’m looking after you.”
Hubert shook his head but said nothing.
“Look, I promise it’ll be fine,” persisted Ashleigh. “She’ll be here the week after next anyway, so it’s not as if she won’t find out. Plus, you never know, she might be able to bring her flight forward or something. They can do that sometimes, especially if it’s an emergency like this is.”
Hubert shook his head again but still said nothing.
“Come on, Hubert,” said Ashleigh, “help me out here. I can’t just leave you like this. You don’t have to do anything at all, just tell me where her number is and I’ll do the rest.”
Hubert’s eyes began to fill with tears but he said nothing.
“Oh, Hubert!” said Ashleigh gently as she rubbed his arm. “Please don’t get upset. It’s the shock hitting you, that’s what it is. I’m sure if you talk things over with Rose you’ll feel much better.”
Hubert felt as if his very foundations were crumbling and with them the scaffolding he had erected to keep his walls in check all these years. This was it, he slowly came to realize, the end of everything that had kept him standing. It was time, time to face the truth.
“You can’t speak to Rose,” he said quietly.
“Because of the time difference? I’m sure she’ll understand.”
Hubert shook his head.
“Is she away or something? If you’ve got a mobile number, I can call her on that.”
Hubert lifted his gaze to meet Ashleigh’s, eyes overflowing with tears.
“You can’t… you can’t call her. My beautiful Rose… she dead.”
Ashleigh covered her mouth with her hand as she attempted to take in what he had told her.
“Oh, Hubert, how terrible! What happened?”
“She was in an accident.”
Ashleigh shook her head in disbelief.
“Oh, this is awful. You must be devastated. Here’s me wittering on about insurance claims when you’ve been dealing with this. When did you find out?”
Hubert struggled to find the words, and then struggled further to find the strength to say them.
“Five… five years ago,” he said. “She died five years ago.”
40
THEN
November 2012
Hubert was in the kitchen making breakfast—bacon, eggs, plantain, mushrooms—just like he used to back in the old days. The radio was on but the volume was turned down so low it was really nothing more than a murmur.
The kitchen door opened and David stood in the doorway, blinking uncertainly as though not quite sure where he was. He was still wearing the greasy-looking jeans and stained T-shirt from the night before, but the vomit-splattered hoodie was now washed and drying on the radiator in the hallway. Catching a whiff of his son’s stench, Hubert tried not to recoil. He didn’t want to scare him off. He didn’t want to give him an excuse to run away. For now, he just wanted to give him a good meal, help fill out his emaciated frame, and put some color in his cheeks.
He’d been on his way home from an afternoon with his friends in the Red Lion when he’d spotted David. In high spirits after a session of Guinness, laughter, and dominoes, he’d had nothing more pressing on his mind than picking up a few bits of shopping to tide him over for the weekend. As he’d stood in the long queue at the tills of the Tesco Metro round the corner from his bus stop, an odd feeling had come over him as if he had forgotten something important. And it wasn’t until he reached the front of the queue that it hit him: the issue wasn’t with items on a forgotten shopping list; it was the man, the one he’d passed begging outside the very shop in which he was standing.
Crying out in anguish, Hubert had dropped the things in his hands and bolted to the entrance, only to find the beggar in exactly the same position as when he’d first seen him. He was slumped to one side, only barely conscious, with an empty coffee cup in front of him containing a handful of copper coins. Despite his matted hair, unkempt beard, and slight frame, now that Hubert was really looking there was no mistaking him. He was older, grayer, more haggard than his fifty years should’ve made him. But nonetheless, it was David. It was his son.
“Me wake you?” asked Hubert.
David said nothing and instead ran his fingers over his dreadlocks pensively. Hubert was shock
ed by how much his son now resembled Hubert’s own father. Not only did he have his grandfather’s high cheekbones and strong chin but his eyes also wore that same lost and haunted expression Hubert remembered so well.
“Me was trying me best not to make any noise.” He smiled and added, “Then again, maybe it was the smell of bacon that woke you. You used to love a good bacon sandwich.”
David hovered in the doorway.
“How… how did I get here?”
“Take a seat,” said Hubert, “and me tell you.”
David didn’t move.
“But I don’t understand how I got here.”
Hubert could see his son beginning to get quite unnerved.
“Do I live here?”
Hubert shook his head.
“Me found you yesterday evening. You… you… weren’t well.”
Hubert recalled the night before. His horror at realizing that he’d walked past his own flesh and blood, his only son, and hadn’t recognized him. He hadn’t seen him in such a long time, hadn’t been able to find out how he was or where he was living. For years he hadn’t known whether David was alive or dead, still struggling or back on his feet. Nothing for all this time and then suddenly there he was, less than a fifteen-minute drive from his own home, begging outside a supermarket.
“Me slip a taxi driver an extra twenty pound and he help me get you home,” explained Hubert, glossing over the details. How he’d desperately tried to move his son on his own, only to have to enlist the help of a passing stranger to get him to the roadside so that they could hail a taxi. How three had refused to take them because of the state David was in.