All the Lonely People

by Mike Gayle

  “I… I… don’t remember,” said David, but still he didn’t sit down.

  “He was a decent fella, the taxi driver. He helped me get you home,” continued Hubert, again sparing David the details. How, because of the stink rising from his son, they’d had to drive with all the windows open. How halfway home David had been sick over himself and they’d had to pull over and wash him down with a bottle of water the cabdriver had in the boot. How with the man’s help he had maneuvered his son up the stairs to his old bedroom, careful to place him in the recovery position in case he was sick again. How Hubert, worried for his son’s welfare, had sat in a chair by his bedside the entire night, only leaving half an hour ago to make him breakfast.

  “I… I… need to go,” said David, but he didn’t move.

  “Okay, son, but at least have a little something to eat first.”

  Finally David sat down at the table, whether lured by the smell of bacon or hit by a wave of exhaustion it was hard to tell. Hubert was simply glad he had.

  “Won’t be long,” he said gently.

  As quickly as he could manage, he finished preparing the breakfast while simultaneously making two mugs of tea, and within a few short moments the whole meal had come together.

  Hubert placed the dishes in front of David so that he could help himself, and for a moment his son just stared at the food. So Hubert decided to plate some of it up for him, and this seemed to do the trick. Picking up the bacon with his fingers, David began to eat greedily, using a slice of buttered bread as a shovel to scoop up mouthfuls of beans, tinned tomatoes, and mushrooms. He ate quickly and furtively, as though any moment someone might take his meal away, and when Hubert loaded his plate up for seconds he ate them in the same manner, washing each bite down with a gulp of hot tea.

  Hubert didn’t say a word as David devoured his meal. Instead he pretended to concentrate on his own plate, all the while stealing surreptitious glances at his son. Did he already know that his mother had passed away? Was this why he had yet to ask about her whereabouts? Or was he still so out of it from the drink and drugs he had consumed the night before that it hadn’t even occurred to him that she wasn’t here?

  If David didn’t know, Hubert was going to have to tell him. He had no idea how his son might take the news. Would he be indifferent or would he be devastated? Either way, his reaction would be heartbreaking to witness. But Hubert had no idea where his son had been all these years and no idea when he might get another opportunity to speak to him. It was now or never.

  “David,” said Hubert as his son polished off the last of his food. “Me have something me need to tell you.”

  David didn’t respond and instead stared at the empty plate before him. Hubert wondered what, if anything, remained of the little boy who used to beg to be read to, the one who used to imitate his dad’s every move, the child who wanted to grow up to be just like his father. Was he still in there somewhere, hidden in some deep recess? Or had he been long since swallowed up by his demons? His son was like a zombie, a member of the living dead: he didn’t seem to be able to think, feel, or even be aware of what was going on around him.

  “David,” said Hubert again. “David, please look at me.”

  Slowly, very slowly, his son lifted his chin up a few degrees.

  “It’s about your mother… Me think you ought to know that she… she… well, she passed away. She didn’t suffer and me was with her when she passed. And she loved you, David. She loved you with her whole heart and everything she had to give. We both did… still do. And there isn’t anything me won’t—”

  David stood up suddenly from the table, avoiding all eye contact with his father. “I… I… need to go.”

  Hubert felt an ache in his heart and a cry caught in his throat. “Please, son… please don’t go. Let’s forget about the past. Let’s make a fresh go of things. This is still your home and me still your dad. Let me help you, please, son. Let me help you.”

  “I… I… don’t need your help,” stammered David as he left the room. “I… I… don’t need anyone’s help. I… I… just need to go.”

  Hubert followed after him, watching impotently as his son grabbed his still-damp hoodie from the radiator, opened the front door, and then stepped out into the bright daylight.

  Following him down the front path, Hubert called after him. “David! Son, come back! Please, me begging you, don’t leave!”

  But David kept on walking and Hubert could do nothing other than finally allow the wellspring of sorrow that had been bubbling within him all night to break free.

  Over the next few days, Hubert tried everything he could think of to get David off the streets. He called the police, social services, and even the Salvation Army, but the answer was always the same. Unless David himself asked for help, there was nothing they could do. Grief-stricken and powerless, Hubert couldn’t even bring himself to go anywhere near the town center, in case he saw his son.

  For weeks he shopped in a different supermarket, visited a different library, and even made up excuses to Gus and the rest of the Red Lion crowd as to why he couldn’t join them. Finally one day, having thought of nothing but David, Hubert could stand it no longer. He caught the bus into town and made his way to the spot outside the Tesco Metro, hoping beyond hope that his son might still be there. He would do everything in his power to talk sense into him, to make him come home, to encourage him to seek all the help he needed to get back on his feet. But he was nowhere to be seen.

  For a moment Hubert’s spirits lifted. Perhaps he’d had a change of heart, had sought help for himself and was now living in some sort of sheltered accommodation, trying his best to get better. But as he turned to go, he caught sight of a figure lying slumped on a bench across the way. With a sudden, urgent lurch of his heart, he realized who it was. Hubert was desperate to pick him up, to take him home, to look after him once again, but in that moment he knew that what everyone said was true: David was never going to change unless he wanted to.

  Bereft at this realization, Hubert turned around and made his way inside the supermarket, where he picked up crisps, fruit, sandwiches, a bottle of water, and some deodorant. Loading the items into a carrier bag, he left the store, made his way back over to David, and, without a word, placed the bag by his sleeping son’s side.

  For the next six months Hubert made this same pilgrimage every time he visited the town center, taking food and clothes to his son. When it was cold he would deliver duvets and sweaters; when it was raining he would leave him with waterproofs or an umbrella. Even if David was awake, they would never speak. Hubert would simply leave the items and then go home.

  Then one day Hubert spotted David begging outside Marks & Spencer and, as usual, picked up a few items of food for him, leaving them by his side before making his way home. That evening he hadn’t had much of an appetite and so made himself a cup of tea and then settled down on the sofa, under the pretext of watching an old James Cagney film on cable. He hadn’t seen Angels with Dirty Faces for years and had been quite looking forward to it, but within minutes he was fast asleep.

  Waking with a start an hour later, Hubert switched off the television and decided that he would get an early night. After giving his garden a good watering, as was his habit before bed, Hubert was about to turn off his hose when he spotted a shape near the rosebushes that ran along one edge of the lawn. As he got closer he saw that it was a cat and, filled with annoyance that it might have been about to do its business on his property, he turned the hose on it and it ran off hissing like a mad thing.

  Back inside, Hubert locked his back door, then headed upstairs to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Once in bed, he reached for the photograph of Joyce on his bedside table and kissed it lightly as he did every night, the cool of the glass lingering on his lips long after he had returned the frame to its usual place.

  As he waited for sleep to come, he thought about the day and how it had unfolded. He smiled as he recalled how well his new wisteria wa
s bedding in, tutted when he realized he’d forgotten to call the council about his missed bin collection. And frowned when he thought about the cat, and made a mental note to buy cat repellent from Homebase before it made a permanent toilet of his back garden. Then finally he thought about David, how thin he had looked, how drawn and tired, and racked his brains again, wondering what he could do to help his son.

  After a while, he fell into a fitful sleep and was plagued by dreams of being chased by some anonymous figure. It was only when this figure was about to capture him that he woke with a start to the sound of his phone ringing.

  41

  NOW

  The light outside was fading fast. Normally around this time Hubert would be switching on table lamps around the house as a prelude to drawing the curtains. Instead he and Ashleigh were sitting at the kitchen table, both seemingly oblivious to the encroaching darkness as day finally gave way to night.

  Ashleigh broke the silence.

  “Hubert… I don’t… I’m not following you. I think all this upset has made you confused. Rose isn’t dead. She’s coming over to visit.”

  He shook his head.

  “Me not confused, darling, me wish me was, but it’s all true.”

  Hubert told her about the call he’d taken late that fateful night five years ago from the Australian police. Rose had been on the motorway on her way home from a conference and a lorry coming the other way had blown its tire, crossed the median, and smashed straight into her car, killing her instantly.

  He told her how he’d always thought it would be David he’d get the late-night call about. Some policeman or social worker confirming that his son had finally destroyed himself. So to have it be Rose, Rose who had everything to live for, Rose who had always worked so hard and done the right thing, had nearly killed him.

  He told her all about the living hell of the weeks that followed Rose’s death. How desperately he’d searched for his son in order to tell him the terrible news. Finding David still living on the streets, Hubert had begged him to come back home, but his son had refused. And hadn’t even shown his face at the funeral.

  He told her about the day he buried Rose. How packed the church had been, full of his friends and Rose’s, all rallying round, all coming together to say goodbye to his little girl.

  He told her how on the night of the funeral he’d made the decision to eliminate David from his life for good. How he’d sat down at the kitchen table, surrounded by family albums, and cut his son out of every single picture—baby photos, school portraits, holiday snaps, the whole lot—and put the pieces in the bin.

  He told her how, without the funeral to focus on and with everyone returned to their own lives, a terrible silence had descended on the house, a silence so profound that Hubert couldn’t bear it. Perhaps this had been where the ringing telephone had come from, a desperate desire to combat the deafening nothingness of a life lived without his beloved wife or darling daughter.

  “Me was in the kitchen washing up a few things the first time Rose called,” said Hubert, looking away from Ashleigh. “When me pick up the receiver and she said hello, me was so shocked, so shaken, that me almost dropped it. Me knew it couldn’t be Rose. Rose was dead. But me so wanted it to be her that in the end it didn’t matter. To be able to talk to her again, to hear her voice, to feel less alone, that was all me cared about.”

  Hubert could feel Ashleigh’s eyes on him searching for answers. Finally, he turned back toward her, ready for the questions that he knew would come.

  “You think me lost me mind, don’t you? Gone cuckoo. Completely gaga.”

  “Of course not, Hubert. You were just missing her, that’s all, and trying to cope as best you could.”

  Hubert gave a mirthless laugh.

  “For five whole years? Because that’s how long me been talking to her on the phone. Once a week for five years. Maybe me crazy. Maybe it’s time them lock me up in a home with all the other crazy old people.”

  “Oh, don’t say that.”

  “Why not? That’s what happened to my own father. He was in and out of Bellevue Mental Hospital in Kingston him whole life until he finally killed himself.”

  Ashleigh bit her lip and for a moment seemed as if she was lost for words.

  “I had no idea about any of this,” she said, squeezing his hand. “No idea at all.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Hubert. “Chances are me taking after him. Chances are me not been right in me mind all along.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second,” said Ashleigh. “What you’re saying makes perfect sense. At least it does to me. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve nearly called my nan to tell her something funny or ask her advice. It just seemed so natural, especially after moving to London, as we were always talking on the phone anyhow. I suppose it was easy to imagine her still pottering about her little terrace doing all the things she used to do.”

  “It was just so comforting,” said Hubert. “Every week she would call like she always did, but the strange thing was, she didn’t just say the things me wanted to hear. She would bully and badger me just like she did in real life. Telling me to eat properly, take my medicine, telling me not to mope around the house and watch TV all day. That’s why me have to make up Dotty, Dennis, and Harvey.”

  “Who?”

  Hubert shook his head.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “And her coming over to visit?”

  “That came completely out of the blue,” said Hubert. “Deep down me knew it couldn’t happen but me really wanted it to be true.” His gaze met hers, his face etched with sorrow. “Now look me in the eye and tell me that me haven’t lost my mind.”

  Ashleigh said nothing, but Hubert could tell she was beginning to doubt his sanity, and who could blame her? Here he was, confessing to making preparations for a visit from his dead daughter, who he’d been talking to on the phone once a week for five years. It was a wonder Ashleigh was still here, let alone worrying about him and holding his hand.

  He turned his head toward the door and watched as Puss strode into the room and settled herself on the vacant chair next to him.

  “Me just feel like such a fool. A stupid old fool who should have known better.”

  Ashleigh’s phone buzzed.

  “Oh, that’ll be Randip wondering where I am. Let me just give her a quick call and I’ll be right back.”

  She stepped into the hallway to use her phone, leaving Hubert to consider the future. No more pantomime with the telephone, no more Rose, no more fooling himself that his life was anything other than what it was: day after day of emptiness. His mind flicked back to that moment with Jan and the kiss they’d shared, a moment that now seemed to belong to another time.

  What had he been thinking? What had he thought might happen? It had been a moment of madness no less deluded than the phone calls from Rose. He was done with pretending. He was done with opening doors and letting people in. All he wanted now was to be left alone. All he wanted was to give up the foolishness of hope.

  Ashleigh bustled back into the room.

  “Sorry about that. Randip said she’s made a call and can stay with Layla as long as I need.”

  Hubert stood up shakily, feeling like he had not one single ounce of energy left.

  “Ashleigh, me want to thank you for all your time but me want you to go now.”

  “Layla’s fine, I promise, really she is. She’ll have a whale of a time with Randip and anyway, right now the most important thing is making sure you’re all right.”

  “Me appreciate that but me still want you to go. Right now, me just want… me want to be left alone.”

  Ashleigh tried everything she could think of to change Hubert’s mind, repeating her offer to stay with him or have him stay with her, but he wouldn’t hear of it and so finally she had no choice but to accept his wishes.

  “You will call me if you need me during the night, won’t you?” she said anxiously at the front door. “I’ll p
op round tomorrow first thing to see how you’re getting on.”

  “No need. Me will be fine on my own.”

  “Okay then,” said Ashleigh reluctantly. “As for the committee meeting at Fiona’s tomorrow, don’t feel like you have to come. I can always swing by afterward and fill you in.”

  “Don’t bother yourself. Me won’t be doing that committee thing anymore.”

  “But why not?”

  Hubert could think of a million reasons. Because he’d made a fool of himself. Because he didn’t want to face Jan. Because he didn’t want to have to explain everything to everyone all over again. But the biggest reason of all was the one that was most difficult to articulate: he’d had enough. Of being open, of being around people. He wanted to go back to how things used to be, before the committee, before Jan, before Ashleigh. Maybe if he hadn’t opened the door to Ashleigh that day, if he’d just stayed safely on his sofa, stroking Puss and watching the world go by through the television screen, none of this would have happened and he’d still have Rose.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said finally, bone tired and feeling every last hour of his eighty-two years. “Me just not doing it. Me just want to be left alone.”

  42

  NOW

  August 3, 2018

  Right, is that everyone?”

  Ashleigh scanned her tiny living room, doing a quick head count. All were present apart from Hubert.

  “Some of you will be wondering why the last meeting was canceled and why we haven’t been able to sort one out until now, especially with the launch day less than a month away.”

  There were nods and murmurs from around the room, mostly from Tony, but a few from Maude and Fiona too.

  “To be honest,” said Tony, shifting his weight on the sofa, “I don’t see any way we can pull it off this late in the day, even with the backing of the council.”

  “Oh, don’t be so negative, Tony,” said Fiona. “I’m sure Ashleigh has a plan, don’t you, dear?”