by Tony Salter
He wasn’t up to much the next day. They hadn’t had any beds in A&E but, as there had been no-one to look after him, they couldn’t send him home. Once they’d finished turning him inside out, they stuck him in a chair to wait until they were sure his body had stabilised. It was during that miserable night, at half-past three in the morning, that Hassan realised it was over.
The nightly parade of walking wounded had slowed by then and a young nurse came over and sat beside him as he crumpled.
‘It’ll be OK,’ she said, patting him on the shoulder. ‘Plenty more fish in the sea, eh?’
But there weren’t, and it wouldn’t be. Hassan knew that.
By the time he got out, it was late afternoon and the jeweller’s shop was already closed. A friend from his course had offered to let him crash on his sofa for a few nights and Hassan went back to the pub to pick up his bags. The same barman was there and Hassan mumbled a few words of thanks and apology, all the while looking fixedly at his shoes. The whole department would know the sordid story already; it seemed that there was no end to the number of ways in which he could humiliate himself.
He was still feeling terrible and wasn’t even slightly tempted by the thought of a quick whisky while he was there. At least he’d learnt his lesson and wouldn’t be repeating that fiasco in a hurry. The sofa was surprisingly comfortable and Hassan’s fears about not being able to sleep were unfounded.
As he walked into the jeweller’s the next morning, he was filled with determination. He’d made a mistake, but he couldn’t let that drag him down. Mona had been the love of his life, but it was over. He had to pick himself up and get on with things.
‘Good morning, Mr Qureishi,’ said the assistant, just as slimy as when he’d sold Hassan the ring. ‘Have you come to have the ring resized? As I said to you last week, it’s always best to start too large. That way …’ His voice tailed off when he saw the expression on Hassan’s face.
‘Oh,’ he said, eventually. ‘Things didn’t go as planned?’
‘No,’ said Hassan. ‘You could put it like that.’
‘I’m very sorry. I hope it wasn’t anything to do with the ring?’
‘No. Of course not.’ Hassan did his best to smile. ‘We didn’t get that far.’
The two young men faced each other across a polished glass cabinet filled with glistening symbols of hope and promises. Neither wanted to speak first.
Hassan gave in. ‘So. I need to sell it back to you.’ He took the ring out of his pocket, opened the box and set it down on the counter. ‘It’s never even been tried on. I paid three thousand, two hundred and fifty. I get that you’ll want to apply some sort of handling fee, but it shouldn’t be a lot as I’ve only had the ring for a couple of days. To tell you the truth, I couldn’t really afford it in the first place.’
The assistant was shifting from leg to leg like a toddler in denial about the contents of his nappy. ‘I’m afraid it’s not quite as simple as that, Mr Qureishi,’ he said. ‘You see, we’re in the business of selling jewellery, not buying it back.’
‘Of course,’ said Hassan. ‘But in the circumstances … I only bought the bloody thing three days ago.’
‘I do understand, sir, but we have a very strict policy on returns and my hands are tied. I would need to make a call.’
‘What are we talking about here?’ said Hassan, feeling the floor start to shift and tilt underfoot. ‘How much will I lose?’
‘As I said. I’ll need to make a call.’
‘Well, make the bloody call then.’ Hassan was never normally rude or aggressive, but his body was still full of poison and the assistant was being stupid as well as slimy.
The call went on and on with long periods of silent listening interspersed with grunts and exclamations; ‘Aha’, ‘I see’, ‘Oh, I see’, ‘And that’s the best we can do?’, ‘No, I do understand’, ‘Yes, I’ll make that clear’. None of it sounded good.
Eventually the assistant put his phone down on the glass counter and looked up.
‘Well?’ said Hassan.
‘Not great news, I’m afraid.’
‘Just tell me how much, will you?’
‘The best we could offer for a second-hand ring like that would be seven hundred and fifty pounds.’
‘What?!’ The foundations of Hassan’s world were already cracked and crumbling and he now felt the walls folding in and the roof collapsing down, crushing him into the floor. ‘Seven hundred and fifty quid? It’s not fucking second-hand. I bought it from you three days ago.’
The young man stepped back from the counter, the whites of his eyes bright in the halogen lights. ‘I do understand, sir. I’ve tried as hard as I can, but it’s the best we can do. You may want to look around and see if you can get a better price somewhere else.’
‘Too fucking right I will.’ Hassan swept up the box and its not-so-precious contents and barged through the door, scraping a blunt gash on the back of his hand as he went.
It hadn’t taken him long to realise that seven hundred and fifty quid was the best he was going to get but, even though he had no money at all, he couldn’t bring himself to take it. The pawn shop had offered him five hundred; all he needed was to come up with an extra hundred within ninety days and he could have the ring back. That felt better. He’d have a bit of breathing space so he could figure out how to get a better price. Maybe his uncle would want it.
The thought of his uncle had sent shivers down Hassan’s back. He’d already taken out two big overdrafts which were basically advances against the following year’s allowance. What if Uncle Sami found out? Hassan may have only been an office boy, but after two summers working there, he’d heard enough stories to know that the boss knew everything before anyone else … and crossing him was an extremely bad idea.
He toyed briefly with the idea of putting some or all of the five hundred on a horse, but he’d never even been inside a betting shop and he couldn’t exactly claim to be on a winning streak. The best thing would be to focus on his revision and piecing together what was left of his life.
And so began the darkest period of Hassan’s short life.
Nothing worked. He couldn’t concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time. He tried, but his mind was spinning through the broken dreams of what might have been, and panicking about the terrifying realities of his current finances. A small glass of Famous Grouse from the bottle on his desk helped a little to calm those racing thoughts, but didn’t help much with the concentration. He found himself craving the company of other people and closing his books earlier and earlier every day.
The only time he felt good was when he was drunk and in the company of other drunks. In that environment there was no need for honesty, or realism, or even to listen to anything anyone said. There was a conversational protocol of sorts: each of them would take a turn to mouth off about something – either how brilliant they were, or how badly the world had treated them – while the others waited for their turn, nodding and grunting approval automatically. And so it had gone on until either the drink or the money ran out.
As Hassan stood outside the museum, overdressed for the morning sunshine, he struggled to remember that time. Not because of alcohol-induced amnesia, although there was plenty of that, but because it hurt too much. With the benefit of hindsight, the events which had dragged him into that sucking cesspit were not so massive, but at the time … He felt his fists clench tight as he let the memories in; the pain, the emptiness and the numbing sense of worthlessness had been so intense. It was no surprise that he had fallen.
And he’d kept on falling. Eventually, he’d lost the few friends he had and, in retrospect, it was amazing that they’d stuck by him for so long. He argued with anything and everything, and droned on and on, repeating himself in endless cycles. He kept his hard-studying, over-tolerant hosts awake for hours with his rambling soliloquies or woke them up when he arrived back in the middle of the night having lost his keys again. And he started to protect his dwind
ling bundle of cash like a dog with a bone. He took food from the fridge, bummed drinks and cigarettes whenever he could, and contributed nothing.
To begin with, he would still go to the library or to revision tutorials – almost out of habit – but it didn’t take long for him to decide that he was wasting his time. He’d be fine. He’d worked hard all year and the exams would be easy. He would be over this bad patch in a week or two and then get his head down again. The “week or two” flew past and nothing changed.
As he sank down further and further, he stopped looking after himself. Personal hygiene had become a low priority and the scrape on his hand from the jeweller’s door was swollen red and oozing. No-one had wanted him on their sofa any more. No-one had even wanted him on their floors.
Shuna
Shuna glanced over her shoulder once more, holding Anna protectively in front of her. It was definitely Jim Pritchard, and he was dressed as a museum guard. What were the chances of that? Her mind was racing. Where had Zoe got to? Should they try to sneak out without being seen?
‘Owww!’ Anna squealed. ‘Let go. You’re hurting me.’
Shuna looked down at her daughter and realised that she’d been squeezing her wrist as hard as she could. She let go and bent down to stroke Anna’s cheek. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise I was holding you so tightly.’
Anna pulled away from Shuna’s touch, rubbing her wrist and oozing resentment. ‘I thought it was all over,’ she said. ‘But now that man’s here again.’ She seemed close to tears. ‘I just want things to be normal.’
For a moment, Shuna didn’t know what to say. She’d also believed her life was on track again, but seeing him there had brought everything back and, like before, all the people around her – even Simon and the girls – would be shunted into the background, shut out behind a wall of fear, rage and guilt.
‘Things are back to normal, princess,’ she said. ‘I was just surprised for a second.’
‘That’s rubbish, Mum,’ said Anna. ‘You should see the look on your face. It’s just like when you were ill.’
Shuna knelt down and this time Anna allowed herself to be hugged. Shuna couldn’t get the image of Jim out of her mind. He looked so much older and somehow pathetic in his baggy, purple fleece. This was probably the only work he’d been able to find, and it was all her fault. She realised she wasn’t afraid of him any more, and the anger had long since faded. But she couldn’t shake the thought that her arrogant and entitled behaviour had destroyed this man’s life.
And for what?
She felt a tap on her shoulder and looked up to see Zoe standing over her, silhouetted in the bright lights. Shuna stood up and turned around, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Zoe. ‘Is Anna being a loser again?’
‘It’s got nothing to do with me,’ said Anna, always on the defensive. ‘It’s Mum. She’s seen that taxi driver man. He’s over there.’ She nodded theatrically in Jim’s direction. ‘And you’re the loser, anyway.’
Zoe turned to look across the hall. ‘OMG,’ she said, covering her mouth with her hand. ‘It is him. What’s he doing here?’
‘He’s a guard,’ said Anna. ‘When Mum recognised him, she freaked out.’ She held out her hand. ‘Look what she did to my wrist.’
Zoe ignored her and looked at Shuna who was now staring over her shoulder across the hall. ‘Oh, Mum,’ she said. ‘That’s crazy. Are you OK?’
Shuna nodded. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘It just came as a bit of shock. He was the last person I expected to see here.’
‘But isn’t there some sort of law that says he mustn’t be in the same place as you?’ said Anna.
‘Yes. There’s a restraining order that means that he can’t be within a hundred and fifty yards of any of us.’ Shuna snorted with laughter at the absurdity of the situation. ‘But he can hardly be blamed if he’s only sitting there doing his job and we walk in, can he?’
Anna was looking at her like a cornered deer, big, brown eyes wide and full of fear. Zoe’s expression was more difficult to read, but she wasn’t happy.
‘Don’t worry, girls, I’m not about to lose it again,’ said Shuna, smiling. ‘I know you’ve been worried about me and that’s not fair. It’s my job to worry about you, not the other way around.’
The tight smile on Zoe’s face softened and Shuna could see that both of them were relaxing.
‘But I am going to go over and talk to him, though.’
‘No!’ said Zoe, her words echoing around the hall. ‘No, Mum. You can’t.’
Shuna lifted both hands, palms outward. ‘Shhh,’ she said. ‘Calm down and listen to me.’
‘But you’ve only been better for a few weeks,’ said Zoe. ‘It’s crazy to stir things up again. It’s not fair on us … or Dad. Let’s just go.’
‘I do understand,’ said Shuna. ‘But you don’t have to worry. And I am thinking about both of you and Dad. Will you let me explain?’
‘OK,’ said Zoe, and Anna nodded her head silently.
‘Right,’ said Shuna, consciously keeping her back to Jim and sheltering her children. ‘I know I’ve been much better for the past month or so … and I can see that I must have been a terrible mother for a while …’
‘… No, Mum. That’s not what we’re saying,’ said Zoe.
‘… Never mind,’ continued Shuna. ‘That’s not my point.’ She looked closely at her beautiful girls, trying as hard as she could to project feelings of love and confidence. ‘I’m better, but I’m not quite “good” yet. I can’t get over the feeling that I ruined that man’s life. And for what? To satisfy my stupid ego? I really don’t know what to believe any more but I think I need to tell him I’m sorry.’
‘But he was horrible to us,’ said Anna. ‘And then he locked you in his taxi. I don’t understand why you want to be nice to him.’
Neither do I really,’ said Shuna. ‘But I’m pretty sure it’s something I have to do if I want to move on.’
Zoe had been staring at Shuna with what appeared to be total disbelief. ‘I don’t get you, Mum,’ she said eventually. ‘But you’re not going to listen to us, are you?’ She picked up her bag. ‘Well, you’re not dragging us with you. Me and Anna will go and look at the dinosaur.’ She drew herself up to her full five foot four. ‘And I’m telling Dad, whatever you say. Come on Anna.’ Zoe grabbed her sister’s hand and stalked off towards the centre of the hall, leaving Shuna open-mouthed and alone.
Dan
‘You could have told me before,’ said Rachel. ‘I might have been able to help.’
‘You did help,’ said Dan, using the backs of his fingers to gently wipe the tears from Rachel’s cheeks. ‘You were always there for me when I needed you.’
‘But I meant if …’
‘… I know what you meant,’ he said. ‘But it just wasn’t possible. I couldn’t. Sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise, you idiot. It just hurts to think of you carrying that wrapped up inside for all of these years.’
‘Honey, it’s hard to explain. I’ve had a good life. We’ve had a good life together. I know I haven’t always been everything you wanted me to be, but a part of me died as well that day. I always hoped it would somehow grow back, but it didn’t.’
‘You really are an idiot,’ she said. ‘I didn’t need more. You’ve done OK, you big lump.’ As she started to smile, Dan saw a lightbulb flick on at the back of Rachel’s eyes and the smile faded. ‘But why now?’ she said. ‘Why here, and why now?’
‘Ah. There’s the thing,’ said Dan. ‘I’m afraid there’s more.’
‘What? Tell me.’
‘You know that I went to see the oncologist for my check-up a couple of weeks before we left?’
‘Uh-huh. He gave you the all clear.’
‘Well, I lied,’ said Dan.
‘What do you mean, you lied?’ said Rachel. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I lied about the results.�
�� Dan could feel the emotion rising to the back of his throat. The moment he spoke the words out loud, everything would become real and there would be no reprieve. ‘It’s back. And it’s spread everywhere.’
Rachel looked more confused than shocked. ‘But why didn’t you tell me? Surely you should have started chemo straight away? Why didn’t we cancel the trip?’
‘It’s too far along,’ said Dan. ‘Like I said, it’s everywhere. There’s nothing they can do.’ He smiled and pointed at the shopping bags on the floor at Rachel’s feet. ‘And I didn’t want to cancel the trip. We’ve been looking forward to it for ages.’
Rachel was quiet for a long time and Dan knew he needed to give her the space to absorb what he was telling her. It had taken him more than three hours after the doctor’s appointment. Three hours of pacing up and down in the park before he truly understood what he’d been told.
What was it Doestoevsky had said to his wife, Anna, right at the end? ‘Hear now—permit it. Do not restrain me!’
There had to be a moment of acceptance. A time to stop raging against the dying of the light.
He looked across the hall to where a blonde woman was talking animatedly with her two daughters. He was certain that Rachel would have been a great mother. Had he denied her too much?
At last, Rachel lifted her head. Her mouth was set firm, lips pursed in determined self-control. ‘How long?’ she said.
‘A month. Maybe two.’
‘Are you in a lot of pain?’
Dan shrugged. ‘It’s OK when the drugs are working, but I’m taking more and more every day. I think I’ll need something stronger soon.’
As the world turned and people busied themselves with their daily lives, Dan sat silently on the bench, watching his wife of forty-five years struggling to turn his words into a reality she could cope with, and wondering if Rosa was watching on from somewhere, happy that her long wait was almost over.