‘You must mean my husband,’ she said. ‘His real name’s Reggie and I’m afraid he isn’t here.’ Then she started sniffing and wiping at her eyes with a screwed up tissue.
I tried the first two letters of Kipper’s MIST, to encourage her to share her feelings, but the poor woman was obviously in a state. She managed to get a few words out in between her sobs, and I got the gist of things, but I’ll have to confirm it all with Jeffrey when we touch base again. It seems he’d got into a bit of a sticky situation with two or three of his female clients. Improper conduct while they were in a hypnotic trance, his wife said. Of course, there’ll have been some mistake; I’m sure Jeffrey will be able to clear up the misunderstanding with a perfectly good explanation. Meanwhile he’d gone off for a little break on his own. Mrs Jeffrey didn’t know where. He was gone when she woke up that morning, and there’d been a visit from a policeman yesterday evening. Poor Jeffrey, I thought to myself on the drive home. I knew what it was like to have your intentions misconstrued, and I did my best to send out waves of empathy to him in his time of need. I gave up and decided to have another go later because the chest pain was distracting me.
When I got back here, I had the final shock of the day, oh yes indeedy. They say things come in three’s, don’t they? I got as far as the hall table, and there it was. A white envelope propped up against the cut glass rose bowl I’d bought Mum for her flower arranging. Not that there’d been much of that going on lately. The only arranging she’d been doing was with Mr Shelby, next door. I sat on the stairs with the envelope and sighed. She’d spelt Kipper wrong, with only one p. Still, I thought as I opened it, at least we’re on good terms if she’s calling me Kipper, I expect she wants me to heat up a plateful of dinner she’s left for me while the two of them go out to one of them pub quizzes. I knew they both scored well with the questions on the telly – she’d told me often enough. I loosened my trendy, geometric patterned tie and took a few deep breaths. Then I read the note.
Dear Norman threw me for a start. She hasn’t called me Norman for ages. And then it’s only when she gets cross. I read on. Me and Sid have eloped. We will be spending our honeymoon touring Scotland for a week, then he is taking me to Paris. I have always wanted to go. After that we are going on a cruise with lots of entertainment during the evenings. We will not be back for six weeks but there is plenty of food in the cupboards. Sid wants us to start our new life together in a different part of the country, so you will have to start looking for somewhere else to live, as the house will have to be sold. Don’t worry about the arrangements for this – Sid will see to it all. He is very good with legal things. I know this must be a bit of a surprise but we are sure you would want us to be happy. With lots of love from Mum. She added a postscript. It was about my books. Mr Shelby had been through them, she said, and told her that they weren’t the sort of thing she would want under her roof. I tried my best to bring you up decent, it went on, so I can’t think where you got your ideas from.
It was Gloria and Jeffrey all over again. First Gloria got the wrong idea about me, then Jeffrey’s clients misunderstood what he was trying to do, and now it was Mum. She’d got the wrong end of the stick about my self-help books. If only she had given me the chance to put it all to her in black and white. I could have told her – it’s no good trying to do presentations about the importance of touch if you don’t know the first thing about the human body. I pride myself on my wide range of books; some of them were very difficult to acquire. Yes indeedy. And they have given me a deeper knowledge about the workings of the body. What Mr Clever Clogs Shelby seems unable to grasp, is that it is essential in my line of work to be familiar with the topic you are talking about. How would it look doing training on touch as communication if I passed on incorrect information, that’s what I’d like to ask him? Surely it’s a good thing to know what goes where before you start telling people how to touch each other. I saw it as my duty to explore the subject in as much depth as I could. In any case, everyone knows that the body is something to be admired and appreciated – in all its possible poses. And anyway, with mum spending all that time round there with him, what else was I supposed to do? We were all right before he came along, and I wouldn’t have needed such a large collection of books if I’d still had Mum to look after and keep company.
I’ve been sitting on the sofa for a good while now. The rest helped to ease the chest pains and I felt so much better that I managed to do myself a bit of supper. I had one of Mum’s dinners out of the freezer. Toad-in-the-hole it was, with a nice healthy fruit pie afterwards. I kept imagining Jeffrey’s calm tones telling me to learn from my experiences.
‘Use it to enrich yourself and those around you,’ he used to say.That’s when the idea came to me. I decided to have a counselling session, on the spot. I poured my heart out to Mum’s favourite armchair; told it everything that had happened and how I felt about it all. I let it all come tumbling out, yes indeedy. It was just like the old days, when she used to sit and do her knitting while I held her wool with my hands spread out, and we’d chat away.
Now I feel lighter, as if a heavy burden has been lifted from me. I’ve had a bit of time to absorb things, and I’ve even started to turn them round, make them into positives. It takes someone with my depth of experience to begin that process so quickly.
‘Inside every negative Kipper,’ Jeffrey used to say, ‘there’s a positive Kipper waiting to burst through.’ He taught me that right from the start.
What I can see so far, is that Gloria’s message has lost me a few hundred pounds – and on the surface that looks like a negative. But, ladies, gentlemen, and those of you who haven’t made your minds up yet, the positive will be revealed sooner or later. It could be a sign that the work would have been wrong for me at this moment in time. Yes indeedy. Going ahead with that programme might have left me up the river without a proverbial – spiritually speaking of course. Gloria may have done me a favour. There’s no point entering into something important when the energy fields and auras are out of tune, that’s what Jeffrey would have said, I reckon. If, as seems to be the case, one or two of the young ladies on the course were unable to be open to the idea of touch, then things probably wouldn’t flow in the way I’d planned. Like with the milkman, the time just wasn’t right. I might have to do some pre-touch workshops to help break through the barriers, enable them to acknowledge their own defences. Yes indeedy. I‘ll get onto Gloria with my action plan in a couple of days.
As far as Mum and Mr Shelby are concerned, well there’s plenty to be positive about there. I’ve wanted to branch out on my own for years, after all. I only stayed with her all this time because she couldn’t cope on her own. I wanted to see her settled with someone who’d look after her in the manner she'd become proverbial to. Yes indeedy. It’s not as if I haven’t got a social life of my own waiting to be got on with. I never would have said that to her of course. I let her think I didn’t have any friends, but by this stage of life a man like me needs his freedom. Sid Shelby has turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Now Kipper Flipchart can boldly go where no man has gone before. Today is the first day of the rest of my life, as we like to say in this business.
*Things To Do*
He’s not on a mobile. He’s not texting nobody or nothing like that, which is a bit odd to start with, knowhamean? I walk home from work this way every night. I see the same people in the same places. And they’re always on their mobiles. Either that or they’re shuffling along doing text messages in the dark. Gets on my nerves. Here’s me, trying to get past them on the pavement, and they haven’t even got a clue I’m here. Miles away in text land they are, weaving about all over the place with their heads tilted forward. Or they’ve got their hands stuck to their ears and they’re yapping away about nothing – just rubbish. And getting in the way all the time, knowhamean?
He’s not like that though. I think he is when I first clock him from way back. I think he’s bound to be on a mobile, but I still h
aven’t got past the traffic lights by then. I’ll soon get past you, I think to myself because he’s so bloody slow. And I do – I catch up with him in no time. Then, when I’m right close behind him, I don’t know what makes me do it but I slow down. He’s bound to cross over at the pelican, I think – its Tesco’s on the other side. Loads of people go in there; get their ciggies and their papers, pint of milk, something for tea and that. I don’t go in. I make sure I’ve got all I need at the start of the week. I don’t want to keep popping in the shops every five minutes, knowhamean? People ought to get themselves organised. Anyway, we get to the pelican and I’m trying to slow myself down so I don’t knock into the back of him. We’re on that funny bit of pavement – that pink knobbly bit for blind people – and I think he’ll stop now and press the button so he can cross over and that’ll be that.
He don’t though. He just carries on, still all slow and everything. And I think to myself I’ve had enough of this, knowhamean? I’ve got a home to get back to. I don’t want to be out here, creeping along the pavement behind him all night. I’ve got tea to get ready and everything. Well, I say get ready – but it’s all sitting there waiting for me. All I’ve got to do is pop it in the oven. If only this bloke will get out of the way. Always keep one step ahead, that’s what Mum used to say. Keep yourself one step ahead in life and you won’t go far wrong. Not that she did though – always muddling along, she was – in a right old shambles if it hadn’t been for me keeping her organised. But she always used to go on about keeping one step ahead. I don’t know who this bloke is but he’s not in no hurry to get nowhere. Not like some of us, I think, getting annoyed. How can I keep one step ahead with him in the way? I’m fed up with staring at his back now. He’s got this big duffle coat on, got the hood up and everything. It’s a nice coat as well, not tatty or nothing – too posh for round here. And he’s ever so tall; towers over me. Well, most people do, I’m used to that, but he’s taller than your average bloke. Then there’s this slow walk he does, and his feet don’t make a sound. He takes these great big strides but it’s all in slow motion, like he’s floating or something. He’s never going to keep one step ahead, not moving slow like that, he’s not.
Right, I think, I’m off. He can dawdle along if he likes, but I’ve got things to do, knowhamean? I’ve got my programmes to watch and get myself sorted out for work tomorrow. I can’t waste no more time staring at the back of his bloody duffle coat. Time to get a move on again. So I speed up and make a wide sweep past him. And as I go by I cop a quick look. He looks like a bloody monk or something with that great big hood up. You can’t see his face from the side – it’s all hidden. It’s not even cold, I think, what does he want with that big coat while it’s still mild like this?Mind you, it didn’t ought to be – not now we’re into November. I’ve got all my thick winter clothes out ready. All the scarves and gloves and that – I’ve got them all ready but it’s still too warm. I do a rota so they’re always nice and clean. Twice I wear them, then they go in the wash. Unless it rains, then I only wear them once. I’ve got a few new pairs this year – well I got them when it was busy in the sales last year and put them away. They’re all arranged nice, in my drawer. Neat and tidy. I’ve always got myself sorted out and organised. You’ve got to have things all planned out, knowhamean? I bet this bloke in the duffle coat is fussy about his clothes, like me. You can tell can’t you? What with him being nicely turned out and everything – not like the usual sort you get round here. For starters, you don’t see many duffle coats these days, do you? And definitely not posh ones like this – all dark navy and down past his knees. Or is it black? Hard to tell in the dark.
This time three weeks ago I was still walking home in the light. I could get home, get the dinner on and have the news watched before it was time to pull the curtains. But now you’re lucky if you see any daylight at all, what with walking to work in the dark and coming home again when it’s pitch black. It gives my arse the headache. Mum used to say that. She was always coming out with it. Never knew what it meant but it used to make me laugh. There weren’t much she’d say would make me laugh but that did. She’d say it when she didn’t like someone on the telly or if she ran out of fags. I say it now – caught it off her. Gives my arse the headache.
I sneak a little look behind me to see if the bloke in the coat is still there. I pretend I’m checking for traffic so it’s not obvious or nothing. I don’t want him shouting, ‘Oi, what the fuck are you looking at,’ do I? They do you know, round here. You’ve only got to glance at them wrong. Or comment about why don’t they wait until they get home to make their phone calls instead of holding people up on the pavement. You’ve only got to mention something like that and out comes all the language. Shocks you, some of it. I don’t say nothing no more. You don’t dare, knowhamean? Not if they’re going to get all fucking abusive like that.
But he don’t say nothing. He don’t even seem to notice. He just keeps floating along like before, all slow and everything. He’s never going to get where he’s going at this rate, I think to myself. He hasn’t got no faster but somehow he’s closer than I expect him to be. I must have slowed down. Come on, I tell myself, get a move on – you don’t want to miss the news. I turn round for another quick look before I start putting on a spurt. And he’s even closer this time. I try to get a look at his face but all you can see is this dark space in his hood – like it’s really deep and his face is too far inside to show. It’s just black. I don’t like the look of that, I think. It’s like being followed by bloody death or something. All he needs is one of them curved metal things to carry over his shoulder. Who does he think he is, going round looking like that? It’s not right, putting people on edge, all in the dark and everything. He might be one of them stalkers for all I know. He could be a murderer or anything. He don’t come from round here, I know that much for certain. I know them all round here. Well I don’t know them, but I see them every day, year after year. It’s as good as knowing them. And they all know me – everyone round here knows me. Even before I was in the papers that time, they knew me. Knew Mum as well. Part of the furniture we was. Course, I don’t let on at work. That’s all in the past now.
I speed up a bit more. Always been a fast walker, I have.
‘Hang on a minute,’ Mum used to say, ‘where the bleedin' hell you off to in such a hurry?’
And I’d have to force myself to keep in time with her plodding along beside me, trying to hold onto my arm. I preferred it when she stayed indoors. Don’t get me wrong, we got along well enough most of the time and I looked after when she got poorly and everything – not that I could ever get that right, knowhamean? But I’ve got my own way of doing things. I like to be one step ahead all the time. No surprises or nothing. And anyway, when she came out with me, I had to keep my eye on her all the time. Always stuffing things under her coat, she was. Didn’t matter what it was, if she wanted it, she’d take it. I told her over and over again, but she’d just tell me to mind my own business. She took a table lamp out the shop once – fringed lampshade and everything, it had. She wanted it for the front room. I was always having a go at her.
‘If I wanted your bloody advice,’ she’d say, ‘I’d bloody well ask for it.’
Then we’d have a big barny. And it would all come out, all the nasty stuff. How I’d ruined her life. How if I hadn’t been the way I am, she’d have found another man and had a good life. How I gave her arse the proper headache. Once it had blown over though, we’d have a few drinks together and that would be that. We’d be back to normal again – her wedged in that armchair hour after hour, looking through them catalogues and the ashtray full to the brim. And I’d take all the ornaments down, polish them and put them back in their places. Make it all nice and tidy.
I can tell he’s come up a lot closer behind me now. Not that I can hear him or nothing, but you can just tell can’t you? You get that feeling down the back of your neck, a sort of signal you don’t hardly notice. But it makes you
look round to check what’s going on over your shoulder. And when I look, there he is. Only he’s not dead close, the way it feels. He’s still too far back to see his face, still hovering along like before. He don’t look up or nothing, even with me staring at him like this. He’s all wrapped up in a world of his own, deep inside that hood. He might as well be on a mobile. Why don’t he just bugger off, I think – turn off up a side street or something? I’m walking as fast as I can now just to get away from him. I’m sick of having him behind me all the time. I’d rather have one of them dithering bloody text messengers getting in my way – at least I’m used to them. Or Mum with the stuff we’d got from the shops making bulges in her coat so everyone could see. Talk about making it bloody obvious. I’d shout at her all the way home but it never did no good. She just shouted back, and that got even more people gawping. She never learned. We was in them police cells as regular as the coppers that worked there. And she was the one with that saying – about always keeping one step ahead. She never did though. Not like me.
This bloke is worse than the texters though. I don’t know what he’s up to, knowhamean? Well, he’s not up to nothing – not when I look round he’s not. But it’s giving my arse the real headache just knowing he’s there all the time. I’m usually on my own by now – not many of the others come this far. I don’t like this one little bit, with him inside that hood, staring at my back all the bloody time. Enough's enough; I’m crossing over now. He can go and float along behind some other bugger. I don’t want him lurking about behind me any more. I’ll be running in a minute if this carries on. And I can run as well. I can put on some real speed if I want to. It’s with me being small like this. I might not be no spring chicken no more but I can still get a bit of a move on if the mood takes me. Light on my feet, I am. Always been good at nipping through the shoppers and getting out fast. Not like Mum. Big built she was – hips the size of a settee. You could hear her thumping along the pavement from miles away, knowhamean? And wheezing. That was the fags of course; even though she swore blind she had a dodgy heart. That’s what them ambulance men said as well, bending over her on the edge of that kerb. But they didn’t live with her, did they? Didn’t see how many she got through in a day. Even when we had our dinner, she’d still have a ciggie on the go. Then she’d want to come out and get stuff with me. I told her time and time again all she had to do was pick things out of them catalogues and I’d go and get them. I was better on my own, had my own way of doing it. But she wouldn’t have it. She’d be swaying along on them big swollen legs, her face all red and sweating. You just can’t help some people, can you? Knowhamean?
Grave Misgivings Page 19