by Timlin, Mark
‘Well something had to.’
‘Does it scare you?’
‘Terrifies me more like. Not the dying part, or the being dead. I don’t think we go up in front of Saint Paul with his big book of what we did right or wrong. Mind you, if we do I’m destined for…’ He held up his hand with the thumb down. ‘…I reckon you just go to sleep. Must be nice. I just hope you don’t dream. Some of my dreams…’ He didn’t finish the sentence. ‘No. What frightens me is the pain getting worse and not going away. Or even worse, dying alone. That’s why I want you here. You and Martine and Chas. As much of my family as there is left.’
Mark felt tears sting his eyes again. ‘You won’t die alone, Uncle John. Not whilst we’re around.’ But he felt he was getting in too deep and changed the subject. ‘So who does the cooking these days? Not you, I bet.’
‘Chas mostly.’
‘Are you kidding me?’
‘Not at all. When we’re not out and about, which ain’t often these days I’m afraid, he’s in front of the cooking channel on cable. He loves it.’
‘What about Martine?’
‘Martine? You’re having a laugh, aincha? She can cook all right, just like her mum. When she can be bothered, which ain’t often. So all she does is wreck Chas’s kitchen and leaves him to clear up. He curses her out.’
‘I bet he does.’
‘Anyway, I heard him come back just now. I’ll get him to knock up something. Now come and see your room.’
They got up out of their chairs and went hunting for Chas. As promised he was watching a celebrity chef preparing a feast on a TV in the kitchen at the back of the house. Since Mark had last been around it had been extended and modified and looked like something out of a TV studio itself with a large central cooking range and shiny copper saucepans hanging from chrome rails. ‘I’m impressed,’ said Mark, looking round.
‘So you should be,’ remarked Jenner. ‘Cost me an arm, a dick and a leg, this lot.’
‘Worth it though, boss,’ said Chas. ‘Get you something?’
‘Something light.’
‘No worries,’ and the huge man donned a stripy apron without sign of embarrassment and peered into the mighty fridge that dominated one corner of the room.
‘Nothing for me thanks, Chas,’ said Mark. ‘I had so much at Tootsies, I don’t think I’ll ever eat again. There’s leftovers in the hall by the way.’
‘Just wait ‘til you smell my cooking and you’ll regret it,’ said Chas.
‘We’ll be upstairs,’ said Jenner and led the way back into the hall and up the main staircase that Mark remembered so well from his youth. When they got to the top, Mark hesitated outside the glossy white painted door.
‘Go on then,’ said Jenner. ‘Take a look.’
‘It’s been a long time.’
‘You keep saying that.’
‘Because it’s true.’ Then he grasped the handle, opened the door and stepped back a dozen years.
The room inside was just as he remembered it. A single bed with a duvet cover decorated with the faces of Matt and Luke Goss, the twins in the teeny group Bros, dark red carpet, dark red curtains open overlooking the back garden that was salted with snow. Pop group posters on the walls, a small TV set, a record player, and all along one wall, thousands of records, a legacy from his uncle.
‘Bros,’ he said. ‘What’s all that about?’
‘You liked them.’
‘No I didn’t. You bought me that to take the rise one Christmas and I wouldn’t use it.’
‘Yeah, OK. We stuck it on when you phoned.’
‘You knew I’d come back.’
‘Sooner or later.’
‘You’re a manipulative old sod, you know that.’
‘So I’ve been told.’
Mark walked over to the shelves. ‘And your records. I thought they’d all be gone.’
‘Never. Some of them are worth fortunes.’
‘I know.’ Mark turned to the older man and hugged him tight. ‘Christ, Uncle John. What happened to all those years?’
‘They went, son. They just went. I had Martine clear her stuff out of the bathroom next door. She’s got an en suite, but you know women. And we put all the necessaries in the cabinet. Razor and that.’
‘I don’t believe this.’
‘I was just hoping, Mark. Just hoping.’
‘Well, here I am.’
They stood together in the room for another minute, and then went back down to the living room. From the kitchen came the aromas of food cooking.
‘Chas was right,’ Mark said. ‘That does smell good.’
‘I told you. Chas has found his forté.’
‘Didn’t he ever find a woman?’
‘I never knew he lost one.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I don’t enquire too much about Chas’s sex life. He comes and goes, but he’s never got webbed up with anyone.’
‘What’ll happen to him?’
‘When?’
‘When something happens to you.’
‘He’ll be well looked after. So will Martine. So will you if you’ll let me.’
‘We’ll see about that.’
They were interrupted when Chas came into the room, still wearing his apron and carrying a tray, the contents of which he used to set the table by the window. He went out again and returned with a plate of food. ‘Omelette and salad,’ he said. ‘Nothing special.’
‘Looks good,’ said Jenner.
The big man looked down at him and smiled. ‘The best,’ he said, ‘I’m going to have Tootsie’s stuff for my supper.’
After he’d eaten, Jenner lit another joint and said. ‘I’m going to turn in soon. I need my beauty sleep. You stay up as long as you like. Watch a film.’ He pointed at a row of DVDs next to the widescreen TV in the corner. ‘Got some good gangster ones there.’
‘I bet you have.’
‘American mostly, Brit ones are crap. That Guy Ritchie, what a wanker. Or listen to music. Just do what you like. It’s liberty hall here.’
‘Thanks, Uncle John.’
‘Chas’ll lock up. He’ll wait for Martine. He don’t sleep much these days. He’ll make breakfast in the morning. Anytime you like. I sleep in.’
Mark was beginning to understand the seriousness of the illness that afflicted his old friend. In the silence that followed, Mark heard scratching at the door. ‘What the hell’s that?’ he said.
‘Get it will you, son,’ said Jenner.
Mark went to the door and slowly opened it to reveal a scrawny old tabby standing outside. The cat opened its mouth and let out an almost silent yowl before limping in.
‘It can’t be,’ said Mark. ‘Is it? Lily?’
At the sound of her name, the cat raised its head, showing white, almost sightless eyes, and yowled again. ‘Christ, it is,’ said Mark. ‘I thought she’d be dead and gone years ago. How old is she?’
‘Twenty, twenty-one,’ said Jenner. Those Burmese moggies live to a ripe old age.’
‘Hazel’s cat,’ said Mark, closing the door and sitting again. ‘That’s amazing.’
Jenner’s wife had loved Lily, who she’d saved from being destroyed by a neighbour with too many kittens, and she’d spoilt her rotten.
‘I said I’d look after her, and I have,’ said Jenner. ‘She’s almost blind, and a diabetic, but she still sleeps with me, and until her kidneys go and she starts pissing the bed, I won’t have her put down. Though sometimes I think it would be kinder to do it.’
‘She used to sleep with me sometimes,’ said Mark.
‘She’s a bit of a tart is Lily. She’ll sleep with anyone. If she tries it on again, kick her out. But don’t kick her too hard, she’s fragile.’
‘Course not.’
The old cat made her slow way across the carpet and headbutted Jenner’s leg. He picked her up and put her on his lap, relit his spliff, leant down and let out a mouthful of smoke. Lily lifted her head again, breathed it in
, turned round and went straight to sleep. ‘She loves a bit of draw,’ said Jenner. ‘Helps her kip. A bit like me.’
‘I don’t believe you, Uncle,’ said Mark.
‘Time for bed for us both,’ said Jenner, and with that, he pushed himself to his feet, hoisting the cat over his shoulder. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, son,’ he said. ‘It’s been a good day. A hell of a good day.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘Too long coming though.’
Mark just nodded and looked up at his uncle. This once hard man. This Jack the lad. Now old and racked with cancer, clutching his dead wife’s cat as if it was a straw to save him from the freezing sea of his own fate.
‘Goodnight then,’ said Jenner.
‘Goodnight, Uncle John.’
‘You could just call me John, you know. That uncle business makes me feel ancient.’
‘Force of habit.’
Jenner smiled and left the room.
After he’d gone, Mark mooched around the room that had changed little in the years he’d been gone. The DVDs were new, and the home cinema too, but otherwise things were much the same. He looked at the books on the shelves. Crime fiction mostly, and some autobiographies by London criminals. He smiled at himself, thinking that maybe John Jenner had fancied doing one of those himself. He opened the silver cigarette box and looked at the neatly rolled joints and was tempted for a moment, but he shook his head, closed the box and decided to go to bed himself.
He went back up to his old room. It was strange, more than strange to find himself there. But it was warm, the bed still fitted his contours when he laid on it and stared up at the familiar ceiling. After a few minutes he went to the bathroom next door which had always been his alone and found a new toothbrush and toothpaste, soap and flannel, laid out on the washbasin, razor and shaving cream in the mirrored cabinet. He looked at his reflection and smiled wryly. It had indeed, as John Jenner had said, been a hell of a day. He cleaned his teeth, relieved himself, washed his hands and went back to the bedroom where he undressed, slid under the Bros duvet and was soon asleep.
A noise awoke him sometime later. He had no idea what time it was. The door was open to allow light in from the hall and he saw that Martine was standing in the doorway. ‘The prodigal returned,’ she said, and he couldn’t decide whether she was glad or sorry. Even from the other side of the room her perfume filled his head and he felt dizzy, although it might have been from the amount he’d had to drink during the day.
‘Just for tonight,’ he said. His throat was dry and his tongue felt huge in his mouth.
‘No. You’re back. I can tell.’
‘Is that bad?’
‘No. Dad needs someone.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’m a girl. It’s not the same.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault. It’s just the way it is.’
‘Did you have a good time tonight?’ he asked.
‘Yeah. Not bad. Danced on the tables, that sort of thing.’
‘What time is it?’
‘What does it matter? You didn’t wait up for me.’
‘I didn’t think you’d want me to.’
‘You’d be surprised.’
‘Maybe.’
‘I used to do this years ago. Did you know that?’
‘Do what?’ He was confused.
‘Creep into your room when you were asleep and watch you.’
‘Did you?’ Now he was genuinely surprised. ‘Why?’
‘Because you were beautiful. I don’t think you knew how beautiful. That’s what made it special. All my girlfriends at school had crushes on you.’
‘Did they? I never knew.’
‘You could be very thick sometimes.’
‘I know.’
‘So what happened, Mark? Did you take an ugly pill?’ But there was no malice in her voice. He touched his face and felt the lines and the rasp of his beard.
‘Life happened to me,’ he said.
‘It happened to all of us.’
‘But it hasn’t affected you the same.’
‘Thank you, kind sir. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘I’m glad you did.’
‘Good. I loved you, you know.’
‘What?’
‘I was in love with you, just like all the other girls.’
‘I never knew that either.’
‘But then, things change don’t they?’ She wiggled her fingers and shut the door so that he was in darkness again, apart from the reflection from the snow outside. He slumped back on his pillow and blew out a breath. Jesus, he thought. What am I letting myself in for here?
SEVEN
Mark woke early. He rolled out of bed, checked the stairs for Martine and slipped quietly to the bathroom in his shorts. He didn’t want to engage in another conversation with her and her sharp tongue without at least a cup of tea inside him, and preferably with his clothes on. He locked the bathroom door, made his ablutions, had a quick shower, shaved, and went back to get dressed. When he drew back the curtains he saw that it had snowed heavily in the night. The garden below looked beautiful with only a few bird and cat prints to spoil the pristine white.
He got dressed in yesterday’s clothes, ignoring the fitted wardrobe which held God alone knows what fashion mistakes from the past and went downstairs to the kitchen. It was just before nine by his watch. Chas was in situ, watching the BBC news. The kitchen was warm and smelled of cooked bacon.
‘Morning, Chas,’ said Mark.
‘Morning, Mark,’ replied Chas. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Not bad. It was weird.’
‘I expect it was. Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea I think,’ said Mark, unused to being waited on.
‘Any breakfast?’
‘Maybe later. Who’s about?’
‘Just you and me so far. Martine will be down soon and when she’s gone to work I’ll take the boss up a cuppa.’
‘How is he, Chas?’ asked Mark. ‘How is he really?’
‘He’s dying.’
‘So it’s true.’
‘Course it is. He wouldn’t lie to you about a thing like that. It comes and goes. Remission, then bad times. Remission again. You ever known anyone with cancer?’
‘No.’
‘It’s a filthy thing but he’s coping with it. Seeing you’s cheered him up.’
‘Why didn’t he get in touch before?’
‘Scared you wouldn’t come.’
‘I’d walk over hot coals for that man.’
‘You haven’t seen him in years.’
‘You know why.’
‘You should’ve done.’
‘I know,’ said Mark. ‘Don’t you think I feel bad enough about it without you getting the cosh out?’
‘OK, Mark. But I thought it should be said.’
‘And now you’ve said it.’
‘No hard feelings I hope.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think it’s good to see you back.’
‘And I think it’s good to be here.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Chas. And Mark knew that things were all right between them. Just like old times.
There were footsteps outside the kitchen and Martine entered, interrupting their conversation. Today she’d dressed warmly, with fur-lined boots.
‘Will you look at the weather?’ she said. ‘I might get lost in a blizzard.’
‘Not much chance of that with that nanny you’re wearing,’ remarked Chas. Martine’s overcoat was bright scarlet with a fur collar. Red hair and red clothes often didn’t work, but with Martine they did. In spades.
‘Do you like it?’ she asked, doing a spin. ‘It’s new.’
‘Lovely,’ said Mark.
‘What about breakfast?’ asked Chas.
‘I’ll get something at work.’
‘No you won’t. Take off the coat and sit. I’ll get you some eggs.
’
‘Oh Chas, don’t fuss. I was just leaving.’
‘Don’t “oh Chas” me. You’re not going out on a day like this without something inside you.’
‘I’ll be late.’
‘Blame the weather.’
‘He’s just like Mum used to be,’ said Martine.
Mark laughed at the memory. She was right. Hazel had never let them out in the morning without something to eat, despite their protests. ‘Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,’ he said. Just like Hazel.
Martine squidged up her eyes at him. ‘Don’t you start,’ she said. ‘It’s bad enough with Chas bossing me about.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of bossing you about, Martine,’ said Mark.
‘You’d better not.’ But she did as she was told, took off her coat, hung it outside the kitchen door and came back for a plate of toast and scrambled eggs. When she was finished Chas said, ‘Let me run you up to town.’
‘No, Chas, you’re all right. The roads’ll be terrible. I’ll get a bus to Brixton and go by tube.’
‘You’re quite the democrat these days, aren’t you?’ said Mark. ‘Seems to me I remember you having to get driven everywhere when you were a kid.’
‘I told you last night, times and people change. I work for my living and I enjoy every minute of it.’
‘Selling cheap schmutter at inflated prices,’ said Chas.
‘The clothes at the shop are the best, Chas, and you know it. Stop ganging up on me, the pair of you.’
‘OK, miss,’ said Chas and gave her a hug as she got up to go. ‘But call me if you need anything.’
‘I will,’ she said, kissed him hard on the cheek, wiggled her fingers at Mark just like she had done the previous night and left the room. A minute later they heard the front door slam and peace descended on the house.
‘She’s… er, quite a girl,’ said Mark.
‘They broke the mould. Only one like her was Hazel,’ said Chas.
‘Yeah.’
‘You want some breakfast yourself now?’
‘Yeah. Watching her eat’s given me an appetite.’
‘Full English?’
‘Sounds good.’
Chas got out the frying pan and prepared eggs, bacon, mushrooms and fried bread which Mark wolfed down. When he was finished and the china and cutlery was in the dishwasher, Chas said, ‘So what have you been up to all this time?’