The Last Stand Down

by Philip J Bradbury

  He had reunited with Joan, a person and a reason that felt more real than anything else he had known. As he felt himself plugging back into his marriage, that huge welded plug into his work began to melt and drop away. He sat on the corner of their bed, not sure whether to laugh or cry and he found himself humming an old tune:

  Ringa ringa rosy, a pocketful of posy,

  Atishoo, atishoo, we all fall down ...

  "Darling, you're singing!" said Joan, from under the bedclothes.

  "Oh, I didn't know you were awake!" he said swinging around, startled out of his reverie.

  "Oh, I've been watching you for some time," she said. "What's going through that busy head of yours?"

  "Mmm," he said, not quite knowing where to start. "We just seem to go round and round and have nothing more to show for it than a pocketful of posies ... then we all fall down ... whatever that means!" He smiled at her and at his own nonsense.

  "Gosh, that's deep for this early!" Joan said. "You're not going to work are you?"

  "No, no, I just realised that I don't have to today and feeling a trifle odd about that," he said. "I know I don't have to but I seem to be a bit guilty about it all. My duty, you know."

  "Your duty?"

  "Well, yes, I was just thinking that there are so many duties one is raised to honour," Arthur said hesitantly, "and I realised, for the first time, you are my first duty ... my first concern and work just doesn't have the hold it had before. I'm not sure what's happened."

  "So what is your momentous decision, dear?" she asked, "to flee or not to flee?"

  "Not to flee it is," he said smiling, "although, if it wasn't today, the decision would have been different - I'd be off to work, unquestionably but, somehow, I'm unplugging from that ... not sure what's happened."

  "Well, why don't you plug yourself back into bed, here, and I'll bring the master up some breakfast," said Joan, pulling back the bedclothes on his side.

  "But, I ... I ... should, we should ..."

  "We should be getting ready for the funeral on Thursday and doing all sorts of other things but it's not even seven o'clock," said Joan firmly, "so get into this maiden's bed and we could perhaps plug into each other, somehow ..."

  "Oh, ah," said Arthur, feeling a tingle rising within. "Gosh yes, well, if you insist!" He gingerly crept back into bed feeling as if he was slightly to the side of himself, watching a strange little play he didn't know the script for ... yet he was also the writer, happily unsure of what to write next. As they snuggled together he had a deep and warm feeling of coming home.

  "This, my dear ... why didn't we do this more often?" he asked, brushing a stray hair back from her face. "It's ... it's just, well, so comfortable."

  "Comfortable? Comfortable!" said Joan in mock horror. "So you think I'm fat?"

  "No, no dear, not at all," said Arthur trying to recover lost ground. "I didn't mean physical comfortable. It just feels, well, comfortable like, oh, I don't know. All I can say is it's like coming home. It just feels right, so right."

  "Yes Arthur Bayly, I know what you mean," said Joan quietly as her free hand moved down his body.

  As they lay back in each other's arms, feeling hazy and sweet, Arthur felt that familiar, urgent and unpleasant call to arms. He moved as if to leap out of bed and caught himself quickly - today was different - pleasantly, oddly different.

  "You're jumpy dear," said Joan dreamily, "are you off to work now that you've had your wicked way with me?"

  "Hmm, I nearly was, actually," said Arthur smiling as he settled back into the warmth of her embrace. "It's hard to shake off years of training at the front. I feel like a soldier who'd volunteered to sacrifice himself for some dratted cause I knew nothing about and, now, I've gone AWOL and feel guilty about that."

  "Well you can always go back but today you're being ordered by Colonel Joan to stay right here while you are served breakfast!" said Joan. "After that, we can discuss what to do with your work."

  "Yes Sir ... Ma'am," he said as she slipped out of the bed and down stairs. 'So this is what it's like not to work,' he thought, 'a bit unnerving, really.'

  After a hearty English breakfast of fried sausages, bacon, eggs and baked beans, soldier Arthur was ready to tackle the work, which he did at a leisurely pace. At nine o'clock he reported for duty by phoning his work, just as his son reported for duty with his two children. The latter were hushed and hustled into the lounge while Arthur made contact.

  "Good morning, AIL Insurance, Halee speaking."

  "Ah, good morning Halee, it's Arthur Bayly here."

  "Oh, sir, are you okay?" asked Halee, concerned.

  "Oh! Ah, I suppose I am," said Arthur, savouring the question. "Actually, I'm strangely peaceful, despite my reason for not being at work today."

  "So you've slipped through a crack?"

  "Slipped through a crack?"

  "Slipped through a crack in the map," explained Halee, "You've slipped through a crack in your map, the way you had life planned. You might slip back. You might not."

  "Golly, what an interesting thought," said Arthur, then quickly remembering that he had a reason to call. "I won't be in today or for the next few days as my mother-in-law has just died."

  "Oh, I'm so sorry about that, Sir."

  "Yes, thank you Halee, but Joan and I feel oddly happy about what's happened," said Arthur, surprised that he found himself explaining this to a girl he hardly knew.

  "Well, sir, good luck on your journey," said Halee. "I guess we won't see you back here then."

  "Oh dear no, I will probably be back next week," Arthur protested.

  "Sorry, sir, but you may not be," said Halee firmly. "When you slip through a crack in the map and are feeling right about it, despite any circumstances, you don't usually want to come back. You might try but the old map's never the same again with that rip in it."

  "Gosh," said Arthur, at a loss for words.

  "Oh Sir, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't be telling you what to do..."

  "Oh, that's perfectly okay," said Arthur, smiling. "In fact, what you say sounds quite logical. How do you know this?"

  "Because I slipped through a crack in my map," said Halee. "I had to get away from New Zealand and here I am in London and enjoying every bit of it."

  "Oh, oh, do you think I'll have to move ... you know, to another country?" asked Arthur.

  "You may not need to but if you do, it will be much easier than would have been before," said Halee. Arthur smiled that he should be asking questions about his life from a mere slip of a girl.

  "Hmm, well thank you Halee," said Arthur, not quite knowing what to say next and reluctant to hang up the phone. "I suppose we shall speak later in the week?"

  "Of course, Sir, and don't forget to listen to your heart."

  "What? Do you think I might have a heart attack?" asked Arthur, suddenly alarmed.

  "No, no, no Sir!" said Halee, chuckling, "No, nothing like that. I just meant to listen to your heart for guidance, for decisions. Hear that quiet voice of peace."

  "Peace?"

  "Yes. If you're stewing over a decision, make the choice that brings you that deep sense of peace," explained Halee, "any other decision can be rejected."

  "Oh, gosh, I'd never heard of that before," said Arthur, wondering how a young lass could propound so much wisdom. "You're quite a wise young thing, aren't you?"

  "I'm your angel for today Sir," said Halee brightly, "and you'll be someone else's angel for today. We all get a turn every day. Cool, aye?"

  "Well, yes, quite," said Arthur, wondering how such a mundane phone call could become philosophical so easily. "So you'll tell Mary that I am indisposed and I'll ring her later in the week?"

  "Absolutely, sir, and you take care of yourself."

  As Arthur hung up the phone, he felt quite at peace. He sat a while and Joan eventually came in and put her arms around him.

  "Apparently, dear, I've slipped through the map," he said smiling into her hair.

  "Hmm
, maybe it's been more active than that," said Joan. "Maybe you leaped off the edge of your map. You played your part in this, you know."

  "Hmm," said Arthur, vaguely wondering what any of it meant.

  "Now, Arthur, you didn't tell me what a hero you were," said Joan leaning back, looking into his eyes.

  "Hero?"

  "Yes, Martin's bought this morning's paper and there's more of your story. It appears you tackled a local drug dealer, quite a vicious man, apparently. And you saved a woman and her child and the police have been after him for six months and you did it single handed!" said Joan with tears spilling out with the words. "Someone took a photo. It's definitely you!"

  "Yes, yes, I told you about it and I'm not sure it happened quite the way they say," said Arthur, feeling that his memory had slipped through some crack or other. "But I do remember they seemed quite pleased to have him caught. But perhaps we'd better let Martin get off to his work now."

  As he and Joan entered the lounge he was surprised that his frenetic son and lively grandchildren were peacefully playing on the floor - something he'd never seen before. Arthur found himself easing down with them and, instead of the usual flurry and screaming, the children quietly sidled sideways into his arms.

  "Hello Granddad, you look sad and happy at the same time," said Timothy, looking into Arthur's eyes.

  "Well, Timothy, you could well be right," said Arthur, hugging him. "And how are you, my young man?"

  "I'm staying here with you and Nana," said Timothy, his big smile answering the question.

  "And how are you, young lady?" asked Arthur.

  "Hmm, I like hugging you, Grandad," said Katie, snuggling in closer.

  Arthur looked across at Martin, who looked up from the child's puzzle he was doing with red round his eyes.

  "Are you alright, Martin? I thought you wanted to rush off to a conference somewhere?" asked Arthur.

  "Yes, I was Dad," said Martin quietly. "Look, I know this is an awful time for you and Mum with Grandie dying and everything. I've got some news too. It's all happening at once, isn't it?"

  "Is it bad news, Martin?"

  "I'm afraid so, Dad."

  "Look everyone, perhaps I'll go and make a pot of tea for all of us," said Joan quickly. "Come on Timothy and Katie, you can help Nana with the biscuits."

  "The English remedy for any problem under the sun - a good old cup of tea!" said Martin, smiling sadly.

  "Yes, a cup of tea and a chat might be what we all need," said Joan taking the children's little hands in her own. "Isn't that right Doctor Katie and Doctor Timothy?"

  "Yes, Nana, we'll make some medicine to make everyone better," said Katie as the three skipped out to the kitchen.

  "So Martin, your news?" asked Arthur.

  "Oh, Dad, you've got enough of your own stuff going on," said Martin, uncharacteristically avoiding discussion about himself.

  "Martin," said Arthur sternly, "I want to know what's happening for you. There's plenty of time for our things."

  "Well, Dad, Ruth says she's ... she's met someone."

  "Met who?" asked Arthur, not comprehending.

  "A man..."

  "A man to do with work? Could this be a promotion?" asked Arthur, knowing Martin's sole topic of conversation.

  "No, no, no, Dad. A man," said Martin, smiling through the tears that had started down his cheeks. He wiped his hand over his face quickly. "It's a man, a bloody man."

  "Oh, Martin, there's no need to swear..."

  "I'm sorry Dad, but she says she's fallen in love with him. She wants to leave me," said Martin quickly. "There, I've said it. I was too scared to think it, now I've said it!"

  "Oh, Martin, golly ..." said Arthur, feeling out of his depth. "Oh, son, oh, gosh."

  "Yes, gosh and bugger and damn!" said Martin. "It's all a bit ... bloody much. Sorry Dad, I just want to use every swear word I know. What else can I say?"

  "Yes, yes, I suppose these times are what swear words are for," said Arthur, seeing the pain on his son's face and the need for comic relief. He felt he should comfort Martin, somehow, but wasn't sure what to do. "Can I help?"

  "Well, actually Dad, right now, I'd like a great big hug!" Arthur nodded dumbly and both men stood and hugged each other for the first time in twenty years. Arthur could feel Martin's sobs shaking his body. He patted Martin's back, feeling decidedly awkward but not wanting to pull away.

  "Oh, hell Dad, this is such a mess," said Martin through is tears, "and I'm supposed to be here to support you two."

  "Look, Martin," said Arthur standing back with his hands on Martin's shoulders. "We've had four deaths here in the last twenty four hours ..."

  "Four deaths?"

  "Yes, four. My job's become unsafe, somehow. I think I ended some criminal's career. Your grandmother has died and now your, ah, situation," said Arthur, finding clarity through the confusion. "None of us quite knows what to do about any of it. And, as they say, if you're at the crossroads and don't know what to do, do nothing," he said wondering who they were and where he'd heard that before ... maybe he just made it up.

  "You've lost your job, Dad?" asked Martin, picking up on one piece of Arthur's speech. "Ah, yes, you said something last night."

  "Yes, well, not lost it but they've asked me not to work at the office, whatever that means," said Arthur. "Actually, I've been dreaming of change but not quite this one! I was thinking of sunny skies and deserts, really. And, now that it's happened - whatever that is - I'm not sure I want to go back."

  "Hell, gosh, Dad, I thought you'd never leave that place," said Martin, probably relieved to be talking about someone else's problem.

  "Mmm, nor did I!" said Arthur. "I don't know quite what to do, actually. But, being the wise old man that I am, I'm doing nothing. Just cogitating at the moment."

  "Hmm, maybe that's what I need to do right now," said Martin, plumping himself down on the sofa. "Just stop trying to fix everything, just get through the day."

  "Very wise," said Arthur, stepping aside as cups of tea and a plate of biscuits were brought in.

  "Thank you children, now you can bring your glasses of juice in, if you like," said Joan, sitting beside Martin.

  "But they might spill juice on the carpet. Ee can't have that," said Martin, reverting to his usual control-self.

  "Darling, with what's happened, do you think spilled juice is a big concern right now?" asked Joan, handing him his cup of tea.

  "No, I don't suppose so," Martin said, sitting back and smiling.

  "Now, dear, weren't you off to a conference somewhere?" asked Joan.

  "Oh, yes I was, a conference in Geneva for two days but I'm not going now. I've cancelled out," said Martin. "Seems like there's enough going on here at the moment!"

  "Ruth has left Martin, dear," whispered Arthur to Joan.

  "Oh Martin!" said Joan, looking shocked.

  "And do the children know?" asked Arthur, quietly, as they left to get their drinks.

  "Oh, sort of. They think Mummy wants a holiday for a while," said Martin, sighing. "I just can't bring myself to tell them ... or even what to say. I don't think I'm dealing with it very well."

  "What did Ruth tell the children?" asked Joan. "She must have said something to them."

  "I don't think she said anything," said Martin. "She just turned up last evening, a bit late, acted normal with them, put them to bed, told me her news, stayed the night and left this morning. I don't even know when she's coming back to get her stuff or what's going on. All I know is that he's an Australian and she met him through work, somehow."

  "Oh, Martin, you poor thing, you must be feeling so confused," said Joan, putting her arm around his shoulder.

  Uncharacteristically, Martin leaned into her as the children returned. "Are you crying, Daddy," asked Timothy.

  "Oh, no, not really," said Martin, wiping his face quickly. "Just feeling a bit tired, Timmy. Now, did you know that Grandad is a hero - he caught a criminal for the police yesterday?"


  "Grandad did?" asked Katie, wide-eyed.

  "You did?" asked Timothy, wide-eyed.

  "Well, it wasn't quite like that," said Arthur, embarrassed. "I just happened to be there and he sort of stumbled over me." Martin picked up his paper and read the article out - an article that was remarkably accurate considering no reporters were there, thought Arthur. And it did, he thought, make him sound very heroic. As Martin showed everyone the photo, Arthur wondered who took it - it showed him talking to the mother and child on the park seat and identified them as the people he had saved from this dangerous criminal.

  The rest of the day was spent with funeral arrangements and Arthur was surprised at how many friends his mother-in-law had. He'd thought she had spent all her life inside her house and realised she must have had a life while he was at work, each day. He was also surprised at Joan's quietness and her ... softness ... yes, softness was the word. She seemed happy with whatever he did and suggested and seemed happy to let him lead and make decisions. It was a little unnerving, really. But quite nice too.

  The grandchildren were no trouble at all. In fact, they were very helpful, doing little tasks that Arthur set them and he found he was able to relax around them, for the first time.

  The Blonde Tracker

  Thursday 8th March 2012, 2.30 p.m.

  The funeral was simple and surprising - many people spoke of Joan's mother and Arthur realised how little he knew of her. Afterwards, they took a taxi to Dottie's where tea and cakes were served for anyone attending. Martin and the children didn't stay long and Arthur and Joan left as soon as they respectfully could.

  Walking home from Dottie's, Joan turned to Arthur, "You know, this might sound a bit strange, callous even, but I'm still not sad like I'm supposed to be."

  "But you were crying in the church," said Arthur.