Before he had the chance to answer, Helen was straightening the pillows of the lady in the middle bed, who was asleep, surrounded by fresh flowers and homemade get well cards. Helen then moved on to Barbara, who still hadn’t been sent home.
‘Hello again Helen. How nice to see you,’ said Barbara, ‘I’m afraid my scan wasn’t clear so I have to stay in for more tests. I hope it’s nothing untoward, not that they give you any clues. I’m bored silly with crosswords, so I’m glad to have someone to talk to. These two aren’t up to much,’ she said, pointing with her thumb to the other patients.
And with that, Helen and Barbara entered into what Peter called ‘nattering’: a seamless narrative of personal stories, asides and value judgements, delivered in a point/counterpoint style, with each woman taking her turn on the mic with a seamlessness known only to middle-aged women and gangsta rappers. Hungry Paul was left standing at the first bed with his coat on and his options limited. He tried to gain eye contact with the swearing woman in the first bed but she just stared straight ahead.
‘Do you mind if I take a seat, love?’ he asked, instantly regretting the ‘love’ bit as a misjudged imitation of his mother that sounded weird coming from a man.
He got no answer.
He pulled the chair aside and sat down, feeling rusty and sore. It was nice to be still and quiet. His mother and Barbara provided a pattering background noise that was easy to zone out from, but otherwise the wards were quiet. No nurses dashing around, no TVs blaring and no patients swearing or crying or asking confused questions. He sat there calmly, simply sharing the moment with the woman. Her chart showed that her name was Mrs Hawthorn. Mrs Olivia Hawthorn. Hungry Paul was good at this: just sitting, not fidgeting, not thinking particularly, and simply listening to the room. He never minded time. It neither dragged nor slipped away for him. He always felt in time. Just here, just being around. There was a gentle breeze blowing through the room and a faint smell of today’s dinner, which was gravy-like and indeterminate. He just sat there without small talk or prompts; nothing to get the relationship going, but no bum notes either.
After about twenty minutes, Mrs Hawthorn reached over and, without altering her straight-ahead gaze, took his hand. She gave it a barely perceptible squeeze. He accepted her hand gently, without trying to catch her eye or check her motive. Her skin was soft and thin. They held hands like that for the remaining forty minutes: silently and in comfort. When time was up and Helen came over, Mrs Hawthorn was fast asleep, still holding Hungry Paul’s hand in restful silence.
‘You two got on well by the looks of things. How did you win her over? She only gives me abuse,’ said Helen as they walked to the car park.
‘I didn’t do anything. Nothing at all,’ answered Hungry Paul, who tended not to overthink these things.
When they got home, Hungry Paul rang Leonard at work. They had arranged to play Monopoly that night, but Hungry Paul was still stiff and tired and wanted to suggest a more straightforward game like Connect 4 or Battleship.
‘Hello my old pal. What’s on your mind? Looking forward to the prize-giving I bet,’ answered Leonard in a chirpy voice.
‘My goodness, you’re in good form. Unfortunately I am somewhat in recovery mode. I wanted to ask a favour, actually. I had a rough judo session last night and am a little bit less than my best so I was wondering if we could play something easier than Monopoly tonight—I was thinking Connect 4 maybe? I don’t like to change plans at the last minute, but it’s just that judo is tricky until you get the hang of it.’
‘Oh, I see. Hmmm, this is awkward, you see—’
‘If it’s a problem, then I don’t mind changing back to Monopoly,’ interrupted Hungry Paul, ‘I wouldn’t want to let you down.’
‘Oh, it’s not that. It’s just that, well, I meant to ring you about this. You see, I’m supposed to meet Shelley tonight, and I forgot that I had double-booked myself a—’
‘Oh, I see. Well, that’s different. So maybe it’s b—’
‘I mean, I’m really sorry and I hate to let you down, it’s all my mistake, but it’s just that Shelley doesn’t always find it easy to arrange a night out because of Patrick, bec—’
‘Who is Patrick?’ asked Hungry Paul.
‘Oh that’s her son, he’s about s—’
‘A son! Oh, I never knew that. My goodness, you are jumping in at the deep end… eh, but I’m sure it’s all very straightforward. So I guess we’ll just have to do it another night instead maybe?’
‘Any night you like. And thanks for understanding. As you well know, I’m not often in this situation and I would really like it to work out so if you didn’t mind maybe we could meet tomorrow instead?’
‘Oh wait, I think tomorrow is booked,’ lied Hungry Paul, a little hurt, ‘so maybe I’ll just see you at the prize-giving on Saturday, if you’re still free that is?’
‘Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll be rooting for you. And next time, you get to pick which game we play. No arguments from me.’
After Hungry Paul had hung up, he gave the stubble on his chin a contemplative rub. His initial disappointment about the evening’s play soon receded, as the wider import of the conversation took its place. Undoubtedly Leonard, to his credit, had started making his long-overdue ‘one small step for man.’ He had the Roman book that he was writing on the side, and now a girlfriend. The girlfriend had a son, who could become Leonard’s kid if it all worked out. Imagine that. Even though Hungry Paul was happy for his friend, he couldn’t help but notice that things seemed to be moving on without him. This hit him with an unexpected heaviness. He started putting it all together. Grace would be married soon and would probably start a family. His parents were all but retired and kept talking about taking some big trip and specifically, some big trip without him. Judo had turned out harder than he had expected. His job at the Post Office—such as it was—would eventually be taken over by drones or robots. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t spend the rest of his life feeding birds and holding Mrs Hawthorn’s hand. And he certainly could not play board games every night by himself. Most games were four-player and it was already a compromise to play with just himself and Leonard.
Hungry Paul stretched out on the couch and felt his own limits. His body was just big enough to fit between the two arm rests. Lining everything up together—Leonard, Grace, his parents, and his own circumstances—he recognised a familiar pattern. Connect 4. Game Over.
Chapter 14: Happy Meal
When Leonard got off the phone he felt an uncomfortable mixture of guilt and betrayal, having let Hungry Paul down, his best and only true friend. A man who had stood by him through everything and who had always reserved a space in his (admittedly quiet) life just for Leonard. Their friendship was not just one of convenience between two quiet, solitary men with few other options, it was a pact. A pact to resist the vortex of busyness and insensitivity that had engulfed the rest of the world. It was a pact of simplicity, which stood against the forces of competiveness and noise.
The only problem was that Leonard had discovered a flaw in their way of life. It was fine so long as everything else stayed the same. With a stable home and work life, a life of depth and meaning, it was certainly possible to preserve a sanctuary of gentleness through their special friendship. But once life had changed, once the people in your life started slipping away from you, as inevitably happens, then north, south, east and west all move from their fixed points on the compass. You are left bereft, with a choice of whether to enter the world, with all the risks that entails, or retreating from it. Leonard’s natural instinct was to retreat and to create a safe bubble. But the bubble feeds on itself. Solitude and peace lose their specialness when they no longer stand in contrast to anything. In a busy—or at least busier—life, quiet reflection provides resonance to experience. But to deprive life of experiences deliberately and to hide from its realities was not special. It was just another form of fear t
hat led to a life-limiting loneliness that accumulated and accumulated until it became so big that it blocked up the front door, drowned out conversations and put other people behind soundproof glass. And anyway, Leonard was discovering that distancing himself from people didn’t even bring peace. The more he separated himself from others, the more they become unfathomable and perplexing. The distance just made him lose perspective. If he wasn’t careful he could turn vinegary and judgemental, like that man he used to see in the supermarket, muttering to himself with egg down the front of his jumper. In fact, he had discovered that he was less critical of people when he allowed them in. People, it turns out, weren’t so bad. At least that was true of some people. And maybe that was the trick: to find the right people; to be able to recognise them and to know how to appreciate them when you do find them.
All of this left him in a quandary with his best friend. He wasn’t sure whether Hungry Paul had made the same leaps. What if Hungry Paul just planned to womble from day to day for ever, unaware that his universe was shrinking? It pained Leonard to think that he might be outgrowing Hungry Paul, as though their friendship had become a reverse tontine, where the last man standing was the loser. The prize, a retreating life of diminishment.
But Leonard resolved that he would not let his own growth, such as it was, be at Hungry Paul’s expense. Their friendship meant too much to him. He decided that he would not let his burgeoning romance with Shelley—which, after all, was still at a very early stage—interfere with their friendship. This would be the last time he would cancel or renege on Hungry Paul because of thoughtlessness. From now on, he would make extra efforts to include him in his plans and perhaps, in gentle, covert ways he hadn’t yet figured out fully, he would try and guide his friend towards opening up his own life.
Leonard was also clear on one other thing: he recognised that he had an opening with Shelley that provided him with a small but sporting chance of becoming part of her life, and she part of his. He wasn’t exactly sure of where he wanted it to go, and he had parked for now the difficult questions he had about her having a seven-year-old son, but he knew that he didn’t want to mess it up because of dithering and self-doubt. This time, he would take his chances, and bear the risks.
He had been planning their first evening date all week, the plans coming at the expense of progress on his book about the Romans. Rather than trying something unusual, he had decided that he would book a nice restaurant, somewhere quiet and tasteful, but affordable in the event that she wanted to split the bill; no hipster spots. There was a nice little Italian that he often passed on the way home from work, and which had a few veggie options for Shelley, so he decided to book a table there. After dinner he’d suggest a walk and, all going well, they could go somewhere for a nightcap, some friendship, maybe more.
Though still very much a reluctant shopper, he had spent money on a new designer fragrance, but he had already splashed it onto his cheeks when he saw the words pour femme in tiny gold font at the bottom of the dark, male-looking, bottle. Perhaps she wouldn’t recognise it and he could pass it off as unisex. The fragrance had fooled him, so maybe it would fool her too, he thought, his optimism gallivanting ahead of his realism.
Having rushed out of the house, he arrived at their meeting point almost half an hour early. There were several overdressed, over-groomed date night hopefuls already waiting there. It was cold and between his nerves and his new jeans, which were a little snug, he realised that his bladder would not find it easy to last until 8pm. He crossed the road to McDonald’s, which seemed the nearest and most straightforward option. When he went to open the door for the bathrooms, he found them locked.
‘Toilets are for customers only,’ said a deep male voice behind and above him. Leonard turned around to see a security guard who was the size of Mount Rushmore.
‘Oh, I see. How about I buy something then?’ suggested Leonard.
‘That’s the general idea of restaurants. But you need to buy it before you use the bathroom,’ deadpanned Mount Rushmore.
Leonard presented himself at the counter where a sunny cashier was waiting for him.
‘Hi, what’s your cheapest burger?’ asked Leonard.
‘That would be our regular hamburger sir,’ answered the cashier.
‘Okay, I’ll have one of those then. And a 7UP to wash it down.’
‘Sprite okay?’
‘Sprite, 7UP, all the same, yes, that would be fine.’
‘It’s actually cheaper to get the meal deal, so do you want to go for that sir? You’d get chips too and it would cost you less?’
This was getting out of hand, but it was hard to argue with her logic.
‘Okay then. Can I use your toilet now?’ asked Leonard, starting to shift from foot to foot.
‘Sure thing, the code for the door is on your receipt. The food will just be a minute.’
‘Okay, back in a tick.’
Leonard returned from the toilet a changed man. The cashier handed him a tray with his meal on it. It turned out that he had ordered a kids’ Happy Meal, with a toy from the latest Disney franchise included inside the box. Now that he had been to the loo, he no longer wanted the food, but it would be a shame to waste it, so he decided to have a couple of bites, while still leaving room for the restaurant food. Maybe it was a good idea not to be too hungry on the date anyway—he didn’t want Shelley to think he was a pig or anything.
He took his seat and opened up the Happy Meal box. The burger was pretty thin and flimsy, and the portion of chips was small, so he didn’t think he was in danger of spoiling his appetite. He had just started eating when there was a knock at the window beside him. It was dark outside and he could only really see his reflection so he ignored it and took another bite. Then there was another knock followed by a pair of vaguely discernible waving hands. He pressed his face against the window, and there, with her face pressed against his, separated only by the double glazing, was Shelley smiling back at him.
She had likewise arrived early and stepped off her bus to see Leonard tucking into a kids’ Happy Meal in McDonald’s of all places. She came in through the automatic doors, pausing to let some teenagers out, and joined him at his window table.
‘I have to hand it to you, you know how to lay on a surprise for a girl. Is this where we’re going on our date?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely not!’ answered Leonard a little too emphatically.
‘Okay, phew. So what’s the deal? Are you having a double dinner day or were you just dying to see what toy was in the Happy Meal?’
‘It’s just some cartoon fish, it’s from a D—’
‘It’s one of the Finding Nemo fish, or whatever the new movie in the series is. Patrick has a few of them. They’re such landfill toys. No offence intended if you’re, you know, into them or something.’
‘Oh, God no. I know this looks weird but I just needed to use the loo, and then the Mount Rushmore guy over th—’
‘The what guy?’
‘Mount Rushmore—he’s so big and blocky he reminds me of the Thomas Jefferson face in particular. He intercepted me and said I had to buy something if I wanted to use the toilet, so I just got the cheapest, smallest thing, but then I thought it would be a waste to just dump it—and I know you’d disapprove of a cow being slaughtered just to be thrown into the bin—so I said I would just take a bite, and as you can see, I’ve hardly touched it so, well, there you are.’
He took a deep breath and looked at her as she picked at his chips with a strangely uncomprehending look on her face.
‘I get it, I think. This meal is cover for your bladder. I think I can live with that. So, can we start our date now?’ she asked.
‘That would be nice. Hi, by the way.’
Leonard leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek.
‘You smell nice. Kind of reminds me of a fragrance I have at home. Let’s get rid o
f this,’ she said as she binned what was left of the food and stuffed the Nemo toy into her pocket, for want of a better idea.
At the Italian restaurant, the waiter sat them in a little booth. There was a piano player on the far side of the room, playing romantic voluntaries underneath the healthy ambient sound of conversation between couples of all ages. The diners looked to Leonard like a mix of first dates, wedding anniversaries, and return visits by couples to their favourite spot.
‘This is really lovely. Where did you find this place?’ asked Shelley.
‘Oh, you know. I’ve passed it loads of times and thought it looked nice. I’ve never been here before,’ answered Leonard, when what he meant to say was that every time he walked by it he said to himself, if I ever meet a girl, that’s the place I’m going to bring her.
When she took off her coat, he could see that she had on a beautiful green sleeveless lace dress. Her hair had a slightly darker colour than usual and had been cut and pushed behind her ear, and she was wearing just a little bit of make-up, which he’d never seen her do before. As he watched her scan the menu, with her lips moving as she read, he said ‘You look really beautiful, Shelley,’ having only meant to think it.
She smiled with a little shyness.
‘Thank you. You look very handsome. I like your jacket. Ooh, this is so nice isn’t it?’ she said, possibly referring to the restaurant, the date, or the whole thing. ‘Well there are lots of veggie options, thankfully.’
‘So, how come you’re a vegetarian? Is it an animal welfare thing or just a health thing?’ asked Leonard.
‘Oh, no special reason. I got food poisoning from some reheated mince a few years ago and the thought of eating meat after that just made me nauseous, so I gave up for a month or two and just never went back to it. I’m not a zealous veggie, by the way. I won’t nag you if you order a big T-bone steak. Patrick eats meat—well, sausages, if you can call them meat—and if there’s meat left over, I’ll finish it off. As you rightfully said, I hate the thought of meat being thrown out—death in vain and all that.’
LEONARD AND HUNGRY PAUL Page 13