The Doughnut Man

by Paul Kelly

  “Thank you . . Sir,” she said quietly as she scooped the money from the table and left Bertie raising his eyebrows at Joe, as he gave him a wink .

  “Bertie . . that money . . the coins that you gave that lady . . . they were rather strange . .weren’t they?”

  “Now Joe . . . everything is not always what it looks like . . you’ll learn that when you get your wish and become a man . . so don’t ask any more questions, d’ya hear . . be a good boy and do me a small favour will you?”

  Joe blinked and nodded. It had stopped raining outside and he wondered what it was he was required to do for the old man.

  “Sure . sure, if I can Bertie,” he said apprehensively.

  Bertie put his old diary on the table and opened it.

  “We’re friends, aren’t we Joe,” he enquired eagerly and looked into Joe’s surprised eyes.

  “Of course we are.”

  “Forever an’ ever an’ ever?” he asked again and giggled.

  Joe nodded and agreed, “Forever an’ ever an’ ever,” he repeated eagerly, enjoying the game they were playing

  “Then put your thumb down on this then.”

  Joe stared at the crumpled page of the diary.

  “What? On that . . on that page, you mean?”

  “Sure . . just there . . Look.”

  Bertie pointed a fast moving finger at the middle of the page and licked his lips again.

  “Like a finger print, you mean?”

  “Sure . . that’s it.”

  “But don’t I need some ink or something . . to make it show?”

  “It’ll show alright . . don’t worry,” assured Bertie and as Joe obliged, he was amazed when he saw his finger print clearly on the paper and then Bertie put his thumb mark beside Joe’s and tore the page from the book.

  “There now . . that’s as good as a contract. We’re friends for ever ‘an ever an’ ever . . . . you’ll see.”

  Joe took the page and studied it carefully. His own print was clear enough but he could only see a rough smudge of Bertie’s . . . .

  ***

  As they left the Cafe, Bertie pulled his tartan scarf around his neck and sighed at the loss of his old velour hat.

  “Good day to you Madam,” he called out to the waitress, “I’d raise my hat to you . . if I had one,” he said and grinned . . . . as he turned to Joe. “I’ll never see that again, will I Joe?”

  He stood by a mirror at the Cafe entrance and studied his reflection.

  “I don’t look quite right without a hat, do I?” he enquired as he fumbled in his pockets to find his balaclava, but as Joe looked into the mirror his face went pale. He could see Bertie . . and he could see that he had no hat on his head . . but he couldn’t see himself.

  ***

  “Wake up Joe . . You’ll be gettin’ the sack if you drop off to sleep like that, Mate.”

  Taffi Ruskin from the Plate Shop shook his friend and Joe snorted and jumped as he rubbed his eyes.

  “I must have dropped off,” he yawned and stretched his arms above his head.

  “Get in by the Assembly Plant and old Shifty pants won’t see you. It’s nearly three o’clock, you know,” said his friend Taffi and Joe gathered his things together, staring at the lunch box that had held his corn-beef sandwiches and then to the floor where he had dropped his tomato.

  As his friend bent to pick it up, he noticed a small page from a diary lying beside it and he studied it carefully before he picked that up also.

  “Is this yours Joe? This ‘ere piece of paper . . Look!” he asked and Joe stared at the thing that Taffi held in his hand. “Probably a betting slip . . I would think . . Maybe you’ve won on the horses, Mate. Doesn’t seem to have anything written on it though. Hope the poor old devil hasn’t forgotten to put his bet on . . He might have backed a winner, eh?”

  Taffi held it up to the light and was about to throw it away again when Joe stopped him.

  “Let’s have a look Taff . . .”

  Joe took the piece of paper, but it looked blank as he slipped it into his back pocket, unable to recognize anything significant about it and went back to work with his friend, but some time later he looked at the little slip of paper again. It was just an ordinary page from an ordinary diary and with nothing on it but a dirty old smudge.

  Chapter Five

  Freddie was waiting for Joe when he arrived home from work the following morning. He hadn’t forgotten the promise that his uncle had made to him, to tell him of the best days of his life . . . when he was at school, but sadly and regretfully, Joe didn’t have the best of memories . . at least, not of the years between 1936 and 1946 . . except that he knew there had been a war during that time.

  Joe ate a hearty breakfast as usual, with bacon, eggs, mushrooms and sliced fried tomatoes . . Oh! and of course, with his usual three slices of toast, well done and spread with Maggie’s homemade whisky marmalade which he loved. Maggie was a wonderful cook.

  “Well, what about it then?” asked Freddie perkily as he gazed into the hungry man’s eyes.

  “What about what?” quizzed Joe as he crackled away happily, munching his toast.

  “Your schooldays, of course. What about your schooldays . . the best days of your life, you said?”

  Maggie smiled . . a little non-committal smile as she poured the coffee.

  “You’ve let yourself in for something now Joey Boy, I think I’ll just sit down and get an earful of this experience myself. Just give me a minute to turn off the gas.”

  Joe stared at his half empty breakfast plate and at the egg that had run across his mushrooms and his taste buds were sorely tried.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can’t a chap have his breakfast in peace?”

  “But you said . . .” Freddie went on.

  “Yes, yes . . I know what I said and I’ll tell you about that time, just as soon as I’ve had my breakfast, O.K?”

  Freddie smiled in anticipation and Maggie grinned in exasperation.

  “Too savoury to tell the lad, eh Joe?” she whispered into her husband’s ear, giggling to herself as she passed his chair and Joe blushed . . but he couldn’t remember a thing.

  “Well now . . once upon a time . .” Maggie chanted as she prepared lunch in the kitchen, having given up on hearing that experience of a lifetime and Sammy cowered below the kitchen table . . You never could tell what would arrive under there . . if you waited long enough. Joe stammered through a few words of irrelevant information and then began talking about his work at Fordham’s.

  “I knew it would be useless asking you,” Freddie cried out angrily. “I knew you were talking a load of old . . . .” But Joe stared at his nephew before he could finish his sentence.

  “Don’t you dare use that language in this house . . do you hear?” he barked with his usual air of authority when he couldn’t think what else to do and Freddie skulked away to his room as Maggie came into the lounge drying her hands on her apron.

  “No use blaming the boy, Joe. You told him your life was just a bed of roses when you were at school, didn’t you?”

  “Well . . it wasn’t that bad, was it Maggie?”

  Maggie shoved her hands in the front pocket of her apron.

  “You speak for yourself Love . .I hated school. Couldn’t wait to get away from it all and find meself a nice young man . . just like you,” she laughed . .”and Joe, you don’t mean to tell me that those years at the Orphanage were the best years of your life, now do you?”

  Joe reflected on her words.

  “Well . . they were different . . somehow,” he stammered, but he couldn’t remember exactly how different they had been.

  ***

  The following day was Joe’s day off, between shifts and it was wonderful to have a nice lie-
in, without the worries of having to clock in on time at Frankham’s and the talk and promises of the glories of his schooldays were far behind him. It was much more satisfying to get on with his gardening. His house was a very small one and it wasn’t even his own, but rented from the Council, however, Joe was very happy there. Perhaps the poverty and hardships of his youth where he was made to feel like nothing and nobody had made him appreciate the simple pleasures of his life now; little though many might think he had. He was a king in his own right and Maggie and Freddie helped to give him that title

  ***

  Joe had spent the morning playing football with Freddie when it was obvious he wasn’t going to be allowed to get any gardening done and in the afternoon, he set out for a quiet stroll, down by the stream that ran paralleled with the lane behind his house. He took some bread with him to feed the ducks that occasionally wandered down there from the village pond . . especially if they heard someone who might possibly be scattering breadcrumbs. Freddie went to the cinema with his mate from school and Maggie was, as usual, at home preparing dinner, singing as she did so and aware that she could warble to her heart’s content without comment from the two men in her life. Joe maintained that her voice could send a horse into a wild gallop . . .but he never spoke much about that . . .well, hardly ever.

  He looked down into the still, murky waters of the stream, aware of his image as it stared back at him until he dropped some bread to shatter the stillness into ever increasing circles. Suddenly his face looked different. . .It became a rippling, jostling shape that leered back at him before it steadied itself to its former vision. He took off his cap and then put it back on again, just to see the movements on the mirror-like surface. It was a lazy, summer afternoon in a day when you were glad to be alive and he took some more bread from the plastic carrier bag he was carrying and broke it into tiny pieces, before throwing them into the water, making tiny circles to disturb the calm. The circles widened and diminished as they went and the ducks arrived to pop their heads below the surface, as they savagely attacked their lunch, showing their feathered bottoms in total disrespect of any man who cared to pass. Joe laughed but they carried on innocently and would not desist until he had thrown all his bread into the water. Finally, when the lunch was over and the ducks had swam away in proud complacency, he smiled contentedly as he looked back into the now calm stream, but his smile was cut short . . . He looked again and again . . . but there was no reflection.

  Joe swished the water with his hand and looked again, waiting for it to settle. It did, but all he could see was the clear, blue sky above him, in the depth of the stream. Joe Osborne had vanished.

  “Oh! my goodness . . . it’s happened again,” he cried aloud and the ducks flapped back across the lake surface in fright.

  ***

  The journey home was troublesome for Joe as his thoughts were jangled and confused. He had thought the effect of the ten year absence to be finished, but it was looming up again in front of him. He could not remember a single item of what he did in that vacant time, but now and again, in what seemed like fleeting moments of blinding light and recognition, he could see Bertie staring at him with his chin touching his thin, long nose. . . and those eyes . . those staring, penetrating blue, blue eyes searing into his brain, making him close his own eyes to dismiss the scene from his mind . . . but to no effect. He could not understand the relationship with the old man. It seemed like his memory of their association came in spasms, like the instant flash of a camera, where the negative is captured and housed, never to be realized until the film is developed. His immediate problem was where and how he could develop the picture in the camera of his mind. . .as he studied his hands to make sure they were there before he went any further . . and they were.

  ***

  Freddie met him at the end of the lane.

  “Joe . . Joe, come quickly . . something’s happened to Maggie. Come quickly.”

  Joe forgot his own dilemma as he raced towards the house holding Freddie’s hand in fear and excitement. He rushed into the lounge but she wasn’t there.

  “Upstairs Joe . . She’s in bed upstairs.”

  He quickly flew upstairs to the bedroom to find Maggie lying on top of the bed, fully clothed but looking very pale. Her face was damp and clammy and her breathing came in fits and starts as she tried to talk to him.

  “Lie still Maggie . . don’t try to talk. Freddie, run next door and ask Mrs. Clements if she’ll phone for an ambulance . . Quickly . . Tell her Maggie is ill and tell her to dial 999. It’s an emergency,” he gabbled in his excitement and Freddie ran as he was instructed.

  “S’truth . . I knew I should have got a phone in here, Maggie. Now that’s done it . . I’m getting a phone as soon as I see you safely into hospital,” he protested as he tripped and stumbled over the carpet and landed at the other side of the bed “Woops,” he called out . . “We need a new carpet as well.”

  Maggie tried to reach out to touch him but the pain showed in her face as she moved and Joe bent over and kissed her forehead.

  “Don’t move Love. The ambulance will be here soon. Don’t move.”

  He wanted to ask her where she had the pain but he was afraid to disturb her any more than he had to, as he kept looking out of the window, down into the lane, expecting to see the ambulance coming round the corner at any moment, but it did arrive eventually, after about twenty minutes and they took Maggie into the Cottage Hospital, about five miles away. Joe and Freddie stayed with her, in the corridor outside the ward until the Sister could come to see them

  and when she did, which seemed like an eternity to Joe, he rushed forward excitedly.

  “I’m Joe Osborne. You’ve got my wife in there. Is she alright?” he gasped and the Sister took hold of his arm gently and led him along the corridor, whilst Freddie followed.

  “Your wife will be fine, Mr. Osborne, but she needs quite a lot of rest. She’s a little anaemic, you know, but we’ve given her a blood transfusion and she’s resting comfortably now.”

  “Can I see her . please?”

  “Well, I’d wait for about an hour or so, if I were you. She’s asleep now and I think the rest will be better for her than seeing visitors, just at the moment, you understand. Why don’t you have a cup of tea and I’ll call you when she wakes up, eh?”

  Joe felt relieved as he sat down and looked at Freddie but suddenly he jumped up again and called out to the Nurse, just as she turned a corner and disappeared out of sight.

  “Sister . . Sister . .” but she had gone and he had no way of finding her. “I didn’t ask that Nurse what was wrong with Maggie, Freddie . . Stupid of me wasn’t it?” he called out, but

  Freddie did not answer. He was staring, wide eyed around the hospital corridors, trying to find his own understanding of the situation.

  “Will Maggie be alright, Joe?” he asked feebly and Joe sipped his tea from a plastic cup.

  “I hope so Freddie. I just wish I knew what the trouble was . . she’s anaemic or something, but that doesn’t tell us much, does it?”

  ***

  Maggie smiled as Joe came towards her bed, looking very sheepish and concerned..

  “What a palaver,” she said with a sigh, “All this fuss . . well, I ask you?”

  Joe threw his arms around her and she leaned towards his ear, where he went pale after a few seconds and stared back at her in total surprise. . . then he cuddled her warmly and kissed her again before the nurse came and asked him to leave.

  “Will Maggie be O.K. Joe? I wanted to come in and see her but the nurse wouldn’t let me. She looked very tired from where I could see her at the ward entrance,” Freddie commented as he left the hospital with his uncle, but they walked in silence for quite some time before Joe spoke and when he did, he was full of enthusiasm.

  “Maggie’s gonna be fine, Freddie . . just fine. She’s gon
na be a mummy, that’s what . . and I can’t believe how happy I am.”

  Joe jumped in the air and biffed the wind with his fist as Freddie looked on in utter bewilderment.

  “Will that be a little brother for me then Joe?” he asked.

  “Well . . either that or a little sister . . do you mind?”

  Freddie giggled.

  “No, I don’t mind, but a little sister wouldn’t play football . . would she?”

  ***

  But as they turned into the lane and walked towards the house, Joe had a strange feeling that someone else was walking with them. He turned . .and to his utter surprise, he could see his old friend Bertie the doughnut man smiling at him, in his own inimitable, toothless style as he stuck his bony thumb in the air.

  “Friends, eh, Joe . . For ever an’ ever an’ ever, yes? I told you so,” the old man said and Joe did not fight the tears that rolled down his flushed face as he answered him.

  “Yes Bertie . . Forever an’ ever an’ ever, even though we haven’t seen each other for years. Were you responsible for this?”

  Bertie grinned.

  “Why Joe . . I’m surprised that you should ask me such a question,” he mused, “You know it’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?. . I just wished for you . . that’s all.”

  Freddie stared at Joe as they walked.

  “Who are you talking to Joe? I can’t see anyone,” he asked but Joe just chuckled.

  “Oh! That’s alright Freddie. Sometimes when your happy . . I mean, very, very happy . . really, really happy . . and when you get to my age . . you talk to yourself sometimes, you know.”

  Freddie looked at him with a peculiar expression in his eye, but he accepted the situation . . and the explanation.

  “Oh! and Joe,” Bertie called over his scraggy shoulder.