I’ll Go To Bed At Noon

by Gerard Woodward

  ‘They’re not in,’ said Aldous, ‘I heard them going out this evening.’

  ‘We’ll have to go to the police then. We can’t . . .’

  ‘Oh sod the police!’ Aldous suddenly snapped, ‘it’ll be the same old story, Sorry guv, nothing we can do, domestic. The police never do anything, they just leave it to us, he’s our son, its our house, what can they do . . .’

  ‘Well we can’t stay here all night. We have to face it, we can’t handle Janus any more, he’s too much for us . . .’

  ‘I’m glad to hear you say that at last. How long has it taken you to realize that?’

  Colette paused. The two of them let their frosty breaths fight instead.

  ‘Have you got your keys?’ said Colette.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let’s just go back in then.’

  ‘Later, when he’s calmed down. We could go to the pub in the meantime . . .’

  And so they went to The Red Lion and drank there until closing time. They said very little to each other, and only when they’d left the pub did Aldous crumble.

  ‘I’m not going back home,’ he said, as they walked along the orange-lit Green Lanes, ‘I can’t face it. I just can’t . . .’

  ‘But it’s our home.’

  ‘Not tonight it isn’t. Let’s go to a hotel or something. I’m not going home . . .’

  Colette was about to remonstrate – are you going to let your own son drive you out of your own home, but she realized it would have been no use. Then she had an idea.

  ‘Let’s go to Juliette’s flat. It’s not far from here.’

  It was only a fifteen minute walk from The Red Lion, across the little Venice of the New River, through winding, leafy back streets until they came to the quaint little Grange where Juliette now lived with Boris. The Grange was an old pre-suburban mansion converted into flats. The main entrance was flanked by twin greyhounds in recumbent pose, the building itself a restrained fantasy of Victorian gothic, packing turrets, spires, domes and buttresses into a small area between a car park and the North Circular Road.

  Colette was struck, as she always was, by the cosiness of her daughter’s abode. They only had three rooms on the first floor of a crowded block, and yet the space seemed far more secure than Colette’s, whose house stood almost in its own grounds. The Grange was a safe, secure little haven that Boris had fitted out with all the accoutrements most people thought appropriate to a dwelling of the late twentieth century – wall-to-wall carpets, central heating, a colour television, a hi-fi. On first visiting the flat Colette had been gently condescending – ‘Wall-to-wall carpets always seem so bland, there’s no variety in floor surface’ or ‘Central heating always seems so bland, there’s no variety in temperature from room to room’ or ‘Colour television always seems so bland, there’s no variety in tone or contrast . . .’ But now she felt disinclined to criticize. Wall-to-wall carpets now seemed a welcoming thing to her, they meant that wherever you fell in the house you would always have a soft landing.

  She was surprised how forcefully Boris reacted to the news of what Janus had done. Juliette had warned her mother that this mild telephone engineer had a ferocious temper when roused. And now she saw evidence of it. He was about to drive round to Fernlight Avenue to confront Janus himself, and would have, they believed, had they not restrained him. It was too late now, they said, leave it until the morning.

  ‘You’ve got no choice now, mother,’ said Juliette once the four of them had settled down on the brown, fluffy three-piece suite, ‘You will have to get him legally evicted.’

  Colette looked sulkily into her coffee, she felt like someone who had lost a long-running argument. Her defence came in a weak, apologetic voice.

  ‘He’s just a bit mixed up about death at the moment, ever since Scipio died, and he’s suffering from sleep deprivation, I know it . . .’

  Her comments were met with a barrage of derision from the other three, that made her instantly recant.

  ‘All right. He needs slinging out. I agree . . .’

  ‘And something else,’ said Boris, ‘You need a telephone.’

  ‘But Aldous hates telephones, don’t you darling?’

  The three turned towards Aldous, who was unable to say anything.

  ‘I insist you get a telephone,’ said Juliette, ‘I’ll have it put in myself.’

  ‘But they take ages, you have to wait months, even years for a telephone,’ Colette began, but Boris knew about telephones.

  ‘You can plead special circumstances,’ he said, ‘If you can convince them that your life’s in danger they’ll put a phone in for you tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll convince them,’ said Juliette, ‘they shouldn’t take much convincing.’

  Aldous had closed his eyes dreamily, by this time, and was waving his hand gently, as if to say he no longer cared what anyone did about anything.

  And so Colette and Aldous slept on the floor of their daughter’s living room.

  18

  Boris took the morning off work and Juliette missed her morning lectures to take Aldous and Colette home the next day.

  Juliette had geared herself up for a confrontation with Janus, but as they drove towards Fernlight Avenue they saw him walking along the street in the opposite direction. He was still wearing the suede trench coat and the panama hat, and still came the tinkling noise from the bell tied to his waist.

  Julian was at home when they arrived.

  ‘Why aren’t you at school?’ said Colette.

  ‘Why weren’t you at home last night?’ her son retorted.

  The house seemed more or less in order. The sink was a mess of unwashed crockery. The piano had taken no further injuries, though records and music manuscripts were scattered on the music room floor. According to Julian there had been no incidents the night before. He had come home late from a friend’s house and had gone straight to bed. He’d seen Janus in the morning, and reported that he’d seemed in very good spirits.

  ‘He kept saying how happy he was, how good his life was. Then he tried to borrow money off me. I didn’t have any. Is he out of work again?’

  ‘Let’s go and find a solicitor now,’ said Juliette.

  ‘Now?’ said Colette, ‘We’ve only just got in. Can’t we have a cup of tea?’

  Aldous had already crept away to the front room to read the paper.

  ‘We’ve got to act now,’ said Juliette, ‘don’t you remember what you said last night?’

  ‘I was upset last night. I’d just been thrown out of my own home.’

  ‘And now everything’s fine again, is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘I’m just saying I’d like to have a cup of tea and a sit down before we go rushing into anything.’

  Julian sloped off to his bedroom.

  ‘If you don’t do something now, you’ll never do anything. You’ll have Janus living here for the rest of your life.’

  ‘Of course I won’t. He’ll sort himself out eventually. He needs time. He’s a very sensitive man. Disturbance upsets him, changes to routine. Losing his job was a big blow for him. You don’t know what it’s like to lose your job, do you? I can remember how I felt when I left the buses. You don’t just lose a job, you lose your friends, you lose your skills, you lose your reason to live, almost. And Janus was in love with one of the nurses there, so he’s lost the woman he loves. That is bound to make you act strangely, surely.’

  ‘Mother, you must stop deluding yourself about Janus. He’s not going to sort himself out, ever, while he lives here . . .’

  Juliette and her mother continued to argue. Juliette couldn’t quite believe that her mother was prevaricating yet again.

  She asked Boris.

  ‘Boris, go and get daddy, he’s disappeared again. He needs to help me persuade mummy to go to a solicitor.’

  Boris returned from the front room to announce that Aldous was refusing to come out.

  ‘He’s drinking a bottle of whisky.’

  ‘Dadd
y? Drinking?’

  ‘Neat whisky,’ added Boris.

  ‘So that’s where it’s gone,’ said Colette brightly, ‘I thought Janus must have found it. Boris, would you go and get the whisky for me?’

  ‘How can you even think about drinking after what’s been going on here for these last couple of days?’ said Juliette.

  ‘My nerves are shattered, Juliette, I need a drink . . .’

  There then followed further discussion during which the subject of Aldous drinking in the next room was forgotten, until they heard a groan.

  ‘What was that noise?’

  ‘It sounded like someone in pain.’

  Boris went to investigate, and returned to announce that Aldous had drunk almost a whole bottle of whisky.

  Then Aldous appeared, flinging the door open so it banged loudly against Juliette’s hair. His face was a deep purple which made his white hair seem stupidly bright. He was grinning in rather a menacing way.

  ‘Have you drunk all my whisky?’ said Colette indignantly as Aldous swayed uncertainly across the kitchen towards the sink. Thoughts of Janus Brian came to Colette’s mind. That careful stagger he used to have. Aldous picked up a saucepan and a small dining knife with a loose, yellow-boned handle.

  ‘Come on sirrah,’ he said, brandishing the knife as a sword, the saucepan as a shield, ‘I’ll stab you up, I’ll stab you up you wench, you harlot. You do me wrong to take me out of my grave. You are a soul in bliss and I am bound upon a wheel of fire!’

  He lunged with apparent playfulness at Colette with the knife, who managed to get out of her chair in time. Juliette laughed. She had not yet fully understood her father’s state and took his behaviour for welcome tomfoolery. Boris, uncertain as to how to handle the patriarch of his girlfriend’s house, moved as if to grapple the knife from him, but hesitated. Aldous swung the knife randomly.

  ‘You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, as full of grief as age . . .’

  ‘Get the knife off him Boris,’ said Colette, sheltering behind her daughter. Aldous was so drunk he seemed unable to see anything, and continued to take swipes at the empty chair where Colette had been. Boris was still nervous about manhandling Aldous, and made only tentative efforts to take the knife.

  ‘Spit, fire, spout rain, I never gave you kingdom, called you children . . .’

  Aldous was at the sink again, swishing his knife clumsily at the broken crockery. He turned the tap on full, splish-splashed in the dirty water, sent spray everywhere. Boris again made an effort to grapple with Aldous, but he was a small man against Aldous’s lumbering bulk, and he took a knock from the base of a saucepan that felled him briefly.

  ‘The art of our necessities is strange that can make vile things precious . . .’

  The words were barely intelligible amid the slurred growling of Aldous’s drunken locution. Plates fell to the floor and broke. The stacked dishes in the sink fell with a clatter. Aldous’s flailing saucepan hit a light bulb and shattered it. He stumbled forward, fell against the cooker on which a pan of water for Colette’s tea was boiling. Bubbles were just beginning to form. He picked the steaming saucepan up.

  The others gave little screams, and felt terror at seeing boiling water in the hands of a drunk. The pot tipped back and forth, and some scalding water spilt. Bubbling water splashed onto Aldous’s wrists but he seemed not to feel it. Colette and Juliette ran for shelter, ducking down beneath the kitchen table as Aldous wildly threw the water across the room. It landed on the table, and dripped to the floor on all sides, surrounding Colette and her daughter.

  Then a pause in the activity. Colette and her daughter emerged from under the table to see Aldous standing in the middle of the room. He was frowning, his head lowered, as though concentrating deeply. A hand felt blindly for the chair behind him, Colette’s chair by the boiler space, and Aldous sank slowly backwards into it, still frowning, his eyes closed, a hand to his brow, concentrating deeply. Finally he said ‘oh dear’ and slumped forwards, then sideways, a loose arm flopping out.

  ‘I have never seen my father drunk in my entire life,’ said Juliette, thoughtfully. Colette went over to her husband and slapped his cheeks. There was no response other than a deep groan, confirming that he was alive.

  ‘You can see what you’ve done to him,’ said Juliette.

  ‘What I’ve done to him?’

  ‘What you and Janus in combination have done to him. You’ve driven him to drink. You’ve driven him to the depths. Can’t you see? You’ve driven him over the edge.’

  Colette was shocked into contrition by Aldous’s behaviour. She had not seen Aldous drunk before.

  ‘Alright,’ she said finally, sitting down, ‘we’ll go to a solicitor, but not today.’

  ‘Let me go, mother,’ said Juliette, ‘You and daddy won’t have to do anything except sign some papers. We’ll sort it all out for you. Me and Boris can sort it out this morning.’

  ‘Do what you must,’ said Colette, ‘just leave us in peace for a while.’

  So Juliette and Boris left the house, Colette sitting in the armchair opposite her unconscious husband. She watched him for a long time. She pondered for a while how rarely she had had the opportunity of observing Aldous asleep. Not since she’d begun taking sleeping pills had she been conscious while Aldous dozed. But now she was awake and he was asleep. How he frowned in his sleep. Did he always frown like that when asleep, she wondered. He must be having terribly serious dreams. He must be dreaming he was a high court judge with a complex and difficult case to sum up. He must be dreaming he was a scientist pondering a new theory of gravity. Or a composer wrangling with the development section of the third movement of his fifth symphony. That was it. With his furrowed brow and sternly set mouth, and his wild coif of white hair, he looked like Beethoven. But only when he slept.

  After a while he stirred. And then he said something.

  ‘What was that?’ said Colette, bending near, ‘what did you say?’

  ‘Let me not be like Janus Brian,’ Aldous gasped, his eyes still closed, still asleep, ‘Not Janus Brian. I don’t want to be like Janus Brian. I don’t want to see the golf courses of Spain.’

  Part Five

  19

  Robin F. Queen & Co

  1867 Green Lanes

  Windhover Hill

  London

  26th April 1978

  Dear Mr and Mrs Jones

  I have been contacted by your daughter, Mrs Juliette Brothers, regarding the matter of access to your property – 89 Fernlight Avenue.

  Mrs Brothers informs me that she has explained the situation to you, and that you are satisfied with the arrangements so far undertaken. However, before we can proceed further, I will need to see you both in person. This is in order that I can satisfy myself that you are both in agreement on this matter. I also require your signature on the relevant documentation.

  Would you be kind enough to attend my office on Tuesday 30th April at 11am? Please telephone if this is not convenient.

  Yours sincerely

  Robin F. Queen

  Colette wondered if she’d done the right thing in getting a telephone. Its bell seemed rather quiet. From the kitchen they had trouble hearing it. It gave out a ringing sound with the feebleness of an old lady rattling her jewellery. Then when she picked up the receiver she would usually be told off by the caller (who was nearly always Juliette), for taking so long to answer. She supposed she would get used to it, though it would take time. She was still putting her milk in the cupboard when they’d had a fridge for more than a year.

  But these things now seemed to be out of her hands. As her daughter had arranged the telephone, so she had also set in motion a process that would lead to the legal banishment of her eldest son from the house.

  Juliette drove them to the solicitor’s office.

  The solicitor was a man slightly younger than Janus, though as tall. He had dark hair, dark little eyes and a big, beefy face, shiny with sweat. He had a beautiful, soft, melod
ious voice.

  He told Aldous and Colette that they had a very strong case for evicting their son. His age, for one thing, worked against him, as did his criminal record. There were plenty of police officers willing to testify, which would in itself provide sufficient evidence for the judge to find in their favour.

  At Colette’s request the solicitor provided an outline of the impending legal process.

  ‘Once the wheels are set in motion I, or one of my clerks, will serve a court summons on your son. By this we mean that the document has to be physically placed in your son’s possession. At a future date we will discuss when and where would be the best time for this to take place. Failure to serve the summons correctly could jeopardize the whole case. Once that is done we can go to court. If we can plead urgent circumstances . . .’ here the solicitor cast a fleeting glance in Aldous’s direction, ‘then that could happen in a matter of days, though more likely weeks. Altogether your son could be legally evicted within about three weeks if things go smoothly, though more likely four to five weeks.’

  ‘And once he’s evicted? How does that happen?’

  ‘If the case is successful the judge will set an eviction date. Your son’s solicitor will of course plead that this will be as far in the future as possible, particularly if your son is out of work and doesn’t have means to support himself. It’s all down to the judge and the various pleas we make. However, once a date is agreed upon, your son will have to leave your premises by that date and time. If not, the police will have the right to forcibly remove him, and if he repeatedly breaks the eviction order he will be liable to a prison sentence. The eviction will not be simply from your home, Mrs Jones, but from a specified area surrounding your home. Again, that is up to the judge. They sometimes set absurdly precise limits, such as five hundred and eighty-four yards, but more usually a quarter, or half a mile.’

  ‘You mean, he could be banned from the area altogether?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Jones. It could be the case that if your son comes within half a mile of your house, he could be arrested.’