by Tia Wilson
“How are the gents this evening?” May Clark asked as she removed her heavy winter coat. She smoothed down her starched white shirt and sensible work trousers, neither of which flattered her curves. Her hair was straightened and tied back. A few lighter strands of hair looking like spun gold weaved in with her jet black locks hinted at her mixed heritage. Mays mother came from Nigeria to Britain in the seventies and within a year she was pregnant and married to an Irish man she had fallen deeply in love with. The relationship had been scandalous to both sides of the family and caused rifts that lasted for decades. May had the same deep dark skin as her mother and most of the time her up beat can do attitude, from her father she got his trait of deep introspection and bouts of extreme self doubt. The inter family strife wore her father down more and more and the bottle was the only place he found solace. From a young age May swore off the possibility of dating white men, no matter how much society changed she believed it to be a path towards unhappiness.
“Its been a quite one tonight. There were a couple of heated words between the brothers during a game of chess, you know how they get. Apart from that it was smooth sailing,” said Hastings, the large bear of a man who worked the evening shifts.
May nodded listening to Hastings run down of the nights events as she riffled through some papers on the desk. More bills and final notices from the food supplies companies. She sighed loudly as she sat down rubbing her eyes. May had worked here for nearly ten years now, a job she started when she was in her mid twenties. It had meant to be a stop gap until something better came along, but here she was ten years on and the something better had never materialised. She often felt the weight of her role push down and compress her as if she had dove down to deeply into frigid waters. On paper the job sounded simple, “Night shift monitor”. In reality she felt like the holder of memories and the keeper of these mens fading lives. Every one of them had a story, usually consisting of extreme heartbreak and sorrow that lead them to this place which was the end of the road for all. Some could see the folly of their ways, drink, drugs, and fooling around followed a similar arc for a few. Others lives had been even more heartbreaking with unimaginable losses. May knew all of the mens stories and they weighed on her, for some it took years before they really opened up to her, sometimes dropping tiny hints about their past lives out in the world before they became the unseen and forgotten of society.
May always knew when the moment was going to come, when one of the men was going to open up to her and spill his life story. She never pried or forced it as the man unburdened himself, usually his eyes downcast so as not to meet hers as his face bristled and reddened from the shame of his deeds. May was a friend and confidant to the residents of Black Squall house and for many the last woman they would ever speak to before they died.
Only one of the residents had never opened up to her, Quint EverBrook, a small hunched figure who shuffled from his room every morning shakily making his way down to the cafeteria were he would sit staring out the window for most of the day. He said very few words to any of the other residents and most of them had learned to leave him alone as they went about their day. When he spoke it was always haltingly as if his very words were an imposition on the other person and he didn't want to waste their time.
He was living at the house for as long as May worked there and she had only seen him talk for any length of time twice in all those years. Both times had been with a guest who visited him. An impeccably dressed man had visited him several years ago and they had sat huddled in the corner of the reading room talking intensely to each other. At one point Quint had jabbed the man in the chest with his twisted arthritic finger and for a moment May caught a glimpse of the kind of man Quint must have been in a former life.
The second time she had seen him talk was two weeks ago when the same well dressed man from the visit years ago came back. This time Quint sat dejected and slumped in his chair as they spoke. May had brought them steaming cups of tea and as soon as she got close to them they stopped talking. They both watched her as she walked away and continued when she was out of earshot.
Since the visit Quint had barely left his room. The day staff had told her that he spent his days staring out the one dirt flecked window as if he was waiting for someone to come and take him away. May's heart hurt at the thought of Quints despondency. She had always felt something for him, as she felt for all the residents. He in particular had lodged himself in her heart. Maybe it was just an innate sense of curiosity but she always found herself thinking about him at odd times. Imagining a life story for him from the few scant details she had gleaned over the years. The standard gossip from her fellow carers was that he was some sort of gangster or mob boss. This seemed far fetched enough that most believed it. May had no idea how this idea started but it was the one that had stuck for most of the houses staff. She couldn't believe the popular and far fetched story at all, she could see some deep seated pain and distrust behind his eyes whenever he looked up to acknowledge her when she brought him a steaming cup of strong tea with four sugars.
“Its all yours,” Hastings said as he bundled himself into his heavy down jacket and headed for the door.
May settled into her chair and checked through the days checklists and reports. By all measures it had been an uneventful day for everyone. She checked her watch and decided it was time to get the tea trolley set up. Most of the men liked to have a strong brew while they finished up the last of the days card games or lounged and watched TV before lights out. By eleven all the men would be in their rooms and May could then relax for the rest of the night.
She was greeted with friendly nods and loud greetings from some of the hard of hearing men as she entered the common room wheeling her tea trolley. May doled out the mugs of tea as she checked in with everyone and got a general sense of the mens well being. As per usual since his recent guest visit Quint Everbrook was not sitting in his favourite chair which he had occupied for years. May knew he would be holed up in his room listlessly staring out the window. With everybody served she grabbed a mug of tea and headed up to Quints room on the second floor. The well worn wooden floor creaked at her approach to his room and the lights above flickered every couple of seconds. The wiring had not been maintained for years and it was a wonder it still worked at all as it had been haphazardly patched over again and again by less than skilled hands. The third and forth floor were sealed off completely after a fire in one of the rooms killed a resident and due to lack of funds it was easier to seal up that part of the house and work with diminished boarding capacity on the ground and first floor.
May tapped gently on the door and she could see the weak light seeping out from under it flicker as Quint slowly opened the creaking and warped door.
“I made a nice strong brew for you,” May said as Quint peered through the tiny crack he had opened the door.
His eyes lit up for a brief moment and his cheeks reddened slightly when he seen her.
“Come in May,” he said in a voice like crisp pages rustling in the wind.
Mays heart skipped a beat as this was the most he had ever said to her in all these years, his voice even sounded warm to her shocked ears. She tried to keep calm and not react externally to this small breakthrough, but she could feel a small smile crease the corner of her lips.
Quint opened the door wide and beckoned her in. Another first for May, he usually took his mug off her standing in the doorway and then closed the door behind him.
“Please sit,” he said pointing at a scuffed and ripped leather armchair which looked like it had a million people sit in it during its lifetime. The aged springs groaned and complained as May sat down feeling unsure what was to come.
Quaint took a slurping sup of tea and squeezed his eyes tight as he swallowed. He sat down on the bed and pulled the blankets up around himself. He looked frail and afraid and his hands were slightly shaking.
“Do you want me to get the doctor?” May asked starting to rise.
; “No, No. I want to talk, I need to talk while I still have time,” he said in a raspy whisper. “I need your help. I have watched you for all the years you have worked here, diligently helping everyone, always having a kind word and treating all of us with utmost respect. The rest of the world turns its back on us and sees us as nothing more than dried up old husks with nothing to offer the world, our previous accomplishments ground up in the mill of time. You are different, I can see it in your eyes, you have a kind and open heart which is rare in these cynical times we live in.” He let out a long sequences of shuddering coughs and continued. “I need you to go to my old house and talk to my son, he needs to see that someone like you exists, someone who is pure of heart and spirit. He needs to meet a woman like you now more than ever.”
His body was wracked by another series of coughs and his skin was turning an ashen colour. He reached out a hand and May rose and took it in hers. A fierce heat burned in his skin as if the act of talking was burning him from the inside. He nodded towards a large wardrobe in the corner of the room.
“I have left an envelope on the top shelf for you. Go and talk to my son, you need to tell him were I wound up so that the same fate doesn't befall him. Tell him I love him and to open his heart or he will end up like me. Beware of his older brother he has a black heart and no good will come from knowing him.”
Quint reached for his mug of tea and the cup slipped from his hand and spilled onto the floor. His body went slack and he slumped back in his bed. May knew immediately he was fading fast as his chest rose and fell in jerky motions. She dialled emergency services and held his hand as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. She had been through this pain countless times with other residents and it never got any easier, each dying man leaving behind nothing more that his personal history which would now weigh down on May. The family feuds, failed business endeavours, destroyed marriages and ancient cruel behaviour made her feel like the last librarian on earth. If she didn't keep these mens memories alive all record of their existence would fade into the night. Quint was the first to request something of her as he began to slip away and May rocked gently in her seat repeating to herself out loud, “Please don't die, please don't die,” she pleaded over and over again.
Quints papery thin eye lids flickered open and he spoke in a delicate rasp using all of his remaining energy to utter his words, “Be quick my dear, you only have ten days before he loses everything. Please don’t let this happen all my son needs is…” His voice trailed off as his eyes closed for the final time.
May sat rocking in her chair knowing that there was nothing she could do. Within minutes the ambulance arrived and the bureaucracy of death took over. In her small office she numbly filled out the paper work that always accompanied such events, a mans life reduced to a bunch of standard forms. His body was removed and without family members listed on his contact details he would be buried the following morning with a simple headstone marking his grave.
As the gurney carrying his body was wheeled along the corridor each of the residents doors opened in turn and men looked at Quints last journey out of Black Squall house with solemn downturned eyes. Nobody in the place could claim to know him but his passing was a grim reminder to the other men.
Within thirty minutes from time of death Quints body was removed and May was left alone sitting in her drafty office. Her head throbbed with a dull punching pain and she squinted her eyes tightly shut to try to alleviate the pressure. Without even realising she had rose and left her office and now found herself standing in Quint room with her hand on the wardrobe door. She opened it with a slight tremble, not sure why she should be so afraid. Sitting on the top self was an envelope and beside it a small shoebox. Written on the front of the envelope was her name in an ornate calligraphy script. She picked it up and sat on the bed. The envelope was made out of a heavy paper stock with a textured linen like feel. On the back it was closed with a bright red wax seal. Stamped into the wax was a large sailing boat cutting through impressively high waves.
May cracked the seal and removed a single piece of paper in a similar heavy paper stock to the envelope. The letter was dated only a few days ago and was written in a thin spidery scrawl, and it read:
To May,
My time left here is not long, I can feel everything slipping away like so many unseen sunsets on the ever darkening horizon. If you are reading this it means I have passed away and I hope you will grant a dying man his final wishes. The last two decades I have lived a life apart from and completely separated from my old life. I needed this distance to atone for my sins, however in vain this pursuit was. I have spent the last ten years thinking what I did was the best for my sons and the people from my old life. In the last few weeks I have found out how wrong I was and now the very life I built for my family is in peril. I need you to go and talk to my eldest son Grant and tell him all about me. He needs to hear how I turned out and what I have been up to. I know that it might seem futile to you and that you don't really know me, don't let this deter you. Please go and speak to my son and tell him about my time spent in Black Squall house. I have a small apartment you can stay in while you visit. The whole trip should only take you a few days.
Please give this dying man his final wish and go visit and speak to my son. I have left some money in a small box to cover the cost of your excursion.
The letter was signed in a barely eligible scrawl and May could see that writing it must have taken a huge effort from the weakening man. She flipped the letter over and two addresses were written. The first was labeled for May and the second address was labelled as Quints family home. Both places were in the south of France and under them was written a phone number and “Call this man when you land” written beside it. May checked the small shoebox and it contained a fat stack of notes and a small key on a loop of purple velvet material. She palmed the key and pressed it hard against her skin as if to reassure herself that it was real.
She closed the box and pocketed the letter as the urge to be out of the room and back in her office swelled inside her. She rushed down the hall feeling the need to be inside the familiar four walls grow. Tears ran down her cheeks as her breath hitched in and out. The familiar creeping black fingers of a panic attack were getting uncomfortably close to her and she needed to calm herself down as quick as possible. She got to her office as her fingers began to tingle and she knew if she didn't calm down soon she would pass out. Sitting in the familiar contours of her chair she could feel the blackness slowly dissipate as she regained a modicum of calm. Once it regressed and the creeping dread subsided May took out the letter and reread it. “Whats the worst that could happen?” she told herself, “the south of France would be beautiful this time of year.”
By the time her shift ended she had already made up her mind. Tickets were booked online and even at such short notice her boss was happy to give her two weeks off. May had barely taken any vacations during her time working at Black Squall so her boss was more than happy to help her. After a few hours of broken sleep back home in her small one bedroom flat she was off and out to the airport for an afternoon flight to the south of France.
When the plane landed and she passed through the small regional airport May rang the number on the back of the letter and on the second ring a man picked up.
“Hello, is this May?” a man asked in a thick french accent.
“Slightly taken aback May stuttered, “Yes it is, how did you know?”
“I have been expecting your call. Mr Everbrook has made some arrangements for you. I will be at the airport shortly to pick you up. Please wait outside for me.”
And with that the man hung up. May stood outside the small regional airport letting the sun warm her pale skin. London had been rainy and grey when she left and the bright azure sky was a welcome change. She could already feel the warming rays lifting her spirits as she stood waiting. May looked around at the bustling people getting in and out of cars, dragging wheeled suitcases and waving family and frien
ds off. She felt disconnected from her old life already, the greyness of London being burnt away by the blazing sun. Everyone looked happy here, people walked around with smiles on their faces instead of the downturned and hurried looks of the people she usually observed. She let her imagination wander, dreaming of a different life, were she was not a woman in her mid thirties who lived alone and who had her heart broke more times then she wished to remember. The version of May who lived in this blue sky paradise was happy and strolled hand in hand down the grand boulevards with a rugged and handsome man. They both laughed as they walked and he would pull her close against his toned body and whisper in her ear as she turned to kiss… A loud honk of a car horn tore her from her daydream and she looked up squinting against the sun at the cause of the noise. A black Rolls Royce was parked at the curb and the door swung open and a large rotund man laboriously pulled himself out.