Seeing Other People

by Gayle, Mike

  ‘Well if he categorically refuses to consult a medical professional the only thing I can really suggest is that you advise him to relax and de-stress as much as possible and hopefully the hallucinations will disappear as the stress subsides.’

  ‘So in short you’re saying he should just chill out a bit?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ smiled Dr Frank. ‘What this young man needs to do is try his very best to – as they say – kick back and relax.’

  As I left my meeting with Dr Frank assuring him that I’d contact him the next time I needed any advice, I wondered quite how I was going to properly ‘kick back and relax’, when all I had to look forward to was another night in Bed and Breakfast Hell. What I really needed was for Penny to forgive me and ask me to come home but given the fact that she hadn’t replied to a single one of my texts or phone messages I couldn’t see that happening any time soon. So it was that evening as I headed back to the St Joseph’s Guest House that I found myself taking a detour ending up in front of a block of graffiti-scrawled local authority maisonettes next to a small shopping precinct with a row of grille-covered shops, one of which was a mini-market and off-licence. Not only was I hungry, lonely and in need of my own toilet paper, but it also occurred to me that I could do with a drink. A drink might relax me. A drink might stave off any more hallucinations. It was, I was fully aware, a twisted logic given what I’d read about hallucinations and alcohol abuse, but I wasn’t planning on becoming an alcoholic, just having a drink or two to help me sleep and anyway, right now it was all I’d got. After waiting for a group of youths to pass by I wandered into the mini-market, picked up a basket and walked the aisles in search of anything that caught my fancy. A short while later, satisfied that all my basic needs were covered by the contents of my basket – a packet of bourbon biscuits, some cheese strings and a bottle of vodka, I joined the long queue at the till and it was here that something rather odd happened.

  At first it was a feeling that I was being watched, closely followed by the certainty that this was indeed the case when I looked over my shoulder to see a tall, bald man wearing a denim jacket, leather trousers and cowboy boots staring at me from the booze aisle. My eyes met his and I immediately looked away. The last thing I needed right now was to be stabbed to death by some drug-addled lunatic spoiling for a fight and I steadfastly refused to look in the man’s direction again even though the feeling of being observed continued. I told myself that I’d just get my things, leave the shop and run back to the B&B at full tilt.

  The shopkeeper rang my goods through with a dead-eyed efficiency that spoke volumes about the kind of area I was in. Not for him the smiles and small talk of the jovial local shopkeeper; he didn’t care who I was or what story I had to tell, all he wanted was my money and as quiet a life as possible.

  Still aware that I was being watched, I took my bags and made as if I had forgotten something in the canned food aisle before quickly doubling back so as to fool my shadow but then as I reached out to grab the door I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see the tall bald man grinning widely in my direction. ‘You’re Joe Clarke, from the Correspondent, aren’t you?’

  The man’s Antipodean accent sounded oddly familiar.

  ‘You’re . . .’

  ‘Van Halen,’ he replied. ‘You interviewed me a while back for your magazine. The Divorced Dads’ Club article.’ He beamed at me with a slightly manic glint in his eye and gave me an over-enthusiastic man-hug. ‘It’s so good to see you, dude, it really is.’

  ‘For a minute there I thought you were some sort of nutter the way you were staring at me.’

  ‘I get that a lot,’ said Van, ‘especially since I started chemo.’ He pointed to his bald head and the alarming lack of eyebrows that made him look completely otherworldly.

  ‘You’ve got cancer?’

  ‘Of the balls. Only finished the treatment a month ago. Would’ve been lost if it hadn’t been for, you know . . . the guys.’

  ‘Which guys?’

  ‘You know, Stew and Paul, the guys from the article.’

  ‘You mean you still see each other?’

  ‘Every week. I know it sounds weird. On paper it doesn’t work at all. I mean Stew’s a bit of a slob, Paul’s a real brain box, and well, I’m me, but we all get on really well together. I guess that’s the thing about being a single parent, it’s the great leveller, isn’t it? Doesn’t matter who you are when you haven’t seen your kids for a while and your ex hates you, you need mates around you who know what you’re going through.’

  ‘Listen, I’m really pleased that you all get on so well,’ I replied. ‘It’s nice when that sort of thing happens but anyway, I’ve really got to—’

  ‘I’ve got an idea! Mate, you’ve got to come out with us sometime! The guys would be absolutely mad for it. Paul even has your article framed on the wall in his bog, mind you I think he only does it to wind his ex up – he’s not been too good since she announced her engagement. Still, at least his kids live with him full time.’

  My life was crazy enough as it was. There was no way I was ever going for a drink with him and his mad loser friends. ‘I’m sorry to hear about Paul, and obviously about you being ill and everything—’

  ‘What am I doing? I haven’t given you my number yet. Where’s your phone?’ He pulled out his and handed it to me saying, ‘And don’t bother making one up because I know where you work!’

  He chuckled so hard at his own joke that he failed to notice me deleting the fake number I’d started to type in. Even after chemo this guy was still big enough to snap me in two without breaking into a sweat.

  Van stared at his phone seeming genuinely chuffed.

  ‘That’s brilliant, mate, expect a call from me and the boys real soon.’

  He shook my hand and I left the shop and immediately I was swallowed up by an overwhelming feeling of loneliness. For a moment I almost headed back into the shop to take Van up on his offer because what I really needed right now was a friend, a comrade, a drinking buddy. Someone with whom I could offload all my problems, who’d put everything into perspective, who’d show me that the light at the end of the tunnel wasn’t necessarily a train coming the other way.

  The problem was however that I hadn’t heard a single word from any one of my so-called friends for a long time, and while I appreciated the fact that they had busy lives to lead involving work and partners and the raising of children I was surprised not to have heard from my closest friend Mitchell, especially as his partner, Katie, was close enough to Penny for me to be in no doubt at all that news of the split would have reached his ears by now. Why hadn’t he called? I’d been there for him when he and Katie went through a rough patch over his reluctance to start a family a few years back. I’d taken Mitchell out to the pub, acted as a sounding board for him as he worked out how he wanted his life to be, and when they finally did start a family and found themselves in need of godparents it had been me and Penny they’d turned to. We were friends for life. I was sure of it, and as a sign of just how much confidence I had in this fact I made the decision to turn up at his house and invite my old friend Mitchell out for a beer.

  13

  It was after eight o’clock as I reached Mitchell and Katie’s Victorian two-bed terrace in Finchley. The last time I visited their house had been back in the summer with Penny and the kids for their daughter Molly’s third birthday party. We’d all stayed over because both Penny and I had drunk too much to be totally sure that we weren’t over the limit. The following morning we’d all had a lazy breakfast together before taking the kids to the local park for an hour on what turned out to be one of the sunniest days of the year. The thought struck me as I rang the doorbell that I might never enjoy a weekend like that again.

  Mitchell was barely able to hide his surprise when he saw me standing on his doorstep.

  ‘Joe, what are you doing here, mate?’

  This was the point at which I was going to have to lie if I was to keep even a shred of dig
nity. ‘I was in the area interviewing someone for the paper. Thought I’d drop in on the off chance you’d be free for a quick beer.’

  ‘No can do, mate. Katie’s out at her Zumba class. You could come in for a drink though. We can have a proper catch-up.’

  I followed Mitchell into the kitchen and took a seat at the large wooden table that reminded me of my own at home – right down to the magazines, children’s drawings and unopened bills piled up at the opposite end.

  ‘How are the kids?’ I asked as Mitchell rooted around in the fridge in search of beer.

  ‘Couldn’t be better,’ said Mitchell, pulling out two cans of Stella. ‘Molly’s just started at pre-school and after a bit of a bumpy start – she hated being away from Katie – she’s finally started to settle in. As for Cameron, he’s great. He’s really getting into his reading. It’s like a lightbulb has suddenly gone off in his head and he gets it. He’s reading everything. Signs on bus stops, advertising hoardings, in fact only last week I caught him reading the back of a pack of tampons that had fallen out of the bathroom cupboard. Had a few awkward questions to dodge after that, I can tell you!’ Mitchell took two glasses from a cupboard and brought them along with the beer to the table, pausing to clear a box of crayons and an abandoned Furby from his chair before he sat down. Reverentially, he poured out the beers into the glasses, making sure that each had the perfect amount of head, and then we clinked glasses and both took a sip.

  Mitchell wiped his mouth and set his glass down. ‘Listen mate, I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. Obviously I’ve heard about . . . well, you know, and I know I should’ve at least called or sent a text and it’s bang out of order that I haven’t.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I replied, somewhat relieved to know that I wouldn’t have to go through the whole process of telling Mitchell what had happened. ‘I know how it is, life’s busy.’

  ‘Yeah, it is actually. Katie’s eight weeks’ pregnant.’

  ‘Congratulations, mate, I didn’t even know a third baby was on the list.’

  Mitchell laughed and took another swig of beer. ‘Technically it wasn’t but now the little blighter’s on its way I couldn’t be happier. Anyway, enough about me, how are you faring?’

  ‘As good as can be expected. When did you hear?’

  ‘A couple of days ago. Penny turned up here with the kids and I was put on babysitting duty while she and Katie disappeared to the kitchen for about three hours. I knew something was up but I never imagined this. I’d always thought you and Penny were solid.’

  ‘We were. It was me who messed everything up.’

  Mitchell raised a knowing eyebrow. ‘So I hear. A twenty-two-year-old blond intern wasn’t it?’

  ‘Twenty-five,’ I corrected. ‘And she was a brunette but before you ask, no, it wasn’t worth it. Hand on heart, mate, I’ve never regretted anything more in my life. I’ve ruined everything, Mitch, absolutely everything.’

  Mitchell nodded sagely. ‘It’s a killer, mate, no two ways about it. And apparently you’ve moved out? Where are you living?’

  I laughed. ‘You don’t want to know. Grim doesn’t even begin to cover it.’

  Mitchell played with his glass, gently pushing it around the smooth surface of the table with his forefinger. ‘I don’t know what I’d do if it happened to me. For what it’s worth Katie’s told me in no uncertain terms that if I ever get caught doing anything like that she’ll gut me like a fish, pack her bags, and take the kids with her. I believe her too, she can be ruthless when her back’s up. Do you remember that time—’

  The sound of keys in the front door. Mitchell checked his watch. ‘Katie’s back early. You need to go, mate.’

  ‘What do you mean, go? I haven’t even finished my—’

  Katie – who had always done angry pretty impressively – came into the room. She looked first at me, then at Mitchell and then she let rip, talking about me as though I wasn’t in the room.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘He just dropped by.’

  ‘I told you I didn’t want you seeing him and I meant it!’

  Mitchell held up his hands in defence. ‘Babe, there’s no need to be like that! Joe’s just here to say hello.’

  Katie threw a look of real disgust in my direction. Finally an acknowledgement. ‘Well I hope he’s said it because either he goes or I do.’

  Mitchell tried to stick up for me. ‘Joe’s a mate, he’s god­father to our kids, you can’t just kick him out of our lives like that.’

  ‘I’m going for a shower. If he’s not out of here by the time I come back down you’ll find out exactly what I can do.’

  Katie exited the room, almost sucking all the air out of it as she did so. I finished off my beer and turned to Mitchell.

  ‘I ought to be getting off.’

  ‘No, stay,’ said Mitchell with equal parts fear and conviction. ‘I shouldn’t be spoken to like that in my own home.’

  I wanted to say that at least he was in his own home but I thought better of it. ‘No, mate. You don’t need the hassle and to be honest I don’t either. I’ll see you around sometime.’

  He walked me to the door.

  ‘I’m sorry about this, mate, I really am. You know how these things are: people take sides even though it isn’t anyone else’s business. She’s decided that we’re on Penny’s side and she won’t listen to anyone who says otherwise.’

  I nodded. I’d suspected that this would happen and now it had I felt more than a little sorry for myself. ‘It’s fine, it’s good to know that Penny’s being looked after.’

  Just to prove a point, once I was back at the B&B I texted every last one of my and Penny’s mutual friends asking if they were free for a drink. I didn’t get any replies that night but the next day I received one from my friend Simon (of Simon and Laura) who pretty much summed up the situation at hand with a pithy: Mate, right now you’re so toxic the missus would sooner see me hanging out with Satan at a strip bar than you in a pub. Keep your head down and I’m sure it’ll all blow over soon. Take it easy, S. That was the truth. I was toxic. Potentially hazardous waste material that would contaminate the blissfully happy lives of any couple with whom I came into contact. It was official. I had reached rock bottom. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my missed messages until I found Van Halen’s number. It was positively ridiculous how much he and his friends wanted to spend time with me; what did they hope to gain from a night out with a boring hack they met once over six months ago? Hadn’t they got lives to lead? Things to do and achieve? I stared at Van’s number, hoping it might somehow magically disappear thereby saving me from what I was about to do; but it stubbornly refused to do anything even remotely supernatural. I was tired and lonely and I wanted to be back in the world, fully functioning like a real person, but to do that I needed friends, and right now it didn’t look like I had any – or at least any that wanted to be around me.

  That night I tapped out the following text: Hi Van, Joe Clarke here from the Correspondent. Turns out I’m free for a drink tomorrow night, if you’re up for it. Let me know, JC. Rock bottom? It looked like I had a little further left to go.

  14

  It was a little after eight as I arrived at the Red Lion, a scruffy, down-at-heel drinking establishment just around the corner from the studio where the Divorced Dads’ Club shoot had happened all that time ago, and having scanned the room for anyone I recognised I ordered a pint and got comfortable at the bar.

  I felt ill at ease for a myriad of reasons, not least because I hadn’t the faintest idea what these guys actually expected of me. I hadn’t done anything special by introducing them to each other. It wasn’t as though it was part of some plan of mine to create a miniature support group for divorced dads. All I’d been trying to do was make the best of a very bad job, and yet here I was waiting for a bunch of guys who wanted to personally thank me for bringing them together. It occurred to me as I took the first sip of my pint that there was probably a fea
ture idea in here somewhere – the accidental friendships formed out of media encounters – but I was pretty sure I wasn’t the man to write it. This felt weird. And desperate. The fewer people who knew about my little night out the better.

  My relatively optimistic mood had collapsed to such an extent that I’d been in the process of finishing up my pint ready to go home when out of the corner of my eye I saw a tubby guy in a beige mac and jeans heading towards me with a sense of purpose. Reaching me, he grinned and held out his hand: ‘Joe, really good to see you, mate!’

  As much as I recognised the man’s face from the day of the shoot I couldn’t for the life of me remember his name.

  ‘It’s good to see you again,’ I replied. ‘You’ll have to forgive me though. It’s been such a long time since I saw you last. You’re?’

  ‘Stewart.’

  ‘And you’re the stay-at-home dad?’

  Stewart laughed. ‘I wish. I’m the painter and decorator whose kids live in Thailand.’

  ‘So no news at all there?’

  He shook his head. ‘None.’

  Of all of the interviews from that day Stewart’s should have been the one I remembered given how moving it had been. Stewart was a hard-working devoted father of two little girls who just happened to be married to a nightmare of a woman. Having left him three times in a row for men she’d met on the internet, one day she finally left for good to travel around her native country of Thailand and after twelve months and thousands spent on legal fees he had yet to see even a photograph of his kids.

  I had to buy the man a drink, it was the only decent thing to do, but he seemed horrified at the thought of me dipping into my own pocket when the whole idea of the evening was to thank me for bringing them together. ‘Van would never forgive me if I let you get a drink in,’ said Stewart. ‘He sent me a text earlier saying that you’re not even allowed to pay for your own crisps.’

  Reluctantly I agreed to allow him to get me a pint but just as he had ordered our drinks another man arrived. It was the tall studenty-looking guy. He was wearing a green parka and jeans and looked like he had just stepped out of the union bar – albeit one from 1994.