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Novels - |
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Stories & Studies - |
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Here, I started off to explore the thoughts of
an old man, and it turned into something more personal.
Not that this story is biographical - but it includes
some of my delayed grieving that, for complicated family
reasons, I was unable to complete when my father died.
- David |
I know I get confused
sometimes.
She gets that look,
part exasperation, part love, and part sadness, and then I know
I've said something silly. She tucks the rug round my legs.
She kisses my cheek briskly, a butterfly touch on my bristly
cheek, and pats my shoulders.
'You all right now
Dad?'
I smile and nod, my
head feeling wobbly on my neck. 'OK, lass,' I say, my chest
full of a heavy love that I can't express.
She hugs me and I
put my arms round her shoulders. I feel the softness of a grown
woman's shoulders, strong and rounded. For a moment I am confused
again. Can't be my little Penny.
'Penny?' I say.
'Yes Dad?' She looks
at me expectantly but she's already answered my question.
So I say nothing.
She waits a moment then drops another quick kiss onto my head
and whisks away about her busy life.
The scent of her lingers,
the scent of the summer hay in the field behind the cow byre.
'Eileen?' I whisper.
The grass is scratching
my bare chest and the cow parsley is nodding its shadow across
my face and I hear Eileen's soft giggle beside me. Something
is tickling my nose. I twitch my nose like a rabbit, wake up
properly and turn and watch her watching me. She has a long
stem of feathery grass in her hand.
'Come on ya great
lunk,' she murmurs, 'let's do it again quick. Else my Mum'll
call me in for tea 'n we won't have time.'
She leans towards
me and puts her hands onto my chest and kisses me. Then of course
I grab her and roll on top of her and start kissing her in earnest.
Her soft warm body underneath me and the scent of the hay and
the sun on my back. I push open her blouse and start kissing
her nipples. She wriggles beneath me and hitches up her skirt
again to let me in.
'All right Dad? I've
brought you a cuppa tea.'
Images swirl around
me.
'All right, little
Penny,' I manage to say, taking the cup and saucer in my hands.
How old and gnarled they look, my hands, and how they shake.
I control them and rest my arms on my knees. The sun in the
sitting room has jumped. A moment ago it was only just reaching
the big armchair. Now it was half way along the sofa. I don't
say anything.
I try to sit up straighter
in my wooden chair with the arms.
I like this chair
best. It's firm and upright and doesn't smother me like the
big soft chairs. Penny is moving around the small room like
a vigorous whirlwind, dusting things and moving things. I like
watching her.
'Come on then Dad,
let's get you sorted.'
The sun in the room
has jumped again and now it's red as well as gold.
She reaches under
my arms and lifts. I lean forward and push my feet downwards
against the floor and press my hands onto the arms of the chair.
My body lifts and then pauses at the reach of my arms. I let
go of the supporting wood. Slowly I lever myself upright, feeling
a brief wave of dizziness that I ignore. I know how to deal
with that now.
Slowly I walk towards
the stairs, Penny's arm helping me keep my balance.
The deck is heaving
under my feet. It is black dark. The wind is jerking and buffeting
and hitting me with the flying spray. The noise is smashing
at my brain - the noise of the sea and the gale-force wind and
the deck fittings clattering and the big twin diesel engines
and the German shelling. It's hard to keep a clear head, and
a clear head is vital if we're going to survive. I hold on tight
to the steel stanchion and fight my way up against wind and
spray.
A bigger wave smashes
over me and I crouch, ducking my head and letting it wash across
my waterproofs. A gobbet of water lands inside my hood and I
taste salt and feel the cold trickling inside my clothes.
There is a blast of
light and the ship jolts and shudders deep underneath. Another
hit. They are still shelling us even though we can't answer
back now. All we can do is run. I see things flying past me.
I notice a piece of wooden decking and what looks like someone's
sea boot with something sticking out of it.
Then I am bending
over someone.
I start to lift him
up but he starts coughing blood, big black gouts coming out
of his mouth and mingling with the spray and being washed away.
I lower him gently
and he holds onto me. He is looking at me but I know he can't
see. I try to comfort him with my arms and voice, holding him
close, saying baby words, I don't know what, but he is sliding
away from me too fast. I support his head as it lolls back,
rocked by the motion of the ship.
There is water swirling
over my feet and it's time to move.
'OK Dad?'
We are at the stairs.
Penny puts my hands onto the stair rail and steps behind me.
I wonder, as usual, what would happen if I did fall. She is
such a little thing I think I'd just knock her down the stairs
too, but she likes to do it anyway.
I lift my right foot
onto the lower step. Leaning forwards and pushing up on the
banister I straighten my leg. I grunt and lift the left foot.
I used to be strong.
I was strong in the Navy.
'I do love a Navy
man.' I heard the soft hoarse whisper in my ear from the shadowed
darkness beside me. It wasn't my Eileen's voice, but I was past
caring. Two years is a long time.
I hunched against
her, this woman of need, pressing her back against the wall.
A Wren, she was Navy too. Probably married too, I hadn't asked.
It was dark enough here in the alley. No streetlights. It'd
have to do. I felt her hand feeling for my fly while her other
arm pulled my shoulders close to her. I could smell the gin
on her breath. My hands slid under the front of her navy skirt
feeling the crispness of the stockings, then warm moist flesh
and suspenders. My hands reached inside her knickers.
'Will you be OK now
Dad?' The voice is anxious. We were up the stairs and at the
bathroom door. 'I can stay with you if you like.'
'I'm all right,' I
say, fighting off the shadows, 'best on my own love.'
This is routine and
I manage perfectly. I finish and open the bathroom door. Sometimes
there have been accidents, but she's very good is Penny.
She doesn't go on
and on about things like my mother.
I turn back towards
the stairs.
A cluttered back yard
with my broken wooden cart turned upside down on the grass,
undergoing vital repairs. My legs in long-short grey school
trousers sticking out in front of me, grey socks and school
sandals. Dad's garden shed that always smells of tar, door open
and tools taken out and put ready beside me. I look at the ground,
not listening to Mum's shrill voice going on and on and on as
I sit, not knowing what else to say, the broken chisel on the
concrete step, laid out like evidence.
'I'll pay for it out
of my pocket money,' I say yet again, 'I'm sorry, Mum. It was
an accident. I'll tell Dad and buy him a new one. I promise.'
But I know from experience that nothing would stop the flood
once she got started. I just had to sit and wait it out, like
a long grey week of cold drizzle.
I stumbled and had
to stop myself from falling. The rug had got rucked up again
and caught my foot.
Penny was different.
She didn't mind if I got things wrong, though sometimes she
looked sad. I try not to be a nuisance to her. She always has
been a good girl, even when she was little. I can hear her singing
downstairs in the kitchen.
Little Penny is skipping
in the garden and singing and laughing and I feel happiness
well through me, making me relaxed and warm and good. The sun
will soon be behind the tall oak in the next-door garden, but
there's still a bit more sun left in the afternoon.
Eileen is making tea
in the kitchen behind me. I can hear the clatter of the teacups
and the whistle of the kettle, rising and then dying away as
she lifts if off the gas.
I'm sitting in the
deckchair on the lawn in my braces, sleeves rolled up, the newspaper
on my knee. The lawnmower is on the path waiting to be cleaned
and put away until next week. Eileen's empty deckchair is beside
me, with her glasses and her bits of knitting.
Penny is singing something
as she skips, her rope swinging over and under making an almost
invisible magic container inside which she is hopping and panting
and laughing, while I watch and count her skips.
'A hundred,' I call
out to her in shared triumph.
'What?' Penny's voice
called up from the kitchen. 'You finished Dad? I'll come and
help you get to bed shall I?'
Obediently I stop
and swivel on my feet and start back the way I had come, steadying
myself with my hand against the wall, past the bathroom to my
small bedroom at the back. This had been Penny's room when she
was little. Now she and her Tom sleep in the big bedroom at
the front and I sleep in the back. Tom and she haven't any children.
I don't know why, but they seem happy together and I can tell
by the light in Tom's eye that there's no problem on that front.
There's time yet.
A sharp hurt pierced
my chest and made me stop short, one hand to my chest.
Eileen.
I didn't need the
big bedroom now. Eileen couldn't share my bed any more. No more
her delicious giggle, and her shiver when she stripped off her
dress, part cold, part excitement as I gazed at her with my
heart in my eyes as she used to say.
They wouldn't let
me see her properly. The car had ripped her up too much, they
said. All I could see was her little cold face peeping out from
under the thin sheet. Too cold. I longed to find a nice warm
blanket to put over her, one of the big red ones from the hospital.
Surely they could do that for her. When I kissed her lips they
were cold, like a joint of meat sitting on the draining board
ready to be cooked. No response. Tears splashed onto her face
and started trickling into her hair and I had to find my handkerchief
to wipe them away, but more kept coming until they took me away.
My hands were on the
door of the little bedroom.
It was dark in the
passage. I'd always wondered if I could put in a small window
in the wall at the end, but I never had. I steadied myself against
the worn white paint of the doorframe and turned the round china
knob with the pink roses with my other hand. It clicked and
I pushed the door open.
I walked the few paces
to the bed unsupported, and twisted quickly to sit with a bump
on the mattress. Penny had turned the covers down ready for
me and my pyjamas were folded neatly beside me.
Penny had only been
thirteen when Eileen was killed.
Somehow we had supported
each other, and now she was married and looked after me. Tom
was a good man. He worked in the car factory the other side
of town, bringing in good pay. Not one to get drunk or do anything
impulsive.
Like me really, but
dark haired and not such a big man.
'Here you are Dad.'
The door opens and
Penny comes in with my glass of water and the stuff for my teeth.
She helps me change
into my pyjamas. I don't mind her doing that now. I had resisted
until the time I had that fall. After that I decided she'd be
happier if I let her.
'There now, all comfy?'
I am in my pyjamas
and sitting up in bed.
'I've got some news.'
Her face was all shiny and excited.
I smile at her, wanting
her to be happy.
'Dad, I think I'm
going to have a baby. Tom's ever so pleased.'
I put out my arms
and she hugs me. Another generation started. I feel the stupid
tears in my eyes. The pain is starting in my chest again but
I don't tell her that. I pat her back with both my hands, smiling
over her shoulder, hoping she will understand.
'Night now Dad,' she
said at last releasing herself. 'Sleep well.'
'Night Penny.'
The light goes out
and I hear the door click shut behind her.
I lie back and gaze
at the ceiling. My chest hurts some more and I can hear the
darkness. The darkness is roaring at me, louder and louder,
sweeping up like a great tide engulfing a stony beach. My chest
and arm feel numb.
I turn in the narrow
bed and reach out my arms.
'It's OK now,' I say
reaching out my arms to Eileen. 'She's going to be OK now.
'It's time. I'm coming
now love.'
I hear her delicious
giggle beside me. 'Come on then ya great lunk,' she whispers
and I feel her hands reaching out for me, 'one more time.'
'Eileen' - Copyright
© David Caldo 2007
All Rights Reserved
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