‘Look, Earl, I’m not planning on going out anywhere, but he has got homework to do this weekend.’
He looked up at his father, who was visibly annoyed, but he could also see that his father had now made a decision to remain silent.
‘Well, can you give me some idea of a time?’
His father turned to leave, and he understood that this was his cue to step forward and join him.
Brenda called out. ‘I’ll see you later, love.’
The film was an animated Disney cartoon, and from the moment it began he found himself caught up in the plot. He had been to Saturday morning children’s matinées before, but this was the first time that he had been to a proper late afternoon screening. He couldn’t remember if his father bought him any sweets or anything to drink, but he clearly recalls that when the film was over he followed his father out of the darkened auditorium and back into the lobby. Through the huge glass windows, he could see that outside it had got dark, and that car lights were on. He could also see that it was snowing and huge white flakes were tumbling down out of the sky and coating the pavement white. His father held up his coat for him and he pushed one arm into a sleeve, and then fished around looking for the other one. He finally jammed his arm into the hole and threaded it through but he couldn’t take his eyes from the snow. His father offered him his hand and even though he felt too old for this he took it, and together they left the warmth of the foyer and stepped out into the bitterly cold evening. They began to walk back in the direction of the bus stop, past the parked cars that were already clad in snow, and as the flakes continued to fall on their bare heads he could feel his hand tight and safe in his father’s hand. He looked behind him and saw two sets of footprints where they had walked, a large pair and his own smaller ones, and then he gazed up at the sky where a sudden surge of wind buffeted the flakes so that the snow began to swirl feverishly. As they turned a corner, he tugged his father’s hand. His father looked down at him and smiled. He pointed to the sky. ‘Look at all the snow!’ His father continued to smile.
Brenda opened the door and quickly beckoned him inside.
‘I thought you two might be building an igloo or something.’ She paused and looked at his father. ‘Would you like to come in for a warm before you head off?’ His father shook his head.
‘I have everything with the lawyers so that I can get my son back with me. They say you will hear from them next week.’
Brenda sighed. ‘Look, Earl, it doesn’t have to come to this. Have I argued with you? He’s your son, you just have to make sure that you’ve got a proper place for him and then we can come to an arrangement, that’s all.’
His father ignored Brenda and looked down at his son. ‘I better go now before the buses stop running.’ His father leaned over the threshold and hugged him, although the older man was clearly somewhat uncomfortable with the gesture. Once his father released him he stepped outside the house and into the snow, and he looked on as his father gingerly picked his way down the path in search of some form of transportation that might convey the snow-furred pilgrim back to wherever he lived. As he walked, his father left behind a single set of footprints, and he remembered lingering by the doorstep and watching closely as the falling snow steadily erased all evidence of his father’s presence.
As the speeding bus continues to careen its way down the motorway towards London, most of the passengers are trying to doze. However, he notices that the young man with the iPod is now busily selecting another film whose ambient soundtrack will no doubt torment his neighbours for what remains of the journey. This morning the familiar older nurse had pushed his shoulder somewhat aggressively, and then she stood over him until his blinking eyes began to focus.
‘That’s not the best chair to fall asleep in, but you were obviously shattered after listening to him.’ She paused. ‘Older people often have a lot to say. We see it from time to time.’ Again she paused. ‘After he’d finished his chatting we thought it best to leave you both, and eventually you nodded off too.’
He could feel that both of his shoulders and his back were aching because of the angle at which he had fallen asleep, and so he pulled himself upright on the metal chair. He then realised that he could no longer hear the sonar beep of his father’s machine. In fact, the hospital bed was empty.
‘I’m sorry, love but about half an hour ago we moved your father to intensive care as his vitals were failing. That’s when I first tried to wake you, but it was an emergency so we had to rush. And then we lost him. He just slipped away in his sleep so he wouldn’t have known a thing about it.’
He looked up at this woman’s face in disbelief. What was she trying to tell him?
‘I’m very sorry, but it happened quickly and quite frankly there’s not a thing that you could have done or said. I’ve just come back from over there.’ She paused. ‘Intensive care, that is.’
‘Is that where he is?’
‘They’ll be moving him now. We’ve left a message for his friend at the Mandela Centre is it?’
‘Yes, the Mandela Centre. His name’s Baron.’
‘We know, love. He checked your father in so we have all of his details.’
‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry for what? I take it that you’ll be going over to your father’s place and starting to sort things out as you’re the only family we have registered.’ He nodded. ‘And can we reach you there, or do you have a mobile number that we could perhaps have?’
He couldn’t remember his mobile number so he took out the phone and checked. He wrote down the number on the back of an old receipt and handed the piece of paper to the woman. The nurse gave him a sympathetic smile, but it was apparent that the woman had nothing further to say and she hovered awkwardly. He sensed that he was keeping her from something. Fearful of any more platitudes, he climbed to his feet and began the long, confusing, walk down the length of the ward away from his father’s empty bed. So that was it? His father had ‘slipped away in his sleep’? Slipped away? The words echoed in his mind like a pedalled note. That was all she had to say? That was her explanation?
The bus begins to slow down and bully its way across the motorway and into the inside lane. As they bear left and take the service station slip road, the driver announces that this will be a very short stop and they will leave in five minutes. Only those who need to disembark the bus should do so, the others should remain on board. ‘Sorry, but there’ll be no time for the games arcade or the food emporium as we’re running behind schedule.’ They cruise past the entrance to the car park, and the family picnic area, before swinging extravagantly into the bus parking zone and coming to an abrupt halt. He left the hospital knowing that he would have to go back to his father’s house, but he is still not sure how he found himself at the central bus station buying a one-way ticket to London. He remembers putting the key in the door and then lumbering upstairs and grabbing his bag, before trudging back downstairs and looking at the photographs that remained scattered on the kitchen table. For a moment he lingered, but it was too soon to even think of beginning the process of sifting through the evidence of his father’s life and so he turned his back on the house. He remembered to lock the door behind him, and he now finds himself just over an hour away from London and he realises that he should probably call Annabelle. He wants to do so before the driver starts up the thunderous engine, and so he arches his still aching back, and squeezes the mobile phone out from his trouser pocket and hits Annabelle’s speed dial number. She sounds fraught.
‘Keith? I was worried about you. In fact, I left you a message last night.’