DO YOU REMEMBER?

                                    

 DO YOU REMEMBER?

 by Richard Banks                 

                                                                                                                 

I was still in that drowsy state of waking when I realised there was a visitor. I wondered who it would be: my wife, mother, brother, George, whoever George was. All had come and spoken of others who intended coming. My family was evidently a large one. There were also friends. Their get well cards numbered thirty.

         I hoped, when I opened my eyes, it would not my wife again. One should feel a special attachment to a wife; I must admit I felt none. The woman was not unattractive, although possibly a little older than myself. We were, she said, twenty years married. Our son was called Michael, he had just started work for a firm of stock brokers. The three of us lived in Benfleet. I was Chief Clerk of a City bank. The rest, she considered, was best left until I was feeling better. Her voice had a monotonous drone I found irritating. I compared her unfavourably to the unpaid volunteer, who, since the previous day, had been helping out on the Ward. I looked forward to meeting her but so far had only seen her pass by the sometimes open door of my single room.

         My visitor coughed. It was a man's cough. I decided to see who it was. An elderly man looked back at me. The lines on his face rearranged themselves into what might have been a smile. I smiled too, as well as the bandages on my face would allow.

         “I don't suppose you remember me?” he said with the sad resignation of someone whose fate  was to be anonymous. 

         I shook my head.

         “Didn't think you would, I'm your father. Expect you were hoping for someone more distinguished. Just as well you take after your mother's side of the family.”

         I recalled my first visitor of the day: a large woman in her fifties with bleached hair who insisted I call her Ma.

         “What do I call you?” I asked.

         “Oh, Dad will do.”

         “Not Pa?”

         “No Pa is your mother's husband.”

         “But I thought you were married to my mother.”

         His hangdog expression was suddenly animated by a facial twitch that caused his right cheek to vibrate. I was about to summon a nurse when the vibrations subsided and he continued speaking.

         “That's what I thought. Also thought I owned a three bed semi in Southend, but it's all gone now. Your mother's solicitor saw to that.”

         “So you and Ma are divorced then?”

         He nodded.

         “And where do you live now?”

         “In a bedsit on the Kursaal Estate. It's not too bad. Small but cosy. Just room for Joey and the TV.”

         “Joey?” I asked.

         “Yes, Joey the budgie. He's not much of a talker but he's better company than your mother.”

         I decided to steer the conversation in the direction of myself. “So Dad, I expect you be wanting to say something that will jog my memory.”

         He managed to look thoughtful and bewildered at the same time.

         “I mean, what can you tell me about my life, the things I've done that were important to me.”

         “You mean like driving off that cliff?”

         I took a deep breath. “Yes, that will do.”

         “Well it certainly got you into the 'papers. Also got you in here. It's a wonder you're not in the cemetery. As if going over that cliff wasn't enough you had to land on the Fenchurch Street line and get hit by a train. Wreckage all over the place. No more trains until Monday.  You aren't very popular with the commuters I can tell you. That's about it really. ...Have you remembered anything?”

         I shook my head.

         “No, didn't think you had. When you do you'll have a lot of explaining to do.”

         “You mean about the accident; how it happened like?

         He looked ill at ease as though he had said too much. “Yes, that as well.”

         “As well as what?” I asked.

         He responded with what I hoped was a non-sequitur. “Has that police chappy been in to see you yet?”

         “No,” I said.

         “Probably best to leave it to him.”

         “Leave what? Look Dad, if there's something I ought to know don't you think you should be telling me first before the police do?”

         His face began twitching again. “Not sure I'm allowed to. Wouldn't want to be breaking the law.”

         “Dad, this is just between you and me. No one's listening. No one will ever know this conversation took place. Now, what is it the police want to talk to me about?”

         The nervous twitch went into overdrive. When he spoke it was as though someone was exerting a strong grip on his throat. “The money,” he spluttered.

         “What money?”

         “The money you took from the bank to pay your gambling debts. Fifty thousand so the papers say. At least that's how much they found in your car, what was left of it. Then there's that drugs gang that chased you off the cliff. I expect the police will be wanting to know where they fit in. No doubt it will all be clear once you remember. …Won't make no difference to the house though.”

         “What house is that?”

         “The one you failed to keep up the payments on. Being sold at auction next week. Alice wasn't too pleased I can tell you.”

         “Alice who?” I asked.

         “Alice your wife. She came to see you yesterday. Don't you remember?”

         I said that I did remember but that the woman in question had introduced herself as Ali.”

         “Yes, that be her. Tall woman with freckles. I take it she didn't say anything about the....”

         “About the what?”

         “About the.... Probably best if she tells you.”

         “But she's not here, Dad. So if there's any more bad news you might as well give it to me now. She wants out, is that it?”

         “She is out. Moved out when the bank sent in the bailiffs.”

         “I mean she wants out of our marriage.”

         “Yes that too. Says she's going to take you to the cleaners for everything you got. Don't suppose that will be much. At least your boy has a bob or two now he's started work; not that you'll  be seeing much of him once you're in prison.”

         “Is there anything else I should know?”

         “Well Southend lost five nil to Scunthorpe last night.”

         “And I'm a Southend supporter?”

         He nodded.

         “Not many reasons to be cheerful then?”

         He considered the question carefully and sighed. There was an awkward silence. He looked at his watch and announced his intention to leave before it got dark. I watched him shuffle off with a bag of foodstuffs he had purchased from the Pound shop and saw myself thirty years on.

         I was eyeing the window with a view to throwing myself through it when the pretty little voluntary worker I mentioned earlier appeared in the doorway. She was pushing a wheelchair on which sat the slumped figure of an unconscious policeman.

         “What's wrong with him?” I asked.

         “Sleeping pills in tea,” she replied matter of factly. “Now get out of bed and help me take off his uniform.”

         “Why?” I sensed I was in enough trouble as it was.

         “Because if you don't, we can't escape and you'll be found guilty of goodness knows what and sent to prison. Now get a move on before someone finds out he's not on guard in the corridor.  Oh and by the way I'm Glennis. You may not remember me but I'm your girl friend. Now this is what's going to happen. You get up, put on his uniform and we leave via the fire escape. Car to Burnham,  yacht to Amsterdam, collect new passports and off to Brazil. Any questions? On second thoughts questions later. But if you're having money thoughts the fifty K in the back of your car was just the small change. The rest is on the yacht. Oh don't look so worried; we're going to Rio: Sugar Loaf Mountain, Copacabana beach. That's got to be better than prison. Now let's have a big smile for your little Glennis. ...That's better.”

           My observations on better were delivered through clenched teeth. 

           “What's that you say? You weren't smiling, it was a grimace. Well of course you're hurting all over, but it's got to be done honey bunch. Big effort now. Button up that tunic, helmet on head and you're all ready to escort me to the car park. Isn't this exciting!”

         Before I could answer she flung her arms around my neck and kissed me on the lips. That's when it all came back to me, when I remembered how good life could be.

         “Are you ready?” she asked.

         You bet I was.

 

The End

Copyright Richard Banks