NEITHER HERE NOR THERE
by Richard Banks
Brian
sat on the shelf over the fireplace between the cuckoo clock that Deidre had
purchased in Austria
and a china horse that had once belonged to her mother. He would, of course,
have preferred to sit in his usual seat in front of the fire but that was now
occupied by someone he once regarded as a friend. In the all too recent past it
would have been understood that the chair was his chair and his alone, not even
Deidre would have sat there. Guests, as Ernie once was, would have sat where
they were bid minus their overcoats and caps but otherwise attired in such a
way that if they had been instantaneously transported to a meeting of the
Rotary Club they would have been appropriately and adequately dressed.
He stared down disapprovingly at Ernie
who, having unfastened a button on his shirt was now reaching beneath the shoulder
strap of a string vest to scratch an unusually hairy armpit. At the other end
of his person, his stocking feet were resting on the brass rail that bordered
the grate. This was too much! It was an insult, a desecration of all he held
dear. In past times he, Brian Greenside, husband of Deidre who still bears his
name, would have ejected this unprincipled Casanova from the house and
administered the good thrashing he so richly deserved.
But that was then and this was now, a
now begun by the number nine bus that had rendered him a passed over person in
more ways than one. Since then he had become an invisible blob of irregular
dimensions, no larger than a paperweight and no heavier than a bubble.
Devoid of voice but not of vision his
role in life seemed only to observe it. With no eyelids to close, his only way
of not seeing what he was not wanting to see was to remove himself to another
place. Had Tottenham been playing at home that evening he would have taken
himself there and, oblivious to whatever the weather was doing, perch himself
on a beam above the directors’ box. If that was the best life could show him
the worse was surely what he was now observing. To make matters worse Deidre,
having washed the dishes, was now sitting in her chair and stretching out her
unslippered feet towards those of Ernie. Reasoning that the meeting of all four
feet might not be the least of the unpleasantness to come, Brian decided to
remove himself up the chimney and onto the flat roof of the loft extension. He
had not been there long when he was joined by a dim orb of light.
“Having a bit of trouble, son?”
It was a voice he knew well. Even after
ten years there was no mistaking it.
“Dad?”
“That’s right, son. Just a jiffy and
I’ll turn up the power. …..Yeah, that’s better. Sorry the picture’s only black
and white but it’s not too bad, all things considered. I mean to say, it works
by the power of thought and I was never much good at that.”
“No Dad, that’s brilliant. Just one
thing.”
“Yes, son.”
“Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me, don’t you recognise
your own father?”
“Not like that, Dad. You can’t be any
older than twenty-one. Haven’t you got something a bit more recent, like, after
I was born?”
The face on the orb registered an
expression of bemused concentration. “Hang on, I’ll have another think. What
about that?”
“Yes, better, you’re getting there.
Keep going another ten years. Yes, you’re nearly there. A bit more. Stop! No,
back a bit. Yes, that’s it. Fantastic!
Blimey, Dad, can you do the same for me?”
“Wish I could Bri but that’s an
upstairs job. So, what’s keeping you, son, your mother can’t wait to see you
again? Your old life’s over, time to give the new place a try. It’s not so bad,
there’s more churches than pubs and most of them are wine bars, but the
football’s second to none, ten divisions and five generations of ‘all time
greats’ to choose from. Bet you never saw Stan Matthews play, you can now.”
Brian felt an emotion that in the days
when he had eyes would have made them brim with tears. “Can’t do that Dad. Not
just now. There’s something I need to see to, unfinished business, can’t leave
things as they are.”
“You’ve got to let her go, son. It’s
her life. There’s nothing you can do now.”
“No, it’s not about Deidre. Can’t say
I’m overjoyed about lover boy; didn’t expect that after only a month, but no,
it’s not about her.”
“Then what is it, son? Come on, you can
tell me.”
“You mean you don’t know about the
money I won? I thought you lot were supposed to be all seeing, all knowing.”
“Give me a break, Bri, I’m only a Grade
7, trainee, and that’s not going too well. Come on now, get it off your chest.
You never know I might be able to help.”
“Well, I won the lottery, didn’t I.
Half a million quid. Couldn’t believe it ‘til they gave me the cheque. But what
was I to do with all the money? Deidre was full of plans that would have seen
it all frittered away, but I had other ideas. Wouldn’t it be better, I said, if
we kept half and gave the rest to Jilly so she and Tom could stop renting and
buy a home of their own. But no, she was all for hanging-on to the lot. After
all, she said, our daughter would inherit everything once we were dead. Surely
she could wait until then. However my mind was made up, so when I paid the
cheque into our account I wrote out one for £250K and put Jilly’s name on it.
Well, why shouldn’t I, it was my money. So without saying anything to Deidre I
set-off to deliver the cheque in person. Couldn’t wait to see their faces. Too
excited I was, didn’t look where I was going, never knew the bus was there
until I was under it. Can you believe it? Was I ever meant to be lucky?”
Ignoring the question which he supposed
to be hypothetical Dad’s thoughts turned to his grand-daughter. “So, Jilly
never got her cheque?”
“No. The hospital put all my clothes in
a plastic bag and gave them to Deidre who put them in the bin, except the suit
which she probably thought would come in useful for the someone presently in my parlour. No way was he going
to squeeze into it, not that fat lump, so the suit stayed in the cupboard where
she put it. If the silly mare had thought to look through the pockets she would
have found my wallet and the cheque inside it. So, no, Jilly never got the
cheque and until she does I won’t be going anywhere, up or down.”
“Oh!” Dad considered the facts and
concluded this was probably a Grade 1 problem. “Don’t see what you can do, son.
If the living could hear, you would be able to tell Jilly where the cheque is,
and if you had hands and feet you could take it to her, but all you have of any
use is your sight and that’s no help on its own. You never know, son, Deidre
might find the cheque and decide to do the right thing, after all Jilly’s her
daughter as much as yours.”
The blob that was Brian began to
vibrate and almost doubled in size before emitting several flashes of light
that exploded into the night sky like fireworks.
“Steady on son, there’s no need for
that.”
The blob took a deep breath and with a
groan returned to its normal size and shape. “No, Dad, I’m staying here. If you
want me upstairs you will have to help me get that cheque to Jilly.”
“But what can I do, Bri. I can’t work
miracles, that’s not going to happen for at least a thousand years, and even
then they will all have to be signed off by a fully qualified Seraphim. Every
day people pray that they come into money. None of them ever get what they
want; it’s not what we do.”
“But you do have the power of thought,
wasn’t that what you were telling me. You can make things happen just by
thinking them. Isn’t that how it works?”
“Not with me, son. Not yet. The power’s
too weak. Let’s put it this way, if I was the petrol in your car you wouldn’t
be going much further than the end of the road.”
“Turn it up, Dad, you can do better
than that. And what about me? Don’t I have the power of thought? I must have
some. The two of us together; I know we can make it work.”
Dad’s image wobbled and appeared to age
several years. “But you’re a ‘No-Comer’, neither one thing or the other. Not
sure you have any powers.”
“But I do, Dad. Didn’t you see the
sparks that shot out of me. Come on, I know we can do it, the two of us
together! What have we got to lose?”
Who knows, son, but I’m not getting any
messages from up above, so why not. What have you got in mind?”
“Two home visits, that’s what. Plant
the same idea in two persons heads and leave the rest to them.”
“And the idea is that Jilly should have
the suit?”
“You bet. Deidre’s got no use for it.
It’s only a matter of time before she throws it out so if we can make Jilly
want it, I mean really want it, Deidre will only be too ready to hand it over.”
“And supposing she looks in the pockets
first?”
“She won’t, not after what we tell her.
Anyway that’s for later. First off we need to head over to Jilly’s. Come on, I’ll tell you what to do
on the way.”
They arrived shortly after 11.30 to
find the bedroom reverberating with the sound of impassioned interaction. The
gasps and shrieks of the two participants reached a noisy crescendo that, on
the parting of bodies, subsided into an urgent, but less noisy need to take-in
oxygen. “Blimey, son. What a time to
arrive! Thank goodness the lights were out. Maybe we should come back later.”
“No, Dad, this couldn’t be better.
They’ll soon be spark out, dead to the world and not a sound to be heard, no
TV, no mobiles, nothing to distract Jilly from what we’re going to tell her.
The signal we’re be sending might be faint but it’s the only one she’ll be
hearing. Now remember, we need to think the same thing at exactly the same
moment so it’s, one, I want Dad’s brown suit more than anything in this
world, two, it’s in the cupboard in my old room at Mum’s and three,
fetch it now and don’t delay.”
“Shouldn’t we be saying something about
the cheque?”
“No, Dad, too much information, let’s
keep it short and simple. She’ll find it, I know she will.”
Jilly turned onto one side and quickly
succumbed to a blissful drowsiness. Tom also was scarcely awake and within a
few minutes the murmour of shallow breathing indicated that they were both
soundly asleep. Brian and Dad got busy and did what they had come to do and,
cautiously satisfied with their efforts, left as unobtrusively as they had
arrived. It was time to return to Deidre who hopefully would not be caught in
flagrante. To their relief she was alone and Ernie nowhere to be seen. As Brian
feared she was in full snoring mode.
“Blimey, son, don’t think we’ll be
heard through all that. What do we do now?”
“Wait. Just wait. Two hours at most.
Until then we practice. So, this is what we tell her: the suit is possessed by
an evil spirit that means her harm, and that she must give it to the one who
wants it.” Having synchronised the words they waited patiently on Deidre’s
bedside table until a ferocious snore interrupted her slumbers and sent her
scurrying to the bathroom. She returned several minutes later and settled back
under the covers. As the lavatory system fell silent, Brian and Dad gathered
either side of her pillow and with all their remaining energy repeated the
message they had come to deliver.
They drifted wearily into the front
bedroom which had been Jilly’s room and parked themselves on the windowsill
determined to witness the comings and goings of the day that they hoped would
include the departure of the suit in Jilly’s hands. Their patient, if sometimes
sleepy vigil was eventually rewarded by the rising of the sun and the sight of
early risers setting off to their work. Unusually Deidre was also up and
muttering to herself in a way that suggested she was not in the best of moods;
a boiling kettle in the kitchen beneath them indicating that she was now at
breakfast.
In the distance a rumble like thunder
heralded the approach of the refuse men. The noise gradually increased until
their lorry was only several doors away at which point Deidre rushed out and
having waved her arms frantically at the nearest dustman engaged him in a
discussion he at first seemed unwilling to prolong. Having overcome his
reluctance by the proffering of a ten pound note Deidre took a firm grip of his
arm and almost dragged him into the house. A few seconds later they were up the
stairs and in Jilly’s bedroom.
“It’s in there,” said Deidre, pointing
at the cupboard, “dark brown suit, on a hanger. Just get it out of the house and put the damn thing in
the cart.”
The dustman clearly puzzled as to why
Deidre could not have done this herself, peered apprehensively at the cupboard
and considered the possibility that inside there might be something other than
a brown suit. “So, it’s just a suit then?”
“Of course it’s just a suit. I told you
it was just a suit. All you got to do is take it away. What’s the matter? Want
more money? Is that it? OK, I’ll make it twenty quid. Now, do you want it or
not?”
The dustman very definitely did want
it, and even more wanted to escape this strange, overwrought woman who quite
possibly was on the dangerous side of unhinged. He pulled open the cupboard
door, which was hinged, and discovered, to his evident relief, the suit
hanging inoffensively inside. He snatched it up and pausing only long enough to
claim his reward fled down the stairs and out into the street where he ran as
fast as he could after the refuge lorry.
Clutching her purse, Deidre staggered
almost drunkenly out of the bedroom and collapsed onto her own bed unaware that
her former husband had thrown himself off the windowsill and was rolling about
on the carpet shouting expletives that fortunately could only heard by his
father. When his energy reserves became too depleted to sustain this activity
he propped himself up against the wainscot where he was joined by Dad. They sat
in silence, Brian not wanting to talk and Dad not knowing what to say.
The impasse was eased, if not resolved,
by the ringing of the door bell. The sound of Deidre descending the stairs and
opening the front door was followed by a voice that was unmistakeably Jilly’s.
She advanced into the hallway before coming quickly to the point.
“Hello Mum, sorry to come round so
early but I need to have Dad’s suit, you know, the one he was wearing when,
when…when he was taken from us.”
“You mean when he was run over by the
bus.” After a thwart start to the day Deidre was in no mood for euphemisms.
“Well, you’re too late, the bin men took it away five minutes ago. Glad to get
rid of it, the wretched thing was giving me nightmares. Why on earth didn’t you
ask me for it yesterday when I gave you Dad’s cheque? The suit’s of no use to
you or anyone else. Who’s going to wear an old suit with a tyre mark down the
back. You keep your mind on the money, that’s what your Dad wanted you to have,
not a manky old suit.”
“Yes, Mum, thanks for the cheque. I’m
sorry you and Dad fell out over the money. I know how much you wanted to buy
that villa in Spain,
and I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had. But, well, I’m glad you didn’t. Why
I need to have Dad’s suit I don’t know, but I feel sure he wanted me to have it
just like he wanted me to have the cheque. So, if you tell me which way the bin
men went I’ll be on my way.” On being told that they would probably be no
further than Green Street Jilly about turned through the still open door and
set-off in rapid pursuit.
Brian and Dad who had been watching
from the top of the stairs watched on as Deidre shut the door and with a weary
sigh abandoned the hall for the kitchen. For once Dad was the first to react.
“So Jilly’s got the cheque. Blimey,
when did that happen?”
“Yesterday, of course, weren’t you
listening? Must have been after Deidre did the shopping. You know what I’m like
with supermarkets; came home early and left her to it. Didn’t even see her find
it. And not a word to anyone; how did she keep that to herself?”
“No idea, son, but then we can’t always
be watching and listening, and maybe we shouldn’t have been trying. Life’s for
the living, best to leave them to it. After all they don’t get to see what
we’re up to. Let’s face it, all we have done since yesterday is give Deidre
nightmares and make Jilly pine after an old suit that’s of no use to her or
anyone else. Gawd knows what the going rate will be for getting that back.
Still, I suppose Jilly can afford it. You’ve done your best by her, and so has
Deidre. It’s job done. Like the good ship Enterprise
it’s time to boldly go - upwards and onwards.
Just say the word and we’ll be off.”
“Need more words than one, Dad.”
“Like four?”
“You guessed it. Come on, let’s say it
together?”
“Why not, son. On the count of three?
“Three it is. Start counting, Dad.”
“One, two, three..”
“Beam me up Scotty!”
Copyright Richard Banks
