Andrew
It was almost dark when he left the hospital. He felt drained, hollow. He kept stumbling. The gusts of wind were spinning litter about, sending carrier bags jinking down the streets. Drifts of food cartons and drinks cans rattled in corners. Squalls of rain spat at him. He was indifferent to the groups of partygoers with their tinsel and antlers, the shoppers laden with bags, the beggar sprawled on the pavement, the pools of water underfoot and the drunk roaring red-faced at the traffic.
Jason went past on his bike. He hadn’t any lights on. Andrew went to call out, to warn him, then the chill came over him. He increased his pace, trying to warm up. He couldn’t feel his toes. Could do with a drink. There was a pub on the corner, snowflakes sprayed on the windows, coloured lanterns strung round the building. He imagined the scene inside, the yeasty smell of beer, the golden glow in the mirrors at the bar, the giddy bonhomie. Walked past and on until he found a newsagent’s and grocer’s, grilles over the glass and a notice: ONLY 2 SCHOOLCHILDREN IN SHOP AT ANY TIME. Above that, over the door, the ‘Licensed to sell’ plate.
He bought a half-bottle of brandy, the brand unfamiliar. The first swig hurt his gullet going down, but soon the numb sensation spread, making his mouth cottony, softening his spine, releasing the rigidity in his shoulders, befuddling his brain. He took another draught of liquor, belched and carried on home.
There were fresh candles outside the house, next to the fence, but the wind had blown the flames out. He wondered who had brought them, who had taken time from their Christmas preparations to remember Jason.
Three faces turned to greet him, conversation suspended. Val and her close friends Sheena and Sue. He felt like an interloper. He’d expected her to still be where he’d left her, curled up in Jason’s duvet.
‘Oh, Andrew.’ Sheena, always more demonstrative than he cared for, came to hug him. There was no way he could avoid reciprocating. He wondered if she could feel the brandy bottle in his pocket, smell his breath. He felt unsteady on his feet, feared he might topple over, pin her beneath him in some ghastly faux-pas.
Sue followed. ‘So sorry,’ she said. He knew they had been over to see Val while they were at his parents’, but this was the first time they’d encountered him since it happened.
‘Get a glass,’ Val suggested, but he caught the lack of conviction and knew it would be better all round to leave them to it. Good for Val too; she confided in these friends unreservedly. Their friendships went back years, and although at times they all met up as couples at social events, the men, their other halves, never made independent arrangements. He realized there was no one he saw of his own accord any more. He’d be hard pressed to know who to invite out for a pint and a session putting the world to rights if the fancy took him. Everyone had disappeared into marriage and children and he assumed that they, like him, relied for intimacy on their families.
‘I won’t, thanks.’ He was aware of the slur in his words, his tongue clumsy. ‘I’ll, er…’ He was going to say get a shower, but suddenly that sounded callous. He waved one hand upstairs.
He was cold to the core. He hadn’t had a bath in years, but now he ran one, deep and hot. His skin prickled as he stepped in, goose bumps breaking out on his arms and legs. He took a drink from the brandy and set it on the side. He sank back, gasping at the heat, until only his face and knees protruded.
Jason aged five, in the bath, screaming in terror as a large moth batted about inside the lampshade. ‘It’s only a moth,’ Andrew kept saying, ‘it can’t hurt you,’ as he rigged up the stepladder.
