Is this odd?
It’s impossible to tell whether or not something is normal now.
My uncle Gordon came round this morning, but as he came up to the house I saw him talking to a man who was waiting in the road. The man got back into his car and just sat there, but when I asked Gordon what he wanted he said “nothing of any consequence”.
We went through the funeral details together, and he drafted a letter to dad’s solicitors, to notify them and activate the will, if there is one. Gordon said he doubted there would be – but wouldn’t say more than that.
He went back to his hotel straight away and seems to be annoyed that this is a weekend. The man was still sat in his car outside the house.
When my friends came round in the afternoon he was still there. Cobber had brought a lasagne his mum made, because she was worried I might not be eating properly. Top and Pele brought more drink – and were duly dubbed swashbucklers of the first order. Fuzz brought nothing except his dirty, empty hands – and was duly dubbed our jeeves for the night. He said he’d given up a bonfire date with Pamela to be here, but that didn’t really cut it.
Pele said “how are you?” and I said “fine”, and that was as far as we got into that conversation.
When they left, I got my school bag and took a pen and some A4 into the study, where I’ve started to make a list of everything that’s in there. There’s a toy-box full of candles behind the desk, and the place is lit up now like one of those spooky churches you only see on murder mysteries. The list however is an act of futility: it’s four pages of unknown objects and rough descriptions corresponding to torn up, hand-made labels. I don’t know why I’m doing it, other than a belief that’s where my father was for the last few hours of his life, and that this room that has suddenly been revealed is somehow the reason he died. The books, bottles and allsorts are unexplained, but not beyond explanation. And I bet you know what they mean.
That man is still sat in his car outside. No doubt he got a good view of all the fireworks but it’s freezing out there.
I’m beginning to wonder if he is you.
My uncle Gordon came round this morning, but as he came up to the house I saw him talking to a man who was waiting in the road. The man got back into his car and just sat there, but when I asked Gordon what he wanted he said “nothing of any consequence”.
We went through the funeral details together, and he drafted a letter to dad’s solicitors, to notify them and activate the will, if there is one. Gordon said he doubted there would be – but wouldn’t say more than that.
He went back to his hotel straight away and seems to be annoyed that this is a weekend. The man was still sat in his car outside the house.
When my friends came round in the afternoon he was still there. Cobber had brought a lasagne his mum made, because she was worried I might not be eating properly. Top and Pele brought more drink – and were duly dubbed swashbucklers of the first order. Fuzz brought nothing except his dirty, empty hands – and was duly dubbed our jeeves for the night. He said he’d given up a bonfire date with Pamela to be here, but that didn’t really cut it.
Pele said “how are you?” and I said “fine”, and that was as far as we got into that conversation.
When they left, I got my school bag and took a pen and some A4 into the study, where I’ve started to make a list of everything that’s in there. There’s a toy-box full of candles behind the desk, and the place is lit up now like one of those spooky churches you only see on murder mysteries. The list however is an act of futility: it’s four pages of unknown objects and rough descriptions corresponding to torn up, hand-made labels. I don’t know why I’m doing it, other than a belief that’s where my father was for the last few hours of his life, and that this room that has suddenly been revealed is somehow the reason he died. The books, bottles and allsorts are unexplained, but not beyond explanation. And I bet you know what they mean.
That man is still sat in his car outside. No doubt he got a good view of all the fireworks but it’s freezing out there.
I’m beginning to wonder if he is you.
posted by The son of Edward Fold at 1:15 am
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