Love Is Usually Where You Left It Page 3

  Jack took the piece of paper out of his back pocket and opened it up. As he read through the words he had written the night before, he laughed at the silliness of the whole thing. But, as he laughed, he also thought that it fitted perfectly with his upbringing that had been full of fun, invention and imagination; and lots of love. He closed his eyes and held the paper close to his face, kissing it slowly. He then followed the “wish ritual” that he’d not done for many years but remembered so clearly. (Well, after making sure that there was no one around near enough to see what he was doing.) He gently folded the paper as small as he could before holding it low behind his back. This part was as awkward as it had always been, as if he was squatting on a toilet; as he carefully threw the folded paper from between his legs and into the “wishing well”, chanting (quietly) as he did.

  “Shelli Bwingwing, Shelli Bwingwing,

  Read my words, please do your thing,

  Shelli Bwingwing, Shelli Bwingwing,

  Read my words, please do your thing.”

  Jack laughed to himself one more time before slowly looking around again, relieved there was still no one around. (Especially anyone with a phone – you do something a little odd these days and you’re an instant Youtube star for all the wrong reasons.) He then walked back to his car. He started the engine, checked his mirrors, saw the road was clear and...... stalled the car. He restarted, checked again, and this time moved out of the lay by and onto the road – feeling thankful that Clive hadn’t seen him stall. Clive would have made a jokey reference to that until the end of time!

  He glanced at the clock, cursed his lateness slightly, and then pressed gently on the accelerator and headed off towards his brand new life.

  Dear Shelli Bwingwing,

  It’s been a long time, but I want to request one last thing from you. This time it’s not for me but rather my Mum and Dad (you know them – Gayle and Clive Ford) – the best people in the world. They gave me the greatest childhood and upbringing that anyone could ever dream of, or even wish for. I know now that they made many sacrifices in their lives; just for me, and yet they never, ever let me know or made me feel like they had.

  I’m sure that they still deeply love each other, although I’m not sure that they know that anymore. I’m also sure that they’re both unhappy in many ways and, unfortunately, I’m pretty sure that they do know that.

  My wish is that you can find a way so that they can both be happy again – whatever that means for them both.

  Please do your best.

  Thank you,

  Your friend,

  Jack Ford.

  Chapter Three: We Did It Together.

  Gayle finished her aimless, and rather pointless, meander around the kitchen and took one last look in the small mirror by the door. She decided she looked about as presentable as she was going to be able to, and took the deep breath needed to convince herself to step out of the front door and off to work. Before she could head towards another day confined to the tiny dimensions of her humdrum office existence, her eyes caught sight of the picture of Jack, at the age of eight winning the school sports day sack race, that sat in a frame between the microwave and the toaster. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to allow some more time to mysteriously vanish into thin air as she took her mind on a little trip down memory lane; observing several moments of Jack, the boy that she and Clive had nurtured so lovingly, as he grew over the years. Her thoughts arrived in a neat montage, similar to how a carefully designed medley of images would signal the imminent climax in a Rocky movie. First up was that first tooth episode (that Clive still annoyingly insists on talking about even now – and usually when people are eating), then Jack’s first day at school and then his first girlfriend. She laughed a little to herself as she remembered his awkwardness when bringing Sarah Cunningham-Chapman round for dinner for the first time. Or how she and Clive had been impressed by her never ending, posh sounding double barrel surname before learning that her surname was just the sad result of her parents divorcing when she had been younger. At least she and Clive hadn’t put Jack through that.

  Gayle moved her shoulders round uncomfortably though as she remembered one of the strongest memories of Jack of them all: just how freakishly strong and vigorous he was whilst breast feeding. Wow, at the age of two months, that boy could have walked into a job as a Lockets Throat Lozenge tester. As a result Gayle had been left with nipples that were more sensitive than a sunburnt bunion. It also meant that, ever since, wearing any material harder than silk was completely uncomfortable and painful. She had spent a period in her life when she vowed to never wear a bra ever again but there are only so many times, when she had to walk through the warehouse area at work, where the temperature is always at a level that Eskimos would find challenging, that you can take half a dozen guys saying “watch it – you’ll have someone’s eye out with one of those, love!” Of course there’s the old gravity factor that also needs to be taken into consideration when deciding to never wear a bra again, although, once again, something that shouldn’t be a problem until well after forty years of age, thank you very much.

  Damn you early signs of old age.

  Gayle freed her mind of thoughts of nipple tenderness but that only led her to a different contemplation of discomfort – namely the fact again that her little baby had just left home. And with that thought came the overwhelming realisation that life would never be the same again.

  Clive was now within reach of his front door but still hadn’t managed to rid himself of Mr Dennis and had dangerously and unwittingly began to allow his mind to again try to address the riddle that was “Dennis the Menace”. As usual, his aging neighbour was wearing his faded avocado coloured dressing gown that looked like it could be as old as he was. (It most probably came as part of one of those hideously coloured bathroom suites from the 1960’s/1970’s)

  Mr Dennis’ dressing gown had long been a thorny subject for the residents of Percival Road, primarily because of an event that occurred some years ago that Clive and Gayle refer to as the Marilyn Monroe Incident. Can you picture that iconic image of Ms Monroe having her white dress blown high into the air by that “breeze from the subway”? Well, substitute that with the image of an old man having his avocado dressing gown have the same thing done to it by a freak gust of wind during the Queens Diamond Jubilee Percival Road street party. Oh yes, and add to it the fact that, at that moment, came the disturbing revelation that the primary street pest likes to live his life commando. Yep, underneath that retro-coloured bath robe, Mr Dennis felt no need to wear any underwear whatsoever. It created an image that, once seen, always appears whenever you close your eyes. The kind of image that, for everyone unfortunate enough to be a witness, leaves irreparable scars. Clive, for one, had never been able to look at cocktail sausages and dumplings again without feeling instantly nauseous. And no one who lived on the street had ever mentioned it to each other since. In fact, no one who lived on the street had ever been able to look each other in the eyes ever since. Nobody wanted to look at eyes that had seen the same horrors.

  Clive kept his eye level up and hoped for a calm morning. Trying not to blink and give his mind the opportunity to place those unsettling images in front of his eyes, he instead focussed on the fact that, as per usual, Mr Dennis was carrying a mug of tea in his right hand. Actually, now he thought about it, Clive had never seen him without a mug of tea in his right hand. He’s the only person Clive has ever seen washing a car with just one hand. If he’s so dependent on having access to tea at all times perhaps he should contemplate having a PG Tips intravenous drip attached? Clive wondered whether he was so paranoid about putting his mug down because he was scared that someone may steal it. Either that or maybe he’d been the sad victim of an unfortunate, fast-setting superglue accident sometime in the past. One second you’re gluing your favourite set of false teeth back together when, without realising it, you’ve dribbled some on your fingers, have innocently reached for a sip of tea, and are left wit
h a mug stuck to your hand for the rest of your life. Perhaps he’d been too embarrassed to go to A&E, probably not realising that the staff there wouldn’t bat an eyelid about his accident because they were too busy laughing at the freaks who had “accidentally” got plastic dog bones stuck up their arses.

  Clive concentrated his resolve and finally reached out to open his front door despite Mr Dennis still shadowing him and still ranting about something university related.

  “.....and they don’t call them university snobs for nothing now do they?”

  Perhaps now realising that Clive was about to enter his house and leave him waffling on to nobody, Mr Dennis decided he would end things.

  “Well, I’d love to chat, but I’ve got things that need doing..... goodbye Clifford!”

  He turned and walked off at great pace, no doubt heading back to his own house to get his deck chair ready for today’s couple of hours’ worth of watching the new by-pass being built.

  “Bye” said Clive through gritted teeth, closing the door behind him. He had told Mr Dennis that his name was Clive more times than he cared to remember but, no, it was always Clifford. It was almost as annoying as when Mr Dennis would address Tony, who lived next door, as Anthony. And not just Anthony, but actually An-th-ony, because Dennis the Menace was one of those people who insisted on pronouncing the silent th as loud as he possibly could. At least, thankfully today, he’d not been subjected to the sight of a tiny, wrinkled penis and ball set underneath a fluttering old, avocado dressing gown.

  Clive looked round and noticed that Gayle had taken her car keys off the slightly skew-whiff key rack that he had erected about six months earlier. Sure it wasn’t the prettiest key rack ever made, slightly off centre on the side wall of the small hall area they had, but surely that was a small price to pay for no longer having to remove all the settee cushions and coverings every time you wanted to go out in the car? Gayle, upon hearing Clive enter the house, walked out of the kitchen finally ready to face up to the day ahead. Their eyes connected as she entered the entrance hall area.

  “You managed to shake him off then?” she asked, referring to Mr Dennis.

  As Clive nodded, she added,

  “How windy is it out there?”

  Clive laughed.

  “Not windy at all. Everything managed to stay out of sight today, thank God!”

  They both gave each other a mock disgusted look before smiling.

  “Do I look ok? Can you tell I’ve been crying?” asked Gayle.

  Despite her having more than a passing resemblance to Jack Black in Kung Fu Panda, Clive said.

  “No you look fine.”

  Fine is one of those strange words that can either describe something as mediocre and just ok; almost beige-like, or can mean something pretty special, like a fine wine or you look damn fine. Clive had meant the latter for, despite her (slightly) dark, make-up stained eyes and her hastily styled ponytail, Gayle still looked like she usually did – which was pretty damn fine. He wished that he added that all important damn which makes it clear which version of fine you were using for the occasion, but he hadn’t and had to make do with Gayle believing he meant she looked just ok.

  “I need to go..... I’m going to be late.” Gayle said, her eyes now showing signs of moisture again. Clive sighed as he gazed at the sadness that was shining through Gayle’s damp eyes and he could almost feel her emptiness. His heart began to melt a little.

  “Hey,” he said “He’s not gone that far away. He’s not gone to the moon, or to Mars!”

  Gayle smiled a smile that looked like it took all the effort in the world.

  “We’ll still see him a lot,” added Clive “You’ll probably get sick of him bringing his washing round, or coming to see you because he’s hungry.”

  Gayle couldn’t help but notice that Clive had said “coming to see you” and not “coming to see us”, and it re-enforced what was going to be happening: there wasn’t going to be an us for much longer. Clive hadn’t noticed he’d said it like that, but he did recognise that Gayle’s expression hadn’t got any happier.

  “Come here,” he said extending his arms out for a hug.

  Gayle reluctantly entered his arms as physical contact of any kind was something that they hadn’t done much of recently. When he wrapped his arms around her, it felt nice. It felt familiar and warm; and she felt safe and somehow soothed and comforted. Clive closed his eyes and shared the same feelings: a pleasurable contentment that he’d not felt for a long time.

  “Whatever we’ve done not so well,” he began “There’s one thing that we’ve done that’s been perfect..... Jack! He’s turned out perfect. You should be so proud of yourself.”

  Gayle pushed herself back slightly so she was still in Clive’s embrace but could now look him in the eyes.

  “We should be proud. We did it together.”

  For a moment they looked at each other and smiled and both of them couldn’t deny it: there was a little spark. A little feeling; a little reminder of how things used to be all those years ago, when there was no doubt that it was true love.

  The clock on the wall began to chime, signalling that it was eight o’clock.

  “Oh no, I am so late now!” said Gayle, pushing out of Clive’s embrace and reaching for the front door.

  “Don’t forget the estate agent is coming round this morning.”

  “What time is he coming?” Clive asked.

  “Whatever time you booked him to come!” said Gayle, shortly. “It was you that booked him!”

  “You told me to book him” countered Clive “I thought you might have remembered what time I told you. It doesn’t matter; I’ve probably made a note on my phone.”

  As I said earlier: Mobile phone = memory / brain replacement.

  It’s just like when calculators became affordable in the late 1970’s meant that there was no need to learn mental arithmetic anymore – something that everyone, with the exception of Carol Vorderman and Rachel Riley, have taken great advantage of.

  Gayle opened the front door and stepped back out onto the pavement.

  “Oh” she said turning round “Can you get us some bread and milk later, we need it to keep us going until I go shopping at the weekend?”

  “I thought you were going yesterday?” snapped Clive.

  “I didn’t have time because I was cleaning this house until ten o’clock last night so it’s ready for the estate agent! That’s why I didn’t get chance to have a shower last night and why I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards this morning.”

  Clive wondered why people were always dragged through hedges backwards and never forwards. Was that one of the rules you have to follow if you ever get the urge to drag someone through a hedge?

  “Ok, ok.” said Clive. “I told you we shouldn’t have stopped getting those home deliveries, didn’t I?”

  “You know why we stopped – they kept sending weird stuff when they didn’t have what we ordered. I mean a bottle of Limoncello because they didn’t have lemon juice? It was pathetic!”

  Clive nodded his head in agreement, whilst at the same time remembering the best Pancake Day he’d ever had. Mmmm alcoholic pancakes!

  “But I’m going out later” Clive said. “I’m playing snooker with Knobhead.”

  Gayle shook her head.

  “What?” asked Clive.

  “There’s so much wrong with that statement. First of all, a fully grown man still readily accepting a nickname of Knobhead? No matter how appropriate it may be, it’s just plain wrong. And who the hell plays, or even watches, snooker? How bloody sad are you?”

  Clive stood there dumb struck. He was unsure about how he could defend himself against any of the points that Gayle had made.

  “Is it too much to ask for you to take a couple of minutes to get bread and milk when I spent, pretty much, the whole day cleaning yesterday?”

  “I did some cleaning too” said Clive. “I spent a good hour and a half hoovering upstair
s.”

  “Putting the hoover on for an hour and a half whilst you lie down on the bed watching the tele, isn’t cleaning!” said Gayle. “What were you watching up there for all that time?”

  “Snooker!” Clive said, a huge, cheeky smile growing on his face.

  Gayle couldn’t help but smile back; it was that cheeky smile that was one of the first things about Clive that she noticed all those years ago.

  “Bread and milk!” she said as she walked out of the door. “See you later.”

  “See you later.”

  As his wife left the house Clive turned around and his eyes were drawn to the numerous photos on the ledge above the radiator. Most of them were of Jack in various stages of his life but there was one, behind all the others, that was an old school class photograph that had both Clive and Gayle in it. He picked it up and his mind was cast back. He was standing at the back, tall and proud while Gayle was sitting on the long bench on the front row, looking like she would rather be anywhere else on Earth. They both looked so young. He remembered that the photo had been taken not long after Gayle had joined his class mid-term after her and her Mum had moved to the area and she’d had to change schools; something she wasn’t too pleased about. It was probably around about this time that they first began to get to know each other – properly. As he glanced around the various kids in their class, wondering why every new time he looked at it there was at least one extra kid he couldn’t name anymore, and then focussed back at himself and Gayle, Clive worked out that the picture was now more than 20 years old. Wow, that was a long time ago, and it felt like a long time ago; in fact it felt like a lifetime ago. And yet strangely, at the same time, it felt like it could have been yesterday.