Moving On

MOVING ON

Ridley sat in his chair and his breath was audible. The conversation had flagged. It was a long time since his son and his daughter had visited together. Well not really together- they had come from opposite ends of the country. Jasper was a go-getter or thought he was. He was a solicitor, but he was clearly more interested in his Bristol property empire. Ridley suspected he was over-exposed; there had been hints of borrowing money which Ridley had pretended not to pick up on. He knew the boy was too proud to ask directly.

Tamsin was entirely different. She taught history and literature at a damned good school outside Inverness. She wrote stories; Ridley loved her stories. He wanted to ask her what she was working on- there had been talk of branching out into film scripts. But now was not the time. What was happening he felt was pulling them apart. A terrible awkwardness in the air. Jasper’s presence did not help. Tammy’s love for her father was still evident, but the situation was stifling her.

“We can talk about things if you want to”, said Ridley.

“No”, said Jasper “Be chipper, Dad. We don’t want to go there. Besides we don’t know…

He stopped. He looked at his sister and then at his father. Ridley smiled inwardly. No there was no need to go there. He was long past caring about what motivated his son. And he knew the phone calls he had made. Indeed he had agreed that Jasper should be told the whole story. He couldn’t work out whether he had done that out of mischief or kindness. But there again in his long life he reckoned he had yet to find a motive that was not mixed.

“I’ll make some tea”, said Tammy getting up.

It wasn’t necessary he thought but he didn’t say so. He knew she needed to go to the kitchen, not specifically there, somewhere other than that room.

“No milk for me”, said Jasper.

Tammy turned and gave him a long look before she replied.

“I know”.

Ridley used her absence to reflect over his past. He’d been doing a lot of that. His old mate Roger had said “stick to sex and travel”. But there was more. He was a man who noticed things. Tammy had got her writing skills from him. He knew that; it was one thing he was proud of. His walking days were over, but he remembered the tiniest of things. How he watched a spider suspended above the canal as he walked the Harrow Road, its silky links all but invisible. And that foggy day in Spitalfields when Christ Church hung in the mist. Some very bearable lightness of being.

He was very urban in his later years walking around London and Paris. Yes, he would say, I like sightseeing, but I do not know what those sights are until the walk is through.

Reminiscing was making him sleepy, so sleepy, and his eyes clouded over just before Tammy came back with the tea tray.

***************************

He was in the same chair when his eyes opened and there was a cup of tea on a table beside him. He reached out for it.

“Don’t”

It was said gently but firmly, and there seemed to be ancient wisdom in the quiet command. He looked up. There was no sign of Tammy. He was looking at his mother. He hadn’t seen her for a long time, but she looked just the same. So did his father who was sitting where Jasper had been.

“You have had a good life”, his mother said.

“Lecturing was right for me. I liked the sound of my own voice.”

“And the sound of your ideas”, added his father.

“That even more”, admitted Ridley.

“I meant more your behaviour to others than how you earned your living”, said his mother.

Ridley felt his parents were leading the conversation, but he was too tired to intervene.

“We mustn’t talk too much”, said his father “Just have a gentle ramble through your memories”

“That’s all there is really”, agreed Ridley.

“That’s not all it was”, said his mother. She paused. “But it is now”.

Two old mates of Ridley’s had joined them

“It’s Reg and John” he exclaimed.

They vaguely waved at him.

“They’ll be wanting to have a pint with you”, said his father.

Ridley nodded.

“Choose a pub”, insisted his father.

“The Bear and Billet then”, said Ridley to humour him.

And to Ridley’s astonishment they were all sitting in the Billet as it was when he had been much younger. It occurred to him he must be dreaming. Often in his life he had had that feeling, and, if he had wanted to end the dream, he had put his hands to his eyes, found them closed, closed tight, and he had pulled at them with all his strength, pulled like they were Magdeburg hemispheres, until they opened.

He didn’t necessarily want to end this dream, but it was so strange that he did want to check.

“Don’t do that”, said his mother for the second time.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because there is nothing there”.

“What!”

“Because”, said his father gently, “You’re dead, son”.

Now Ridley remembered, He was dying. His children had come to see him for the last time.

“So this is… erm… heaven?”

“No. It’s your brain still working. Just for a few minutes after your heart stops.”

“But you’re here and you died twenty years ago”

“No. We’re just images from your brain”

“But you’re telling me things.”

“Think of it as talking to yourself, son. Parts of your brain, or soul -same thing, beauteous entanglements you could never before access are telling you things. They are like parents to your conscious self. That’s why you see them as us.”

But…”

“Ssshh”, said his father “You have little time left. Let us be silent. Until we all fade away. You feel calm now I think.”

“Yes. Calmer than I’ve ever felt before.”

“Just think back on the sweetness of life. The sweetness of your life”

Until things started to shiver and to shimmer. Until there was nothing left.

******************

Jasper was leaning over his father’s body testing pulse and breath. He shook his head. Tammy picked up her phone.