Bless em all

Nancy pulls the blind tight against the sunlight. In this side room, the ward’s buzzers and beeps are muffled, distant. The fluorescent light flickers, highlighting white stubble on Rod's face, as he lies against the pillows. Ken stares as the taped cannula metronomically drips colourless liquid. Wife and son sit sentry at his deathbed as the monitor counts out his heart’s closing rhythm. Nancy’s tears slip down her face as she holds his thin, liver-spotted hand. Ken, face harrowed by helplessness, plucks at the bedsheet.

Ken looks up at the clock. The vigil is passing slowly. ‘Feels like a confessional in here…I wrote him a letter. I knew he was giving up. I tried to encourage him. Talked about your dos, the barrels of beer, party pieces, sing-a-longs. Said I finally understood. I shouldn’t have left home.’

Nancy dabs at her tears with a soggy Kleenex.

‘Been a long time since you saw a confessional... He wasn’t an easy man to live with, was he? He had a hard life. He never talked about it to you kids. It all came out after that mysterious paralysis of his. Doctor said there was nothing wrong with him. Lost him his job, that did. I had to go to work, nightshift at Gerrards. He gave me the whole story one day when I came home...Yes, he loved your letter. It’ll be under his pillow now.’

She slips her hand under the pillows and pulls out the crumpled letter. ‘Look at all these pills under here. He hasn’t been taking them. Oh, he is a stupid stubborn old sod.’

‘You knew that I had to get out. I couldn’t take the mood swings, rages, violence. Everything I did was wrong. You never knew which dad you were going to get. I used to hide from the ‘been to the pub dad’. I liked the ‘sweets on pay day dad’. You remember that terrible Saturday night?’

Nancy nodded.

‘I finally stood up to him when he was so horrible to you. Told him what I thought of him, that I hated him. He hit me, so hard. I wouldn’t cry. Just ran for it. Ended up in that grotty old flat share.’

Nancy twists a paper hankie in her hands, tries to smile.

‘Ah, the pay day sweets. Stopped off at Ginger Brett’s on that old bike. Remember when he came home with conkers for you both? A spiky one had hit him on the head as he went past Kingsdown Park.’

‘We used to get conkers there, climbing up, throwing sticks up into the trees. Chris Brown fell out onto his head. In hospital for a week.’

‘And you in hospital. Bet you don’t remember…they put you in the Isolation Hospital. You were only two. Cried your eyes out when I couldn’t get bananas.’

‘I’ve never told anyone this but once after he came home from the pub, Saturday night it was, I was allowed to stay up to watch War in the Air. It was Burma and Dad was glued to it. Cigarette burning down, unsmoked, between his fingers. I went upstairs for a wee and when I came back, he sneered ‘Here he is, the little half-Yank.’ I didn’t understand it but…’

‘Oh my God! Fancy you remembering that. You were born nine months after he came home. He was forever putting two and two together and making anything but four. And you take after my side of the family; fair hair, blue eyes, He just…’

The monitor beeps faster. Rod’s eyes open and he says clearly, ‘Never volunteer,’ and sleeps.

The monitor returns to its rhythmic beat. The wail of an ambulance dies away.

‘Burma changed him.’ She said quietly.

The words hang heavily in the air.

‘They promised 30 days, then home. They were left in the jungle, forgotten, starving. Sickness, death, all around them. He had to shoot his mule. Left his best mate to die. They all wondered who was next.’

Ken nods, ‘Remember when I swapped his slouch hat for marbles? He chased me up the other stairs, slapped my legs on every step, left, right, left, right, up to the top; I was terrified.’

‘That was just before our first holiday, Isle of Wight. You wet yourself cos there was no corridor on the train. Those terrible soggy sandwiches and leaving cream cracker crumbs everywhere.’

‘He wore that sports jacket. I said it smelt of workmen. Kind of oily and smoky. Back after a lunchtime pint, I bet. “Just going for a walk.” Spangles in his pocket for us kids though.’

‘On the way back, he helped that old lady on to the train and it went off with him. We were all on the station, no tickets, no money.’

‘I remember you crying Mum but didn’t know why.’

‘They made a special stop at the next station and got him back to us, do you remember?’

‘I only remember eating crisp sandwiches on the station. We’d never had crisp sandwiches before.’

‘It was sugar sandwiches on a Wednesday night, pay day Thursday.’

‘Yeah, sweet night for us kids.’

‘It was all a routine then, Monday washing day, Shepherd’s pie from Sunday’s joint. Tuesday rissoles, Wednesday…’

‘Sugar sandwiches,’ they chorus.

They both manage wan smiles and fall silent.

Ken sinks his head in his hands. Nancy closes her eyes.

The clock ticks.

Ten silent minutes pass.

'He took me into Town on the bus, asked for a stop that hadn't existed for years and then argued that the fare was wrong. On the way back he put a string of sausages round his neck, said he was the Mayor of Stratton. Hoped none of my mates would see us.'

‘He would have been drinking Rum and Black.’

‘That was the Christmas I was in the school play.’

‘Oh, you were so good. The Prince with Green Hair. I dyed a wig for you. When you came out on stage, so confident, remembered your lines, everyone gasped.’

‘Mr. Appleford told me “Make the back row listen”. Loved it.’

‘Your dad was so proud of you.’

‘Was he? He never said. Then he watched me play football and laughed at me, said, ‘it’s beyond our Ken.’ All the dads laughed. That hurt. Good job our Stu can play.’

A head pops round the door and whispers, ‘Would you like a cup of tea? I’ve got biscuits if you like. Custard Creams, Ginger Nuts and Digestives?’ The door squeaks shut. The air carries the smell of floor polish and bed pans.

Ken shakes his head. Nancy answers, ‘Not at the moment, thank you. Nice of you to think of us.’

She continues when the nurse disappears, ‘He wasn’t all bad, only sometimes…’

‘He could be hard though. I used to keep clear on Saturday mornings. You’d be at work, he would have his head in the paper, looking up form. And smoking. Senior Service, used to smoke half, pinch it out and put it behind his ear. I remember one time I wanted to ask him a question. I said ‘Dad’, no answer, ‘Dad’, no answer, ‘Daaad’ …and he growled, ‘Dad’s ass’’. I stopped asking him things after that.’

‘Saturday morning hang over. Wash and shave about 11. Betting shop, The Wheatsheaf, then his famous ‘forty winks’, routine he learnt from Grampy. They used to meet up Saturday and Sundays, swap gardening tall stories, moan about the Town. Us wives used to join them later on Saturday nights. Port and lemon. Or a schooner of sherry.’

Rod stirs. His eyes flutter. He draws a rasping breath. Nancy grips his hand tightly; Ken looks at the floor, closes his eyes.

The monitor resumes a steady rhythm.

The door flies open. A small boy rushes in, bringing wafts of disinfectant and air freshener, ‘Hello Gran...Dad?’

Ken is lost in thought.

‘Dad?’ Ken shakes his head.

‘Daaad?’

‘Dad’s as…what do you want, son?’

‘Can I have some sweets?’

Ken reaches into his jacket pocket.