by Mike Gayle
“I know exactly how you feel,” said Randip shyly after a moment. “It’s been three years since my husband left me and even though my kids are good at keeping in touch, they have their own lives. Sometimes there are these long stretches of time where I feel like I don’t belong anywhere. If it wasn’t for work, I think I’d be completely lost.”
There was a long silence, so long in fact that for a moment Hubert wondered whether anyone would speak again, but then Tony shifted in his chair, coughed several times, and then began to speak.
“Actually, it was a bit like that for me,” he said. “After my relationship fell apart… well… I soon realized that I didn’t actually have any friends of my own. It was odd, a bit like not realizing you’ve lost a limb. It was as if one day I had a busy social life and the next, it had all disappeared and I was stuck at home with only Radio Four for company.” He paused and stared into his mug. “I had a bit of a breakdown, I suppose…” he said quietly. “But I’m on the mend now… that’s why I thought I’d give today a try.”
There was a brief pause while everyone reflected on Tony’s words and then Emils spoke.
“It can be very lonely moving far from your family to a different country,” he began as everyone turned to look at him. “The house where I live is full of immigrants like me and sometimes, when we are all in our rooms, it feels like we are all being lonely alone. When Mr. Hubert told me about this I thought to myself, ‘Yes, Emils, this is something you should try to help with.’”
As soon as Emils finished speaking, Jan sniffed self-consciously and then said, “The only reason I still work part-time at my age is to get me out of the house and enjoy a little bit of company. If I didn’t, I doubt I’d see anyone for days on end.”
Maude nodded vigorously and through a mouthful of cupcake said, “Back in January when there was all that ice about, I went two whole weeks without talking to another human being. It was horrible. Really lonely.”
The room fell silent again and Hubert took the opportunity to think about the strangeness of life with its ebb and flow, people drifting in and out, lives filling up and emptying seemingly at random.
“Thanks, everyone,” said Ashleigh, getting to her feet again. “As someone who arrived in Bromley only recently without knowing a single soul aside from my baby daughter, I really get what you all said. What’s clear is that we’re all here because loneliness is a big issue, which, as I said in our flyer, is a bigger killer than cancer. And—”
Ashleigh stopped midsentence as Randip raised her hand.
“I don’t really want to be that person, Ash,” she began, “but are you sure about that?”
“What?”
“About loneliness being a bigger killer than cancer.”
Tony nodded. “She’s got a point. While I get what you mean, it isn’t right. According to what I read on Google, scientists think loneliness might be a bigger killer than obesity or possibly smoking but definitely not cancer.”
“Okay, fine,” said Ashleigh. “It’s a bigger killer than obesity and smoking.”
Tony put his hand up and pulled an apologetic face. “Technically that should be ‘a bigger killer than obesity or smoking,’ not the two combined.”
“Okay,” said Ashleigh, trying not to sound exasperated, “let’s just say then that it’s a bigger killer than obesity or smoking, which means that it’s really bad, okay? Are we agreed?”
To Ashleigh’s huge relief, everyone in the circle nodded.
“Tonight,” continued Ashleigh, “we’re all here because we want to do something about it. So here’s the plan: Firstly we need to nominate a president to be our spokesperson and the face of the campaign. Then secondly we need to come up with some ideas on how we’re going to end loneliness in Bromley.”
“About that,” said Fiona, raising her hand. “Ending loneliness in Bromley is quite an ambitious undertaking, isn’t it? I was just wondering whether it might be wiser to have a rather more modest aim. After all, Bromley is quite a big place and loneliness is quite a complicated problem.”
“I was thinking something similar,” said Tony as others nodded in agreement.
“Me too,” said Randip. “I like the sound of it, but… look at us, we’re just a handful of ordinary people sitting in a room at the library that’s far too big for us. It’s not like we’re really going to be able to end loneliness, is it?”
Hubert found himself getting annoyed. Ashleigh needn’t have gone to all this effort making flyers and organizing a meeting. She could’ve easily been out getting drunk every weekend like other young people her age. But instead she’d spent both time and money trying to make a difference to the community in which she lived. He didn’t care if anyone thought that the campaign was pie in the sky. Sometimes, thought Hubert, you have to try the impossible to work out whether it is impossible. Sometimes, as his Joyce used to say, instead of waiting around for somebody else to do something, you have to be that person. Sometimes you just have to go big or go home.
It was only when everyone in the circle started clapping that it dawned on Hubert that the thoughts he’d been voicing to himself had actually been shared with the whole group.
“Well,” said Fiona, “I don’t know about everyone else but I certainly know who I’m voting for, for president.”
“Me too,” said Maude, as the others nodded in agreement. “I had a Black gentleman as a lover in the late sixties. Very handsome he was too.”
There was a stunned silence until Ashleigh, keen not to dwell on Maude’s revelation, said briskly, “Right then, all those in favor of Hubert being made president of the Campaign to End Loneliness in Bromley, please raise your hand.”
Six arms shot up in the air and the only two that remained down belonged to Hubert and Tony, although Tony’s only stayed down for a moment.
“So it’s unanimous, then,” said Ashleigh, turning to beam at Hubert. “If you accept the nomination, Hubert Bird, you are now officially our campaign president.”
Hubert didn’t know what to think. Yes, he had wanted to do something to help Gus and people like him, but he’d been convinced that Ashleigh’s idea would fall flat on its face. He certainly hadn’t had designs on even being the campaign’s secretary, let alone president. But as he took in their expectant faces and saw the expression of elation and relief Ashleigh wore, he didn’t have the heart to let them all down or to burst her bubble. And he’d meant everything he’d said, hadn’t he? This was a good thing Ashleigh was trying to do. And even if it failed, if the whole thing came to nothing, then at the very least all the people sitting in this room would be, for a time anyway, a lot less lonely.
26
THEN
September 1977
Hubert and Joyce had been talking in the kitchen when the shouting had begun upstairs. It was generally Hubert who dealt with altercations between Rose and David, and so taking the stairs two at a time, he burst into Rose’s bedroom to find his children squaring up to one another, faces inches apart, yelling the most venomous of threats. The moment Hubert entered the room, however, the shouting stopped and they each took a step away from the other, as though a bell signaling the end of round one had just rung, although they continued to shoot each other furious looks from their respective corners.
“If this is about damn bedrooms again, me going to be seriously vex!” snapped Hubert. He didn’t like losing his temper but he would if the situation required.
Neither said a word, thereby confirming Hubert’s suspicions.
“Well?” he demanded. “What’s all this damn noise about?”
David’s broad shoulders sagged, signaling defeat.
“I don’t see why she’s still got the bigger room when she’s not even going to be living here.”
“Because I’ll be coming back during holidays,” defended Rose, “and I’ll still need my desk and all my things.” She appealed to her father. “Dad, tell him.”
Hubert turned to his son and sighed.
“Boy, what me already said about Rose’s room?”
David shrugged, an action that infuriated Hubert.
“What happen? You deaf? What did me say about Rose’s room?”
“That… that… nothing is changing for the time being.”
“Exactly. So why you in here bothering your sister?”
David shrugged again.
Hubert barked, “Me waiting for an answer!”
In an instant David flipped from sullen to incensed, and desperate for a release, he kicked the corner of Rose’s bed.
“Because it’s not fair! She always gets everything she wants. She’s your favorite!”
Before Hubert knew what he was doing, he had lifted his hand, ready to strike his son. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smacked either of his children, but this past year David had been sorely trying his patience and today of all days he’d just had enough.
“David! Go to your room this instant!”
All three spun around to see Joyce in the doorway wearing a look of fury to match Hubert’s. For the first time in a long while David didn’t argue with his mother and instead, grateful to be out of his father’s reach, he left the room, slamming his door shut with such force the whole house shook.
Joyce turned to Rose, her expression softening.
“Almost done packing, love?” Rose nodded. “Good, well, why don’t you help your dad put the rest of the things in the car and I’ll go and talk to your brother.”
Today was a momentous day for the Birds: Rose was off to university, the first member of either branch of the family ever to attend. Hubert and Joyce had been so proud when she’d received her A-level results back in August, neither of them fully realizing just how quickly she would be gone. It was as though one moment they were celebrating her success with a family meal at a country pub, and the next they were collecting boxes from the supermarket in which to pack her belongings for the five-hour drive to Durham.
Hubert observed that each member of the family had taken the news that Rose would be leaving the home in their own unique way. Rose herself had been fizzing with excitement from day one, a whirlwind of activity ever since, purchasing new clothes and shoes and restyling her hair in a bid to have her reinvention as a sophisticated woman of the world complete before her arrival in the halls.
By contrast, David, whose behavior had been going steadily downhill for the past few years, spiraled off into a steeper decline. Besides the constant arguments with his sister, there had been a number of incidents over recent weeks where he’d defied his parents and stayed out far later than he was allowed, and just last weekend he’d been brought home by the police after he and his so-called friends smashed up a bus shelter.
It wasn’t as if Hubert and Joyce were strangers to teenage rebellion—at her worst, Rose had been quite the handful—but this was different. It felt less like a phase and more like it was becoming a permanent state of affairs, and neither parent was sure what to do for the best. They’d tried punishing him, they’d tried reassuring him he was loved, reminding him everybody made mistakes and it was in his power to turn things around, but nothing worked. It was as if Rose’s success had only confirmed his belief that he was and would always be a failure.
For her part, Joyce had focused on practical arrangements: making her daughter a new bedding set, gathering together a box of kitchen utensils, taking her shopping for things she might need, and helping wherever and whenever she could to tick off items from Rose’s ever-lengthening to-do list that was pinned to the corkboard in the kitchen. Hubert, however, could see past all the busyness to what was really going on: she was scared, really scared of letting her daughter go off into a world that she knew had the potential to be dangerous; of the house that would keenly feel the lack of Rose’s calming presence; of the idea that her daughter might never properly return home.
Over the past few weeks, Hubert had tried to talk to his wife about it all several times, but she always brushed aside his comments with a breezy “Oh, I’m fine,” or “There’s nothing to talk about.” Of course, what she really meant was “I don’t want to talk about this because talking about it will only make it real.”
Hubert didn’t really know what he felt. He couldn’t have been prouder of his daughter and all that she had achieved, from getting into grammar school to appearing in the local paper with her outstanding A-level results. It was all he’d ever wanted for his children, that they work hard, do well, and move up in the world. But then, he couldn’t imagine what this place would be like without Rose. Would this still feel like a family home when one of its members was missing? Could the Birds still function like a unit when a quarter of their number was living over three hundred miles away? How would those who remained get along in this new arrangement when David, who was already so spiky, difficult, and hostile, became the sole focus of his parents’ attention?
This was uncharted territory for Hubert. With friends like Gus, who at forty-two was still footloose and fancy free, and the rest of the Red Lion stalwarts, none of whose children were university bound, he had no one to consult for advice. All Hubert wanted was that Rose might enjoy this next chapter of her life but also that she might not forget them, that she would remember this would always be her home, and no matter what happened in the future, he and Joyce would be there to love her, hold her, pick her up, and dust her off whenever she needed it.
By the time Hubert and Rose had finished loading the car, Joyce had worked her calming magic on David, who appeared, scowl-free, holding a Tupperware box of cakes their mother had baked the night before. “Mum says these are for you,” he said, handing them to his sister. “She’s baked some extra for the journey and even made some of the coconut ones especially for me. You can have one if you want.”
Rose smiled, the relief plain on her face that things between her and her brother were back to normal.
“Thanks,” she said, taking them from him and putting them on the back seat of the car. “If you’re lucky I might let you have one of mine.”
As Hubert sat in the car waiting for Joyce to lock up the house, he watched Rose and David in the rearview mirror. Rose, her hair styled in a fashionable Diana Ross Afro, was wearing a denim jacket over a striped V-neck sweater, every inch the chic young woman she wanted to be. David, meanwhile, had borrowed one of Hubert’s old trilbies and wore it angled so sharply that it was a miracle it hadn’t slid right off his head. He’d teamed it, Hubert observed, with a white T-shirt and black leather jacket in a bid to look cool and tough.
How could his two babies both look so grown-up when it had only been yesterday that they would crawl into his lap to watch TV? It didn’t seem possible, and yet here he was, about to set one of them on a journey that would take her who knew where. Time seemed to be racing past, the clock ticking two beats for every one, and Hubert sometimes felt like he couldn’t keep up. Before he knew it, David would be leaving too, whether to university as Hubert hoped, or off pursuing dreams of his own, and then it would be just him and Joyce again, like it had been in the early days. But that time felt so long ago, it might as well have happened to another person. He wasn’t that young man anymore and Joyce wasn’t that young woman. They were different; they were parents and had been for so long now that it was almost impossible to conceive of a life when they were anything else.
“Right then,” said Joyce as she slid into the passenger seat next to him, filling the footwell with yet more bags and Tupperware boxes full of food. “Let’s get going. We’ve got a long journey ahead.”
With delays on the motorway it was midafternoon when they pulled up outside the university accommodation office to get directions to Rose’s halls and collect the keys to her room. Joyce and David stayed in the car while Hubert and Rose joined the queue that had formed outside the office. There must have been a hundred parents standing with their nervous-looking offspring: some appeared well-to-do, others rather less so; some were tall and athletic-looking, others short and dumpy; but
the one thing they all had in common was the color of their skin.
As they waited their turn, spontaneous conversations between different sets of parents striking up all around them, Hubert wondered what he would say if he were ever included. If they told him they worked in banking, would he be honest and tell them he was a plumber, albeit one who now supervised the work of others, or would he make something up so as not to embarrass Rose, who was already looking anxious at the prospect of anything happening to make her stand out more than she already did? As it was, there had been no need to worry, as they stood in line for a good twenty minutes and no one addressed him at all.
Eventually, armed with keys and a map, Hubert and Rose returned to the car, where Joyce and David were already tucking into some of the sandwiches Joyce had packed. Rose was mortified. “What if someone sees you?” she said, ducking down in her seat. Joyce laughed. “Well, I’d offer them a sandwich. There’s plenty to go around.”
Rose’s room was on the second floor and looked out across a lake that had geese and ducks on it. It was small, with a single bed against the wall, a desk under the window, and a tiny sink and wardrobe at the other end of the room. Despite the view, Hubert thought it resembled a prison cell, but Rose couldn’t have been more delighted. While he and Joyce concentrated on unpacking her things, she focused on decorating. As she pinned up posters with bold political slogans and artfully arranged her books and cassettes, she chattered away to her brother about the welcome event planned for that evening.
All too quickly, the last things were unpacked, her bed made, curtains fixed, suitcases emptied and stowed away, and soon there was nothing left other than to say goodbye as Rose walked them back to the car.
