All the Lonely People

by Mike Gayle

  He leaned forward and pressed his lips against her cheek.

  “Me love you from the tips of your toes to the top of your head and what’s more, me always will.”

  35

  NOW

  Would you like to come through? Councilor Pemberton will see you now.”

  Getting to their feet, Hubert and Ashleigh exchanged nervous glances as Councilor Pemberton’s personal assistant gestured to the door behind her.

  Ashleigh straightened her skirt.

  “What do you think?” she whispered. “Do I look like someone you’d take seriously?”

  Hubert nodded solemnly, even though he was of the opinion that if “serious” was the look she was going for, then she might have been better off not accessorizing her smart business suit with a Minnie Mouse hairclip.

  “It was the only one I could find in the flat that wasn’t broken,” she said, noticing Hubert’s eyes lingering on the top of her head just a moment too long. “And this bit of hair just won’t behave itself.”

  “Me think it’s very you,” said Hubert diplomatically.

  “Thanks, Hubert.” She gave her companion a cursory once-over. “And as always, you look very dapper. We make a cracking team, don’t we?”

  “That we do. That we certainly do.”

  It had been a little over a week since the second public meeting of the campaign, which had been so oversubscribed it had been standing room only. It seemed that not only had the publicity worked, but Hubert had been wrong about people’s reluctance to turn “likes” into action. By the end of the night they had completely run out of sign-up sheets and now had an army of volunteers, both young and old, willing to help out with whatever was needed.

  Among the committee, there was a new sense of excitement about their mission: suddenly this wasn’t just an airy-fairy idea but something real and tangible, which was actually going to happen. Even the normally cynical Tony remarked at the end of the evening, “This must be what it feels like to witness the beginning of a revolution.” And just when it seemed things couldn’t get any better, a bearded man in an ill-fitting suit approached Hubert and introduced himself as a representative of their local councilor. “Mr. Pemberton’s really keen to meet with you,” he said, handing Hubert a business card. “He’s been following your story from the beginning and wants to know what he can do to help.” One telephone call and the swapping of a shift with Randip later, and now here they were in the plush interior of Bromley Town Hall.

  “So pleased to finally have the opportunity to meet you both!” said Martin Pemberton. He got up from his chair and walked around the large, ornately carved mahogany desk. He was a silver-haired man with tired eyes and a ready smile and seemed genuinely pleased to see them. “You’ve certainly been putting Bromley on the map this past month, haven’t you?”

  “Well, to be honest, it’s mostly been Hubert. The media can’t get enough of him. Did you see him on This Morning the other day? It was all I could do not to scream when I saw him on the sofa next to Phil and Holly! Couldn’t believe it, like!”

  “I know,” said Councilor Pemberton, “very impressive, and I’ve seen and heard all the other press you’ve been doing too. It really has been exciting to watch and I want to assure you it hasn’t gone unnoticed by council members. We’ve been trying to get in contact with you for weeks now because we want to know what we can do to support your very worthy campaign. You’ve been the subject of a great number of discussions in chambers and we’re all very keen to do everything we can to help.”

  He gestured for them both to take a seat and returned to his position behind his desk, took out a notepad from a drawer, and opened it up to a fresh page.

  “To cut to the chase, the reason I asked you here today is simple: I want to find out what we at Bromley council can do to help support your campaign.”

  A bewildered Hubert turned to Ashleigh for guidance, only to find that she was already staring at him. He cleared his throat and tried his best to sound businesslike.

  “When you say support… how exactly do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. Your campaign has really struck a chord, not just with the people of Bromley but also further afield. Loneliness is a nationwide problem, and I think a people-focused response like yours could be the answer we’ve all been looking for. I couldn’t be prouder that it’s constituents in my borough that have come up with it and we want you to know we’re right behind you. And we also want to offer practical help. What would you say your most pressing needs are at the moment?”

  “Well… well…” said Ashleigh, finally finding her voice, “to be honest, pretty much everything. None of us have ever done anything like this before. To begin with we had some quite grand plans, which we’d scaled back over time, but now things have taken off we might need to have another think. I mean, we had booked a room in the community center, but I don’t think that’s going to cut it now.”

  “So which venue would you prefer?”

  Ashleigh and Hubert exchanged looks again.

  “Well… Hubert and I were talking on the way over and we were thinking… well, we were thinking maybe somewhere outside like… Bromley Park or the rec ground, for example. You know, to give the whole thing… I don’t know… a Live Aid sort of festival sort of vibe.”

  Councilor Pemberton jotted something down on his notepad.

  “And then,” said Ashleigh, warming to her theme, “there would be a whole week of anti-loneliness events around the local area. Things like ‘get to know your neighbor’ meet-ups, coffee mornings, and refugee welcome events. Basically anything and everything to get people out of their homes and talking to each other.”

  “Sounds really exciting,” said Councilor Pemberton, adding yet more notes to his pad. “These are all things we can definitely help you with.” He considered the pad for a moment. “When ideally are you thinking about for everything to happen?”

  Hubert thought for a moment. He didn’t want to be busy with campaign business when Rose was fresh in town.

  “Perhaps somewhere toward the end of August?”

  Ashleigh nodded in agreement.

  “The bank holiday weekend would be perfect. Bank holidays always put people in a good mood.”

  Councilor Pemberton drummed his fingers on his desk thoughtfully.

  “Well, I’ll be honest, for large events like this we normally plan at least a year in advance. But I suppose we really do need to capitalize on the momentum you’ve established. It’ll be a push, but let me speak to some people and I’ll see what we can do.”

  They chatted about their hopes for the launch day for a good amount of time, but then Councilor Pemberton’s secretary entered the room to inform him that his next appointment had arrived. After shaking hands, all three agreed to keep in touch and then Hubert and Ashleigh were led out of the room.

  Ashleigh was wide-eyed.

  “I can’t believe it. Did that really just happen?”

  Hubert laughed.

  “It doesn’t seem real, does it?”

  “This is too amazing for words. I can’t wait to tell the others so we can celebrate. This is really happening, Hubert. We really are going to end loneliness in Bromley once and for all!”

  “So you’re saying the council’s actually going to put its money where its mouth is for a change?” asked Tony, as those of the committee who could make it sat in the beer garden of the Three Horseshoes having a celebratory drink.

  Ashleigh took a sip of her white wine spritzer.

  “Well, them and some local businesses, apparently. He said we should carry on fundraising as every bit helps, but yeah, it looks like things have really taken off and we can do everything we’ve planned and maybe even more besides!”

  “It all feels rather surreal,” said Fiona. “Who’d have thought that anyone would end up taking our little campaign so seriously?”

  Ashleigh wiped a dribble of juice from Layla’s chin before sending her for a walk around the garden
with Jan.

  “Well, I always did. It’s like we said at the beginning, ‘Go big or go home’… It’s certainly gone big, hasn’t it?”

  Fiona laughed.

  “I’ll say.”

  “They’re only doing it to make themselves look good, though,” said Tony. “It’s what politicians do: jump on good causes and take all the credit. You’ll see.”

  “They’re a right lot of sneaky beggars,” said Maude, slamming her hand down on the table so forcefully that she nearly knocked over her pint of Guinness. “And they keep forgetting to empty my green bins! It’s a disgrace!”

  Fiona took a sip of her Campari and soda.

  “Oh, don’t be such a couple of old moaners. Anyway, who cares why they’re doing this when the only thing that matters is helping those in need? This campaign is already having such a wonderfully positive effect. Only yesterday a neighbor who has barely said more than two words to me since she moved in three years ago actually stopped to have a chat. Granted, it was because she’d seen me with you chaps in the local paper, but still it’s something, isn’t it?”

  “I think you’re right,” said Ashleigh. “I was talking to one of the mums at Layla’s nursery the other day and out of the blue she started telling me about how there was a local campaign group trying to end loneliness and what a good idea it was. And I totally blew her mind when I said to her, ‘Yeah, I know, I helped start it!’”

  As Jan and Layla returned from their stroll, Fiona proposed a toast.

  “To the campaign! May it bring an end to the specter of loneliness in the borough of Bromley and beyond, once and for all!”

  As the afternoon wore on, one by one the committee members started to disperse, eventually leaving Hubert and Jan alone at the table.

  “You’re quiet,” said Jan. “Everything all right?”

  “Me was just thinking.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  Where to begin? thought Hubert. Should he confess his worries about Rose’s impending arrival? Tell her about how he had lied to his daughter for years? Reveal how he had made up fictional friends called Dotty, Dennis, and Harvey and regaled Rose with their antics week after week?

  Should he tell her of his concerns about how Rose might react when she learned the truth? How she would almost certainly give up her career and her life in Australia just to look after him? And how hurt she would be if she ever found out that he had been speaking to all and sundry about his loneliness without ever once mentioning it to her? Should he even—and Hubert was very doubtful about this—tell Jan how his feelings toward her had changed of late? That perhaps he wanted them to be more than friends? Should he share with her how happy the idea of them being together made him, while at the same time how guilty he felt even entertaining this thought after a lifetime spent loving one woman?

  Hubert sighed as he realized that although he had many worries, the one that seemed to be most pressing was the question of Gus.

  “Me was thinking about my old friend. You know the one me tell you about who living like a tramp in a broke-up flat in Brixton? With all this chat me been doing about ending loneliness in Bromley, me can’t help feeling a bit of a fraud. How can me be preaching to other people when me oldest friend in the world is living like a hermit?”

  Jan thought for a moment.

  “Then do something about it!”

  “Like what?”

  “It’s easy to waste a lot of time trying to think of a perfect solution to a problem. But sometimes the only thing you can do is cross your fingers and have a go.”

  Hubert was sitting in Gus’s living room. It was tidier than last time, but only marginally so. The two empty propane canisters had been shifted from the sofa to the floor and a rip in the side of Gus’s armchair had been fixed using silver duct tape. Gus himself, however, was still as shabby as ever. Despite the warmth of the day, he was wearing a frayed brushed-cotton shirt under a stained navy-blue sweater, his greasy-looking jeans wearing thin at all the usual stress points.

  “So, what you call this again?”

  Gus was looking at the contents of the burger box on his lap.

  “Them call it a bacon burger with cheese. You see it has bacon, a burger, and cheese in it. Me tell you, man, it’s delicious!”

  Gus lifted the burger out of its container and sniffed it suspiciously.

  “No bother skin up your nose like that! Me tell you it’s real tasty! To be honest, me wasn’t sure my first time either, but then me have a taste and since then me never look back!”

  The idea to surprise Gus with McDonald’s had come to Hubert as he’d sat on the train to Brixton following his conversation with Jan. He’d thought about perhaps buying Gus some new clothes or toiletries, but he was all too aware of how such gifts might cause offense. Then when a young man, dressed head to toe in sportswear, boarded the train and sat across from Hubert eating a chicken burger, its aroma filling the carriage, he knew exactly what he would do to cheer up his old friend.

  Hubert watched in eager anticipation as Gus took a tentative bite of his burger and chewed it slowly.

  “It dry,” said Gus.

  Then, without a shred of self-consciousness, he wiped his mouth and beard free of stray ketchup using the sleeve of his sweater.

  “Then take a sip of your drink, man!” urged Hubert.

  Gus picked up the drink from the table next to him.

  “And what you say them call this again?”

  “A strawberry milkshake. It like them take a bowl of ice cream, melt it, then pour it into a cup.”

  Gus lifted the drink to his lips and tentatively took a small suck on the straw. At first there was no change in his expression, but then he took a second long slurp, followed quickly by a third, even longer one. Hubert was convinced he could see the trace of what might have been a smile playing across his old friend’s lips.

  “So, what you think?”

  Gus pulled a face.

  “It cold.”

  Hubert kissed his teeth.

  “Me know that, you dumb fool! Me mean the taste.”

  Gus took another sip, then shrugged.

  “I’ve drunk worse things.”

  Hubert laughed and recalled with perfect clarity a moment from the old days he hadn’t considered in decades.

  “Remember that first cup of tea me make for you when you came to see me in my new lodgings?”

  Gus nodded slowly.

  “It was… it was… nasty.”

  He stopped for a moment as though he too had traveled back in time.

  “What was it that I said to you? We used to laugh about it all the time.”

  “You said… you said… I remember now… you said, ‘Smiler, this damn tea so weak it nearly a fortnight!’ Man, we laugh long time about that.” This time Gus gave Hubert a full, if somewhat toothless, smile, and in that moment Hubert knew that his plan was working.

  Each time he had been to see Gus before now, he had come wanting something from his friend: the first visit to renew their friendship for Rose’s sake and the second to find out what had gone so wrong in his old friend’s life. This time around he wanted it to be different: he didn’t want anything from Gus other than to share a meal and remember the old days. Hubert had been prepared to sit in silence while Gus ignored both him and the food. This, then, was a pleasant surprise, a glimmer of how they used to be and, he hoped, a spark that might reignite the fire of their friendship.

  36

  THEN

  September 2005

  Hubert checked his watch. How long had he been sitting here like this? He looked at Joyce lying in the hospital bed, her features obscured by an oxygen mask, her frail body swamped by the checked blue gown they had put her in, almost as if he were expecting her to answer his unspoken question.

  He needed to call Rose, he thought. He needed to let her know what was happening. But that meant going to the pay phone and the last thing he wanted was for Joyce to wake up, as she did from time to time
, and find him not there. But the call needed to be made, sooner rather than later, and so, very gently, Hubert let go of Joyce’s hand, laid it carefully by her side, and then poked his head out of the door.

  It was midmorning and Hubert knew that the nurses would all be busy doing their rounds, looking after the helpless, doing what they could do to alleviate the suffering of those in need. He felt bad even thinking of asking for help from them when they were all so run off their feet, but then he thought of Joyce and knew there was no other option.

  “You okay, Hubert?”

  It was Sampaguita, the lovely Filipina nurse, who the night before had brought him some tea and toast when she’d discovered he hadn’t eaten all day.

  “Me need to make a phone call but me don’t want to leave Joyce on her own. Me know you’re all busy, but is there any chance someone could come and sit with her? Me promise not to be long.”

  “Of course,” said Sampaguita. “You make your call, take as long as you like.” She held up the thick stack of orange folders in her hands. “I was looking for a quiet place to do this paperwork anyway.”

  Hubert thanked the nurse profusely and without delay hurried up the corridor to the pay phones at the end of the ward, and it was then that he realized he didn’t have any change. Cursing himself for not thinking of this earlier, Hubert took the lift all the way to the ground floor and then out to the hospital’s shop. The pink-haired middle-aged woman behind the counter waved the moment he walked in.

  “Oh, hello, Hubert, haven’t seen you for a while. What can I get you?”

  “Anything, me just need some change for the telephone, and me need it quick.”

  He grabbed a banana, a packet of mints, and a knitting magazine and placed them on the counter. The pink-haired woman, who was usually so chatty, seemed to pick up on the urgency of the situation and quickly rang the items up on the till, handing Hubert so much change for his twenty-pound note that his pockets bulged. She didn’t even make a fuss when he left all of his purchases behind on the counter.