All the Lonely People

by Mike Gayle

  “I feel quite giddy getting to meet you in person,” said the woman. “We both saw you on the sofa with Phil and Holly. We said at the time we thought you were fantastic.”

  “I’m Bob, by the way,” said the man, “and this is my partner, Anita. We’re so pleased to meet you.”

  Hubert introduced himself and Jan, careful to point out, as he’d had to do all morning, that they were friends and nothing more.

  “This place can feel a bit overwhelming the first time you come, can’t it?” said Anita.

  Bob laughed.

  “I hated it so much the first time, I wanted to leave straightaway.”

  “Me too,” said Anita. “They all seemed to know each other, didn’t they, Bob? And it was hard to feel like you weren’t intruding.”

  “That’s right,” said Bob. “But it’s like anything: the more time you give it, the better it gets.”

  “I wouldn’t know what to do with my Wednesdays now if this wasn’t on,” said Anita. “Pretty quickly you learn who you get on with and who to avoid, and they do some cracking trips.”

  “Oh yes,” said Bob. “We went for a tour round a brewery the other week. Brought a few souvenirs home from that excursion, I can tell you!”

  “Tell me, Jan,” said Anita. “Do you like Corrie?”

  “Like it?” said Jan, her face lighting up. “I love it.”

  “Well, the club’s got a trip planned in September to Granada Studios, where they make it! Have you been? It’s fantastic. There are still some places left on the coach, if you fancy it.”

  Spurred on by Bob and Anita, Hubert and Jan not only signed up for the trip but also put their names down for the Christmas meal, as Anita explained that even this early there were only a few spaces left.

  After helping themselves to another cup of tea, Hubert and Jan sat down and chatted more with Bob and Anita. Hubert learned that although Bob, originally from Melton Mowbray, was a die-hard Leicester City fan, he was not averse to watching cricket and had also spent some time in Barbados with the engineering company he’d worked for most of his life. This revelation led to all manner of discussions about life in the Caribbean, conversations that sadly were cut short by Audrey’s announcement that their time in the room was over, as the Zumba Mums had already started to arrive.

  As they helped clear the room and pack the equipment away, Hubert couldn’t help thinking that after all this time, after all this effort, he was very close to having found himself the two extra friends he needed to present to Rose. So they were called Bob and Anita rather than Dennis and Harvey, and yes, he might have to drag himself all the way up to Manchester on a coach to see a film set for a soap opera he had no interest in to do it, but the important thing was that he would have friends, real live friends, to introduce to his daughter when she arrived.

  “We should go out for lunch sometime,” said Jan. “Me and Hubert had a very pleasant meal at Ketner’s Garden Centre recently, do you know it?”

  “Know it?” said Anita. “We love it. In fact, they’ve just sent us a couple of two-for-one vouchers, if you’re interested.”

  Jan laughed.

  “I love a good bargain! What do you say to lunch next Tuesday?”

  Hubert felt like a different person as he and Jan sat on the bus home. He felt lighter, like a weight had been taken off his shoulders. Finally he could relax and really look forward to Rose’s visit. Granted, he’d still have a lot of explaining to do, about his deception and, of course, about his involvement in the campaign, but now he’d managed to put together, at least in part, some of the life he’d been pretending to have, and surely that had to count for something.

  “It’s been a good day, hasn’t it?” said Jan.

  They were now standing at the bus stop around the corner from Hubert’s, waiting for the 105 that would take Jan home.

  Hubert felt almost unable to contain his relief.

  “It’s been wonderful. Thank you so much for coming with me. Me couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Jan beamed at Hubert.

  “I enjoyed it. Normally things like that aren’t my cup of tea, but going with you made all the difference.”

  The roar of an engine in the distance alerted them to the approach of Jan’s bus and as it drew closer, Hubert bent to give her a kiss on the cheek as had become their custom. At the last moment, however, she turned her head and planted a lingering kiss right on Hubert’s lips.

  “I’ll… I’ll… see you tomorrow,” said a flustered Jan as they parted. “Seven o’clock at Fiona’s house, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” said Hubert, trying his best to regain his composure as the bus pulled up next to them. “Me think that’s right.”

  Before he knew it, Jan had hopped onto the bus and as he watched it disappear, Hubert tried his best not to think about what had just happened, and failed. He’d liked the idea of taking things further with Jan but the reality filled him with a mixture of such strange emotions—happiness, guilt, fear, and self-loathing—that he didn’t know what he thought anymore. No, he would have to do a better job of keeping a tight lid on his thoughts until he’d opened up his front door, slipped off his shoes, and made a brew. He needed proper thinking time. This was too much for him to take in at the moment.

  The minute he opened his front door, his Yale key still in the lock, Hubert sensed that something wasn’t quite right. The air in the hallway felt different somehow and there were sounds coming through the house that shouldn’t have been there. Withdrawing his key from the lock, he moved farther into the hallway and as he glanced through the open door of the front room, the fear that had been growing with each passing moment was confirmed by the smashed china, the overturned bookcase, the framed pictures lying shattered on the floor. He’d been burgled.

  38

  THEN

  October 2005

  Hubert took a freshly laundered handkerchief and handed it to his daughter.

  “Come on, darling, don’t get upset. Me will be absolutely fine. Me promise.”

  Rose held the handkerchief up to her nose and then smiled through her tears.

  “Even after all these years you still dab cologne on your hankie like a proper gent!”

  “Well, that’s because me never know when me going to meet a damsel in distress!”

  “I just hate thinking of you on your own, Pops. Maybe it’s not too late. I could change my ticket, tell the university I need a bit more time here.”

  Hubert rested his hands on her shoulders.

  “Darling, darling, you’ve put off your flight twice now as it is! And that university of yours has been very good to you already. As much as me would love you to stay forever, you need to go back to work, get on with your life. You need to go home.”

  It was five thirty in the morning and Hubert and Rose were standing in an area just in front of passport control at Heathrow Terminal 3, saying their goodbyes. All around them, people were preparing for journeys that lay ahead. Some were drinking overpriced coffee from the nearby concession, others were stocking up on last-minute essentials like magazines and chocolate bars, while others anxiously checked their watches and phones as they awaited the arrival of traveling companions. In the midst of this hubbub, however, Hubert and Rose were an island of stillness as he tried his best to persuade her to leave, while she just as fiercely argued the case for staying.

  It had been a little over six weeks since a heartbroken Hubert had picked his daughter up from this very airport and taken her home. Six weeks during which he had buried the love of his life while trying his best not to fall apart. In the end, he remained strong through the whole ordeal not for his own sake, but for Rose’s. Though she was now well into her forties and knew more about the world and how it worked than he would ever know, to him she was still his little girl, a little girl who needed looking after, protecting and shielding from the vagaries of this life. Therefore, no matter how much he missed Joyce, no matter how much the prospect of living life without his
beloved filled him with dread, he would never allow the grief he felt to totally subsume him. No, he would be strong for Rose always. He would be there for her whenever she needed him. This was his job. Having already lost one child through circumstances outside of his control, he wasn’t about to lose another. Rose was his flesh and blood, his pride and joy, and his last living connection to Joyce.

  “But there’s still so much that needs doing,” Rose persisted.

  “Like what? You’ve more than taken care of everything. Me could never have got through these past weeks without your help. Never. And if you think for a second that me don’t want you here, then let me tell you you’re wrong. Me would love to have you here all the time, Rose. But you know as well as me that your mother wouldn’t want the two of us moping about the place and making it untidy! She would want us out there living our lives to the full. She was so proud of you, Rose, we both are, and you have worked too hard for too long just to give up on everything now to come home and rot. You’re nearly a professor! My little Rose a professor! Me can’t wait for it to happen. You’re nearly there, my girl, you’re nearly there. Don’t give up now!”

  Rose fell silent and for a moment Hubert was convinced he’d won her over, but then she sighed heavily, bit her lip, and tried a different tack.

  “Okay then,” she began, “you win for now, but how about this? How about you changing your mind about coming to live with me for a few months? How great would that be? I know you’d love the weather and seeing all the sights and meeting new people. It could be a new lease on life for you.”

  “Me definitely look into it,” said Hubert, keen to show himself willing. “You know me always wanted to see a kangaroo in real life.” He stopped and chuckled. “The Red Lion had kangaroo burgers on the menu once and Shorty bet me that me wouldn’t eat one, so me did.” Hubert laughed and then screwed up his face comically. “It tasted a bit like beef but not as nice, so me said to meself next time me see one of them creatures it had better be alive!”

  Unable to resist the effect of her dad’s humor, Rose laughed for a few moments but then eyed him thoughtfully as though something had just occurred to her.

  “Okay, I think I’ve got a solution,” she said as a gaggle of boisterous young men dressed in straw hats, shorts, and espadrilles walked past them. “I’ll get on this plane on one condition and one condition only.”

  “Name it.”

  “You have to promise that you’ll pick up your life again. Start seeing all the old friends you lost touch with while looking after Mum—you know, Uncle Gus and that crowd of reprobates you used to meet at the Red Lion. They were all so wonderful at the funeral, said so many kind things about both you and Mum, and they said how much they’ve missed you these past few years. I can’t think of any group I’d rather have looking out for you. So that’s my offer: I’ll get on the plane if you promise that the first thing you do when you reach home is phone them and make some plans to meet up. Do we have a deal?”

  Gazing at his daughter in wonderment, Hubert couldn’t help thinking what a fine young woman she had become. She was kind and considerate but tough when she needed to be. She was hardworking and diligent too, and judging from the friends who had called and sent cards following Joyce’s passing, she still had an active social life. She was everything he and Joyce had hoped she would be and it felt good to be loved by her. This last reason alone felt like all the motivation he needed to carry on, to keep on trying, to strive to find meaning in life now that Joyce had gone.

  “Me promise it will be the first thing me do,” he said and, grinning, he lifted one hand in the air and placed the other across his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

  True to his word, Hubert called Gus that evening and after a long chat told him that he would be joining him and the rest of the gang at the Red Lion. Gus had been over the moon and said he would call everyone to make sure there was a full turnout. And so it was that two days later Hubert walked into the Red Lion for the first time in eight years.

  “Smiler, man!” called Gus as Hubert scanned the unfamiliar room for his friends. Once again, the pub had undergone a makeover and this time the theme seemed to be taking things that would ordinarily have been dumped and attaching them to the walls. There were kitsch sixties-style reproduction paintings everywhere, old-fashioned adverts for corsets and cough syrups adorning the bar, and all the light fittings resembled the kind of thing he and Joyce had thrown out in the seventies. But the bones of the place were unchanged and the sight of the old gang gathered around a table made him feel as if he’d come home.

  Once Gus had set him up with a pint of Guinness, Hubert settled back in his seat and enjoyed the banter. Although his friends had all made the effort to drop by from time to time over the years, they’d always come individually or in pairs at most, not wanting to disturb or disrupt the careful routine Hubert had constructed for Joyce. So it had been a long time since they’d all been together like this, laughing, joking, teasing one another mercilessly, and Hubert realized just how much he’d missed it.

  “So, Smiler,” said Mister Taylor, returning to the table with another round of drinks, “you want to hear my big news?”

  “Don’t tell me!” said Hubert, recalling Mister Taylor’s perennial declaration that he was done with this country and was moving back to St. Kitts. “You finally bought your ticket back home?”

  “Not quite, but me getting there. Me bought some land to build a house through my sister’s husband and him organizing a builder for me. Him sent me the plans the other day—it’s going to be a palace!”

  “Palace!” scoffed Gus. “More like a pigsty! Tell me, Mister Taylor, how you know that man isn’t just spending all your money on rum and sending you pictures of a house him get out of a magazine to keep you happy?”

  “That’s why me have me brother-in-law keeping an eye on things,” countered Mister Taylor. “Him a big man with a neck like a bull, so if that builder give him any problem him give him a good hiding!”

  “And if him brother-in-law won’t box him ears,” said Teetus, barely able to keep a straight face, “him sister will! Mister Taylor showed me some photos of her. Me not saying she fat but even her passport photo had to be taken with a wide-angle lens!”

  At this, the whole table burst out laughing: Gus had tears running down his face; Biggie Brown was having a coughing fit after his beer went down the wrong way; Oney, who rarely, if ever, understood a joke, was chuckling heartily; and even Mister Taylor joined in.

  “Just you wait,” said Mister Taylor when the laughter had finally subsided. “When me sitting in the sun on my veranda, sipping on a nice glass of rum, while you lot are back here battling through the rain of yet another English summer, you’ll be laughing on the other side of your face!”

  The rest of the afternoon continued in a similar vein: pints of Guinness, joking, laughter, ribbing, and gossip, until finally in the late afternoon they all went their separate ways. Feeling pleasantly merry but far from drunk, Hubert caught the train back to Bromley and passed the time thinking about Mister Taylor and his plans to return to the West Indies.

  Since settling down with Joyce, Hubert had never seriously considered returning to Jamaica. After all, with even Cora having moved to America, there was no one from his immediate family still there. He’d now lived far longer here in England than he had in the place he was born, and for all its faults he was glad to call it home. Still, with the winters being so cold and the summers not much better, it was tempting to imagine what it might be like to pack his things, sell up, and buy some land back home like his old friend so often talked about.

  He could settle somewhere nice, not far from his mother’s farm, which had long since been sold, or even get somewhere on the coast so he could enjoy the views. In this modern age it would be as easy for Rose to fly to Jamaica as it was for her to come to England, and every visit would be far more like a holiday for her if they could stroll along the beach of an evening.

  By t
he time he reached Bromley, Hubert had built up such an elaborate picture in his imagination that he had almost made up his mind to go through with his plans. And as he turned up the collar of his coat against the cold and made his way through the center of Bromley, he couldn’t help thinking that this time next year he could be living back in Jamaica. After all, with Joyce gone and Rose in Australia, what was really keeping him here?

  39

  NOW

  Looks like they got in over the fence at the end of the garden,” said PC Pancholi, gratefully taking the tea from Hubert. “The house at the back of you is empty, so chances are no one will have seen them. Still, it might be worth knocking on the neighbors’ doors just to make sure.”

  “You think you’ll catch them?” asked Hubert.

  The two officers exchanged glances and then PC Pancholi spoke. “It’s rare but not impossible. Sometimes we get lucky and catch them in the act; other times we nick them for one thing and then find their homes stuffed with stolen goods. To be honest, there’s just no telling. But I assure you we’ll do our best and when things have calmed down and you’ve had a chance to tidy up, I’ll give you a call, let you know where we are, and you can give us the details of what’s missing.”

  “Meanwhile we’ll sort you out a crime number,” added PC Enfield, “and if you’re lucky, either today or tomorrow one of our forensics officers will be along, although I wouldn’t hold your breath as they’re backed up from here to Timbuktu.”

  Hubert thought for a moment, mulling over likely suspects for the crime he had suffered. “Do you think it was kids?”

  PC Enfield shrugged. “It’s impossible to say. Kids, career criminals, drug addicts… the list is endless.”

  Drug addicts. Hubert’s mind immediately leaped to David. Was this his son’s doing? Would he really stoop so low? It wasn’t beyond imagining. He’d stolen from friends and neighbors in the past, along with money from Hubert’s wallet or Joyce’s purse. But surely even he wouldn’t do something like this? Hubert had seen him, though, hadn’t he? That day in Bromley when they were handing out leaflets. Perhaps seeing Hubert had triggered something in his mind. Maybe when he was drunk or on something, the idea of coming home to get what he needed for his next fix had presented itself to him.