The Fourth Day of November

by Mark Campbell

  Each of us blew kisses through the window, when leaving the hospital. Emma asked to be lifted up so she could show grandma a picture that she had drawn for her.

  ---

  Upon leaving the hospital, we met up with unexpected faces at the car park. Peter, Hyacinth and Ronnie exited from a Vauxhall Vectra. When asked how they managed to get a flight so quickly, I learned they had taken the company’s private plane for the trip to England. This didn’t sit well with me. The thought of company property being used for personal interests, led to a heated discussion. It wasn’t until Lee helped me rationalize the situation that I calmed down.

  The aircraft was bought to help breast cancer patients and their families. It was now my family. This was no different. So, when all was said and done, all I could do was ask my friends for forgiveness. Of course, neither one of them took the misunderstanding to heart. They were my friends, and were here for moral support.

  After having a lengthy conversation in the car park, the women decided to do what they do best, go shopping. The men went back home to my mother and father’s house.

  ---

  ‘Thanks for bringing the milk in boys.” Dad picked up his copy of the sun newspaper with the topless birds on page three.

  “Does mum still call you a dirty old man for looking at the page three girls?” I chuckled when I saw the newspaper.

  “She calls me that every day.” Dad smirked. “I ask her isn’t that why she married me.”

  “Oh, come on dad!” I rolled my eyes. “Bradley and I didn’t need to know that.”

  “You asked son.” He laughed.

  “That may be so, but too much information.”

  “You boys act like old men. It's surprising to me that either one of you have children.” Dad expressed before hurrying me to close the front door. He didn’t want to let any flies into the house. “How about a nice hot cuppa with some biscuits like the old days lads?”

  Before we could answer, dad volunteered me for the job. “Put the kettle on, Alistair. That’s a good lad.” He smiled. “Don’t forget to wash your hands both of you. You know your mother doesn’t like anyone sitting around her table with dirty hands.”

  The chime of the doorbell rang. “Grab that, Alistair. That’s a good lad.” Dad requested.

  “I’m making the tea.” I protested.

  “The kettle hasn’t even boiled yet.” Dad challenged.

  “Yes, it has.”

  “Then turn it off on the way to the front door.” Dad took a stool to reach the top cupboard. He searched for the morning coffee biscuits that Bradley and I had scoffed down earlier.

  The sound of Clive’s voice bellowed from behind the front door, stopping me in my tracks.

  “What do you want?” I joked. “If you’re selling something, we are not interested.”

  “You know it's me Alistair. Stop acting like a jobby and open the door, or else.”

  “Or else, what?” I laughed. “What are you going to do, duff me up?”

  There was a sudden eerie silence. Slowly opening the door, I realized that the big hulk figure that stood on the opposite side of the door had disappeared. Carefully, I peeped around the side of the house, hoping that Clive wouldn’t jump out on me. He wasn’t there either. Suddenly the front door slammed, scaring the living daylights out of me.

  “Look who's on the other side of the door, now!” His big laugh was a rambunctious rumble.

  “Come on, Clive. Open the door and stop being a pratt.”

  “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.” I feigned courage.

  Within seconds, the front door flew open. Clive, with his massive frame, ran and tackled me into dad's rose bushes.

  “What the bloody hell are you two devils up to, destroying my garden?” Dad yelled from the front door. “You little bleeders, get out of there right now.”

  Clive and I jumped to our feet.

  “The two of you will fix that later. Get in the house.” Dad surveyed his rose bushes before calling us “bloody kids”.

  ---

  Dad shared stories of Bradley and I growing up at 26 Brown Street. He enjoyed sharing the times the four of us went outside to play football together in the big field across from the house. Sometimes Terry, Clive, Jon Blihia, Michael Draper, John Draper, Paul Skinner, Ali Bahkali and Nordean Bahkahli would show up to play for hours. Then, mum would call us in for tea, ham sandwiches, crisps, fizzy drinks, sausage rolls or Cornish pasties. She made sure there was always enough food to go around for everyone.

  “Mr. Scott, you mentioned there were four of you: Bradley, Alistair and yourself. That is only three. Who was the fourth person?” Ronnie asked inquisitively.

  “Who would like a refill?” I asked jumping up from my chair like a jack-in-the-box before dad answered the question.

  “Good idea, son. Make a fresh pot of tea.”

  Clive grabbed the last pack of rich tea biscuits.

  “Put that back.” Dad pushed his hand. “That goes for you too, Alistair. You and your bodybuilding cousin have to work that off in the garden, fixing my rose bushes.

  “Not much has changed between these two over the years.” Bradley added. “They still like to scrap.”

  The scratches from the rose bushes started to itch.

  “Son, stop scratching that.” Dad warned. “You’ll make it worst.” He shook his head. “You and your muscle-bound cousin are never going to grow up. Your mother keeps some antiseptic upstairs in the bathroom cabinet. Go and get it.”

  “Who’s going to make the tea?” I asked defiantly.

  “Don’t worry about making the tea. Bradley will do it. Won’t you Bradley?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Bradley sighed.

  “No, you don’t. Be polite, son. We have guests.”

  “What about Clive? He's no guest.”

  “That’s quite true, son.” Dad grinned. “However, he cannot be trusted around food. He’ll eat all the food in the house while making the tea.”

  Clinton sipped tea from his teacup, spitting some out from laughing at dad's comment.

  ---

  Mum always kept a small bottle of Dettol inside the medicine cabinet mounted over the washbasin. Dad crafted the cabinet years ago, during my first year of secondary school. His workmanship had held up very well. Dad was good with his hands. He had built chairs, tables and stools for our modest home and other members of the family.

  Opening the door on the old cupboard was hard. Several items fell in the washbasin—bottles of vitamins and a white square box that read Viagra. One of the packets was almost empty. Not knowing what to think, I quickly returned the contents to their rightful place. Although embarrassed, it was comforting to know my parent’s love for each other kept flourishing. Not too many people could say they had forty plus years of marriage under their belt, and were still going strong, even with the aid of Viagra.

  The relief of Dettol did the trick, freeing me from itching any further. On my way downstairs, the sound of laughter continued, then stopped when I entered the kitchen. In my father’s hands, he held several pictures of Juliet and me. Peter and Ronnie found the pictures extremely amusing.

  Dad had managed to divulge information as to who the fourth person was. Juliet used to be my longtime girlfriend. Ronnie asked if Juliet was the attractive blonde he and Peter met in the hospital car park earlier that afternoon. Hiding the fact only brought more enquiring. Trying to water down the subject didn’t seem to work either.

  Before the women returned home, we gave dad a helping hand cleaning up. Clive and I got in trouble again for fighting over who would dry the cups and saucers. Bradley and Clinton just stood by, watching the two of us going at it again.

  Clive and I were always close. He used to be a bit of a terror growing up, but we were family. Nothing got in the way of that.

  August 31, 1997

  The sun crept in a small gap between the curtains in my old bedroom. It rebounded off the wall, shining directly int
o my face as I was awakened from another strange dream. I dreamt Lee stood in a field of golden grass that appeared to be the Garden of Eden. There were animals feeding from the pastures. Lee wore a long white dress, cradling a baby rabbit in her arms. Animals followed her, as I stood at a distance waving to Lee. She walked towards me, then disappeared before my very eyes.

  These dreams became more and more frequent. What could this mean? I tried many times to block this out, but there was no denying this. Answers were needed, and I knew exactly who to speak to. Mum had good knowledge of interpreting dreams. She would know what this meant.

  ---

  Emma spent the night at Bradley and Debbie’s house with Elizabeth. She always wanted a big sister, so her cousin Elizabeth fit the making of a temporary big sister. By mid morning, the sun spared nobody from its rays. By ten thirty, Lee and I took showers and went for a stroll. After eating a champion breakfast with the family, we needed some alone time before heading to the hospital to visit mum. On our stroll to the town’s center, arm in arm, we bumped into an old school friend of mine, David Jeffries. David grew up on the same street as I did.

  He had been through more than what any young child should have gone through at his age. Only having one kidney, he endured countless operations and endless shameful remarks from other children at school. Despite all of this, he never let any of what was said to him as a kid effect the outcome of him becoming a successful man. In fact, in many ways, he became more of a man than most men I know today. Now, David was doing well for himself and raising a family of his own. After a lengthy conversation, we parted ways, wishing David well.

  Lee drew her attention to the bench in front of St. James Church, which was built in 1489. It was the place where Poet Crabbe was rector for many years, until his death in 1832. Historians say that Crabbe is buried in the chancel where there is a memorial to celebrate his life. Unfortunately, St. James Church held sad memories for many people around Trowbridge.

  In 1979, a young police constable, returning from his break, noticed a shop was broken into behind St. James Church. Without hesitation, young Desmond Kellam sprung into action. Pursuing the suspect, Kellam caught up with David Octavaious James. He wrestled the suspect to the ground, but was no match for 19-year-old James, who struck him in the head with a billy-hook. Desmond Kellam fought for his life, sadly dying at the scene. One of Trowbridge’s top cops was gone forever. A brass plaque had been placed in the ground, like a Hollywood star, displaying Desmond Kellam’s name and badge number..

  ---

  Lee and I continued our walk. Her breathing became labored. But, she assured me there was nothing to worry about. Lee picked herself up from the church bench to continue the morning stroll. She had gotten to know Trowbridge very well over the years. Going back and fourth, she led us to Martin Newbury floristry shop on Castle Street. From inside the shop, the exquisite arrangements of freshly cut flowers clung to the air.

  Martin hadn’t changed much. He had short, ginger-colored hair, a stocky build and freckles that covered his arms and face.

  “Alistair Scott, how are you, mate?” Martin extended his hand to shake mine. “I heard from Clive you were back in town. Sorry to hear about your mum.” Martin trained his eyes on Lee. “And, who is this beautiful lady with you?”

  “This is my wife, Lee.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lee. What can I do for you, today?” Martin put his knowledge of floristry to work.

  “Well Martin, we would like a nice assortment of flowers. Two bouquets, please.” Lee answered.

  “Honey, there is no need for us to get mum two bouquets. One is more than enough.” I suggested.

  “The other is not for mum.”

  “Then, who is the other for?”

  “You’ll see when we leave from here.” Lee smiled.

  In no time, Martin had two nice-looking arrangements put together. Lee asked Martin to put one of the arrangements in a lovely brass vase. I had no idea what my wife was up to. Before leaving the florist, Lee asked Martin to call a taxi. It would take a little too much walking with the flowers in our hand on this rather hot day.

  Minutes later, a white Corsa pulled up. In the front seat behind the wheel was a close friend of the family, Charles Tucker.

  “Hello there, Alistair. How are you and Lee?”

  Charlie had never met Lee before, but he knew of her through my parents, who often talked about my wife. Entering the taxi, Lee whispered to Charlie to where she wanted to go. It occurred to me that my wife may be planning for us to stop at the cemetery. Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, we were outside the front gate of the cemetery.

  “Mr. Tucker would you be so kind to wait for my husband and I?” Lee asked.

  “Take as long as you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “We will pay you for your time.” Lee assured him.

  “I'm not concerned about that. Just do what you have to do, my love.” Charlie politely suggested.

  Lee stepped out of the cab and turned to me. “Alistair, it's been years now. You have to come to terms with the lost of your friend. No more pretending the pain isn’t eating you up. It’s time to let go. None of this is your fault. Move forward with your life.”

  My wife was right. On the day of the funeral, not one tear fell from my eyes. But, all eyes were on me to see how I would react to my best friend’s death. After the funeral, mum's friends asked why I never showed any emotions. Mum simply said, “My Alistair, is a funny little sod. He’s always been that way.” Mum knew better, though. She knew that losing my best friend was pulverizing me inside.

  Since then, mum and dad talked to me many times, but they decided to let me deal with it in my own way. Now, I found myself standing at the gate of the down cemetery. Walking past the many grave sites made me feel uneasy, yet calm. I felt as if my feet were in control, independently of me. I walked directly to where Paul was laid to rest.

  There was the black headstone with a picture of Paul wearing a tux in the center. The area around the stone had been beautiful. Mum told me that she and Peggy had come here at least once a week to lay fresh flowers and keep the area around Paul’s grave clear of weeds.

  I stood there for a moment or two before choking back the tears that were long overdue to flow. My heartfelt emotions were followed by words that clamped my chest as though it were being held by a vice grip. With every word, I could only hope my dear friend would know how lost I felt without him. Coming to terms with his death was not easy, even after all these years. But suddenly, my shaking and fears calmed as a unexpected gentle breeze blew towards me. At that moment, my heart knew my brother from another mother held no malice in his heart for me. Paul had always been very understanding, and in death, nothing had changed.

  Before returning to the taxi, I walked a few plots over to were my cousin Steadman was laid to rest. He too, just like Paul, had his life cut short in a traffic accident, three year after Paul's death. Steadman went through a tough time in his life, but was managing to get his life back when he was taken from us. Even now, trying to deal with his death seemed harder. But, a calmness in the air cooled me. When Lee opened the door of the taxi, I took one final glimpse back, and the cool air wisped away.

  ---

  “Hello, mum.”

  “Where have the two of you been?” Mum was more with it today, and back to her normal self. She demanded that Lee and I explain why we had come to the hospital so late.

  “Lee thought it would be a good idea for us to visit the cemetery.” I answered.

  “That’s about time. Well done, Lee for taking charge and making him go to see Paul.” She turned to face my dad. “That’s smashing, isn’t it George?” Dad sat in the corner, paying no attention to any of us as he munched on fruits from mum's fruit basket.

  “Give me that you greedy devil!” Mum snatched the basket from dad, but not before he took a handful of grapes that she made him put back.

  “We can save those for later, you stud muffin?” she winked
.

  “Oh mum, come on.” I groaned. “My wife and I don’t need to hear that.”

  “You’re such a snub, Alistair. Only God knows where you get it from.” She changed the subject. “Anyway, earlier today, lots of people stopped by—the lads from the rugby team.”

  Mum reeled off a bunch of names. “There were so many of them, the nurse asked if they could limit there time to fifteen minutes, so that the other visitors could see me.”

  “It was just as well Lee and I didn’t get here any sooner. You had plenty of company.”

  The visit from former students helped mum with her recovery. Even the doctors were shocked that just 48 hours prior, mum had a double mastectomy. She was doing better than most patients that went through the same procedure.