Dear God

by Josephine Falla

  I like that, thought William. I really do. If they won’t let me make my own statue I’d like that one. I could put that in my paved-over garden. I wonder how much it is.

  He asked a garden assistant. The assistant said he would find out. It is possible no-one had ever asked him that before. Mostly people wanted gnomes and ducks and meerkats and things. He came back and told William that the statue was in the sale, as there was a very slight chip on the base, and so it would cost only £110 which was, he assured him, a massive reduction from the original price of £250.

  William asked how long it had been for sale and the assistant, who was very young and not the sharpest pencil in the box, replied that it had been for sale for a very long time, for months, actually, and there had been no interest in it, not like the lovely meerkats, would the gentleman like to consider some of the other products?

  William, fresh from his triumph with Ed that morning, and spurred on by his anger at being rejected from the sculpture class, was gaining in confidence every minute. He said, “You go back to your manager and offer him £75 for Night Vision.” The assistant scuttled off and William sat down on a nearby stone seat to wait for his reply.

  Back came the assistant, this time accompanied by the manager. “Good afternoon, Sir. So nice to see someone taking an interest in our fine statue. This is an original piece by a local craftsman. I think my assistant told you about the slight chip on the base, otherwise this really would not be in our sale. I’m afraid £75 is really far below what this is worth.”

  “Why is it called Night Vision?” inquired William.

  “Well, I don’t really know,” admitted the manager. “Artists see things in a different way,” he offered up lamely.

  “£110 is far too much for me,” said William, as sadly as he could. “Senior citizens see things in a different way, too.”

  “Oh dear,” said the manager, thinking rapidly. The unsellable statue had been there taking up space for far too many months now. “I will come down to £85 but that’s all I can do.”

  William knew when he was beaten. “Alright. £85 it is. But can you deliver it?”

  “Certainly, Sir. It will cost £20 though if you live local. We will need two men at least to manage that thing, er, that statue. Are you paying by credit card, Sir?”

  “Cash,” said William firmly. He still had the rest of the £1,000 in his pocket as he had had to pay Ed a deposit earlier.

  So the statue project cost William £105 in all, but he felt relatively satisfied with his purchase. The statue he ordered to be delivered in 10 days’ time, as he needed to be sure to have the paving done first.

  He caught the No. 74 to go home, stopping off at the Protect and Save, but once again they were closed. He decided to leave it till the two Social people were with him although he did read their opening and closing times carefully before again catching another No. 74 to get him back to the library. Only then did he realise he had forgotten to pinpoint the whereabouts of the dressing gown shop. Never mind, he thought, I’ve had a very satisfactory day, one way or another.

  Ginger was in and met him enthusiastically. William felt, if not on top of the world, at least steady and pleased with his day. Now all he had to get through were these two visits from the psychiatrist man and the review people, which included the two Social men he knew already.

  “Two more hurdles to go, Ginger, and we’ll be alright.” Thursday evening he had a very cautious session in the pub explaining to Jimmy that he needed his wits about him the next day.

  Friday dawned. William had been thinking about this meeting all night. What exactly was it for? He must remain on his guard, not give this Forbes person any sort of reason to shove him off to the place with the red curtains. That was the worst that could happen. But there were other possibilities. Supposing he went on about how William would be better off in a Home? He had to show that he was perfectly able to conduct his own satisfactory life by himself. Granted he did need the help of Denis and Robert, or at least one of them, he wasn’t sure he would manage the pills and the financial things without them, but by and large he’d get by. Well, sort of. There must be plenty of people in a worse state than him. He had to prove he wasn’t drinking to excess any more. No more total blind-drunk wipe-outs lying on his doorstep, unable to put the key in the lock. Where did that memory come from? he suddenly thought. Was that how he had been?

  His mind dwelt on all the awful possibilities and he tried hard to suppress the growing rage inside his head. Keep calm. Be yourself. That’s what God had said. The Top Guy knew what he was talking about. Don’t pretend, be yourself. But don’t mention the Top God.

  Anyway, this Mr. Forbes might be as big an idiot as the two Social men; might be someone he could run rings round. After all, he had been an administrative manager, hadn’t he? That must have meant he had to manage people. And he must not get into a rage. That was when things went wrong. He promised himself to keep calm.

  There was a ring at the door. Forbes was here. He and Ginger went to open the door and let in their visitor, Mr. Forbes. He was a tall man, dressed in a neatly-tailored suit, good shirt, smart tie. He had a direct gaze with a keen, intense, assessing sort of look. William felt instinctively that there would be no running rings round this one.

  William, who had on his jacket and a fairly clean T-shirt and his cream trousers, invited his visitor into the front room. There they faced each other, Mr. Forbes on the sofa and William on his computer chair. Mr. Forbes had a blue notebook with him.

  “Well, Mr. Penfold – may I call you William? – it’s a long time since we met. In fact you may not remember me.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, your troubles really overwhelmed you about a year ago and I was instrumental in attempting to sort it all out then. How have you been getting on here?”

  “Very well indeed, thank you. I’m alright.”

  “Are you taking your pills?”

  “Yes, well, I don’t always get them right. The Social men write it down but I do miss one or two occasionally.”

  “Where have Denis and Robert written it down?”

  It was a simple question but it flummoxed William. He’d used their sheet of instructions to write something down on. What was it? Damn and blast it. Thankfully he remembered at last.

  “You’re sitting on it,” he said at last. “I was making a list. For reference.”

  Mr. Forbes fished out William’s list as he spoke. Oh no, thought William. What did I put on that list? “You must keep this safe and readily to hand, William. It is very important that you take all your medication at the right time.” Black mark, thought William, but that’s not too bad. He hasn’t turned the medication sheet over.

  “What about your drinking?”

  “Oh, much better, much better. I don’t drink nearly as much as I did. Honestly.”

  “How much per day do you think you drink?”

  “Oh, just a few bottles, a pint or two. Perhaps three.” Mr. Forbes stared at him. “Or four or five. Depends. Perhaps more, sometimes,” he added, weakly. William felt that he wasn’t doing very well.

  “I’ve got a cat,” he said. “Ginger.” Ginger dutifully jumped on the sofa and sat down with his head on Mr. Forbes’ knee. “Actually, it’s not my cat, it’s Mrs. Brenner’s.”

  “Ah, now Denis and Robert tell me you tried to do something in Mrs. Brenner’s garden and the police got involved.”

  “Yes, well, it wasn’t my fault, they were so stupid.” William launched into a description of the complex events of the day the police took him off to the station. Mr. Forbes listened with raised eyebrows and a patient expression.

  “How are you managing for money, William?”

  “Oh, yes, well, that’s alright, the two Social men sort it out for me, you know.”

  “Denis tells me you had a little altercation at the bank the last time you went there.”

  “It was disgraceful.” William became angry as he thought about it. �
��Apparently I’ve got some money but she wouldn’t let me see without my passport and Robert had got the passbook thing so I couldn’t have a cheque book.”

  “Why would you want a cheque book?”

  “It’s my money, my human rights,” announced William, sure of his ground here.

  “I see,” said Mr. Forbes, making further notes in his little blue notebook. “You were not happy in the pyjama shop, I believe.”

  “Wasn’t I?” The question caught William off balance. “I can’t remember that. But they are stupid, these assistants, you know. They don’t always understand what you say to them.”

  “Or the pharmacy.” Mr. Forbes was obviously like a terrier that won’t let go.

  “Can’t remember that, either.” William wriggled uncomfortably.

  He wanted to tell Mr. Forbes he’d been to see Mrs. Brenner in hospital but he suddenly remembered that was when he had had a motor scooter and before he had got a bus pass. So he decided to keep quiet.

  “Are you religious, William?”

  “No.” Best avoid all mention of the Almighty. William wondered what would come next.

  “Why did you put your kitchen table in the garden?”

  “Can’t remember.”

  “William, is your memory still on the blink? Do you recall anything at all of what happened to you before you came to live here?”

  “Not much. Except the red curtains.”

  “Red curtains?” Mr. Forbes looked startled.

  “Someone sent me to a place with red curtains. Where you kept asking me about what I remembered about the past, about the days when, and I said I didn’t and couldn’t and you wanted me to stop drinking, but I like drinking. I don’t want to go there again.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, you are so much improved, William, I really can’t see you being asked to go there again, so I should stop worrying about that.” Mr. Forbes smiled.

  William felt mightily relieved. Mr. Forbes idly turned over the list that he was holding and studied William’s ‘for reference’ items.

  “Well, I believe you have a bus pass now. And you’re still interested in getting a cheque book, but I wouldn’t touch that money if I were you. Yes, you need a dressing gown, good idea; what money are you thinking about, William? Your account money I suppose. Leave it alone, if you can. Your garden is a bit of a mess, I agree, just have to tidy it up if possible. What’s this about a booklet and an apple pie woman?”

  William breathed again. Mr. Forbes had unknowingly skated over the difficult questions. He explained about Mrs. Watson and the apple pie and her suggestion of line dancing and said he preferred cookery because he wanted to know how to cook artichokes. Mr. Forbes stared at him over that, but seemed to accept it.

  “A telephone would be a bit expensive and unless you can control these outbursts of anger it won’t work, William. That’s why it is not recommended for you. Not after what happened before.”

  “Why, what happened before?” William spoke belligerently and Mr. Forbes stiffened up, expecting an outburst right now.

  “You made some very rude and aggressive phone calls you know. It led to a lot of trouble.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t now,” said William, without giving away the fact that he had actually got a phone now.

  Mr. Forbes thought for a while. “Well, I must say that the picture is better now, although there are a few worries, perhaps about money and memory. Your benefits seem to be keeping you going at the moment. I will think things over and will join the others at your annual review. Is there anything you would like to ask me?”

  William looked at him and thought hard.

  “Yes, why am I here?”

  Mr. Forbes sighed. “Well, this is not the ideal place for you I must admit, but it’s all the council had when you turned up. A house is not the best place for you and perhaps a modern flat would have been better. Do you want to put in for a change?”

  Alarmed, William said, “Oh no, that’s not what I meant. Actually, I quite like it here now. I’ve got friends.” He puffed himself up as he said this. He recalled Mrs. Brenner referring to him as ‘my friend’ and Mrs. Watson, the apple pie woman, Mrs. Jenkins and all the people in the pub. “No, I don’t want to move. I just wanted to know about – about my life. About the days when. I think I could deal with it now.”

  “I see.” Mr. Forbes seemed deep in thought. “William, I think we will defer that discussion till you have your review. At the review there will be several people you know and who have helped you along in the recent past. We shall have to decide how much support you now need, whether it is more or less than you are currently having. And that seems like a good time to address your queries about what happened in the past that has caused you problems now. I look forward to seeing you at your review.”

  William, unnaturally subdued, offered Mr. Forbes a cup of tea, which he declined, and then showed him out.

  “Thank God that’s over, Ginger,” he said, ”like being in front of the Head at school. Tell you what, let’s have a long, long drink. And then, when we’ve had something to eat, I’m going to have another one. Is there any of that apple pie left? And then I shall go to the pub and there I shall have several more, whatever. And if they have to carry me home, too bad.”

  They didn’t have to carry William home, but it came pretty close. A couple of men, Bill Watson and a mate of his, kept him pretty well upright until he reached his own front door; when he got inside he made for the sofa and stayed there until half-past nine the next morning. There was no way he could have got up the stairs. “That’s what a dose of psychiatry does for you, Ginger,” he muttered, as he fell onto the sofa, “sends you round to the pub quicker than anything.” Then he passed out.

  CHAPTER 15

  Next day, he suffered from perhaps the worst hangover he had ever had. Ginger despaired of ever being fed and rummaged round the kitchen to find something edible. Late morning, Maisie Watson, having heard from her husband of William’s excessive drinking the previous night, turned up with some nice light soup and crusty bread, which he could just about manage and was very grateful for. She inquired if he had signed up for the line dancing and was disappointed to be told no. She was interested to hear that he had agreed to go to the cookery class though, and added it to her list of confirmatory facts about poor William and his hard life.

  He took it easy that Saturday but decided he would go to see Mrs. Brenner again on the hospital bus on Sunday. He knew of the bus as he had seen it starting from outside the newsagent’s. It would be easier for him with Ginger in his carrying case, without the problem of the umbrella and the parking. He could try to explain about the gardening enterprise which had gone so badly wrong. He wouldn’t like her to come home and just be faced with what he had managed to do to her prized garden. Also, he wasn’t sure what was going to happen with Ginger when she came home. Would the cat automatically return to his previous home? To his surprise, he realised he would find that rather upsetting. But if the cat stayed with him and refused to go back to Mrs. Brenner’s it would be equally difficult. He remembered too that he had agreed to install and pay for a cat flap from Ed. He wasn’t used to pondering such subtle problematic issues and he set off on Sunday in rather a bad mood.

  Arriving at the hospital, he felt like a knowledgeable old hand, going directly to the lift and getting out at Acute Admissions. He went straight into the ward and into the small side room where he had found her before. She wasn’t there! Only a large and formidable lady with a bandaged leg was facing him, seated on a wheelchair.

  “Who are you? Go away,” she shouted, pulling her alarm cord. When a nurse came running in she pointed at William and said, “What is this man doing in here? I never asked him in, I don’t know him.” She was waving her arms about and getting very excited.

  “Just a mistake,” said William, “where’s Mrs. Brenner?”

  “Just next door in the small ward. There there, Mrs. Davis, no need to get all worked up. We had a very silly man
in here not long ago, with a big umbrella and would you believe it a cat or something, but he’s not here now.” The nurse continued to calm her patient and William backed out hastily. He didn’t care to hear himself described as a very silly man, but this was not the time to have an argument, he could see. He went into the small four-bedded ward next door. Mrs. Brenner was there, dressed, and sitting in an upright armchair. There were three other ladies, two of whom were also seated, looking rather glum in their chairs; the other one was an Asian lady who was lying in bed.

  “William Penfold! Oh, how lovely to see you! Have you brought Sandy? Bring up a chair and come and sit down.”

  William found a spare chair and sat down opposite Mrs. Brenner. Now he was here he wasn’t sure how to express himself, especially as the other ladies in the room were all interested to hear what Mrs. Brenner’s visitor had to say. “Well, it’s about Ginger – I know you call him Sandy – that I’ve come here. Oh, and the garden. I’m sorry about the garden, I was trying to do my best but the police behaved very badly and it does all look a bit patchy here and there, but Denis said it would all grow back. Here’s Sandy. I don’t think I’d better let him out here, that nurse was an absolute idiot last time I came.” He took the carrying cloth off Ginger’s case as he was speaking.