by Alan Millard
He was sitting in the opposite chair when I came to. ‘How long have I been asleep?’ I said, sitting up and apologising.
‘I’m the one who should apologise for keeping you up so late last night.’ Until this point our conversation had been about others and I was surprised when he asked me to describe the main milestones in my life. ‘I’m not sure I have many,’ I said. ‘I suppose the first one was the cemetery path, my earliest memory of being dragged by my mother along a dirt track through the allotments running alongside the cemetery wall, cabbages on one side and crosses on the other, a short cut into town. Then came school - all a bit of a blur although I enjoyed assemblies, He who would valiant be and Fight the good fight, stirring stuff - not that I could sing in tune. After that it was my first day at work as a clerk where stayed till I retired. There was church of course which was where I met Wendy. We were both well into our forties when we married and sadly had only ten years together. She died from cancer. Both of my parents died soon afterwards and that just about sums up my life’s milestones.’
‘You mentioned church. Are you a believer?’
‘In a way I suppose I am. I still go to church occasionally. I enjoy the ritual or I did until they started changing things. I’m not really one for going round hugging people or singing cheery choruses. I prefer the old hymns and the King James Bible. But that’s enough about my life. What were your milestones?’
‘I think millstones might be a more accurate description!’
It was the first amusing comment I’d heard from Howard but I refrained from laughing in case he’d meant it seriously. ‘Well, tell me about those,’ I said.
‘I shall but not tonight. I suspect you’ve had enough of my stories for one day. Why don’t we play a game of scrabble after dinner before we go to bed?’
As soon as we’d eaten and cleared away the scrabble board appeared on the table. ‘I believe the one who draws the letter closest to A begins,’ said Howard. I drew an X. He drew a B and began. Slowly and deliberately he placed his tiles on the grid pronouncing each letter loudly and clearly as he laid it down. He studied the letters and quickly and rearranged them to make the word UMBRAGE. ‘Beginner’s luck I’m sure,’ he said. ‘Now, that’s a fifty point bonus for using all of my tiles and...’ He tallied his total and wrote down the score.
When my turn came I looked despairingly at my collection and racked my brains for anything I could make from the letters WQRPXY and V. I passed.
The game continued with Howard finding words I’d never heard of but pretended to know. I congratulated him on “puha” and “spreite” as though they were part of my everyday vocabulary but when he placed “zedoary” on the board he must have noticed the sceptical look in my eyes.
‘The Indian plant,’ he explained, ‘related to turmeric.’
‘Of course,’ I said. At one point I proudly laid down the letters P, O and T and announced POT with a flourish of triumph.
‘Or top or opt,’ said Howard spotting combinations I hadn’t seen.
With the difference between our scores increasing exponentially and realising I had no chance of catching him up, Howard kindly suggested we should call it a draw. We returned to the fireplace, had another drink and knowing I’d be staying for the second night I went to bed.
As I was drifting off I heard the distant sound of the grand piano downstairs and recognised the slow, plaintive Goldberg Aria he’d played when I arrived.
Daylight was again filtering through the curtains when I rose next morning and made my way down to the kitchen where Howard was buttering toast. He handed me a slice and said, ‘How would your like your egg - poached, boiled, scrambled or fried? I’ve got some bacon and sausages if you fancy the full English!’
I chose the latter. ‘Any plans for today?’ I said when we’d finished breakfast and washed up.
‘I thought we’d take another walk. The weather looks promising. If we go past the brow of the hill we reached yesterday the lane leads down to the woods. It’s only a couple of miles.’
‘Don’t forget I still have to hear another story, Peter’s wasn’t it?’
‘Paul actually, the one missing presumed dead. And there’s also the final one about the woman.’
‘Are you sure we’ll have enough time for both before I leave today?’
‘Today?’ Howard looked disappointed. ‘I was hoping you’d stay one more night. Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve and I particularly wanted...’ He hesitated. ‘I’m sorry. It’s rude of me to press you so. I’m sure you have other plans.’
As it happened I’d intended to go to club but the more I thought about Arthur and the others I decided another night with Howard might be preferable. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’d be happy to stay.’ The relief on Howard’s face was palpable. At the time I felt honoured to think that my company seemed so important to him. Why that should be I’d learn later. In retrospect I was glad not to know at the time.
‘Right, let’s get our coats and enjoy the day. I can tell you Paul’s story while we walk. I can’t think of a more appropriate way for his tale to be told. Shall we go?’
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Howard paused at the door looking puzzled. ‘Every story begins with a variation doesn’t it?’ I said.
‘Of course, take a seat,’ he replied, delighted that I should be asking to hear more Bach. ‘I’ve just the piece that sets the scene, Variation 21. You must tell me what it conjures up in your mind when you’ve heard it.’ I was now feeling more confident about these appreciation exercises especially having excelled in the earlier ones. This piece turned out to be lengthy and not especially cheerful but it moved along at a steady pace although the end was confusing. Rather than stopping it ran on into the next tune. ‘Well, what do you think?’ Howard asked.
‘A little sad,’ I said, ‘but it kept plodding along although I wasn’t sure where it was going especially when it didn’t come to a definite end.’
‘You are amazing,’ said Howard. ‘Plodding along indefinitely! You’ve summed Paul in a single sentence. Remarkable! I’ll explain why as we walk.’
The sky was completely cloudless and as blue as I’d ever seen it. The frosted hedges were filled with spiders’ webs sparkling like diamond necklaces. It was cold but the walk to the top of the hill soon warmed us up. From the ridge we could see the lane ahead dropping down to the plain beneath which was covered in a blanket of mist with only the tops of trees and the odd church tower rising above it. The sun was low in the sky but beginning to climb. Eager to be on our way we started the gentle descent and Howard began Paul’s story.
7: Variation 21 - Paul
Paul and Anne Bryant had been married for thirteen years when they moved into their new home. Paul was short, plump and beginning to bald but blessed with what his mother-in-law described as “a merry little face.” Studying architecture at Portsmouth was where he met Anne whom he’d married within a year of leaving university. Anne was slim with pale blue-eyes, high cheek bones and long, golden hair tied back in a bun. Despite having a first class honours degree in music and being a brilliant cellist she’d never used her skills apart from giving private lessons to a handful of pupils.
During the first twelve years of their marriage Paul worked for various firms in the locality and encouraged by Anne continued his studies. Aged thirty four he achieved his ambition of becoming a registered architect. Seeking promotion he applied for several positions and was eventually successful in securing a senior post at Hoskins, Dyer and Blake. He and Anne had two children, Olivia aged nine and Miriam aged seven, both physically alike with bright blue eyes, pale skin and an abundance of blonde hair.
As soon as they’d settled into their new home three miles from Yeovil the girls were enrolled at the local village primary school where they quickly became accepted and popular with their peers. The young, ambitious headte
acher soon learned of Anne’s musical skills and offered her a post as a part-time classroom assistant which she gladly accepted. As well as assisting the teachers she made use of her cello by accompanying the children’s singing in assemblies.
With Paul earning a respectable salary, the children enjoying their new school and Anne pleased to be using her talents all would have been well had it not been for Paul’s increasingly regular bouts of depression. Whether it was the pressure of work, the demands of family life, the onset of middle age or the surfacing of some unresolved childhood trauma nobody knew. No one at work would have noticed anything untoward. He was generally amiable and outwardly cheerful. But as soon as he arrived home he was a changed man. He was short-tempered with the girls whenever they were boisterous and was always too tired to play with them. He took no interest in Anne’s news and preferred to spend his leisure time watching the television or sleeping in front of it rather than engaging in conversation. Anne was initially concerned and sympathetic but her attempts at getting him to talk invariably met with sullen silence or a protestation that nothing was wrong. Their love life was virtually non-existent. As soon as they climbed into bed Paul would reluctantly give Anne an obligatory peck on the cheek then turn away pretending to fall asleep. What little sleep he actually had was fitful and plagued by two recurrent dreams. In the first of these he was being pursued by an unseen, malevolent presence that constantly stalked him. In the other he’d set out on a walk from home and after a short while find himself in unfamiliar surroundings unable to find his way back. This miserable state of affairs continued for several years until he was forced to admit that something was wrong and agreed to see a doctor.
A doctor’s appointment was duly arranged and on a rainy Friday night. After a frantic day’s work he found himself sitting unwillingly in a crowded surgery flicking through dog-eared back copies of Readers’ Digests and National Geographic magazines awaiting his turn and rehearsing what he’d say to the doctor when his name was called. He memorised various opening lines. After forty minutes he found himself facing a weary looking doctor who frowned at him over the desk and without any sign of genuine interest asked how he could help.
‘I’m not really sure.’ Paul had forgotten what he’d planned to say and was fumbling for words. ‘It’s just that my wife thinks I ought to see you. I get low especially when I’m at home. She thinks I might be depressed or something.’
‘And are you?’ the doctor asked without appearing to want an answer. He’d shifted his gaze from Paul to his computer screen and was already tapping away at the keyboard. Before Paul could answer the question the printer suddenly sprang to life and expelled a sheet of paper which the doctor seized. ‘Try these,’ he said, handing Paul a prescription. ‘They usually do the trick. Come back in a month if you aren’t feeling any better.’
‘Is that it?’ asked Paul.
‘Why? Was there something else?’
‘Not really,’ he said and left in time to catch the late-night chemist and exchange his prescription for the bottle of pills.
The children were already in bed when he walked through the door and found Anne waiting to hear what the doctor had said. There wasn’t much to tell but she seemed pleased enough when Paul showed her the pills. Prozac she told him was known to work wonders. One of the teachers at school had been on them and she’d felt better in less than a week.
After a month nothing had changed. He felt no better but was coping with work. It was easy to smile at people who other than being colleagues meant little to him. He was happy to join them on Friday nights for a drink and a laugh but at home the smiles disappeared.
As the weeks passed he became more morose while Anne growing tired of trying to help him was making a separate life of her own. She was happy at school and had made new friends amongst the teachers and parents of Olivia’s and Miriam’s playmates. Christine Sparks, Olivia’s teacher, had talked her into joining a Zumba class which met in the church hall on Thursday nights and Zoe, one of the mums, had offered to have the girls for sleepovers every Thursday so that Anne needn’t worry about making babysitting arrangements if Paul had to work late. She also joined an amateur orchestra which met on Tuesday nights. Paul agreed to take care of the children while she was out which entailed watching television while the two girls amused themselves before being sent to bed. On other nights when he’d finished his evening meal he went for long walks. On his way home he called at the village pub and drank until closing time. He always sat alone and spoke to no one but watched without feeling at all involved with anyone there in much the same way as a solitary goldfish gazes from its bowl on an alien world with which it can make no contact. After such sessions he’d saunter home hoping that Anne would have turned in and be fast asleep. Taking care not to disturb her he’d creep to the bathroom, undress in the dark and slip into bed.
This bleak routine might have continued indefinitely had it not been for one particular Tuesday night when matters came to a head. Anne had gone out as usual to rehearse with the orchestra. Paul had put the children to bed. Knowing Anne was never home before ten he’d decided to go for a walk. Before setting off he made sure the children were sleeping. His plan was to take a shorter walk than usual, have a quick drink and be back within the hour. Quietly closing the door behind him he stepped out into the night and having enjoyed his walk and a pint of beer returned to the house at nine. As soon as he turned the key he realised something was wrong.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Anne was beside herself with rage. Olivia was whimpering at her side.
‘Why are you home so early? Is everything all right?’ Paul asked.
‘Never mind why I’m home and no, everything isn’t all right. Where have you been? What on earth were you thinking of, leaving the girls here by themselves? Anything could have happened.’
‘I needed some fresh air. I was only out for five minutes.’
‘Don’t lie. I’ve been here for at least half an hour. Olivia was downstairs panicking, wondering where you were.’ Olivia’s whimpering grew louder. ‘Now look what you’ve done! I can’t believe you could be so thoughtless and you stink of drink!’
It was past midnight when Anne eventually stormed into the bedroom leaving Paul to sleep on the settee. At breakfast next morning Anne tried her best to act in front of the girls as though nothing had happened and everything was absolutely normal although she couldn’t bring herself to look at Paul let alone speak to him. The stony silence continued for several days. With the girls having their usual sleepover Anne went to Zumba on Thursday night though she made a point of forgoing orchestra practice and stayed at home on the following Tuesday. Paul meanwhile stopped going out for walks and attempted to act like a caring husband and father. It wasn’t until a week had passed that Anne having put the children to bed felt able to face Paul and try to work things out. After a long heart-to-heart during which Paul promised never to leave the children alone again, he agreed to make another doctor’s appointment.
The second visit to the surgery was more successful than the first. On this occasion he was seen by a young female doctor who weighed him, took his blood pressure and then, ignoring her computer, spent several minutes encouraging him to talk. She listened sympathetically as he described his recurring dreams and seemed pleased when he told her that walking was the only activity that relieved his depression. She explained that walking was an excellent form of therapy both for his mental and physical wellbeing especially since he was a little overweight for his age . In her opinion exercise was the best form of medication. If he enjoyed walking he should do it on a regular basis. She even suggested his dreams might be pointing to something significant. The pursuing malevolent presence could be a symbol his depression wanting to be out-walked and left behind. And the dream about losing his way home might be egging him on to keep going until he reached his metaphorical home where he needed to be. At the end of the consult
ation Paul came away with renewed resolve more promising than any prescription.
He told Anne all about the discussion including the dreams and the doctor’s suggestion that regular walks would be better than pills. Such was his new-found enthusiasm that Anne agreed to him taking a nightly walk. And so it was that every night after dinner apart from Tuesdays, Paul set off determined to shake off the black dog that threatened his sanity and his marriage.
At first all went well. It was May and he left each evening with a spring in his step. To begin with he took the same circular route along country lanes between grassy banks, thick with long grass and cow parsley. Wherever he looked the world was alive with rampant new growth and the chatter of birdsong. Odd phrases from poems he’d learned at school sprang to mind: Hopkins’ line, when weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush and Wordsworth’s thousand blended notes. New sights appeared around each corner - a thatched cottage with tulips in the borders, a field full of bleating sheep, a homely farmhouse with washing hung out on the line, a ferret darting along in the ditch at his side, a lilac tree in full bloom. Ordinary sights looked extraordinary. Whatever he saw filled him with pleasure and so did the walking. There was nothing more satisfying than placing one foot in front of the other, step after step, mile after mile, with nothing to think about other than what met his eyes. But as soon as he reached home the pleasure faded. After each walk Anne would ask where he’d been and what he’d seen but his answers were always brief and uninformative. Everyday the distance between them increased. He wanted to feel as he’d felt before the depression began but he couldn’t do anything about it. He was trapped somewhere inside himself with no means of escape.
Throughout that spring and summer the walks continued and grew even longer. He tried out new routes but as time went on the early excitement waned and the sights he’d enjoyed grew dull and familiar. He was trudging along through a monochrome landscape and getting nowhere. Anne gave up asking about his walks or how he was feeling. She and the girls got on with their lives without him. They thought of him as a lodger who came and went as he pleased without impinging on them. Paul was a passing presence separate from everyone else in the house.
