Ernest laughed. ‘Well, if you don’t know I won’t spoil the surprise. Maybe I could come and pick you up.’ He opened the front door. ‘If you can’t get out, just look up at the stars around midnight – it’s supposed to be the best display for years.’
* * *
Raymond sat on the bus, watching the familiar streets drift past and thinking about the afternoon’s events. He thought about Bill and Mira and what their lives had been like, and wondered whether the photograph of the general still existed. He tried to imagine how Ernest had felt that night, and whether he’d ever fall in love himself.
The bus stopped and the ritual rut of passengers leaving and joining ensued. Someone sat in the empty seat next to Raymond and squeezed him against the window. He shifted his position and turned to look at the person. A smiling, spotty face only inches from his own returned his gaze.
‘Hello, Mr Bender,’ the man whispered, low and menacing.
Raymond felt the icy spark of recognition; it was one of the thugs from the dole office. Without thinking he began to stand. A hand on his shoulder pushed him back into his seat; then came a hard flick to the back of his head. Raymond looked around, horrified to see another of the youths sitting behind him.
‘I’m sure this isn’t your stop just yet,’ the skinhead said with a laugh.
Raymond rubbed his head and sat. Panic rose in his chest. He knew his breathing would soon falter, but he was desperate not to show any weakness.
‘Leave me alone,’ he said. ‘I need to get off anyway.’
‘Now now, no need to be nasty. We were just wondering about your old boyfriend. Is he still alive?’ the skinhead hissed, spit wetting Raymond’s face. ‘I hope you haven’t shagged him to death, you fucking bum plumbers.’
‘I don’t know who you mean.’ Raymond’s arms shook and he was no longer sure his legs would take his weight. ‘I’ve got to get off here.’
‘Really? Oh, what a stroke of luck – this is our stop too.’ The yob next to Raymond grinned and nodded his head.
He stood up quickly and forced his way past the skinhead’s stubborn legs. The conductor rang the bell and Raymond leapt off the bus before it had fully come to a halt. He walked as fast as he could, determined not to run, staring straight ahead. He could hear heavy footsteps echoing on the pavement and knew the yobs were walking close behind, mimicking him. Something tapped his foot, pushing it behind his calf. He stumbled and took a large stride, his arms outstretched to keep his balance, but he continued on stubbornly. There was laughter behind him, and then another trip, this one sending him sprawling.
More laughter.
‘Whoops, sorry about that, Mr Bender.’
Raymond got to his feet, his hands grazed and stinging. He looked down. There was a dirty jagged tear in his jeans where his knee had hit the pavement. He took a deep breath. It caught in his throat and he walked forwards again.
The two skinheads continued to follow, then danced in front of him, blocking his path.
‘Don’t run away, Mr Bender. We just want to have a friendly chat. That old codger could have killed me. We want to know where he lives. You tell us and we’ll let you off.’ The yob took hold of Raymond’s wrist, his fingers easily encircling it, and lifted his arm above his head, stretching his body. Raymond tried to twist away but the skinhead was too strong.
‘Let me go,’ Raymond moaned, his voice becoming higher. There seemed no escape from his humiliation. He gulped for air and a desperate sob escaped his throat. The skinheads laughed.
‘You fucking little poofter, we’re going to beat the crap out of you.’ They twisted Raymond’s arm, pirouetting him on the spot. ‘That’s it, dance for us, bender. I expect the old codger likes you to do that.’
One of the thugs punched Raymond hard in the stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. His legs collapsed beneath him and the skinhead, unable to hold him upright, let go of his arm. He fell on to the hard pavement and curled into a ball.
A memory of football on a cold November morning fluttered into his mind. Rick ‘Jock Strap’ Derris, the star of the school team, had kicked the ball at point-blank range into Raymond’s stomach. For several seconds, Raymond had thought he’d be all right. Then pain, deep and dark, had torn through his gut and into his chest. He’d crumpled to the floor and his teammates had crowded around, laughing and prodding his prone body until a whistle blew and the teacher helped him to his feet.
The class were sent back to the changing rooms. In that stark, stone-clad room with its wooden benches and embarrassing showers, he’d tried to button his shirt, but his fingers were so numb with cold that he couldn’t get them to work. He’d gone to his next lesson with his shirt open; displaying the ridiculous string vest his mum had made him wear. The taunts lasted for the whole term and had been far harder to bear than the pain inflicted by the football.
Now, here on the cold pavement, that wretched feeling of humiliation overwhelmed him again. He couldn’t get his breath and he was drowning, retching as the pain overwhelmed him. Between snot-filled sobs he choked on the dust from the dirty concrete. Footsteps from passers-by, doggedly looking the other way, boomed through his skull.
The skinhead took hold of Raymond’s hair and dragged him to his knees.
‘Where’s the old bender live?’ he snarled. ‘If you don’t tell us, then we’ll have to sort you out instead.’ His clenched fist hovered close to Raymond’s nose.
Raymond could only gulp between shallow breaths and each time he tried to talk he was shamed by his sobs.
One of the skinheads pulled him roughly to his feet and forced him to stand against a wall. The other held his throat and pushed his neck firmly back against the brickwork.
‘Last chance,’ he said, kneeing Raymond in the thigh, aiming for a dead leg.
Raymond’s endurance was at an end; he took a deep, deep breath. ‘His address is in my wallet,’ he gasped.
‘That’s better,’ said the skinhead in mock gratitude, releasing Raymond’s throat and brushing some of the dust off his shoulders.
Raymond inched away from the wall and slowly reached for his back pocket. His home was two hundred yards away. He’d never been very good at running but it was a chance.
He bolted.
His arms pumped furiously and while his legs seemed to move in slow motion, he’d covered thirty yards before the skinheads had realised what was happening.
They exploded into movement, greyhounds in pursuit of an injured hare, shouting, swearing and dodging unsuspecting pedestrians. Raymond skidded around a corner, narrowly missing a mother and toddler. He glanced behind; his pursuers were gaining ground. His heart galloped and, desperate, he tried to increase his pace. His goal was close and he put every ounce of effort into reaching it, hoping the yobs might save something for a longer chase.
‘You better stop, you fucking bender, or you’re dead,’ they shouted.
Raymond accelerated, focusing on nothing but survival. He saw his house in the distance and his legs found a rhythm that surprised him. The skinheads’ footsteps pounded behind him, but Raymond dared not take another look.
Just as his lungs were about to explode and his legs buckle, he reached the garden gate, forced it open, ran up the path and collapsed against the front door.
He beat hard and fast on it with open hands. ‘Mum, Mum, open the door.’
The door remained shut.
The skinheads had reached the house and strode up the path towards him.
‘Well, Mr Bender, we warned you. Now … you’re gonna get your fucking head kicked in!’ They chanted the words football-style and laughed.
The front door opened and Raymond’s mother appeared.
‘What on earth’s going on?’ she said, startled by the commotion. She stood with her hands on her hips and her cheeks flushed. ‘You two, off my property this instant, before I call the police.’
The skinheads stopped in their tracks.
‘Off! Now!’
‘Oh, f
uck, it’s Bender’s mum come to look after him. You fucking poof, Bender. You tell us where the old pervert lives or you’re dead.’
The skinheads ambled back to the road. They stopped once, turned, pointed at him and swiped their fingers across their throats.
Raymond’s mother pulled him inside the house and shut the door.
‘What on earth was all that about?’
Raymond tried to speak but the words caught in his throat; the adrenalin that had kept him running abandoned him and he felt tears forming in the corner of his eyes.
‘It’s nothing, Mum. They’re from the social.’
‘They were talking about Ernest as well though, weren’t they? I heard them.’
‘Honestly, Mum, it’s nothing. I got to go now. I need to give my flowers some water.’
‘You never had trouble like this before you met him, Ray. It’s not healthy. You need to find friends of your own age.’
Raymond turned to face his mum, his anger swelling. ‘He’s my friend, Mum,’ he said, his voice rising with indignation. ‘It doesn’t matter how old he is. If it weren’t for him they’d have beaten me up at the social. And, anyway, I’m going round his at eleven o’clock tomorrow night. I don’t care what anyone says.’
Raymond’s mum looked sharply at him.
‘What? Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t go round someone’s house at nearly midnight. For goodness’ sake Ray, what’s got into you? What’re you going to do there anyway, and for one thing how will you get there?’
‘Please, Mum. Ernest said it was his favourite night of the year; it’s meteors or something – it begins with a P.’
Raymond’s mum was silent for a moment. Then she smiled.
‘The Perseid meteor shower?’ she asked.
Raymond looked quizzically at his mum. ‘Yes, that’s right. How do you know?’
She laughed. ‘Ray, one day you’ll realise there’s more to my life than looking after you and your dad. When I was your age, I spent hours staring at the stars with a small telescope my grandfather bought me one Christmas. It was my favourite thing to do.’ She rubbed her arm, smiling.
‘You never said.’ An idea flashed before him. ‘Mum! You could watch it with us. We could invite Ernest round here.’
His mum shook her head. ‘Ray, what am I going to do with you?’ She stood looking at him, gently holding his gaze. ‘You know, when you were a little boy the tiniest of things would delight you. Catching a falling leaf before it touched the ground, Dougal the dog, finding a silver sixpence in a Christmas pudding … oh Christmas … Christmas ...’ Her eyes began to close and Raymond smiled. ‘Oh, goodness.’ She sighed and waved her hands towards him. ‘I give up. Go on then – phone him, but God knows what your dad will say.’
‘Yes!’ Raymond said. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ And he hurried to the phone.
As he dialled the numbers and listened to the whirring clicks in the earpiece, he looked out of the window. Swaying in the breeze were his sunflowers and, despite the long shadows of late afternoon, they looked greener and healthier than ever before. Raymond was sure they’d grown since this morning; large buds were now forming.
As the phone connected and began to ring, he couldn’t help but grin to himself, the earlier trauma now a distant memory.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Perseid Meteor Shower
It was nearly quarter past eleven.
Raymond and his mum sat quietly in the kitchen and sipped coffee. Small fluorescent lights under the wall cupboards illuminated the worktops, giving the room an expensive but cosy feel. Raymond knew his parents only used these if a special guest was coming and he smiled and hummed to himself.
The doorbell rang.
‘It’s him,’ said Raymond, banging his cup on to the table so hard that some of the liquid slopped out. He leapt to his feet and ran to the door.
‘Careful,’ his mother called after him.
After a mumbled conversation in the hallway, Raymond returned to the kitchen with Ernest, who was suitably attired in a white overcoat.
‘Good evening, Mrs Mann.’ Ernest smiled cautiously. ‘We weren’t really introduced last time we met, were we? I’m Ernest Gardiner, but please call me Ernie.’ Ernest extended his hand. Raymond’s mum hesitated for a moment before reaching forward and shaking it, all the while searching the older man’s eyes.
‘Nice to meet you. I’m June,’ she said.
‘Will Mr Mann be joining us tonight?’ Ernest enquired.
‘Um, no … no. He has work tomorrow so he needs an early night. It’s a five thirty start in the morning for him.’
‘Good gracious, that is early. I can understand him wanting to get off to bed. We’ll have to be quiet. Look, I’ve brought us some soup.’ Ernest opened his carrier bag and placed two large flasks on the kitchen table. ‘Hope you like tomato.’
‘Oh, yes and Mum has put baked potatoes in the oven. Come on, let’s go outside,’ said Raymond excitedly.
His mum looked at Raymond and shook her head, smiling all the while.
‘Put your coat on, Ray. It’s cold out there tonight.’
‘Oh Mum!’ Raymond huffed and ran up the stairs to his bedroom.
* * *
June smiled at Ernest and led the way outside. Three deck chairs were already positioned in the garden, and Raymond had placed half a dozen lanterns around them. Several swayed on hooks while others stood on the grass. The golden candlelight lit the lawn, washing away the shadows and turning the garden into a magical grotto, the stars like silver glow worms twinkling in the darkness.
‘Thank you so much for inviting me round,’ said Ernest. ‘I’ve spent this night by myself the last few years. My wife Violet and I would always make this a special evening – she knew how much I enjoyed it.’
‘Your wife?’ said June.
‘Yes, we were married for fifty years. Violet died three years ago. I’ve been so lonely ever since. But, I have to say; your son has really brightened up my days. He’s been wonderful.’
June felt pride bubbling inside – a warm chocolate cosiness that made her stomach tingle. She beamed at Ernest.
‘Thank you for spending time with Raymond,’ she said. ‘I know we got off on the wrong foot. He’s not the easiest person to get along with. He’s always been, well,’ – she clasped her hands together — ‘a little different to his friends.’ The words came out in a rush.
Ernest smiled. ‘Different is all right; he just seems a little shy to me. I was like that when I was his age. I wouldn’t say boo to a goose but that’s changed now.’ Ernest laughed. ‘It’s certainly not all one-way. Raymond’s made me look forward to getting up in the morning. I thought those days had gone.’
The back door opened and Raymond appeared in a black duffel coat. He sank into a deckchair next to his mother and looked up at the dark sky while rubbing his hands together.
‘I do hope this won’t be disappointing,’ said Ernest. ‘It’s so cloudy tonight.’
‘No, look, I’m sure I saw one,’ Raymond replied, excitement in his voice.
‘Let me get the soup and potatoes; they should be ready now. Don’t start without me,’ said June, laughing at her joke as she walked back to the kitchen.
‘Can I help?’ called Ernest, but she’d already closed the door behind her.
* * *
Ernest and Raymond sat in the deckchairs and breathed the night air. Only the hum of traffic mingled with the sound of crickets could be heard. They sat in easy silence, looking skywards, but only static stars met their gaze.
‘Oh, goodness, I’m sure it’s going to be too cloudy tonight,’ said Ernest. Then a white line shot across the sky. ‘Did you see that?’
Raymond was already standing. ‘Mum, Mum, quick it’s happening,’ he shouted.
June came out carrying a tray overflowing with potatoes, crisps, chocolate, mugs and Ernest’s flasks of soup.
‘Shhh, you’ll wake the whole neighbourhood,’ she said in an exaggerated whisper
. She sat down in the empty deckchair, distributed the mugs and filled them with the hot tomato soup. Steam from the flasks caught in the flickering light of the lanterns and rose into the dark night sky.
From the kitchen a clock faintly chimed in the midnight hour.
June handed round the potatoes. Butter oozed out from the silver foil and on to the plates. Ernest took a large bite of his. The heat surprised him and he jerked, covering his open mouth with his hand as he breathed in and out.
‘I’m so sorry – pardon me,’ he said, but Raymond and June laughed and Ernest joined in.
Then, as if the heavens had been waiting for the right moment, a streak of white flashed across the sky, followed by another, then another. Some lasted only seconds – white rapiers incising the darkness – while others moved majestically across the sky, golden cloaks billowing from their royal charges. Slowly the panorama built into a blur of whooshing lines crisscrossing the darkness.
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Ernest, his eyes wide with wonder. ‘It looked so cloudy.’
‘Oh, goodness,’ said June, words seemingly almost beyond her. She breathed again and quickly smiled, as though to hide her embarrassment. Raymond saw her shiver and tears well in her eyes. ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said in barely a whisper. Her hand moved to Raymond’s and rested gently on top.
Raymond, acutely aware of the touch, looked over at his mum. Despite every nerve willing him to pull his hand away, he did not. In that moment he glimpsed the woman, and for the first time understood her. In the flickering light he saw the small girl, watching in wonder at the stars, with her tiny telescope. Then the young woman, probably not much older than he was now, about to get married, with her hopes and fears, disappointments and dreams … her whole life stretching ahead of her.
In that moment, he felt the spark of her love as it shot across the sky with comets’ tails and fell into his grateful hands.
Joyous warmth overwhelmed him and he breathed deeply. He was part of the world and so loved, but he also felt free and able to follow his own path. One day he too would have to let go and pass his unending love to another pair of tiny hands that he’d set fair upon the earth.
Cold Sunflowers Page 10
