The Last Days of Dad: Two Extracts

From 'Ginger': 
Will is twelve or thirteen years old in this story and walking home from school with his friend Davey. Rather surprisingly on rereading it, I detect traces of Jennings and Darbishire, Anthony Buckeridge's school boy heroes who attended Linley Court preparatory school. I've used a similar kind of jocular dialogue, the back and forth banter of two young boys trying to show their precocity in a world they still only half-understand. 
When I was that age, I read huge quantities of schoolboy fiction set in boarding schools such as Linley Court and Greyfriars - private fee-paying institutions for the children of the wealthier classes. Part of the attraction was precisely that they were set in a different world from mine, one free from the coils of home and family. 
My characters come from a provincial state school background and discuss subjects such as religious belief, masturbation and 'bogey' men (and specialist subjects such as lock-picking), just as we did back then and as I'm sure public schoolboys did too. Such dialogue probably never reached the ears of Mr Buckeridge when he was a teacher and even if it had, he would never have been able to publish it.

At first, Will walked home by himself after school. Davey was never ready to leave and would mess about by the class lockers, talking, wrestling, sitting on the floor endlessly packing or unpacking his bag. In the second week, though, they went along to a meeting of the Junior Debating Society ('This house believes that animals should not be sent into space') and walked home together afterwards.

'That was a laugh,' said Davey.

'I thought it was going to be deadly serious.'

'That was almost - anarchic.'

'What's anarchic?'

'Where you can say and do what you like.'

'It did get a bit out of hand. I felt sorry for old Hardshaw.'

'And sorry for the poor little animals too - those poor little monkeys.'

'Well, it's wrong, cruelty to animals. Anyway there's no need to send them now Yuri Gaga and all the others have been up there.'

'Tell you what, you should volunteer your goldfish. There's never been a goldfish in space. There's been a rat and a guinea pig...'

'Get lost.'

'We don't have a space programme, do we? You'll have to write to the Yanks. Write to NASA.'

'You're mad.'

The next week, they went again ('This house believes that "pop music" is a contradiction in terms') and afterwards walked back to their lockers where Davey had left something behind. There was no-one else around, either along the main corridor or at the lockers which were tucked away in a dead-end corner, half hidden by a stairwell. Nevertheless, Davey looked cautiously over his shoulder and lowered his voice.

'Let me show you something. This is your locker, right? And this is your crummy little padlock...'

'My dad gave it me.'

'Watch.'

He drew a pair of compasses out of his blazer pocket, opened them to a 90 degree angle and inserted the sharper end carefully into the keyway of Will's lock. After a few seconds of gentle probing, Will heard a soft click and saw the shackle spring open.

'There you are - piece of cake.'

'Have you been going in my locker?'

'Don't worry - I know you've got nothing in there but books, boring books.'

'I'm going to tell Mr Watts.'

'It's just a bit of fun. I never steal anything otherwise they'd start having prefect patrols or something. And I'd be under suspicion. People would say: "Oh, Farrell's always last to leave." People like you...'

And he pushed Will.

'No, I...'

'Look, watch - this is Brown's locker, right? Bum boy Brown. This one's a little bit harder...'

But after about ten seconds, the same thing happened. This time, Davey pulled open the locker door and rummaged about inside.

'Smelly gym shoes but no dirty magazines. I won't tell you what I found in here last week.'

'What?'

'No - I won't tell you. My lips are zipped. I don't steal and I don't squeal. Here, you have a go.'

It took Will longer but eventually he managed to pick his own padlock.

'There you are. So when you lose your locker keys and you desperately need something - your history books for Kenny's lesson, let's say - you know what to do.'

'But what if my compasses are in the locker?'

'Keep them in your satchel, you idiot.'

'But what if my satchel's in the locker?'

Davey put his arm around him.

'Then come to me, my boy. Come to me. I'll lend you mine. But first, you'll have to pay the idiot tax...'

Will pushed him away.

After half term, they began walking home together most evenings. Davey seemed to have lost interest in the lockers and Will never had to wait long. When the clocks were put back at the end of October, they would emerge from the building to face the glowing street lights and night time already gathering beyond them.

'And darkness was upon the face of the deep,' intoned Davey one evening as they came out of the corner tuck shop and started on their journey across town.

'The deep?'

'And God said: "Let there be light". And there was light.'

'Just like that.'

'And for my next trick, said God, I will create the heavens and the earth.'

'Woo-hoo! Thank God for that.'

'Amen.'

'Did you hear Malone in assembly the other day when the Rev said "Let us pray"?'

'Yeah, it was the way he said it - Let's not.'

'And then he farted.'

'No, that was Badger. I was standing right behind him.'

'Naughty Badger.'

'Yep. But we're all guilty. We shall all have to seek forgiveness from the Lord or face eternity in hell.'

'No, that's what Catholics have to do,' said Will. 'We're okay. God loves us.'

'Have you been stroking your willy, Willie?'

'Only once. Per night.'

'A likely story. Did I tell you about Brown? He took me into a toilet cubicle just before half term and showed me how quickly he could do it.'

'Ugh.'

'Dirty bastard. It went all down his cock and dripped on the floor. He didn't even have any toilet paper ready to wipe it up. I got out of there quick.'

'I don't blame you.'

'Yeah - I could have lost my...what's it called?'

'Virginity?'

'Nooo - what with that 'omo? No - my childlike innocence!'

'Oh yeah.'

'Hey, I wonder if the man in the bushes is going to be there?'

They only dared give a quick glance when they got to the park, but he was there - a dark presence standing in a border of trees and bushes, trousers down around his knees, upper body shrouded by leaves. They speeded up along the tarmac path to the exit gates.

'What does he do it for?' asked Will in awe.

'Dunno. He's a weirdo.'

They parted company. Will walked up the road to his parents' house and let himself in. He switched on the hall light, dumped his satchel by the coat stand and wandered into the living room. The curtains were open and there was enough light for him to cross the room to the fish tank. The pump was churning out little bubbles from one corner but the water was beginning to smell. He crouched down and gazed through the glass. Ginger had grown. His fins, especially his tail fin, were getting quite long and elaborate. As Will watched, the fish swam up to glare at him, then swished away. He followed it as it swam through an archway between the plants and squeezed behind a blue-suited diver that had been lowered into one corner. Then he saw his own face in the dark water, the brooding guarded look that it had. And then Ginger swam back across his field of view and he rapped hard on the glass with his knuckles. Immediately, the fish shot away again. Will grinned.

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From 'Soirée': 
Will, now around 25 years of age, is at a party in a posh Chelsea house with his friend Jonno. It is the day after he resigned from Nationwide Travel in order to train as a librarian. The party is hosted by another friend Tod who works at the travel agency and Will's ex-boss Monson is there also. Will has just survived a bedroom seduction by Tod's stepsister Vivienne which didn't quite turn out as he was expecting. He has rejoined the few remaining partygoers, some of whom are heavily swayed by alcohol.

Monson was looking out of the windows and Will turned to look too. The garden was not very big and, apart from planted borders, mostly paved. In the middle, however, in a brick-lined square of soil, was a tree and under its spreading branches lay a thin scattering of brown leaves. All was illuminated by outdoor lights.

'The leaves are falling again,' said Monson. 'The end of another year coming up...'

His voice lacked its usual overbearing tone.

'Hmm,' said Will.

'You can't help thinking that time is passing you by.'

'Yep.'

'I'm fifty two. Fifty two. How can that be? It's frightening.'

He hiccupped. Outside, another leaf came floating down...

'Nature won't let us forget, will it? The way of all things...'

Will felt himself swaying slightly on his feet.

'Yeah yeah yeah,' he said with affected weariness. 'The leaves fall off the trees and we're all gonna die some day...'.

Monson turned and glared at him.

'Are you trying to take the piss? You think you're so fucking clever, don't you?'

Even through the beer haze, Will was taken aback by the anger and hurt in Monson's eyes.

'I wasn't taking the piss, but it's a bit of a cliched observation. Surely you haven't just realised that the leaves fall in autumn?'

'Of course I haven't just realised. But I know in here what it means.' Monson patted his chest. 'Not just up here.' He tapped his head. 'I know something you don't. Because I've grown up.'

'Ignore him,' said Mrs Monson to Will. 'He gets like this sometimes.'

'Do you want to know what the secret of life is? The one thing that clever young people like you don't understand?'

'Go on then.'

'It goes so fast. Faster and faster as you get older.'

Will shrugged.

'So I've heard. It's not going very fast now though.'

'You'll find out.' Monson nodded grimly over his glass. 'And you know what? It'll be an even bigger shock for you and your friends because you're so sophisticated, so knowing...'

Will opened his second can and took a sip.

'Well, I'll cope somehow. Stay forever young, Monson. That's the solution. You've allowed yourself to get old.'

Monson took a step towards him, but Mrs Monson gripped his arm.

'John, this isn't necessary. Just calm down.'

'You fucking idiot.' Monson's beer-inflamed breath swept over Will's cheek as he turned his face away. 'You're nothing. No-one. You're just a mouse inside. Just a little mouse.'

Will felt a dampness on his chest. He stepped back and looked down. Beer had splashed onto his shirt.

'Fucking hell.'

Tod's rich tones suddenly descended on them.

'Gentlemen, gentlemen. I didn't invite you here to quarrel or fight. This isn't a public house, you know.'

'That's right,' said Jonno. 'This is a soirée.'

'And fuck you too,' said Monson before turning away.

'Would you like a cloth, dear boy?'

'No, leave it, leave it,' said Will. He dabbed the stain with a handkerchief while looking over Tod's shoulder. There were only two people left in the front part of the room. Jonno looked too.

'Where's Julia? Where's Vivienne?' he demanded. 'The women are disappearing. It's like Bluebeard's castle for heaven's sake!'

'Julia's having a little nap. As for Vivienne, I believe Will saw her last.'

'Will? What have you done with her, you fiend!?'

Will was taking a long swig of beer.

'We're just good friends,' he muttered, but no-one was really listening.

'Tod, dear,' said Mrs Monson, who had manoeuvred her husband onto a Queen Anne chair and was now sitting on his lap. 'This may be the wine talking because I have had a glass or two, but could I possibly ask you a rather delicate question?'

'Of course, Mrs M.'

'Did you say that Vivienne is your step-sister?'

Tod nodded with the self-satisfaction of a man who knows that the conversation is heading into familiar waters.

'Let me delicately resolve your confusion,' he said grandly. 'She is my father's legitimate daughter.'

'Ah, I see,' said Mrs Monson, instantly enlightened.

'I am his illegitimate son. And therefore' - he paused - 'you're perfectly entitled to call me' - he lowered his voice - 'a black bastard.'

How they laughed.

'Black bastard!' repeated Monson, shaking with glee.

'Thankfully, he decided not to disown me. And his fiancee - who I now call "mother" - thought what a splendid virile swashbuckling chap he was, impregnating one of the servants - or whatever my real mother was.'

'So you don't know who your real mother was? Or is?'

'No, not yet. My father has said he'll tell me whenever I decide that I want to know. But that will be another story, a future volume in my ongoing oeuvre.'

'Which the world awaits...' said Jonno.

'How interesting,' said Mrs Monson.

'Tod, I think I'm going to make a move,' said Will, patting his friend on the shoulder as he moved past him.

'Understood. Do you want me to order a taxi?'

Will shook his head.

'Actually, you could order one for us, Tod, if you don't mind,' said Mrs Monson.

Will wandered into the front room.

'Where did I put my jacket?' he asked Jonno who had followed him. They looked around the room.

'Did you take it off when you got here?'

They went into the hall. It was hanging from the coat stand.

'Oh, honestly. Of all the places to leave a coat...' said Jonno.

'Thank Christ. I thought for a moment I'd left it in Vivienne's bedroom.'

They laughed.

'No dear boy. The only thing you left there was your virginity.'

'She should be so lucky.'

'Who should?' Vivienne's voice rang out from the top of the stairs. But Tod came into the hall at that moment and called up to her.

'Vivienne, come down and mingle, my dear.'

'There are no fuckers left to mingle with.' She started walking panther-like down the stairs.

'Tod, I have to go,' said Will. 'Thanks so much for the evening.' They gripped each others hand.

'Why don't you share the Monsons' taxi - they're going to Victoria. Then you could get the tube.'

'I'd rather walk.'

'He'd rather crawl,' said Jonno.

'I'd rather ride on the Wall of Fucking Death.'