He folded up the note calmly from
corner to corner and the same again to form a perfect petite triangle. Origami
had always been a hobby of his and the napkin swans he made for his parents’ 50th
Wedding Anniversary had gone down a treat.
The trek home would have been long
and arduous if it hadn’t have been so short and simple. Kevin lived no more
than 5 minutes walk from the centre of the park in a beautiful suburban street.
The house itself sat on its own, trees surrounding it. An island of subtle palm
trees arched either side of the entrance, several birches marked the perimeter,
and a mighty oak’s roots threatened the very foundations. A tree-splitting
white shone from the walls and dazzled the eyes as a stark red roof sloped
towards the sky. Smoke never billowed from the white chimney, framed by a thick
red border.
Kevin smiled and thanked himself for
taking the chance for so often he would see a girl and fail to act. This time
he had acted quickly and, like a mighty lion, had struck when his prey was at
its weakest. Witless, clueless, shoeless. He thinks now that he should have
invited her in. Talking to people face-to-face had always yielded more good
fortune than speaking into perforated plastic and praying the rubber cable
conveys the message in the way you desired. What if she simply hangs up? Over a
phone-line it is impossible for her to be sharply taken aback by his mysterious
sunglasses, wishing all the while to know what lies behind.
On his way home he passed no shops,
pubs, or barbers; only the houses of those who love and are loved in return.
The lights go on in the homes and on the streets as the bluebirds seize to
sing. An owl can be heard hooting in the distance.
Well hello young Kevin! bellows
Father Maloney in his high-pitched happy tone, how’s the day been treating you?
Father Maloney, as well as being the priest of the church at the end of the
street, is also Kevin’s next door neighbour and a nosy one to boot. It’s all
going rightly today Father, said Kevin, except for there were no ducks at my
wee pond so there weren’t. Maloney scratched his head, awk but sure that’s a
strange one isn’t it.
They were silent for a moment. Clumps of dark
grey hair protruded from the back of the Father’s head down his neck to kiss
his holy collar. Despite the fact that Maloney was getting to the age where
even your hair begins to betray you, tight curly brown locks still clung
proudly to the top of his head, with just a couple of the curls dangling
menacingly on his forehead. His shoulders were slumped from years of service
and the waistband of his black trousers rose high above his belly button.
I hope you didn’t find anything else
down by the pond to take an interest in, said the Father as he playfully nudged
Kevin’s left elbow, the hand of which was planted firmly in his hip pocket.
Kevin looked at the ground. I mean, you’ve repented and the Good Lord has
forgiven your sins but I am unsure if our kind Saviour would be so quick as to
forgive you a 2nd time, said Father Maloney smugly. I know Father, as he kicked
a small stone across the pavement and out onto the empty road, believe me I
know for didn’t the last time push my wee father over the edge and break both
my parents’ wee weak hearts, believe me I’ve learnt my lesson Father. Kevin’s tongue
was so reluctant to click out these words all in one go that he could have
sworn the good Father had his tongue clamped in a vice-grip.
Well isn’t that great to hear, the
Father blurted out with the broad thin smile never once shifting from his wrinkled
face, once again I am so sorry to hear about your parents but sure didn’t you
get a lovely wee house out of it. The words hit Kevin like grit flying up off a
dusty country road. The most he could muster in return was a feeble attempt at
a smile forced through clenched teeth as his brow tensed and forced his faint
eyebrows down in a 45 degree angle to meet the top of his nose.
Sure I’ll be seeing you around, said
Maloney as he went to walk across his freshly mown lawn lit by a spotlight that
showed off his gardening talent all night long. Have a good one, he said and
then vanished through the dark green door.
Have a good one, thought Kevin as he
unlocked the front door and clip-clopped across the wooden floor of the barren
hall all the way to the kitchen, what the fuck does he mean have a good one? He
made himself a cup of coffee in his own cup, the only cup. KEEP CALM AND CARRY
ON, the side of the mug read, but at certain times it was hard to adhere to the
preachings of a mass-produced ceramic object. The coffee was black as night,
and strong.
Kevin had forgotten how long it had
been since the room’s main light source, an incredible globe in the centre of
the room, had last lit up his kitchen. A week? Two? It had been three months
since the bulb had needed changing. He perched his elbows on the ebony island
where he used to prepare food and cradled the cup, holding the handle with the
first two fingers on his left hand and caressing the broad curve with his
right. It would be a while before he could drink it and he had already burnt
his tongue once.
The light from above the cooker
provided a radiating glow. Strands of golden string stroked his ears and lay
across his hair. Some wisps of crooked light diffused into the air in front of
his face, others were lost out the door to his left. He could barely see the
cold white of the far wall but he knew it was staring. Structures of silver and
a wall of black rested behind him and the back and white patterned tiles
crawled across the floor and knocked the adjoining door and met up with the
strips of wood in the dining area in an awkward embrace.
He finished most of his coffee,
sending the cold remnants spilling with a sputter and bouncing off the worn
interior of the dark steel sink. He made his way back through the hall,
clop-clip, and up the stairs. It was a mighty staircase, done out in black with
a curved and elegant black railing. The 42 sharp steps first led away from the
door and to the right for a short distance and then clambered up the wall and
added to the height of the grand entrance and the entire first floor. On the
way up the stairs the click of his wooden heels meddled with his thoughts.
Kevin wondered if the girl in the park had been sincere with her note; had she
done it as a joke, or had she regretted it immediately and told stories to her
mother of the bad man in the park who assaulted and abused her on account of
her scaring off the ducks? But what if he were to call? What would he say? He
didn’t know her name and yet he had her mobile number. What of that? If someone
were to see the note and inquire as to the identity of its author, what would
he say? But no-one would see it. No-one would ask. This girl was the first girl
he had had the courage to talk to since that fateful incident on April 1st
of the previous year, and he had been the fool.
He wouldn’t call her, he decided, not
until the dust had settled in the back-roads of his mind. He pulled the cord
and brought down the stairs to the attic, for that’s where he lived now, buried
away in the highest spot. Before he got undressed in his damp and muggy corner
of the large attic space he introduced a small number of stale breadcrumbs from
his trouser pocket to his rats, his pets and only friends. A soft pile of
sticky blankets lay in the corner coloured a brown-stained blue. A folded
jumper provided the shape of a pillow at the apparent head of his apparent bed.
The faint rays of the moon and star drifted in through the skylight. Sleep took
him and carried him off without a moment’s hesitation.
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