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Life 1: Eddie Malone

Well, I have just finished writing Life 1: Eddie Malone. I shall start posting it here as soon as I have had a chance to tidy it up. My plan is to complete Life 3: Marmaduke Harvey within the next two weeks, so I shall post again after that.

Harry Parry

History Lesson

Previously: Terry lies in hospital and starts to think back to the first times that he noticed the strange link that he has with his Grandfather, Eddie.

Many years ago I spent a night at my Nan’s. I don’t remember why. Our Sandra didn’t have to go, just me. The chances are that I spent many nights there. Nevertheless, I only remember the one time. I could never bear to spend time with my Nan. I never really knew why. I just know that for some unknown reason I resented her. Anyway, we stayed up really late and Nan took me through a history in print. I had to sit with an old lady who smelled of biscuits while she pawed through a hundred photograph albums that stank of mothballs. It was really boring. The thing that I remember the most was the eagerness that she showed. It was like she desperately wanted to impress me. Actually it was more like she was trying to convince me how happy she had always been. Once she had finished, I had fallen asleep with my head on her lap while she told me all about what a wonderful man Grandpa Eddie was.
‘Everybody loved Eddie,’ she said. When she said it I genuinely believed her. It was confusing because I knew all too well what a nasty bastard he could be.
Over the years I came to believe that it was the drink that turned him bad. I certainly know that I have never got into a fight when I have been sober, though to be fair, I’ve never really been sober for long enough to get into too much trouble.
She was right though. Nan was right. Everybody did love Eddie. As I lay in my hospital bed all those years later, listening to the pinging and ponging I wondered why. Even though there wasn’t much to like, everybody loved him. Then a revelation struck me. Everybody loves me too. There isn’t a place that I have ever been to where I haven’t been surrounded by eager puppy eyes, desperate for my attention. Pete waits on my every word. Barry kisses my arse in a painfully embarrassing way. Every slapper that I have used and abused has had to be beaten away with a barge pole. Even then they had come back for more. Even Mel put up with me for far longer than any sane person ought to.
‘Hello?’ interrupted Mel, softly. ‘Where did you go?’ she asked.
‘What?’ I replied, shaken out of my memories.
‘Why do people like me so much?’ I asked her. Mel’s face twisted in confusion. ‘Why do people even like me at all?’
‘It beats me,’ Mel replied, trying to make light of it with a giggle.
‘I’m serious,’ I responded. ‘Why?’
She didn’t get a chance to reply. The doctor entered, took a seat beside my bed and foraged through a clipboard of notes. Mel clutched onto my hand as if she were hanging over an alligator pit. I figured bad news was heading my way. Mel’s heart was beating so loud that I wondered if it were doing jungle drums trying to beat out a message to her aunt in Venezuela. The doctor didn’t seem to be in a hurry. I figured he had been hypnotised by the rhythm. Maybe he was just waiting for the noise to quieten down.
‘Mr Malone,’ said the doctor.
‘Correct,’ I replied.
‘I have a few questions.’
‘Fire away,’ I encouraged. ‘Be quick though,’ I added, ‘because I might not have long to live.’
The doctor giggled nervously, which would have been funny if it hadn’t been a life and death situation. He cleared his throat and referred once again to my case notes.
‘Have you experienced many of these blackouts recently?’
‘What blackouts?’ As if I had been joking the doctor smiled. He then waited as if a serious answer were forthcoming. His expression slumped as the seconds ticked away. When he finally twigged that I didn’t actually know what he was talking about, he followed up.
‘You are aware that you passed out in your wife’s kitchen?’ he asked.
‘Well, yes.’ I had to agree.
‘So,’ he continued. ‘Have there been any other similar incidents?’
‘Sure,’ I replied. ‘But only when I’ve been drinking heavily.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said the doctor. ‘And how often would you say this occurs?’
‘Most days really.’ The doctor laughed again. Well, until he realised that I wasn’t joking. The guy must have led a sheltered life or something. Anybody would think that he had never got pissed and woken up in a skip before.
The direction of the questioning changed quite dramatically. I had somehow believed that a diagnosis was complete and that the doctor was visiting to tell me the bad news. However, a chink of light had appeared in the darkness of my pessimism. He started a barrage of enquiries about my drinking habits, so I grasped at the possibility that I might yet see the day out before popping my cloggs. Nevertheless, it was of little real consolation. I knew for a fact that I wouldn’t live longer than eight months, maybe even less. There were so many things that I didn’t understand about myself and my life. One thing was for sure, I had to die before Marmaduke is born. All the dithering and indecisiveness that the doctor was showing was merely a stay of execution and nothing more.
‘So how much alcohol do you consume each day?’ asked the doctor.
‘How the fuck do I know?’ I replied. ‘I just told you that I keep passing out, so how am I supposed to keep count?’
A barrage followed that had me wondering if I was about to have bamboo splinters rammed under my fingernails. Question after question. For fuck’s sake! If he had given me an aspirin after all that I’d have sued the bastard.
Throughout the inquisition Mel held my hand tightly. To be honest it was the one thing that made the experience worthwhile. I liked it. I could feel the warmth of her skin. I could almost feel her heartbeat pulsating in time with mine. I wanted to put her hand to my face and smell it.
The doctor went off on one. He started to monologue about the dangers of drinking. On and on he went. I just lay there and held Mel’s hand. I grasped it as I slipped into sleep, refusing to let go. I just couldn’t let go.
‘Nan? You won’t let go of my hand will you?’ I asked.
‘Don’t worry, Duke. I’m going to be right here with you all the time,’ Mel reassured me.
I was scared. I looked up at Mel and couldn’t help but notice that she was even more scared than I was. There was a determined expression on her face like she had been holding a penny between her arse cheeks for days and was minutes away from breaking the world record. She was trying desperately to be strong for me, though I could see her grief. Marmaduke was content with her hand. To him it was an iron fist that could hold fear at bay.
‘It’s OK, Duke,’ I told him. ‘It’s going to be alright.’
Fuck knows why I thought that everything was going to turn out alright. I just had a feeling. It wasn’t just me though. Eddie felt the same way but for some reason he seemed to believe that somehow I held the power to protect Marmaduke’s destiny.
‘It’s up to you, Terry. You can make things right,’ he told me. ‘Only you can make thing right.’ I didn’t understand what I could do. I didn’t even understand what was going on. The atmosphere was solemn. The other guests stuttered over their words whenever they spoke with Duke. I could tell that they wanted to comfort him. Nevertheless, they struggled to find the right words. In some cases, they even failed to muster any words at all. Duke was confused, so I tried to reassure him.
‘Duke, you are not on your own. I’m always going to be here with you, to take care of you.’ I didn’t really know if he could hear me. I assumed that he could but then again, he would most likely think that he was going mad and just ignore me. Duke however, was far more astute than I could ever have imagined.
‘Listen to Eddie, Terry,’ he told me. ‘You can make this right.’
I was stunned. If I hadn’t been unconscious in a hospital bed at the time then I sure as hell soon would have been.
‘Fuck me!’ I thought. This kid is five or six years old and he has already got a better handle on the voices than I have.
‘Put this right!’ he ordered. ‘Promise me that you will put this right!’
Even though I still hadn’t worked out what it was that I was supposed to put right, I gave him my word.
‘I promise.’
I stood around watching through a haze of uncertainty. There was a gathering of sorts. It was a family do. I couldn’t see faces or hear what was being said. I could taste the grief though. It was sweet like honey, yet it ate through my guts like acid. It left me feeling empty.
Our Kelly’s bloke, Steve was chatting to a lass called Stacey. I could sense him smiling at her even though his face remained determinedly stern. I couldn’t figure out why he would want to smile at the girl. Our Kelly hated her and I am pretty sure that she hated Kelly back. I wouldn’t have wanted to be Steve’s bollocks if our Kelly caught him talking to her. Stacey bullied our Kelly most of the way through High School. Kelly would come home in tears more often than not. Time after time I offered to sort things out for her but she begged me to stay out of it. At the time I had the impression that our Kelly wanted to keep a low profile in the hope that the whole affair would blow over. However, as far as I know, Kelly was far stronger and determined than I gave her credit for. She sorted it all out somehow. I never did find out how. Maybe she was just herself. As far as I knew she was brighter than Stacey. She was definitely more attractive and undoubtedly had a better personality. So, maybe Stacey had just been jealous of our Kelly all the time. Sooner or later she must have twigged that she was onto a loser.
Nevertheless, seeing her with Steve made my skin crawl. She smirked as she casually chatted to him. In a strange way there was a victorious air about her. It irritated me.
‘Keep your eye on that bitch, Duke,’ I warned. ‘She is after your Dad.’ I don’t suppose that Marmaduke even understood what I meant. I should have kept my thoughts to myself but I wasn’t exactly standing on a street corner with a megaphone. I was just thinking.
‘Go and get your Mum,’ I told Marmaduke. He tightened his grip on Mel’s hand and tears flooded from him. Mel knelt beside him and held him as he bawled.
In my ear was a ping, followed shortly after by a pong. Bright light glared through my closed eyelids. My vision was a blur of gold, and orange. Red veins rippled before me like fire. Mel was still holding my hand tightly. I could tell it was her. I could smell her. It was the same aroma that comforted Marmaduke through his tears.
As soon as I woke, I sat up with a start. I tried to drag my legs out of the bed but I couldn’t. Mel didn’t let go of my hand. She wrestled me back onto my back.
‘Easy Tiger,’ she said. ‘Steady on.’ I turned to her and looked her right in the eye.
‘Something is wrong,’ I warned. ‘Something is very wrong!’
‘Don’t worry, Terry,’ Mel replied. The tone of her voice was soft and warm. Nevertheless, there was no reassurance to be gained for me.
‘Something is wrong!’ I told her, again.
‘No, Terry. You are going to be Ok. I know you are!’
‘No I’m not!’ I argued. ‘There is something wrong with the future. Your future. Marmaduke’s future. There is something wrong with our Kelly’s future.’
Mel didn’t seem to understand but then again, I didn’t really expect her to. The truth was that I didn’t know what it was that was troubling me. There was something missing. I just hadn’t been able to put my finger on what it was.
As the next few days passed by, my ability to retain my consciousness grew stronger. The downside was that I hadn’t slept well enough to visit Marmaduke for long enough to put my mind at rest. The Doctor had been and gone on numerous occasions. He had broken the bad news, not that I could give a fuck. There was a tumour in my head that was going to kill me. He gave me another year, which was clearly wrong. Mel had been distraught when she heard the news. I comforted her as best I could. It was ironic, me, Terry Malone was dying, the fool and all round arsehole. Yet it was the angel that grieved. It didn’t seem fair. It should have been me that was grief-stricken. It was me that deserved it. No, I got the easy way out. My only fear though, was whether I would get to do what I needed to before my time was up.

© Copyright 2005, Harry Parry. All rights reserved. No part of this nonsense may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

Life 2 - Terry Malone

Next post will be arriving within a couple of days. This will complete "Life 2 - Terry Malone" and will shortly be followed by the first chapter of "Life 1 - Eddie Malone"

I am currently looking forward to starting on "Life 3 - Marmaduke Harvey"

Harry Parry

Memories Ago

Previously: Terry continues to tell Mel about his problems. Before passing out, he ponders the place that Aunt Violet has in his story.

Hospital beds are not the most comfortable places in the world. The one I found myself in was possibly the least. There was a lump that seemed to be fidgeting more than I was. No matter what position I adopted, the lump counter-manoeuvred. Nevertheless, during a brief respite from the discomfort, I rested, slipping into a hypnotic dream filled slumber. The first clue that my reality had given way to recollections of an age gone by was when my private room transformed into a crowded ward.
In the far corner of the room was a large television, under which nurses meandered between the other children’s beds and cots. They were feeding spoonfuls of medicine and offering a tub of boiled sweets as an accompanying bribe. I remained curled up, nervously peering over my blankets. Television time had been over for around ten minutes. I was still scared. When I was at home I could hide behind the settee when Dr Who was on. Here though, there was no escape. The nurses approached, bed by bed. I feared them as if they were members of some strange alien race that was about to turn into a Dalek or a Cyberman. As they neared I got more and more scared and I was right to. With broad, reassuring smiles, one nurse peered over my bed while the other prepared a syringe the size of a Mars bar, which I’m sure we all know were much bigger in those days.
‘I hope you aren’t planning on sticking that thing up my fucking arse,’ I threatened. At the time I didn’t realise what I was saying. Of course, in due course I realised that it wasn’t actually me that said anything. I was four years old and I didn’t even know what an arse was, let alone a fucking one. The nurses weren’t the slightest bit impressed. As the image of their embarrassed yet furious faces faded from my thoughts, I was struck by something that jumped into my consciousness as if it were a long lost friend arriving by parachute. The odd thing was that I wasn’t even conscious at the time. I was asleep in my cot. The only reason that I was even aware that the nurses were approaching me, was because somehow I was watching myself, in a sort of out of body way.
When my mum arrived at visiting time, she entered into a heated argument with the ward sister. To be honest, I’m not actually sure if she was the ward sister. She ordered everyone else around, even the doctors. It was just a reasonable guess. She wore a stern expression that would probably put a dent in a mallet if she were smashed in the face with it, and if she were, there would likely be a long line of suspects as the mallet wielder. I think the other nurses thought that us kids were deaf or something. They would gather around the beds, whispering about her like we weren’t even there. Anyway, hard as nails she might be but she was barking up the wrong tree in squaring up to my mum. Mum had a special technique. I don’t know if it was something that she was aware of or if she made a special effort, but it worked every time nevertheless. Tears would flood down her face and she would wail uncontrollably. To all intents and purposes she was completely broken. Yet her eyes would glaze over to the point where it was impossible to predict what she might be capable of. On top of it all she would gradually ease her way further and further into the personal space of whoever it was that was confronting her. So, as the Sister growled at my mum, occasionally glancing in my direction and mouthing words like, obscene and unacceptable, mum howled. She held her hands up, defensively but as tears poured down her face, her psychopathic stare forced the Sister to retreat step by step. Mum took another step forward and said the strangest thing.
‘You don’t understand,’ she said. ‘It’s not him. He didn’t say anything obscene or offensive. It wasn’t him. It was someone else.’
At the time I thought it was very strange. Now however, I think it to be totally bizarre.
‘She must know all about Eddie,’ I told myself. However, even as I watched my memories unfold before my very eyes, I struggled to believe my own conclusions.
The lump in my bed moved again, nudging me in the ribs and forcing me to roll over onto my back. I stared up at the ceiling for a while, thinking. I looked around my small hospital room. Tubes ran out of my veins and pads monitored my chest and pulse. Cables bonded me to machines that went ping and pong. It was like trying to sleep in an amusement arcade.
‘Of course she knows!’ I announced. ‘Of course she does!’
Then I remembered the time when granddad was in the local paper. It was the anniversary of some accident in the mine or something. I don’t really remember that well. What I do remember is that my mum and dad ferried all of us kids over to gran’s house to see it, as if we couldn’t afford a paper of our own. I was about two years old. All the adults were drinking and passing the newspaper around to each other. I wandered around the house eating a rusk until my mum shoved the paper in my face.
‘My nose looks big in that picture,’ I told her.
My mum spilled her sherry.
“What did you say, Terry?’ she asked after taking another close look at the picture.
‘There look,’ I said, pointing. ‘My nose looks huge.’
‘My word,’ said mum. ‘But Terry, that isn’t you, that is granddad Eddie.’
She was clearly quite amused. She smirked across one side of her face as if hiding her smile from me.
‘Dave Higgins looks a bit constipated,’ I stated, referring back to the picture. ‘And Albert’s syrup looks even dodgier in print.’
Mum stared at me. Her bottom lip opened and closed as if she were miming to a hymn. Then her expression changed dramatically. Fear burst from her eyes in anger.
‘Don’t be so stupid!’ she snapped.
At the time, I wondered why she would say such a thing. Her look also showed a certain amount of confusion, which no doubt was about half as perplexed as mine. The silence that followed didn’t last long. I seem to remember puking shortly after the incident, which is a child’s way of changing the subject.
It’s funny really but I haven’t visited that memory since that very day. As I lay in my hospital bed, I was amazed that such an incident should slip away from me. I was also curious as to why it would return so clearly into my mind.
Staring blankly at the ceiling, I was slightly startled when mum knocked on the door. Then, just as Mums do, she stepped into the room without waiting for an invitation. Pete followed her carrying the world’s smallest bunch of grapes.
‘Come in,’ I told them.
‘How are you feeling, Tel?’ asked Pete, nervously. I could feel a sarcastic comment on the tip of my lips. I checked myself, wondering why I was always so nasty to Pete. After a second’s thought, I determined that he had bought the grapes himself. Mum never bought fruit. I felt cruel. The bloke desperately wanted my approval. Goodness knows why. I ought to have been more eager for his.
‘Cheers, Pete,’ I thanked. I could see the relief in his face, so I added a smile.
‘Did you bring anything?’ I asked Mum. I was hoping that she would have bought me some fags because I was gagging.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I brought your kids with me in the taxi.’
‘Oh,’ I replied. That was a pleasant surprise. ‘Where are they?’ I asked.
‘They are waiting outside with our Sandra and Mel,’ said Mum. ‘And Great Aunt Hilda,’ she added. ‘And your father and his girlfriend.’
Mum sniggered, which was unusual for her. I assumed that there was something amusing about Dad’s girlfriend. Of course there was. She wasn’t his girlfriend at all.
‘Is she older than him by any chance?’ I asked her.
‘What?’ asked Mum. ‘You’ve met her then have you?’
‘No, Mum,’ I replied. ‘But I’d bet money that she isn’t actually his girlfriend.’
‘What makes you think that?’ Mum asked.
‘Because I think that she might be the infamous Aunt Violet.
A shriek from the corridor confirmed my unlikely suspicion. Great Aunt Hilda sounded like she had found a ferret in her bloomers.
My Mum had gone pale in the face. She was a tone or two lighter than white. For a second or two I thought she had turned Scottish. She stormed toward the door.
‘What the hell does she think she is doing here?’ she growled.
Pete bravely stood in her path, ushering her back to my bedside. I was quite impressed by his bravery, more so in his assertiveness. In the time that it would take for me to click my fingers together, my whole view of Pete shifted. I have always had this opinion that men should be strong and that strength is measured in might. I was wrong. I could batter Pete to a pulp without even breaking into a sweat, yet it is him that is the stronger. His eagerness for my approval has always seemed pathetic to me but another perspective could be that he might just fear me. Everything he did was low-key. He was like the brain to mum’s brawn. I always thought that Pete was a wimp and that mum wore the trousers, though perhaps she wore them because he let her. Over the years he had managed to integrate himself into our family without so much as causing a ripple on the water’s surface. Yet, he wasn’t like the invisible man, just sneaking in without anybody noticing, he was a calming influence. Since he had been around, mum’s house had been a refuge where all problems went to die. Behind Mum’s brash, confrontational exterior was Pete, keeping things balanced. I made a mental note to be less of a twat to him in future.
‘That woman has caused enough heartache in this family,’ declared mum. ‘Get rid of her, Pete!’ she ordered.
‘Calm down, love,’ he reassured. ‘She didn’t do anything wrong. It was Eddie, not her.’
‘Somebody had better tell me what the fuck is going on,’ I demanded, trying to sit up in my bed. As I did so though, my head exploded. A searing pain bit into my brain. My vision blurred until mum and Pete disappeared into a hazy mist and there I was staring into the abyss of unconsciousness once again. Or so I thought. Everything went blank and dark like someone turned the lights off and the volume down at the same time. I expected to start dreaming there and then. In fact my dreams had been so lucid recently that I was half looking forward to it. Nevertheless, initially I was to be disappointed.
The silence was broken by mum’s panic-stricken voice.
‘What’s happened to him? What’s happened to him?’ she shrieked. ‘Has he gone already?’
Now that was a strange thing to say. ‘Has he gone already?’ I repeated her words in my head as if I might win a prize for getting the answer right. Then a thought struck me. It was a realisation that would have paralysed me in terror if I hadn’t already been beyond physical movement. All my family had come to visit me. They were all waiting in the corridor. They all think I am about to die. Maybe I am. Maybe I am dead already.
Staring into darkness, listening to my mother wailing like a banshee, I concluded that I was still alive. Pete was repeatedly telling mum that I was breathing ok. He did however, call for a nurse but the pinging machines were pinging away nicely, so I assumed that they were working ok. On top of that, there was no light. I was always led to believe that when our time is up, we are drawn toward the light. All I could see was the darkness. Either that or I had gone blind.
‘You are mine now, Malone.’
The strange new voice came from nowhere and yet also from everywhere. It was all around me. I wanted to turn my head to see if I could work out its origin. It was eerie. It was a deep, dark, emotionless and sinister tone that sent chills up my spine.
‘You are mine now.’
‘Alright, alright,’ I replied. ‘I heard you the first fucking time!’
‘You are not listening to me.’
‘Yes I am. Over and over.’
‘Your time is nigh and when it arrives I will be waiting for you.’
It seemed to me that this strange new voice was contradicting itself.
‘Make your fucking mind up, arsehole!’ I yelled. A short silence followed in which I started to panic. I was hallucinating. I was sure that I was, though I wasn’t sure that I could actually hallucinate voices. No, it was more than that. I had always had this deep-rooted fear of the devil. All my fears were wrapped up in a single phobia. Very little scares me but I just can’t watch any movies that have the devil in. It just creeps me out. Maybe its because I’ve always been a bit of a cunt. Perhaps my personality flaws have deeply scarred my inner essence. Whatever the case, bullshit or not, I’m terrified of the fact that one day I’m going to hell.
So I figured that in my sleep my fears were getting the better of me. I was dreaming. It was a nightmare. Satan was after my soul.
‘You are mine, Malone,’ the creepy voice repeated.
‘Fuck off!’ I yelled. Devil or not, I was buggered if I was going to be intimidated by the fucker.
‘Terry?’ asked a softer more gentle voice. ‘Terry? Are you alright?’
Beyond Mum’s fretting about me, I could hear Pete talking to the Doctor.
‘He just seemed to pass out, Doc,’ Pete described.
‘He is very ill, Mr Harris,’ replied the Doctor. ‘And very weak,’ he added. ‘I suggest that you let him rest.’
Mum kissed me on the forehead before leaving. However, if I hadn’t been unconscious I would have laughed at the rumpus that followed. I assumed that Mum bumped into Aunt Violet in the corridor. I’ll tell you something for nothing and that is that my money was on Mum. She could go the distance with the world’s baddest mother-fucker. Having said that, I still had no idea how much of a bad-ass Aunt Violet might be.
All was quiet for a while. There was no satanic voice, no worried Mum, just the pinging and ponging of the hospital technology, which to be fair was a reassurance that at least I was still alive.
‘So who is the wicked bitch?’ asked a new voice.
For fuck’s sake! It was like around the world in eighty voices. Worse still was that they were all in my head.
‘My Step-Mother,’ replied Marmaduke.
At last I had a reprieve from the darkness. Marmaduke was in a bar with a couple of his friends. It was one of those poncy cocktail lounges that bummers go to. Come to think of it, as I looked around me it became fairly obvious that it was exactly that. It was a gay bar. The puffs snogging on the dance floor was a dead giveaway.
‘What’s up with her?’ asked the friend.
Marmaduke stared into a tiny telephone handset as if his hate could travel by telecomms.
There was something strangely focussed about events. For years I had had insights into Marmaduke’s life. I had known him since he was a boy. However, my perspective had always been obscured somehow. It was like a hazy dream. Faceless characters had muffled conversations about indecipherable subjects. The truth was that I didn’t really know that much about the boy. I had seen into his heart, so I knew he was a good lad. I knew he was gay and I knew that his Step-Mother was a bitch.
‘She’s kicked me out of the house again,’ answered Marmaduke, trying hard not to let his sadness show. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to go,’ he added. ‘I’ve got to go to my Nan’s and see if I can bunk there for a while.’
Duke leaned over to his friend and kissed him on the lips. I could feel it. Another man’s lips touched mine. It was the first time that had happened since Uncle Colin kissed me on my thirteenth birthday. Colin didn’t know me very well. He kissed me on the lips and ruffled my hair. I kneed him in the bollocks. Needless to say that he never did that again.
There was something very comforting about Marmaduke as he strolled down the street, presumably as he walked to his Nan’s. It was very familiar, almost as if I had walked the very same path. I didn’t recognise the route. I couldn’t really focus well enough to see that well. I could feel it though. I could feel the familiarity.
Duke rapped on the front door. He then bent over and shouted into the letterbox.
‘Nan?’ he called, impatiently. ‘Are you in?’
The heavy red door opened startling us both. Duke stepped into the hallway. I could feel his relief. Dukes heavy bag scraped the wall as he entered.
‘Has she kicked you out again, Duke?’ asked Duke’s Nan.
‘Yeah,’ Marmaduke replied, sadly. He made his way down the hall toward the kitchen. As he did so, he glanced across a series of framed photographs that were hanging on the wall. One of them stunned me. In it was a happy, smiling couple. Marmaduke stared at the picture. He was quite intense as he studied its every detail.
‘My nose looks huge in that picture,’ he said. Mel stepped back into the hall and glanced at the picture.
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘You had a whole different nose in those days,’ she said.
From the picture on the wall, two happy, young faces smiled back. Beneath was a plaque embedded into the frame. It read, Terry and Melissa Malone, Married 19th August 1979.


© Copyright 2005, Harry Parry. All rights reserved. No part of this nonsense may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

Aunt Violet

Previously: Terry strives to draw Mel into his secrets. He is surprised to find out that she knows far me than he thought.

Now I have never actually met Aunt Violet. She is someone who my mother has mentioned. I heard a lot about her during the time when I tried to build a few bridges between dad and myself. Apparently, over the years he has seen quite a lot of her. Its all a bit odd though really because nobody seems willing to say who it is in the family that she is supposed to be related to. Everybody just gets upset whenever she is talked about. Most notably Great Aunt Hilda, who would get agitated every time her name was mentioned. The last time that dad spoke of her, Hilda yelped so energetically that her dentures fell out. Nobody noticed that they landed in her tea. So, because she is partial to drinking cold tea, the whole family spent the subsequent hour looking for them.
‘They must be here somewhere,’ she stated. ‘They can’t have gone far.’
Of course when she did find them, she nearly choked.
As I sat talking with Mel on the sofa, I wondered where to start with my story. My whole life spun around in my head while I thought. It was as if I was studying it all, frame by frame like a movie. It upset me. I saw who I really was. It was like I could finally see through the veil that I had been hiding behind. The person that I watched was selfish, vindictive and nasty. Years of my antics passed before my eyes, a catalogue of violence and adultery. My only consolation was that at least it wasn’t boring. Then again, I wondered that perhaps if it had have been less exciting, then perhaps I might not have lost my Mel. Though, as I started to feel sorry for myself, an urge overwhelmed me. I had lost Mel. My life was coming to its end. All I could hope for was to set her free and to salvage some peace for Marmaduke.
I was still quite drunk, so Mel had gone into the kitchen for a while making some coffee, which gave me some time to think. Now that isn’t usually a very good idea. For some reason I had been thinking about Aunt Violet. For the life of me I didn’t know why. As far as I could tell, the Aunt Violet mystery was the least of my troubles. It was just one of those things that I was curious about like why blokes that jog are generally bald.
I closed my eyes for a while. I hoped that I might be able to clear my mind enough to locate the best starting point to my tale. Unfortunately, the room started spinning and my stomach churned. I settled my head back, breathed deeply and probably started to snore.
‘So are you going out with that boyfriend of yours again tonight, Duke?’ asked a woman’s voice, parentally.
‘What do you mean, that boyfriend?’ Marmaduke replied. ‘You make it sound like I’ve got loads of them.’
‘As if it makes any difference,’ replied the woman. ‘One is bad enough.’
‘One is good enough,’ replied Marmaduke, defiantly.
‘One is one too many, my lad,’ rebuked the woman. To which, Marmaduke snapped his reply.
‘Don’t my lad me. I’m not your lad. I’m not your anything!’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. I make the rules around here, so you ought to be a little more respectful.’
‘Oh, here we go,’ scoffed Marmaduke. ‘So I suppose that you are going to ground me now until I turn heterosexual are you?’
I could feel her dislike for him. She was just itching for a fight. It was irritating me just to watch. I just wanted him to punch her lights out but I could tell that was what she wanted him to do. Even so, I could feel his anger. As I did so, I could also feel my thoughts penetrating.
‘Just walk away,’ I advised.
Marmaduke froze on the spot. I could almost touch his confusion.
‘Just turn around and walk away.’
Goodness only knows why I was so keen for him to avoid conflict. I certainly never have done. My fists start flying if someone even looks at me sideways. Like I always say, ‘You’ve got to get your retaliation in pre-emptively.’ Nevertheless, I knew that Marmaduke was not like that. He was gentle at heart. He would fret if he ever even raised his voice at someone.
‘Walk away, Duke.’
The wicked stepmother could see that he was not going to take the bait. I could feel her frustration. Her response was pathetic.
‘Just wait until your father gets home.’
I laughed. Marmaduke laughed. The wicked stepmother threw her cup into the sink in anger. Marmaduke walked away. It was the right thing to do. He was clearly stronger and wiser than me. I would have battered her.
‘Bitch!’
‘Thanks very much,’ Mel replied, sarcastically. ‘Eddie,’ she added sternly, as if to make it clear that she wasn’t about to slap me again.
‘Actually,’ I replied, ‘that wasn’t Eddie. It was me.’
Needless to say, she slapped me again.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ I snapped. ‘I was dreaming. I wasn’t referring to you.’ To my surprise Mel smiled back at me.
‘Yeah I know,’ she replied. ‘I just felt like slapping you.’ She passed me a coffee and slumped into the sofa beside me. ‘It’s just one of the hundred that I owe you.’
It took me a second or two to process what she had said. Well, maybe as long as a second. It was true. She owed me. More importantly I owed her and I still do. I owe her her happiness.
‘So,’ Mel interjected. ‘Are you telepathic or something?’
‘Telepathic? What do you mean?’
‘I’ll take that as a no then,’ she replied, giggling enough to spill her coffee.
Mel is smarter than me. Her brain makes connections faster than mine does. It took a while for me to get her point.
For some reason, I had Aunt Violet on my mind. If I hadn’t I might have noticed that a clue had surfaced. My dream had spoken to me. Unfortunately, typical bloke that I am, I wasn’t listening. Marmaduke had argued with his stepmother, as he often seemed to do. Yet I hadn’t noticed what was staring me in the face.
‘So what is it with Eddie then?’ asked Mel. How she had the discipline to wait so long before asking I don’t know. She had casually arrived home, turned the heating up, checked her telephone messages and made some coffee. Anybody would think that she was doing me a favour in listening to me. Then of course, in reality I suppose that she was. She wasn’t to know how important it was that I had her help. Not until I had told her everything anyway.
‘I’m Eddie,’ I told her, which seemed to be a reasonable place to start. Nevertheless, before poor Mel had the chance to absorb my announcement, I just had to put my mind at rest over something.
‘Mel,’ I asked her. ‘Do you have any idea who Aunt Violet is?’
‘What?’ asked Mel, unsurprisingly.
‘What do you mean, you are Eddie?’ she asked.
‘I am Eddie,’ I repeated. ‘Or rather I was Eddie.’
‘I don’t get it, Terry,’ Mel questioned.
‘I know. It’s weird isn’t it?’ I replied. ‘But you will have to trust me because it’s true.’ To my surprise though, Mel knew more than I could have imagined.
‘No, what I mean is, if you are Eddie, how come you don’t know who Violet is? I thought she was a friend of Eddie’s?’
‘What? I mean who? I mean how?’ I was almost stammering, which was quite funny bearing in mind the relentless and merciless way that I have always mocked the afflicted. ‘So, er, um, what?’
‘Well, that is easy for you to say,’ replied Mel with a wink. She smiled at me warmly, which I found reassuring. ‘Do you want another coffee?’ she added after a peek into my empty cup.
‘Who the fuck is Violet?’ asked Eddie. His voice though angry as usual, held a tinge of fear. I could almost feel his throat constricting nervously as he asked.
‘How the hell do I know?’ I replied.
‘Have a little think about it then,’ Mel replied as she stood up and made her way back toward the kitchen.
‘Fucking ask her!’ demanded Eddie. I ignored him.
The smell of cigarette smoke distracted me. I jumped up and skipped toward it.
‘Gis one,’ I asked.
‘I lit this one for you,’ said Mel as she took the cigarette from her mouth and placed it in mine. I took in a deep inhale, savouring the dizzy feeling that it gave me. The preoccupation with my tale had distracted me even from smoking. That couple of hours since my last fag had thrown me into a state of minor withdrawal. I usually like to smoke continually. It saves on matches.
Patterns swirled in front of my eyes. Colours spun like I was peering through a kaleidoscope. I wasn’t sure if it was the beer or the fag, not that it mattered. I hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.
Eddie spoke calmly and gently. I hardly recognised him. His tone was bright and positive. His life held hope for him, which was a feeling that I had never felt from him before. His heart beat in my chest like the Harlem Globetrotters were trying to break out. Fuck me, I thought my nipple was trying to escape.
‘I’m going to the Davies house,’ Eddie announced. His voice was almost unrecognisable. There was none of the anger or cynicism that I had grown accustomed to. Maybe it was the innocence of his youth. Hearing his voice was like an itching scar, a constant reminder of a violent event. My curiosity glands got all swollen to the point where I almost choked. I thought that I was about to witness what had turned Eddie from a young man with a lifetime of possibilities ahead of him, to an angry old bastard who hated the world. I was wrong but more importantly however was that I hoped to find out what had turned me in to an angry old tosser too.
Eddie stood at a big oak door clutching a handful of pathetic flowers, which looked like he had dragged them out of the ground moments beforehand. He checked his tie in the reflection of the door’s glass panel. After he had tended to his hair, he knocked nervously. Fidgeting uncomfortably, he quickly wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs, breathed a deep inhale and tried to gather himself togther. As he sighed, the door opened. An elderly, grey-haired gentleman stood in the doorway looking frail as if he were about to pass out. He breathed heavily and he tried to compose himself.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked. His tone was polite, yet his gaze was somewhat scornful. Piercing blue eyes stared down at Eddie from the doorstep.
‘I’m here to see Miss Violet,’ Eddie stated through the lump in his throat.
‘I’m afraid that Miss Violet can’t see you,’ replied the old man.
‘But she is expecting me,’ Eddie replied. ‘Where is she?’
‘She is unavailable.’
‘Is she alright? Is she OK?’ asked Eddie, mildly distressed.
As Eddie’s concern took him a step closer, the door closed abruptly, blocking his advance. He knocked again, this time more assertively.
‘Please leave,’ announced a voice from inside. ‘Or I will call the police.’
Eddie was confused and embarrassed. He didn’t understand what was happening. Violet had invited him to her father’s house. She had assured him that everything would be alright and that her family would accept him. He wondered whether she had misled him purposely or not.
As I regained my senses, I could feel an icy cold spread across my forehead. To my surprise, the face that stared down at me was not Melissa’s, it was our Sandra’s. I couldn’t figure out how the fuck she got there. I tried to ask but all I managed to do was dribble down myself.
‘Where’s Mel?’ I asked her.
‘Don’t worry,’ she assured me. ‘It’s my shift. She is alright. She is just getting some sleep.’
I had to squint my eyes. The room was all white and brightly lit. I wasn’t in Mel’s kitchen.
‘Where the hell am I?’ I asked.
A concerned ridge formed across Sandra’s brow.
‘Don’t worry, Tel. You are still at the hospital.’
‘Hospital? What do you mean, hospital?’ I asked her. Sandra’s forehead ridged even further. I could see that she was quite concerned.
‘What do you mean, still?’
‘Listen, Terry just relax.’ Our Sandra’s voice had a soft but assertive tone. It seemed to me that she wasn’t going to answer my question.
‘I’ll get the doctor,’ she replied.
How fucking difficult could it possibly be to tell me herself?
As my head cleared a little, I began to piece together what I thought had happened. I had been at Mel’s. I was drunk and we had been talking for a while. I had passed out in the kitchen, probably banging my head in the process.
Nevertheless, Sandra made her way to the door to leave.
‘Sand?’ I asked her as she stood in the open doorway.
‘Who the fuck is Aunt Violet?’


© Copyright 2005-2006, Harry Parry. All rights reserved. No part of this nonsense may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

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Next post, Aunt Violet will be posted any day now. I've been held up by PC problems -my computer is too Politically Correct to work properly. So, as soon as I can create a PDF again (so I can offer downloads from my website - www.harryparry.co.uk) I will get Aunt Violet straight out there into the ether.

Harry