There’s knocking at Doreen and Dave’s door. It’s about 2.30 am. The knocking has been going on for some time but Doreen has only just heard it. Dave hasn’t. Dave could sleep through anything. Doreen elbows him in the back. Dave sleeps on. She elbows him again. “Dave… Dave . .. wake up … wake up … Dave”
“Uh?”
“There’s someone downstairs “
“That’s nice …” he slurs, in his sleep
“We’re being robbed …”
“Go back to sleep” Dave groans
The knocking stops. Dave snores.
“They’re breaking in … Dave … they’re breaking in. ” The knocking starts again. “They’re not going away … do something … Dave …”
Dave pulls himself from the bed and with his eyes still closed, he finds his way to his dressing gown on the back of the door, puts it on and stumbles to the top of the stairs using the wall as a guide.
“Don’t put the light on … in case its robbers… ” Doreen says in a whispered shout that could have been heard by burglars 2 doors up.
Doreen hears the third from the bottom step creak as Dave fumbles his way down in the dark. She hears Dave shout out as he stubs his toe. And then everything is quiet. Doreen pulls the cover up to her chin and waits, in the dark.
Then she sees the hall light come on and hears Dave coming back up the stairs. He pushes the bedroom door open and turns on the light. Doreen’s eyes screw up in the glare. When she opens them she sees Dave framed in the door. His face is white. He stares at her.
“Dave … what is it?” Dave looked at her. “Dave?” Dave keeps looking at her as he moves towards her in the bed. “Dave … you’re scaring me …”
Dave sits on the bed next to her. His breathing is fast and shallow.
“Dave?” He closes his eyes. Now that he is this close he can’t look at her. “Dave?”
“It’s Pete” he says in a swallow.
“What?” Downstairs”
“They’re saying he’s been in a car crash”
“What? Who? Dave … what?”
“The police … they’re downstairs. They’re sitting on the sofa.”
“The police?”
“They’re saying Pete’s been in a crash” Dave is trying to say it.
“What? Where … where is he? Is he with them?” Dave is silent. “Where is he? Dave … Dave!” Doreen whole face is filling with tears. Her mouth has lost its shape – can hardly say ‘Dave’.
Dave knows that he should hold Doreen but he can’t bring himself to touch her … he doesn’t know what to do.
“Where is he Dave?” Doreen pleads. “Where is he?”
“He’s … they said he’s dead”
“Where is he?”
“He’s …”
“Where is he?”
“He’s dead … Doreen. They said he’s dead.”
There is a moment of absolute silence. And then Doreen is sick. Sick all over the bed.
“I want to see him!” she wails “I want to see him” She jumps out of the bed, wipes her mouth on the blanket, goes to the wardrobe, pulls out a skirt, goes to the chest of drawers, and pulls out a whole draw of knickers and tights. The drawer comes off its runners and its contents spew across the floor. Doreen swears at them and her body twists as she wretches. Dave takes her arm as she tries to push the draw back in. He holds her, tries to surround her with his arms and feels her whole body shaking against him.
“Shh … Shhh … “
“I can’t” Doreen sobs
“I have to talk to the police”
“Don’t leave me”
“There’s things … to do … we have to go to Coventry to …” Dave can’t finish this sentence. He knows what it means if he says it
“What?”
“To … identify … him”
“Peter … Peter … My boy … my boy”
“I’ll go down … talk to them”
“It might not be him … when we get there” Doreen says this, says it out loud, but she knows … she knows that it is her Peter who was in the car with his best friend when it hit the tree in the rain on a quiet country road. She can feel that he is gone, can feel the hole in the world where he used to be.
Dave goes downstairs. Doreen sits on the bed and stares at her tear sodden face in her dressing table mirror. She sees her son’s eyes looking back at her and is surrounded by terrifying forever emptiness.
Pete had been at university for 49 days. There are 37 days to Christmas.
Absolutely great! Really really good.
~JD