Last Man in London, page 4
George sat back down at his desk, tapped in his password and read Edgar’s message.
‘Good luck today son, first day and all.’ He then, absent-mindedly, began reading it out loud, ‘Next time you come over bring the 15-year-old Jamie and a carton of smokes. I am ok for dz, got a box full this morning.’
George smiled and turned to Tibha who, in contrast, had a look of horror on her face. She appeared, for a moment, as if she had forgotten how to breathe.
‘A fifteen-year-old called Jamie. For your grandfather?’
George paused for a second and examined her mix of confusion and disgust. And then he started laughing.
‘Yes that’s right,’ he teased her, ‘a fifteen-year-old bottle of Jameson Special Reserve Whiskey.’ And he rolled his head back in laughter. In many ways he was relieved. Tibha was not so perfect after all. Perhaps she was a bit daft. That made him less scared of her.
‘What a relief,’ she laughed at herself.
George shook his head, held his hands out with his palms upwards and pulled A Christmas Carol back onto his screen. Studying the second part he read, ‘When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that looking out of the bed, he could scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his chamber.’ He deleted the word ‘chamber’ and replaced it with bedroom. ‘He was endeavouring to pierce the darkness with his ferret eyes, when the chimes of a neighbouring church struck the four quarters, so he listened for the hour.’
Again George paused and considered the line. After a few moments he deleted the word ‘church’ and replaced it with ‘community clock.’ Throughout his work George was leaving the word ‘ghost’ in as it was central to the story and besides, some people still believed in ghosts. There was no harm in that. At the hour 15 his hy-dev reminded him to close for the day and gave him a word count of 11,457. He was satisfied with that.
Gathering up his device he glanced towards Tibha, only to find she had already left and without saying goodbye. He was puzzled for a moment and then his hy-dev vibrated him a message. ‘Tibha: bye Georgie Boy (isn’t that what your friends call you) same time same place tomorrow?’ He grinned happily.
‘How did she know that’ he wondered. He thought about it as he walked along the grand hallway and remembered something Edgar had once told him. ‘You can never enjoy women if you try too hard to understand them. Just pretend to.’
‘Georgie Boy,’ called Hugo as he joined him in the hallway, ‘how was it, what were you given today?’
‘Have you spoken to the Raj girl we saw during induction this morning?’ George challenged him.
‘Nope, why did you?’ said Hugo.
‘No, not really.’
’Georgie Boy?’ He wondered. ‘How did she know that, who is that girl?’
‘So, what did you get on the first day?’ Hugo repeated.
‘A Christmas Carol,’ George told him enthusiastically.
’Nice,’ said Hugo, ‘start with one of the classics why don’t you. I’ve spent all day on Harry bloody Potter.’ George shuddered. He was aware of the stories but wouldn’t want to have to read any of them.
Within fifteen seconds of George and Hugo being delivered to the speeding Hydrotrain, the Woking platform pod pulled alongside and Will stepped on board.
‘Dude,’ he called to Hugo. It’s been a long time.’ The pair shook hands.
‘Two years to be exact,’ replied Hugo, ‘when the three of us went to watch Chelsea play Liverpool in the Complex Stadium.’ Will looked at George who was busy tapping something into his hy-dev.
‘So it was,’ he replied.
’It’s a date,’ George typed, in response to Tibha’s message. And then he wondered if she may misinterpret that as a real date. What would she think about that? George knew that once he had sent it he had ten seconds to re-call the message so that it would not be delivered. He started counting the seconds, wondering what to do, when Will sat down next to him.
‘Go alright?’ he asked.
‘Not complaining,’ said George without looking up. ‘Hugo is on the same placement, remember him? He was on my ASPP and you’ve met him several times.’ Will and Hugo stared at George.
‘You ok mate?’ Will asked. ‘Of course I know Hugo, I have just been talking to him, he is right here. What’s going on?’
George looked down at his hy-dev to see the words ‘message delivered.’ He gathered his senses, pulled his shoulders back and said, ‘nothing, no nothing, I just have a lot on my mind.’
‘Woman or work?’ asked Hugo.
’Both,’ George sighed, ‘but they are the not the important things right now. Will, do me a favour, what does it say on your hy-dev about Christmas?’
Will started tapping, looked up and replied, ‘nothing at all.’
’Hugo?’ George asked.
Hugo appeared disinterested but he said, ‘it’s some old religious term that is now obsolete. It’s what they used to call the Winter Festival, a long time ago. It’s probably the same thing only the old name for it.’
‘There you go buddy, it’s the old name for the Winter Fest,’ added Will. ‘So what?’
‘No what,’ George said as he studied his reflection in the window opposite and traced his birthmark with the nail of his little finger. ‘Hey Will, I am going down to the Mother City for the weekend, do you fancy a few days in the sunshine?’
’I certainly do Georgie Boy,’ said Will as he checked his calendar of appointments. ‘I may have to bring Marnie as I promised to take her out for dinner on Saturday night, but she loves Cape Town too so it won’t be hard to persuade her. We have just signed our marriage licence for another year, so there is something to celebrate.’
’You still with Marnie?’ Hugo asked, ‘that must be the third, or fourth contract?’
‘Fourth,’ George interrupted. ‘She’s a good girl, just lacks judgement when it comes to men. You want to come down too Hugo?’
’Not this weekend, I have other plans. I am taking the Sub-Atlantic to New York for the day on Saturday for lunch with an old friend. I may stay over until Sunday but I am playing golf just outside the Complex at midday. Still, I can catch the hour 9 from New York Central Station and be back in Exeter by ten so there is plenty of time.’
George turned to Will. ‘Ok, I will send you a diary insert with the flight number; we leave at hour 16 on the Sub-Orbital Hypersonic and will be landing at 17.30. Ok with you?’
‘Agreed,’ said Will, ‘can’t wait. Are you still in touch with Dr. Feelgood down there?’
‘Of course, Marvin will be in town, he always is. It shall be a weekend to remember.’
‘Even better; and Mira?’ Will asked. ‘I don’t suppose she will remember much of it will she?’
George thought about Mira again, and then about Tibha. And Will offered him his tube of diazepam. Minutes later the Hydrotrain eased into Waterloo Station at the Central Complex and everybody stepped off.
‘So, are you coming with me later? asked Will.
‘Do you know what, not this time,’ George replied. ‘I told Edgar earlier I would see him tonight and take him a crate of his favourite. And I have something to ask him about.’
‘Nice,’ replied Will. ‘Give the old boy my love and tell him I will drop in on him sometime over the next few weeks.’
‘I will, and make sure you do. He would like that,’ George told him as they moved off in opposite directions. Will and Hugo headed for the underground hydro and George to the main exit for the short walk to his apartment building. It was right alongside the main River Thames. Edgar and Will’s own grandfather had been close friends back in the old days. Both families had lived in the same street on the south side of the Central Complex. Will had known the old boy for as long as he could remember. And Edgar had always been fond of the lad. He had some connection to his own mother although neither Will nor George quite knew what it was. Mind you, they hadn’t even known their own mothers very well after they had been assessed and joined the Training Academy. George hadn’t seen his mother since then and the last he heard was that she had recently reached the age of fifty-six, been withdrawn and was now enjoying life somewhere in the south of the Division of Gaul.
Shortly before the hour 20 George scanned his ident-card at the entrance to the warehouse, which opened the main door. At the same time Edgar’s television screen split to reveal a picture of the hallway and he watched George carry a box towards the elevator. With a tap of his hy-dev Edgar granted the boy access and turned back to his laboratory. He ended the day’s experiment and closed the door.
‘Alright granddad,’ called George as he walked into the apartment, ‘I have bought you a fifteen-year-old. Twelve of them actually’ he added as he set the case down, peeled off the top and pulled out a bottle of the finest fifteen-year-old reserve whiskey that two dollars could buy.
‘Don’t mind if I do son, you know where the glasses are. Have you eaten?
Chapter Three
Edgar was very much from the old days and, over the years, many of his habits had been absorbed by the young George. As a student of history he loved the old days and with Edgar it seemed as if he could even feel the theme. Both were happy when the old man’s hy-dev pinged him the message to say that their fish, chips with bread and butter supper had been delivered to his food hatch. Where it came from George had never asked. The pair sat in old fashioned leather armchairs with their plates in their laps. George had only ever eaten meals at a proper dining table anywhere he had been for his entire life, apart from at Edgar’s where he ate from his knees. And in his own home, when he was alone, of course. The pair sprayed salt and vinegar over their chips and made sandwiches out of them, munching away and sipping whiskey.
‘Chip Butty’s,’ announced Edgar between mouthfuls, ‘ain’t never been anything better. How’s your cod?’
’Perfect,’ George replied as he looked around and studied Edgar’s main room. It was a wide, open space with large windows on two walls that framed the view of the Central Complex, shining brightly and humming with activity.
‘That is the original brickwork,’ Edgar gestured towards the large chimney breast and fireplace. ‘Somebody tried to persuade me to knock it down once, but that’s character that is. It must be over two hundred and fifty years old. Do you know that this whole building was built in 1802 of the Old Calendar by prisoners of war? When I first moved in here one of the old boys on the ground floor told me the story.’
Edgar had, at some point, chosen to have the high ceilings painted in a deep, dark maroon colour. The old wooden floorboards remained exposed and tattered rugs were scattered around. George had been there many times, of course. He had even lived there once for a few years whilst he was in the second part of his training and the Complex Academy was just around the corner.
‘How old was I when I stayed here?’ George asked.
‘I dunno, fourteen, fifteen; something like that.’ Said Edgar.
‘Were those pictures here then,’ George asked, pointing his butty at the African style art that peppered at least two of the walls.
‘I’ve had them for years,’ replied the old man. And they are yours one day; in fact you get the whole place when I’m gone. I ain’t got nobody else I can call family anymore.’
This remark caused the anxiety to build up in George again. Edgar had been around for all of his life and been part of it. A big part of it and it simply had never occurred to him that one day he wouldn’t be there anymore. Edgar was seventy-eight years old and most people lived well past a hundred years in modern times. George relaxed a little when he realised he would be at least around the withdrawing age himself by the time Edgar shuffled on.
‘Yeah well I don’t want to think about that,’ he said between mouthfuls, ‘if it’s alright with you.’ I’d prefer you to live forever, or at least outlive me.’
‘Everybody’s gotta die son. That’s easy. Any idiot can do that. Living is the trick. That’s the hard part so make sure you do it properly and for as long as you can. And make a contribution too, something that will last forever.’
’I do my best,’ grinned George as he set his plate down on the floor, leaned back into the big old armchair and sipped his whiskey.
Edgar tapped on his hy-dev and the giant screen on the wall sprang alive. ‘The footie is just starting,’ he said, ‘are you staying to watch it?’
‘Of course,’ said George. ‘Chelsea are at home, I can see the stadium lights are on.’ George gestured his glass to one of the big windows. ‘We should have gone. You used to take me all the time,’ he reminded him.
‘Bollocks to that,’ replied Edgar, ‘it’s cold out there and they haven’t got no armchairs in that stadium, nor Jamesons for that matter.’
Edgar stood up with his plate and, as George handed him his, he placed them back into the hatch and slammed the door shut. Where they went, George had never asked.
‘Come on you blues,’ shouted Edgar as the game started.
George had been armed with so many questions that day, but now was clearly not the time to start asking them.
’You cheating bastard,’ Edgar shouted at the referee.
George had long since given up reminding the old man that the referee couldn’t hear him, from where he was sitting.
‘What do you remember about Christmas?’ he ventured.
Edgar turned to look directly at him, paused for a moment and then said, ‘some old religious shit from years ago.’ He turned back to the screen, ‘not backwards, pass it forwards you useless wanker,’ he bellowed.
’And what about religion, what do you remember about that?’ George pressed on.
‘Nothing. Except when I was married once and started believing in the Hell part of it. That was back when your grandfather was born.’
‘How old were you then?’
‘Twenty-one, what is this twenty bleeding questions? Try passing it to a bloke with the same colour shirt on you muppet,’ he yelled.
George realised this was not a good time to be engaging Edgar in conversation about anything other than football. And so he gave in to type. ‘That’s more like it,’ he clapped, ‘a corner, now don’t waste it’ he called out, as Edgar stood up to watch. The ball flew over the heads of all the players and out for a throw in, to the wrong team, on the other side of the pitch. Edgar turned to George, arms stretched out wide and with a look of disbelief on his face. He didn’t even have to say ‘useless wanker,’ as he sat back down. George already knew. Looking around the apartment he started noticing things, for the first time, which had always been there. He had so many questions but they would have to wait. He settled back into his chair, sipped his whiskey, put his feet up and watched the game.
‘Come on you Blues,’ Edgar cheered as the final whistle sounded and the home crowd roared. ‘I do love a 3-0 win over the northern monkeys.’
‘Northern what? Asked George.
‘Never mind son, we won. Pass me that bottle.’
George topped his own glass and then did as he was asked. ‘Granddad, I am going down to the Mother City this weekend, is there anything you need before I go? But, I am back on Sunday so if it can wait....’
‘I’m good son, thanks for asking.’
George took a deep breath. ‘I am thinking of asking Mira if she wants to sign a marriage contract whilst I am there.’
Edgar choked on his whiskey and wiped his chin with a fraying sleeve. ‘You fucking what?’
’She is a good girl, has a good heart. If I can only help her with her drinking I think it will be great, she is fantastic when she is sober. I have never met anyone like her.’
‘And when she is drunk?’ Edgar probed.
‘Well,’ George paused and then said, ‘I’ve never met anyone like her either.’
‘Doesn't that answer your question George?’ assumed Edgar.
'I didn't ask one,' he responded.
'I think you did,' Edgar insisted.
George ignored the remark. ‘But if I can only help her with the drinking problem, if I can make it go away.’
‘You a head doctor now son are you, as well as a book geek? You sound like an idiot. Alcoholism is an illness, not a party weekend. You either have it or you haven’t. You are one or you aren’t. There is no in between.’
Edgar was not impressed by what he had heard of Mira, although he had never met her.
‘The thing is,’ George continued, ‘I met a girl today and I just can’t get her out of my mind. I’m thinking I might find out how things are in Cape Town, once and for all, and then decide what to do. Suggest a marriage licence or end it for good. Whatever ‘it’ is. But I know that would break her heart, it’s the thing she fears most.’
’Well, there is only one way to find that out son,’ said Edgar, ‘so perhaps it’s a good idea to bring matters to a head, so to speak. It’s only a year’s contract anyway. Just remember one thing. Be careful what you say and be careful what you do. A woman may, one day, forget what you have said to her but she will never forget how you made her feel. And another thing, you don’t really want to be entering a contract like that with a girl who spends most of her time looking for a better party, when she should be looking for a better self, do you?’
‘And when did you become an expert on women?’ asked George.
‘An expert on women? That’s called an oxymoron my boy but, I have learned from my own mistakes.’
‘Go on then,’ George challenged his grandfather, ‘tell me about your girlfriends when you were younger.’ Edgar thought for a moment, took a long draw from his glass, lit a smoke and sat back into his big leather armchair. After a few more moments he said.
‘Like most boys-turned-teenager, my sole ambition was to get myself a girlfriend and by the time I was seventeen I had met the perfect one. She was fragrant, funny and purely virginal. I stole all of that after promising to show her the beauty of making love. But I was just a kid and rushed it and, in the end, showed her nothing at all. She was sweet to taste, but shy and had yet to discover her desire for life, content instead to tow along. I decided I needed a girl with a little more sparkle, some confidence and awareness.
