The Book

I call my sister back. She answers the phone, but passes it immediately on to my mother.

"I've got some terrible news. Prepare yourself."

I am already prepared for this. My grandfather's been unwell for quite a while, and - although the new drugs seem to have rejuvinated him in ways I didn't really expect possible - I know there's no such thing as a miracle cure. Still, I become agitated.

"What? What is it?"

My mother stalls. I can't quite remember what she says. Until:

"It's your father."

Ok, I'm not expecting that.

"What? Oh fuck. What's happened?

"He's had a heart attack."

A lot of people have heart attacks. You can recover from a heart attack.

"Is he alive?"

[My father texts me, and reminds me we haven't spoken for a while. I phone him up, and we natter. He's been exploring bits of west Wales and going to pubs. Nothing new there really. I might be going to Egypt. Work is a sack of wank, but what's new? Generally things are ok. He passes me on to my mother.]

"No."

*****

My brother-in-law stops at an ASDA garage just by the M4, and I go in to buy some paracetemol. Of course Anadin is fine. The phone rings. I don't like answering the phone when I'm being served by people. It's rude. But I have to on this occasion. I thank the lady behind the counter and nod. It's my brother. He tells me that the undertaker is there, and can they take him away, or do I want to see him. I'm an hour away.

There's a pause.

"I don't know. I... I don't know how to answer that kind of question. Sorry."

I hang up.

[My dad and I sit at a table sporting pints of lovely cold bubbly liquid. He announces that, in his retirement, he plans to write a book. Or rather have someone ghost write his book. I tell him I'd be honoured. He has a database of incredible stories. I know that folk who claim that their lives are incredibly interesting and should be made into a film or a book are seven a penny... but Big Dave knows that in his case it's true. And I believe him. I've heard the stories. I can't wait.]

I decide five minutes later that I do want to see him. Or, more accurately, I don't want to not see him.

*****

"Which doctor?" asks the coroner.

"Yeah, probably," I say. Big Dave loves this joke. It's a terrible joke. Nobody gets it.

Later I walk into the living room, and my mother is lying on the floor in the spot where my father had been for about three hours previously. I have had no idea what to say to my mother. I think my father was incredibly noble to move into a house with her parents, essentially so that she could look after them as they died. I can't comprehend how difficult a time they knew were in store for them, but at least they could move to somewhere nice afterwards. Possibly Tenby. Actually I think Cardigan may have been the latest. I can't imagine she suspected for a moment that she'd go in with four, and come out by herself.

I don't really know how to end this, so I'll just paraphrase:

'E's not pinin'... 'E's passed on! This Walrus is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd be pushing up the daisies! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile! This is an ex-Walrus!