Chapter 18/Falling ShadowsOne freezing November day, shortly after the rush of customers on their way to work, swaddled in thick winter clothes with hats and scarves muffling winter-pinched faces, Ted Hankey burst suddenly into the corner convenience store.
“I can’t find ‘er nowhere! She’s gone!” He wrung his hands agitatedly, his face shining with tears that gathered a large streak of mucus as they streamed down his withered cheeks and dribbled down off the end of his chin. The fog was thick that morning and followed the frail old man inside like an ominous wraith.
Syed, who’d taken advantage of the lull to gravely peruse some paperwork, snapped immediately out of his reverie, hurried from behind the counter, turned the
“Open” sign to
“Closed” and clicked the lock.
“Now. And little Steven?” He enquired worriedly.
His friend only stared at him blankly. “I can’t find ‘er nowhere,” he continued, as if nobody had spoken. “I can’t find ‘er. Do you know where she is? I can’t find Flo. I can’t find ‘er nowhere!”
Syed started. Ted’s wife Flo had been dead for decades. He looked more closely at his friend and for the first time noticed that he was still in his slippers, there was an egg yolk stain on his wrongly-buttoned shirt and his weak grey eyes gazed somewhere far away.
“I don’t know where she is.” Trembling and distraught, Ted kept up the refrain like a lost child. “I don’t know where Flo is. Can’t you tell me where she is?”
Like many people in 1958, Syed had never heard of dementia. Not knowing what to do, silently praying for guidance, he laid his hand gently on his companion’s shoulder. “Come. We drink tea. You feel better...”
But Ted was not to be so easily pacified. He grasped the shopkeeper’s arm and for a half hour or more, alternately begging, weeping and accusing, clung desperately to him, while Syed, almost afraid to move, as if he thought in his fragile state Ted might snap in two, did his best to console and reassure. Slowly, and to his enormous relief, the elderly man by degrees became more aware of his surroundings and more like his usual self.
“What the bloody ‘ell am I doin’ ‘ere? In me bloody slippers an’ all!” Shaking his head as if to shake away the mystery, Al’ Ted looked down at his feet and back up at Syed. “I must’ve dozed off in the arm-chair or summat, mate. I ‘aven’t sleepwalked since I was nine years old!” He chuckled as though it was all a grand joke.
If other worries hadn’t been weighing so heavily on his mind, Syed might have heard the tremor in his voice albeit carefully disguised. While he seemed to make light of the matter, Ted was actually extremely upset. His memory lapses terrified him. It was old age, it happened to everyone, he tried to convince himself, and yet deep down
knowing. And so the two men went along with the charade, Syed because he actually believed the sleepwalking story and Ted because he was desperate to grasp at any straw in a world that was slipping further and further away from his grasp.
He did not want to stay for the tea Syed again proffered. He needed to get back, he said, to check on little Stevie.
And though he was still concerned for his friend, Ted’s mental health wasn’t the only thing troubling Syed. A family crisis had arisen back home in India and as eldest male his presence was required there urgently. He had no choice other than to return. Delay might not only make the financial situation worse, but, even more worrying, if things were allowed to escalate the way they apparently were, there would be a rift in the family so great it may never be mended. His flight to India had been booked and he was due to leave tomorrow while Margie took time out from college to care for the boys and the shop. He only hoped he could sort out the family problems to everyone’s satisfaction and that Margie could cope on her own.
Kathy and Steve were still fast asleep when he walked with Ted down the long, curving street, the front door still wide open. “I’ll be fine now, mate,” Ted said. “No need to disturb no-one,” he added sheepishly. He had run a hand over his face and been embarrassed by its wetness. He wanted to wash, change out of his dirty shirt, warm his soaking feet. Most of all, he didn’t want to alarm Stevie. The little lad had been through enough in his short life.
Having no great faith in Kathy’s ability to empathise, Syed reluctantly agreed not to wake her. Perhaps the best plan would be instead tell his wife what had happened and ask her to pass the information on to Kathy but to keep a very close eye on Ted while he was gone.
A taxi was to take him to Heathrow Airport early tomorrow morning. He would have to rely on Margie to make sure Ted was okay until he got back. Syed turned round once, to return Ted’s wave.
They were never to see each other again.
*****
Margie Husain, working her way through a pile of ironing, sighed exasperatedly at her husband and raised her eyes at the sound of yet another thud from upstairs. She was dog tired. It was all very well for Syed, swanning off to India. The house was a bloody tip, there was a stack of dishes in the sink, her college assignments still lay untouched and the boys, stuck indoors because of the atrocious weather, were bored and playing up. It was hard enough at the best of times to study while juggling a home and kids even though Syed often helped out. But now, in addition to all this, he expected her to keep the store open
and play Florence Nightingale!
“And where he hell do you expect me to find the time? Anyroad, Al’ Ted’s already got that bone idle Kathy one there.” Margie spoke disparagingly. Kathy Ross was not high on her list of favourite people.
“Please, Margie. As a favour to me.”
And so Margie promised. And at the time she meant it. For Syed’s sake, as a favour to him, because she loved him. But, busy with the shop, the home and the kids, Margie, with every intention of doing so, somehow never got round to checking on Ted Hankey or even speaking with Kathy. Time moved on, other things happened, the ocean of life ebbed and flowed, promises were swept away with the tide.
Two weeks later Syed Husain boarded the flight home, feeling much lighter of heart. The family crisis was averted,
Pancha Ganapati and Christmas were fast approaching (amusingly, and not surprisingly, the boys were always keen to celebrate both) and he was looking forward to seeing his wife and sons again.
And Margie was still busy, even more so. There was still the shop, the home, the kids and now their over-excitement in the run up to the December festivities and their father’s homecoming.
The plane came down shortly after take-off. There were no survivors.
And all that Margie, out of her mind with grief, could think of was escaping the street that held so many memories. She left for her parents’ home that very same evening. She never returned. Her two brothers came at a much later date to sort out the house and shop.
Nobody gave Al’ Ted a second thought.