Page 53 of Wish You Were Here
‘I know.’
‘You can’t let them,’ he says, turning to me, and for perhaps the first time since I’ve known him, he looks scared. ‘Promise me you won’t let them put me in there.’
‘I can’t promise, Lou. I’m not in charge.’
‘Then talk to fucking, what’s her name?’
‘Rhonda.’
‘Fucking Rhonda, and tell her I don’t want to die in that horrible fucking place. That’s where Daphne ended up, and I hated it.’
‘I’ll try, Lou, but I can’t promise. I wish I could,’ I reply, and he takes another drag of his ciggy, and I take a drag on mine. I look across at him and then I reach a hand across and hold his spare hand. Despite the sunshine, his hand is icy cold, which instantly takes me back to Dad. When he was in the hospice, his hands were always freezing.
Lou and I sit, holding hands, watching the world go by, listening to the birds, and it feels like one of those moments. I want to ask about his son again, but I don’t want to upset him or ruin this. I don’t know if he’s enjoying this or relishing thismoment, but I am. It’s just us, and it’s times like this when I know I am making a difference. Sometimes in this job, it can feel like all I am doing is putting out fires, dealing with complaints, or cleaning up shit – actual shit – but in moments it feels worthwhile.
‘It’s my thirtieth birthday soon, Lou, and I’m playing the biggest gig of my life. Maybe the last gig, too. There’s a band called Fudge Cake. They’re huge, and if I do well, maybe I’ll get to go on tour with them. It will be all my dreams come true, but if it doesn’t go well, then that could be it for my singing career. It’s like Mum always says, I have to stop messing around at some point and grow up.’
‘Growing up’s not as much fucking fun as they make out, love.’
‘But there’s the good stuff too, right? Like getting married, having kids. It’s not all bad.’
‘Yeah, love, it isn’t all bad,’ says Lou, taking the last puff on his ciggy before he tosses it on the ground. I have to stamp it out, along with mine, and then I pick them both up.
‘If you could give me one piece of advice for life, Lou, what would it be?’ I say to him, and he looks across at me and smiles. It’s a lovely, warm, beautiful old smile, and it melts my heart. I wish his wife hadn’t died, and they could have gone together.
‘Don’t take love for granted because you never know when it will be gone.’
When he says this, I see a deep sadness in his eyes, grief that sits in them like cold fat hardened into a frying pan. I imagine he’s thinking about his wife because I know it breaks his heart that she’s gone. After a second, he tells me to take him back inside because he’s getting ‘fucking cold, eh’ and so I do. I wheel him back to his room and then I help him back into bed.
‘I’ll talk to Rhonda about you staying here.’
‘Thanks, love, and before I cark it, I’d love to hear you sing.’
‘Yeah?’
‘See if you’re any good, eh.’
‘What’s your favourite song?’
It takes Lou a moment before he looks at me and says with a smile.
‘‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ by Elvis. It was Daphne’s favourite.’
‘Right, Lou. I’ll see you soon.’
‘All right, love,’ says Lou, before he adds. ‘Unless I die first, eh.’
‘You’d better not die before I see you again. Don’t you want to make it to Chrissy?’
‘You know what Daphne used to say about Chrissy?’
‘Something heartwarming like the most wonderful time of the year?’
‘Nah, love. She used to say it was a waste of fucking time. She fucking hated Chrissy, eh.’
I laugh. ‘I hope you’re still here, Lou, and maybe I’ll play you that song.’
‘And a quick pash under the mistletoe?’
