Page 69 of Wish You Were Here
I slam the door of the green room shut, and immediately I fall to pieces and start sobbing my heart out. It was all a fucking scam. Fudge Cake were never going to see me perform, and why would they? I’m a gullible idiot, and Joe Thompson played me and toyed with my dreams just because he wanted to screw me – and he definitely did screw me. I slump down on the crap, stained sofa, my guitar next to me, and this feels like it. My career is going nowhere, I’m thirty, and the man I thought might have somehow been the love of my life has just told me he can’t speak to me anymore. This is officially the worst birthday ever. All the gigs I have performed over the years, all the songs I have written, all of it feels like a waste of time. I feel like such a loser, and this is when my phone rings. I look down and it’s Marrickville Retirement Village. They only call when it’s important and especially at this time of the night. I wipe my eyes and answer. It’s Rhonda.
‘Sorry to call so late, Sassie, but it’s Lou.’
‘What’s happened? Has he—’
‘Not yet, but he’s close, and he’s asking for you. Do you think—’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ I say, and then we hang up. Lou is dying, and nothing else matters right now because I need to say goodbye to him before it’s too late. I get my things together, and start to dash out of the room, but as I open the door, I am greeted by Mum, Brian, Jess, Aaron and Brad, and they’re all excited to see me.
‘Sas, love, you were brilliant!’ says Mum.
‘So good!’ squeals Jess.
‘I thought I was at a Taylor Swift concert!’ says Brian.
‘What did Fudge Cake say?’ says Brad excitedly.
I take one look at them and then I say, ‘Sorry, but I have to go.’
Then I walk past them, through the corridors of the venue, and then finally outside. I order an Uber, and I am soon being driven through the Sydney suburbs towards Marrickville Retirement Village, hoping to see Lou Sanders one last time before it’s too late.
The nurse explains everything and how they had wanted to move Lou to the care facility yesterday, but he became a bit aggro, and despite some quite heavy medication, still told them to ‘fuck off and leave him to fucking die in peace, eh,’ which makes me laugh, despite the seriousness of the situation. Eventually, after a quick chat with Rhonda, I walk into Lou’s room for the last time. It’s dark, and it has a strange smell, which is probably a combination of the drugs, Lou and the fact he’s dying. I miss the smell of his horrible aftershave. In a way it symbolised exactly who he was – not for everyone, quite aggressive and likely to cause offence.
‘Lou? Can you hear me?’ I say, sitting down next to him. His breathing is shallow, and he’s just lying there, looking pale, weak and not like the man I met when he first moved in. He isn’t even like the man I knew a few weeks ago, such has been the speed of his decline. I reach across and hold his hand, which is dry, cold and brittle. ‘Lou, it’s me, Saskia.’
He finally opens his eyes, and without moving his head, he looks across at me. It’s always heartbreaking when residents die, but especially when it’s someone who has become a friend.
‘How ya goin’?’ says Lou, his gravelly voice barely audible.
‘I think better than you.’
‘Fucking dying, eh.’
I laugh, trying to keep the tears at bay because I don’t want his last memory on earth to be me crying my eyes out. Instead, I pick up my guitar.
‘Do you want to hear that song? ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ by Elvis, right?’
Lou doesn’t say anything, but he smiles at me, and then I begin strumming my guitar and singing his favourite song. After Lou told me about this song, I went home and started practicing because I wanted to get it just right. If it was going to be the last time he heard his dead wife’s favourite song, I wanted it to be good. I play the song, and when I finish, I reach across and hold Lou’s hand. We sit like this, his breathing becoming more laboured, and it can’t be long now. After about ten minutes, I feel him gently squeeze my hand.
‘Sas.’
‘Yes, Lou, what is it?’ I say, standing up so I can lean closer to him.
‘The drawer.’
‘What drawer, Lou? What are you talking about?’ It’s probably the drugs talking now, but he lets go of my hand and he manages to point across to the bedside table next to his bed.
‘Oh, this drawer,’ I say, standing up, and then I reach down, open the drawer and it’s completely empty except for an envelope. I take the envelope and sit down again. ‘What’s this?’
‘For you,’ he says, his voice barely audible now.
I look at the plain white envelope, and written in his wiggly, terrible handwriting, it says:Saskia. Thank you. Go and live your life. It’s short. Fucking enjoy it. Choose love! Lou x. I open the envelope, peer inside and all that’s in there is a cheque. I take it out, look at it, and it’s made out to me for twenty thousand dollars. I am gobsmacked, and don’t know what to say.
‘Lou. I can’t accept this. It’s too much, and what about your son?’ I look at him, and his breathing has become even shallower. He opens his eyes and looks at me, perhaps for the last time, and I know exactly what I need to do for him. One last moment. One final thing to do before he dies. He’s an old man who, for most of the time, annoyed people, offended, but all I see is a heartbroken old man who lost the love of his life. He’s looking up at me, and I don’t know if he’s even with it, but I lift my shirt, pull my bra down, and I show Lou Sanders my tits. It’s what he would have wanted. I peer down at him, and I see a small smile appear on his face.
I sit with Lou for the next thirty minutes, holding his hand so he knows he isn’t alone. He doesn’t move, open his eyes, and his breathing is erratic, and occasionally he will make a noise and then silence again, and I have to check if he’s still with me. As I’m sitting here with him, memories of doing the same with Dad come back to me. The last few hours with Dad were Mum and I sitting on either side of his bed, each holding a hand, and we just sat there, talking to him, trying not to cry, until eventually he slipped away. It’s impossible not to cry now because the memory of Dad is still so fresh in my mind. I’m losing Lou, and I’m going to miss him terribly. He lived a whole life, had a family, but on his deathbed it’s just me. Where is his son, and why has he never been to visit?
I sit holding his hand, my mind completely blown away by everything that has happened today from the FaceTime with Ben, the gig for Fudge Cake, and now Lou dying and leaving me twenty thousand dollars. I don’t know what to think about any of it. After another twenty minutes, it feels like he’s gone, and so I check for a pulse just to make sure, and there is nothing. He is completely still. Lou Sanders is dead.
