|
Back to First Page
Goodbye Nan By David Gardiner
This story may be reproduced in whole or in part for any non-commercial purpose provided that authorship is acknowledged and credited. The copyright remains the property of the author
"I think he's cute." Shirley giggled slightly as she said it and kept her voice low so that none of the messengers or despatch riders wandering through to the offices beyond were likely to hear.
"You're welcome to him, girl. He's weird. Creepy as they come."
"I think he looks like a little kid waiting for his mother to come and get him. All sweet and innocent. I think I'm going to ask him for a date."
"Are you crazy? What would you want to do that for?"
"Just to see what he's really like. I think he's pretty harmless."
"Harmless, yes. Also terminally boring." She lowered her voice even more, "if you really want to know, I can tell you a bit about him. You know Gillian in Human Resources?" Shirley nodded. "She went out with him once. I think it must have been for a bet. They had a dinner at that Greek place - on Villiers Road. She said she could hardly get a word out of him. So she took it as a challenge. At the end of the evening she says: 'Why don't you drive me home?' So off they go. Then in the car she says: 'Why don't we go to your place instead, 'cause I live with my mum?' Bold as brass. And guess what? He wouldn't do it. She said he went as pale as a sheet and just took her back to her mum's and dropped her off. Didn't try a thing. What do you think of that?"
"Like I said, a little boy. I think he sounds sweet. I think I'll take up Gillian's challenge."
"Waste your time if you want to!"
ooOoo
"Hello. You're Keith, aren't you? You work in Despatch?" He nodded uncomfortably and continued the task of loading chips on to his fork, barely looking up at the newcomer. "Can I have my lunch with you?" She sat opposite without waiting for a reply. "I'm Shirley, from the front desk."
"I know. Seen you there every day." He looked at her curiously. "You don't eat in the canteen."
"Well, today I do." There was an awkward silence. Shirley filled it by toying with her food. "I don't know how you can eat those greasy chips," she said at last, "they're gross."
"I like chips. Always liked chips."
She thought for a few moments. Subtlety, she could see, wasn't going to get her anywhere. "Do you ever do anything in the evenings?" she demanded bluntly.
At last he looked up. "Not a lot."
"Why don't we... go somewhere together some time. Go clubbing maybe? Do you like clubs?"
He considered the question. "Don't know."
"We could go some place for a few drinks first. Or a meal maybe. Then, if you felt like it, I could take you to a great place that I know."
He smiled hesitantly. She studied his face. He might be a bit weird like Shona and Gillian said but there was nothing wrong with his looks. She could easily picture him as lead singer with a boy band. He answered in a husky undertone. "Okay then. Tonight?"
"You're a fast worker, aren't you? Okay then, tonight it is? Where do you live?"
"Why?"
"I just thought I could meet you there. Shona said you lived on the Powers Estate. That's only a few minutes walk from me. I live with my parents and it's easier to meet somewhere else."
"Okay. But I won't be able to ask you in. I... hope you don't mind."
"Parents?"
"No. It's my own place. But it's not... tidy."
She laughed. "Shit! You should see my room!"
He just looked at her but didn't answer. Shirley was pleased with herself. This was going to be a night to remember.
ooOoo
She deliberately arrived a few minutes early and had a look at the outside of Keith's maisonette. It was an odd place for a boy to be living on his own, they looked like the kind of places the Council usually rented to old people. Ground floor apartment, one more above it in each block, wheelchair ramps as well as steps. Although it was early evening and broad daylight he had his curtains drawn tight across so that it was impossible to see inside.
Keith's front garden was a mess. Piled high with rubble and old newspapers and things spilling from split black dustbin liners. There was a smashed TV and broken-up furniture of every kind. It was choked to the point where it was becoming a health hazard. She vaguely wondered why the Council hadn't made him clear it up. Pity really because most of the gardens around it were quite well cared for.
She took out her mirror, had a cursory glance at her makeup, and rang the bell. She heard a loud clatter from somewhere within followed by the sound of a lock being undone. Keith opened the door just enough to poke his head outside and looked at her with mild alarm. "Hello Shirley. You're early. Can you give me a couple of minutes?"
"Sure." She tried to move her head to see inside.
"I'm sorry," he said firmly, "can't let anybody in."
"Come on, Keith. What's the big deal? Do you think I've never seen a messy flat before?"
"I did say," he reminded her.
Shirley suddenly screamed and flung herself bodily at Keith, propelling the two of them inside where she came to rest on top of him in a wriggling prone mass on the hallway floor. "It was a rat!" she screamed, her arms flailing in every direction, knocking Keith's head to one side where he lay beneath her, "it was a rat and it touched me! It touched my ankle!"
She stopped screaming and lay rigid on top of him. Obviously embarrassed beyond words he disentangled himself, rose to his feet and helped his dumbstruck guest to hers. "It came from the stuff in the garden," he said as calmly as he could. "They won't do you any harm. And they don't come in here... well, not very much."
Shirley simply stood trembling, her eyes widening in horror as she looked past Keith to the corridor and the doors leading to the kitchen and the sitting room. The apartment was not so much a living space as a container, filled to waist height or in some places to ceiling height with a bewildering mass of old rotting material. There were piles of newspapers and magazines, cardboard boxes, bottles, stuffed plastic bags, some bearing the name of the local chip shop, clothing, shoes, broken furniture, half dismantled appliances, broken crockery, overturned and broken plant pots, and holding it all together like a crumbling grey mortar something that looked like a cross between soil and house dust. It completely engulfed the lower layers so that only the items towards the tops of the piles were individually identifiable. Down the centre of the hallway and leading into each of the rooms a crude pathway had been cleared through the rubble, just wide enough to allow the passage of a human body. As her head cleared slightly from the shock she became aware of the heavy musty smell, like wet compost or mildewed cloth. The muted odour of decomposition that was years old, almost run its course. Keith's apartment was a cave cut out of garbage and cleverly hidden within the walls of a Council maisonette.
"Oh my God," she said very quietly, backing away from Keith towards the front door.
"I... didn't mean for you to see in here," he said equally quietly.
"Oh my God," she repeated, still backing away. When she was clear of the front door she turned tail and ran until Keith and his dwelling were several streets behind her and her mother's house almost in view a few turnings ahead.
ooOoo
Shirley didn't see Keith for a couple of days after the incident, she guessed that he wasn't at work, but on Monday morning, to her considerable surprise, he was waiting by her desk when she arrived and very timidly asked if he could have a word. There was nobody else about so she smiled uneasily and said "Sure."
"Look, " he told her in a conspiratorial undertone, "It ain't as bad as what it looks. Most of that stuff belonged to my Nan. I just never had the heart to throw it out. I will, definitely. As soon as I have a chance to go through it and see what's worth keeping. It's not all rubbish, you know."
"Keith," she said quietly but firmly, "trust me, it's all rubbish. Maybe it wasn't once but it is now."
He looked slightly upset. "It's sort of... sentimental value, you know? It was her stuff and she wouldn't have wanted me to throw it out."
Shirley paused and took her seat behind the reception desk before she replied. "I suppose you loved your Nan, didn't you?"
"She was great. The only person that really treated me right. I mean, my Mum was a mess, and my Dad was even worse. I'd have never got out of care if it hadn't been for my Nan. I lived with her since I was ten."
"When did she die?"
"When I was eighteen. Just old enough to go it alone. It's almost as if she waited - so that I would never have to go into foster homes again."
Shirley looked at him thoughtfully. "You're not really telling me that that was all her stuff?"
"No, not all of it. Mostly to do with her though. Newspapers she used to have delivered. Parcels that came for her after she died. But some of it's mine. All right then, a lot of it's mine. I'm just not good at throwing stuff away. I don't know why."
"Keith, you need help. I mean it. It's not so terrible - it's not as if you're a psycho or something - but you do need help. Would you let me help you?"
He looked puzzled. "How could you help?"
"I'm not sure. But there's bound to be people we could talk to. Doctors. Therapists. I don't know."
"Why would you want to help me?"
"I don't know. I just do. Can I? Will you let me try?"
ooOoo
"I'm glad you were both able to come along today," the doctor smiled, ushering them to a pair of chairs in front of his vast empty desk. He sat down and leaned back himself before he continued. "I think your support is exactly what this young man needs to make a success of his therapy. Keith, you'll forgive me if I repeat some of what I said on your last visit, for Shirley's benefit." He clasped his hands together and looked thoughtfully at Shirley. "Keith's problem is not particularly unusual, and it's highly treatable. In clinical terms he suffers from an obsessive-compulsive disorder. He feels an overwhelming need to hoard items which have no intrinsic value, particularly items associated with his late grandmother. Now intellectually Keith can see that there is no point in this hoarding, but knowing that fact does not help him to eliminate the behaviour. That is what a compulsion is, something we are compelled to do regardless of our better judgement. Addictions of all kinds come into that category. Somebody knows alcohol or tobacco or heroin is killing him but he cannot stop using it. The craving, the need, whatever you like to call it, is too great. Keith knows as well as you do, Shirley, that this compulsion is highly destructive of his enjoyment of his life. And with your help he intends to eliminate it. Isn't that right, Keith?"
Keith nodded solemnly and took Shirley's hand. "How can I help, Doctor?" Shirley asked.
"Certain practical arrangements have already been made. The local Council has agreed to forgo the legal action that they were contemplating with regard to the rubbish in the front garden. But it will have to go, right away. They are going to put a skip on the road and I would like the two of you to shovel the rubbish from the garden into it together. That shall help to maintain Keith's will power and commitment to getting well. It may be unpleasant both physically and perhaps also psychologically difficult for Keith, but we don't have any choice about it if he is to continue living in his late grandmother's apartment. It is an absolute requirement imposed by the Council."
"No problem, Doctor," Shirley put in with enthusiasm, "I'll be happy to help."
"I'll do it," Keith assured them.
"The next phase may be more difficult. The material inside the house will have to be cleared little by little, over a period of weeks, or even months. The Council are going to give you an industrial sized refuse trolley that they will empty at regular weekly intervals. It will be your responsibility to fill it with the material from inside the apartment ready for collection every Friday. Now I know what that material means to you and I know how difficult it's going to be for you to part with it. I know that it represents all that now remains of your grandmother, the person to whom you have felt closest for many important and formative years of your life. The woman who rescued you from a way of life that you hated and gave you a secure and loving home. I appreciate that she was a wonderful person. But she's gone now, Keith, and the time has come to say goodbye. I am going to ask you to do something that you may think a little bizarre, and I am going to ask you, Shirley, in so far as you are able, to insure that he does it. Every time you put something in that big refuse bin, I want you to say 'goodbye, Nan", and I want you to mean it. Are you willing to do that for me?"
Keith seemed to think about it for a long time. "Yip. Sure will, Doc. No problem." Shirley squeezed his hand supportively.
"I think that's a lovely idea," she said brightly.
ooOoo
Shirley tapped tentatively on Keith's door, which was now partly blocked by the biggest black plastic refuse bin that she had ever seen. The front garden looked enormous now, cleared of its heaps of rotting trash, and the curtains were parted enough to allow her to see a large circular clearing in the centre of the sitting room floor with a number of black plastic rubbish bags neatly piled at one side ready to be taken out to the monster bin. She could hear the scraping of a shovel inside which stopped when she knocked, and soon afterwards the front door was opened wide by Keith who was carrying another of the black bags.
Keith!" she greeted him cheerfully, "it looks so much better. You must have worked at it all week!"
"Hello," he put down the bag and kissed her lightly on the lips, taking care not to touch her with his hands or clothing, "thanks for coming. I just took Tuesday and Thursday off work and done most of it then. The big skip went on Wednesday. The first big plastic bin was replaced yesterday."
"Well, I'm very proud of you. And I've come to help again." She held out her hands as though to model the scruffy jeans and T shirt she was wearing.
"You don't have to. It's dirty work."
"Come on. Let me get you organized. I said I was going to help and I will."
He tossed the bulky refuse sack into the enormous bin with a cheerful "Goodbye Nan!" and allowed her to follow him into the hallway.
"You know, it's really a very nice place," she assured him as they headed down the newly cleared corridor, "And that smell's almost gone. I can't wait to see it cleaned up. We'll be able to get into the main bedroom soon." He looked at her sheepishly and continued to where he had been tunnelling towards the rear wall of the kitchen.
ooOoo
"Good of you to come, Shirley." The Doctor led her to the seat she had occupied before but this time she was by herself. He took his own seat behind the desk. "I need to have a talk with you," he began awkwardly, searching for the right words. "How well do you know Keith?"
"Not all that well. Just a few weeks. But I like him a lot."
"Yes, I could see that you did. I asked you to come here today because I've discovered something very worrying. It's not a medical matter so I don't think there is any ethical issue in telling you. I feel that you have a right to know." He paused. "You will remember that I had negotiations with the Council. Well, it emerged that Keith never informed them of his grandmother's death. As far as they knew she was still the tenant and he was there in the capacity of a family carer. It's only a technicality and I didn't think anything of it at the time - I mean, which of us remembers all the necessary paperwork and people to be informed when we have a death in the family? So I thought I would put it right for him myself. I tried to trace the registration of Keith's grandmother's death. As far as I could ascertain, no Death Certificate was ever registered. Now that is a little peculiar. If you haven't registered the death you can't have a burial service, or a cremation, or anything like that. And of course it's a serious violation of the law. I could only think of one reason why he might want to do it."
Shirley was somewhat out of her depth. "What reason?"
"If his grandmother was in receipt of a pension of any kind. It's quite common for a younger relative to cash the vouchers on behalf of someone who is old and infirm. If the pensioner dies and the authorities are not informed it is possible for such a person to continue to collect the pension fraudulently until such time as they find out. I made some discreet inquiries and I'm sorry to have to tell you that what I have described is indeed the case. Keith has been cashing his grandmother's State Retirement Pension for at least the last six years. And if he has been telling us the truth the lady has been deceased for four of those years."
Shirley said nothing but looked totally devastated.
"It would appear that your boyfriend is a law-breaker. I'm sorry that I had to be the one to tell you, but I felt an obligation. I was certain that you didn't know."
"We were going to move in together," Shirley whispered, "we had it all planned. The maisonette is beautiful now. I washed everything and got new carpets and a new bed..." She started to sob quietly.
"Please try not to be upset. It isn't the end of the world... cliché I know, but true. He may not have to go to prison. As his physician I can put in a plea regarding his state of mind over the course of those years. I am certain that the authorities will listen sympatheticaly. I am no expert, but in my opinion the most likely outcome will be a court order to repay the money over a specified period. And on the positive side, it sounds as though his mental health is greatly improved. He was able to throw everything away, little by little, just as I had hoped. Did he say 'goodbye Nan" each time he threw something into the bin?"
She dried her tears. "Yes... most of the time. Then, a few weeks ago, he said he didn't need to any more. He said: 'It's all right, Nan's gone now'".
Shirley's eyes widened. So did the Doctor's. They looked at one another and cried out in perfect unison: "OH MY GOD!!!".
TO READ OR SIGN THE GUEST BOOK JUST CLICK ON THE
|
