soulsinger's blog: "Short stories"

PROVIDENCE Derek sighed as he passed over his last-five pound note. He eyed his two drinks somberly, the edges of his mouth turning slightly downwards. “There you go, love” said the barmaid as she passed the change over to his side of the bar. He looked at the coin, sitting solitary in a puddle of warm beer. He felt sorry that this coin should to be the last one standing, as it were. It peered back at him like a cold, lonely, lost soldier on the coast at Dunkirk. “Thanks, Bess,” he said, as he picked up the wet pound coin and dropped it in his pocket. “Just enough for a bag of chips.” “What’s that, Del?” “Nothing, love. Just looking forward to my bag of chips on the walk home.” “You’re not walking home in this weather?” “Of course I am.” It was long walk. Four miles to the other side of town. And yes, the weather had turned in the last couple of days. The long mild autumn had turned bitter and the golden red canopy that sheltered suburbia was now a brittle carpet that crunched with every step. But the chips would keep him warm. “Del. You’ll catch your death. Get a taxi, will yer?” She must have spotted Dels face drop as she asked “Having problems?” “Bess, I don’t want to talk about it. Really.” “Why not? Don’t be so proud. We’re family. We’re supposed to help each other out. It’s what families do.” “No, Bess.” His raised voice silenced her, momentarily. “Fine. Suit yourself. But if you and Mags want anything. Anything at all. Just ask, okay?” He sighed again. “Thanks, Bess. I appreciate it. Thanks.” She smiled and touched his hand and returned to serving. Del sat in the dark cubby in the corner of the pub. There was less smoke there. He had given up smoking eight months ago and the delicate waft of smoke in this corner soothed him like and old friend. He found the fog of smoke that filled the rest of the pub overwhelming. His lungs would feel tight after only a couple of minutes and his eyes would sting terribly. Better here. In the little snug. He could enjoy the atmosphere of his on little world. His company, his drinks and his very own passive smoke. He stared at the dark pint of Guinness, a perfect figure for a model, he mused. He licked his dry lips and gently teased the smooth curves, cool drips of water collecting under his fingers and sliding down her… “Awight Delboy” “Jay. Hiya.” “Did I interrupt something? Getting busy with the dark lady?” “Oh aye. Thought I ought to say goodbye, and all.” “Eh? You’re not leaving?” “No. Don’t be daft. I’m leaving off the black stuff for a while.” Jay’s eyes widened. “Only for a while, mind!” “Still struggling?” “We’ll get by.” “You seem okay, though. How’s ‘er indoors?” “She’s okay.” Derek averted his eyes and picked up the Guiness. “Really?” Derek grimaced. “No.” “Sorry about that.” Derek downed the rest of his pint. “In a rush, or something?” “I’ve go to get back for, well. You know.” “Oh aye, a bit of the other?” “Huh. I wish. No.” Jay waited but a further explanation wasn’t forthcoming. He smiled sympathetically as Del stood, pulling his coat on. “Well, I hope things get a bit better. If you need any help, me and the missus would be glad…” “Yeah,” Del said, rather shortly. “I mean, thanks Jay. Really.” He gave a slight nod of thanks, turned and walked to the exit. He was finding life difficult at the moment and it showed. Despite his upbeat disposition, his shoulders sagged and brow furrowed through worry. His smile was just a little stretched, his eyes shone just a little dimmer and his spirit no longer lifted those around him. He had always accepted his lot in life and wasn’t about to start complaining now. And the continual offers of help and sympathy only served to embarrass and humble him. He had always stood solid against the trials of life. He had always overcome his problems through his own endeavour. He could never accept the friendly offers, through habit and pride. But he felt completely helpless. He pushed open the heavy reinforced door of the pub and his breath turned instantly white on the air. Within seconds, he could feel winter’s icy fingers pinching at his ears and nose. It was the small things in life that he was grateful for. The new coat that his sister had bought him to replace the twenty years old denim jacket. There were more pockets than things to put in them and the thermal padding would satisfy even the most ardent arctic explorer. The pavement was slippery under foot and the frost and ice shimmered under the light of the street lamps. He stepped into the road where his footing would be surer. The gritters had done their job this year, the pink salt and gravel keeping winter at bay for drivers, at least. It was too cold to take his hands out of his pockets. He looked to the end of town. The illuminated church clock said ten o’clock. Early. He would have stayed till closing time if situations were different. It wouldn’t take long to walk the three miles home. He walked at a fair pace. He tried desperately hard to keep his mind from his problems but it would inevitably return to obsess, to torment him. He would begin by thinking about football. Being an avid fan and an ex-professional, he had many memories of past and recent glories to make him smile. It was nice to see Liverpool doing so well at last. Most pundits believed this to be their greatest season for at least thirty years. And these opinions were bandies about by Reds and Blues. As if pundits has some secret insight, some hidden oracle-like power. Del would recall the success of the sixties and seventies. The Eighties had been just as good – especially when he himself scored the goal that secured the title, once again. They had finally, after a long absence, regained the throne of English football having won the league last season. This season they were tipped for four of the five trophies and it would be ticker-tape all the way come next June. And he could take Ian to see the bus and then pull a few strings and hopefully actually meet the victorious team! If Ian was still around. His little darling, his ray of light, his special little guy. His best friend. How could this happen to such a beautiful boy? How could it be allowed? How could the world stand by whilst that smile was wiped away? How could heaven watch as that innocent loving heart was ripped and torn? How could God do this? He looked up at the church, which was slowly drifting by. He had been an agnostic until Ian became ill. When the doctor gave his prognosis, Derek prayed. For hours he prayed; fingers clenched so hard his knuckles turned white; eyes shut so tightly his head would ache. But he prayed and prayed. Please God, let the Doctor be wrong. Please. I’ll do anything. Take me, please. Let this be a big mistake. But the illness took hold and Ian stopped smiling. Derek prayed even more ardently after that. For a while. It was all he could do to prevent himself cursing when walking past the church. Then his boss called him in to his office. “Listen, Del, I know you’ve been here a while. I know you’ve worked hard.” “Please, don’t, David. Don’t do to me.” “I’m sorry. You know how things are…” And that was that. The bills came thick and fast and his savings dwindled rapidly. There was nothing they could do. There was no way out. They had payments pending on four credit cards. Final demands had come in from all every utility and it was a surprise they still had any electricity, gas or water. The bailiffs were queuing up to take their belongings. The house was in disrepair, the guttering needed changing, the boiler was on its last legs, the drain was blocked and spewing out all kinds. It was not a good situation. He kicked at the curb in an uncharacteristic show of anger. He stopped and turned towards the church. He looked towards the gold cross at the top of the spire and closed his eyes. One final prayer. He said it silently but with such force. He imagined his prayer being drawn in by the spire and amplified into a strong beam of light blasting into the clear night sky. Then he turned and headed for home. “What’s the use,” he thought. “What’s the use? I’m here for my little boy and that’s that.” An image of his son’s beaming face spring to mind and he stooped with anguish. He noticed some paper on the floor. His heart jumped. Twenty quid. Twenty! He looked at it incredulously, then reached for it. Maybe that’s just the start, he thought, as he grasped it in his pocket. Maybe my luck IS changing. Maybe someone is listening after all. He plunged it into his trouser pocket. No. Just a drop in the ocean. He sighed and continued walking. His house was only quarter of a mile from here. The shops ended abruptly and the terraced houses began. He didn’t look up at the youngsters shouting boisterously outside the chip shop. The smell of vinegar reached his nostrils and pulled at his stomach. Yeah, why not? He stepped back onto the pavement and was about to enter the chippy when a voice called him. “’Scuse me mister!” It was a young boy. About the same age as Ian. “Hmmm?” “Mister, I’m starvin’. Get us a bag, will ya?” The boy really did look starving. Famished. His clothes were dirty and dishevelled. The boy was wiry and unkempt. And his good nature struck him like a hammer. How could he have been so selfish? “Here.” He handed over the twenty-pound note. The boy looked at him suspiciously. “Are you sure, mister?” “Yes.” He was having second thoughts. “You don’t seem too sure, mister!” “No. You keep it. Get something to eat. See if you can find somewhere to stay tonight, alright?” “Thanks. Really. Thanks so much.” The boy was about to run into the chip shop when Del stopped him. “Wait. Here.” He gestured at the boy’s clothes. “You can’t wear those. Not tonight. You’ll catch your death.” He pulled off the thick warm coat his sister had given him. “Here.” And he handed it over. “What about you, mister?” The boy asked as he pulled on the coat. “Don’t worry about me.” And with that, Del turned, before he could change his mind, and began jogging the short distance home. He was shaking his head. What have I done? Mags is gonna kill me. Mags had other things on her mind. As the front door slammed shut, she came running to him, arms outstretched. She collapsed around him in a fit of sadness. “Del, thank God.” He held her and held her. With every shake of her shoulders and every sob, he was being torn apart. To feel so much pain from the one he loved. It was almost too much to bear. He felt the warm tears on his neck and tried desperately to find the light inside of himself, to console her and be her strength. “Shhh. It’s okay. I’m here now.” She looked at him with heavy eyes. “Please. Just talk to Ian.” “What’s happened?” “Just talk to him.” He held on one more time, giving her all the love he could muster. “I’ll talk to him. It’s okay.” His painted smile faded as he walked upstairs as the darkness crept upon him; a looming thunderstorm weighing him down, his feet became heavier with every step. He reached the landing. The lights were off. The only light was a dim orange glow that came from the lava lamp on Ian’s bedside table. Del poked his head round the door. “Hiya Dad.” Ian spoke softly. He picked up the remote and dipped the volume of the music slightly. The mellow tones continued, painting the walls with soft velvet as the wax in the lava lamp danced slowly to the rhythmic bass. “Still listening to that womb music then?” Joked Del. Ian looked up and smiled. “Yeah. And reading.” He showed him the cover of his third book this week. “I’ve been thinking, Dad. And please, hear me out.” He waited for a few seconds to let his Dad compose himself. He nodded when he was ready. “Right.” Ian’s voice softened. He took a deep breath. “I’m struggling, Dad. You know how you always said ‘keep yer pecker up’ and stuff? As I said. I’m struggling. And it’s not…” Ian never liked to say ‘it’ in front of his parents. “…what I’ve got that’s so bad. It’s the chemo. And the drugs. And having no hair. And the ulcers. And the trips to the hospital where all those old people are dying, like me.” The words were like a kick in his stomach. The room swam. He fought the emotion that was welling. “Dad. I’m sorry Dad but it’s true. I know I’m gonna die. And I don’t wanna spend it like this. The counsellor says that if I couldn’t cope, there were things I could do. Don’t look shocked Dad. I don’t wanna die. I just wanna live for a little bit. I’m gonna tell the Doctor that I want stop the pills and chemo and stuff.” He nodded to end the sentence. Del stood silently. “Sit down, Dad.” He sat on the bed. “It’s not so bad, Dad. I’ll have stuff to keep the pain away. But I can be nearly normal for a while. I wanna be your son. Besides, when I go, I’ll always be around. It’s true, you know. Father Michael told me all about it. And I can feel it, Dad. I really can. You don’t have to worry, Dad, because I love you.” Tears fell onto the sheets but Del quickly wiped them away. He knew the reality of the situation. Ian’s leukaemia was so advanced that he had a few months, maybe. The treatment continued because of Margaret. She hope that they would one day find out that this was all some mistake. Or that ‘it’ had been miraculously cured. And he looked at his son. He was so calm. And all grown up. The warm orange light from the lamp had replaced Ian’s normal sickly pallor with a healthy glow and a glint in his eyes. He looked almost normal. Almost better. Like before…And he burst in to tears. In great suffocating sobs that drowned his breath with all the pain and sorrow and regret of the universe. He felt two small arms around his shoulders. “There, there, Daddy. It’s alright now.” Del found it hard to get out of bed and face the day. He knew that he and Margaret faced a tough few weeks. And then a tough life afterwards. Whatever happened to happiness? And it was a red letter day in more ways than one. He was expecting the bailiffs around today. Del had managed to mustered together one hundred pounds by selling his treasured Beatles records. How he was going to pay tomorrows visitors was beyond him. “DEREK!” Margerat was shouting from downstairs. Great, more bad news, he thought. He slid out of bed and pulled on his dressing-gown. He heard Marge thump noisily up the stairs. “Derek. Didn’t you hear me?” She blustered. “Of course I bloody heard you, woman.” “Let’s not start the day like this, okay?” Her eyes drilled directly into his brain. He could feel her meddling with his brain, ensuring that he could not retaliate. He struggled for a second, then he let his defences drop. Marge must have seen the change in him. “Right. What’s this?” She demanded, waving a letter in his face. “What?” “Don’t give me that. What have you been up to? I told you we weren’t gonna scrounge off anyone. Anyone!” “What?” “Look. Explain this.” She held up the letter and read it out loud. “Dear Mr and Mrs, blah, blah, Thank you for the payment blah, blah, you may consider the matter officially closed, blah, blah,….It’s been bleedin’ paid. And I didn’t do it!” Del snatched the letter and read it for himself. “I, er, don’t understand.” A smile began to grow. “This is great! This is fantastic. We can keep that money and pay…” “I’ll phone them.” “What?” “Make sure it’s not a mistake.” She ripped the letter out of his hand and dashed back downstairs. A loud ‘whoop’ confirmed the letter. He almost laughed. Almost. Then he saw Ian struggling out of bed and realised that this was D-Day. His whole spirit sunk as he watched his pale weak son amble over to them both. He stood, looking at them both. “Right. Ready to see the Doctor now?” he said. They both nodded. They weren’t ready. They never could be. Del waved at the familiar faces as he pushed on the pub door. It was still cold, but the snow had begun to turn to slush. It was black and brown from the pollution of the heavy town-centre traffic. He took the same route home as the night before and for the first time that day, he was alone with his thoughts. My brave little boy, he thought. He saw an image of Ian all cuddled up with his Mum, dressed in his favourite thick white pyjamas. So beautiful and full of life, he used to be. He had deteriorated rapidly and the treatment had knocked them all for six. Their golden-haired little angel gradually becoming more drawn and pallid as the weeks went by. Well. It would all be over soon. A couple of months, maybe. Probably less. How could you fit in twenty years of experience into a few weeks? How could he possibly give him all the love that he deserved, in such a short time? As he passed the church, he pleaded again. He asked God to make the final days of his beautiful boy as happy and joyful, as full of life and love as was possible. And then he saw it. The paper in the gutter. At first he thought it was part of a magazine or newspaper. No. Money. He bent down and picked them up. Two twenty pound notes. Forty quid! He began to feel a little uneasy and took a long slow look around. There was nobody. The streets were deserted. He looked back up at the church and wondered. Just wait till I tell Ian. He’ll be chuffed! And he quickened his pace. A few more minutes and he was approaching the chippy again. It was quieter than yesterday. A couple inside, ordering kebabs and an elderly lady in the phone box. As he drew closer, he could clearly see that she was distressed. She was arguing vehemently with the person on the other end of the line, gesticulating, frowning, begging. As Del was passing, she slammed the phone down and thrust open the door, banging into Del. “Oh. Damn” She said fiercely. Then, seeing Del’s surprise, she added “Sorry. Sorry.” She stood for a couple of seconds, looking onw way then another down the street. She looked at her watch, sighed and began sobbing. She turned and walked away. “Wait. Please. Excuse me!” Del called after her. She paused and turned, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. “Sorry. Er, can I help you at all? It’s just…Is there anything I can do?” “I’m sorry. I doubt it.” She said between sniffs. “It’s my train. They cancelled it. I only bought the tickets today!” “Bastards! Where were you going, er, if you don’t mind me asking?” “My sisters. Well. The hospital. She’s been taken in.” her voice became all shakey. This upright, silver haired lady was fighting the choking tears. “Stroke. She’s bad.” She blew her nose violently, took a deep breath and looked at Del. “Thank you for your kind offer. Really. I’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I…just…hope…” and then she broke down. “Please. Please. Maybe I can help. I can’t get you there myself. I don’t have a car. But maybe I could order a taxi?” “No. I couldn’t let you do that. It would cost far too much.” “I’ve got forty quid.” He pulled the money out of his pocket and passed it to the lady. “That should be enough. Oh. And here…” He reached into his pocket again “…is fifty pence to make that call to the taxi firm.” She looked dumbfounded. “Really?” “Really. I insist.” It took at least another five minutes to finally convince the lady, Mrs White, to accept the offer. She promised to keep in touch and return the money, when she had it. Well, if it made her happier…Del gave her the wrong number, of course. Ian was asleep by the time he got home. Sleeping peacefully. The soft light from the lava lamp caught the wisps of his remaining strands of golden hair. Del and’t seen him looking so peaceful for months. “DEREK!” The familiar bellow awoke him rather rudely. Margerat’s feet stomped upstairs. “What, dear?” He said, as he sat up and swung his legs to the floor. He had developed an ability to wake up rather quickly. He knew instinctively that it was fifteen minutes to eight. He could smell bacon. “Derek! What’s this?” She was waving a letter in his face. “I dunno. Groundhog Day?” “Don’t get clever. What’s going on?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He took the letter and read it. A second bill in two days settled. How could this be? A friend, maybe? A relative? There were too many coincidences around at the moment. “Something really strange is going on.” “You’re telling me!” And at that moment, Ian ran in. He ran! He kissed his Mum and then leapt at Del. “Dad, Dad. What are we going to do today?” “I think,” Del said, “that our luck may be changing.” They all grinned and went down for full English. It had been a little like a dream, today. Ian had been full of energy and they had all played games together in the garden. There had been a fresh fall of snow in the early hours of the morning and they had built a snowman that stood taller than Ian. Ian had insisted putting a number 23 on the back in black stones to emulate his footballing hero, David Beckham. And when Ian began throwing snowballs, they all took part, Marge included, and got thoroughly sweaty. Del and Marge even had a wrestling match in the snow, Del being upended several times. And as Ian stood and watched, his face red with exertion, his woollen hat pulled down to his eyebrows, they could almost forget that…almost believe that….Anyway. It had been a great day.. They played Pictionary, watched a war film and ate so many chocolates. The day had only been marred by a bout of vomiting and a half hour of excruciating tears before his pain killers kicked in. It had been a day to remember. Del had interrogated all his friends at the pub. And especially his sister, Bess, who knew their predicament better than anyone. All of them, without exception, denied any knowledge of the mysterious payments. Bess had looked him straight in the eye and said, “Del. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just count your blessings and get on with it.” So he was in a much lighter mood as he left the pub. It seemed that the council had taken an interest in his affairs and were the benefactors…No. That was too far fetched. He would have to keep asking questions. But he thanked God, all the same, as he passed the church. Maybe his prayers had been heard? It was more likely that some civil servant had accidentally wiped him off their computers and he would find no more funds forthcoming from the benefits agency. His heart began pounding when he saw it. An envelope in the gutter. The exact same place that he had found money on the two previous nights. The enveloped had DEREK written on it in thick black marker pen. This had to be a joke. But nobody else knew. Not even Marge. He picked up the envelope and looked inside. Five crisp twenty’s. One hundred Pounds. This would go some way to paying a bill or two. And maybe take Ian to a game. He shook his head as he slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket. He couldn’t spend this money. It could have come from anywhere. He peered back at the church. Was there a light on? It was just a reflection. No-one visited the church this late. He had promised Marge a portion of chips tonight. As a result of not having to pay two lots of bailiffs, they had a few spare quid, apart from the hundred wuid he’d just found. He followed the strong smell of vinegar to the chippy and placed his order. He twiddles his thumbs as he waited, watched the mesmerising silent TV in the corner and read a newspaper that was months old. It could even have been the same paper he had read when he last came in four months ago. The place hadn’t changed much since then. The tiles were a little greasier. The menu a little less colourful. There had been one new addition and that was a four-foot tall plastic boy in the corner. And in an instant Del remembered the last time he had been in with crystal clarity. The owner had offered his condolences. He had been through the same thing a few years ago with his daughter. Del had seen his face many times in the paper, usually passing over unfeasibly large cheques to a local hospice, children’s ward or cancer fund. “Here’s your chips.” The owner passed over a hot paper-wrapped bundle the size and weight of a breeze block. Del smiled and nodded his appreciation. “Thanks.” At least three portions, he was guessing and two extra sausages. “No problem.” The owner smiled. Del could tell he was desperate to ask something. He could almost see his brain stuttering. “My sons okay.” “Oh. That’s fantastic.” The owner beamed. “He’s come off the treatment.” “Brilliant.” He was thrilled. “He, er, he says…” Del swallowed hard. “He says he wants to enjoy his last few weeks.” “Oh. I’m so sorry. Really, so, so sorry. If you need anything. Anything at all…” “Actually, we’re fine. We’ve had a great day. The best I can remember. We played in the snow. It was fantastic.” There was a pause. What could anyone say? Nothing could ever console a parent. No words would mean anything. Del knew how he was feeling. He had felt the same when the owner lost his girl. There were photos behind the counter of the gorgeous little brown-eyed girl. She had that twinkle of pure joy in her eye. “Look.” Del said. “I have something I need to give away.” He reached into his pocket and passed over the envelope. “What’s this?” “A donation. And please don’t refuse. It would mean so much.” “Oh.” The owner was a little stunned. Especially at the crisp notes inside. “Well, thank you very much. It’s very generous of you.” To avoid any embarrassment, Del picked up his takeaway and walked home. Should he tell someone? Marge would go mad. Throwing all that money away. Not Bess. She wouldn’t understand. There was only once person who would understand. “Alright, son?” Del popped his head around Ian’s bedroom door. “Yeah, I guess.” He saw the look of concern on his Dad’s face and instantly changed. “I mean, I’m great Dad. The new painkillers are great. I mean, once they start working, it’s like a roller-coaster, or a cartoon, or living under-water.” He struggled for the words. “All three!” Derek still looked concerned. “It’s only weird for a bit. I have to lie down while it’s happening. It’s mad!” Del wanted to change the subject. It was difficult to resolve the fact that his son was on drugs and enjoying them. “What’s that? Another book?” “Yeah. It’s really good. It’s about a boy who has this great idea to change the world. By doing something great for three people. Only they’ve got to do the same. Pay it forward, I mean. And that’s the title of the book. Look.” “Sounds interesting.” “Yeah. I just wish I had some time to do something like that. You know? Something good.” He said it matter-of-factly. “Father Michael says that the angels will rejoice when I die and go to heaven. I thought that was a bit mean at first, until I understood what he meant. Heaven is such a great place, you see Dad. It’s like Disneyworld and being on a spaceship and seeing Harry Potter all at once. And everyone’s smiling and so happy. And there’s beautiful music and flowers and stuff.” He paused. “Do you reckon they play footy there?” “Who knows?” Del said. He found these conversations difficult at the best of times. He would rather there be no heaven to go to if he could keep his son for a few more years. “Ian? “Yes Dad?” “Can I tell you something?” “Sure, Dad.” “You’ve got to promise not to tell Mum.” “No problem.” And he could trust him one hundred percent. Partners in crime, they were. Ian had uttered the very same words when he had broken his Mum’s precious crystal vase, a hundred-year-old air-loom, whilst playing football with a friend in the house. Del had taken the wrap and blamed it on stumbling in drunk the night before. And boy, did he get it in the neck! She refused to talk to him for three days. Yes, his dad had been his saviour many a time. “Well, you see…” “Go on Dad. Just say it.” “I found some money.” Ian leapt with excitement and the bed jogged. “Really? How much.” His eyes were wide open. “Twenty pounds.” “Twenty pounds?” He shouted. “Shhhhhh! Yes twenty pounds. But that’s not it. I found more. In the same place. Forty this time!” “FORTY POUNDS!” “Shhhhh! Your Mum’ll find out.” “Sorry Dad” he whispered. “Forty pounds? Wow.” “And today, an envelope, in the street, in the same place, with my name on it. One Hundred Pounds.” Ian slapped his hand over his mouth. He could barely comprehend sums of money that large. He collapsed back on his bed in exhultation and began shaking his legs about. “Listen, Ian. I couldn’t keep the money. I gave it all away.” Ian sat up again. He regained his overly-mature-for-an-eleven-year-old composure. “That’s great, Dad.” “Really? You think?” “Yeah. Father Michael says that the one thing stopping the world being like heaven is money. I think he’s right. I think most people worry all the time about money when they shouldn’t. They should be worrying about how much they love someone, or how they could improve the world, or something. Everyone seems so unhappy about what they haven’t got rather than being happy with what they have got. And Father Michael says that it’s like false idolatry.” He said the last phrase carefully as if he’d been practising. “I dunno what that means but it sounds right.” “So you think it’s a good idea? That I’ve given this money away?” “Yeah. I do.” He nodded vigorously. “Hey Dad! We could do that Pay-it-Forward thing. Like in the book. Next time you get some money, we should…I mean you should find someone that really needs it. And I mean really needs it. And then you tell ‘em, you say ‘you owe me nothing. You must pay it forward. Do some nice things for other people’ only you can say it better than me, and that’s made the world a better place.” He was flailing his arms around like an evangelist. Derek waited for him to calm down a little. “I think you’re getting a little carried away, don’t you?” “No, Dad. It would really work. I’m sure of it!” “No, Ian. I mean that the money’s all gone.” “But what if you find some more tomorrow? Just think!” Ian said, positively. “I won’t. I’m sure of that. That would be like a fairy tale, or something. The world doesn’t work like that.” “Come on, Dad. It does. Sometimes. You just have to believe. You nearly do, already. Father Michael says that everything happens for a reason. That stuff teaches us a lesson. It’s not what happens to us but how we deal with it. Like, if someone’s house burns down, it’s how they treat people afterwards, and what they do with their life that’s important. And special things happen the same.” “So you think I’ll find some more money? Then what?” “Well, we’ll give it away. Not to just anyone. We could put an ad in the paper, or something. And make sure they’re not just after the money and make sure they do some stuff for other people. It could change the world, Dad.” Ian continued for a while. It was great to see him so animated, so excited. He didn’t want to burst the bubble so he didn’t argue further. He hoped Ian wouldn’t be too forlorn when the daydream ended. Mags woke the household up with the customary yelling. Another debt collectors were thanking them for the payment recently received. It was unnerving. Someone was watching. Someone knew everything about them. Del was determined to find out who and he was sure that the person that was paying the bills was the same as the one that was leaving envelopes of money in front of the church. That night, he left the pub half an hour early and hid in the bush outside the church. He was twenty feet from the drop-off point. He waited in the bush for a while, trying not to let his mind wonder too much. Wouldn’t it be great if this was his very own fairy-tale? And dreams did come true. And one person could change the world on their own. He waited and waited. Nothing. No-one. The last bus passed and headed into town. He was cosy in his jacket although he had lost the feeling in his face a while ago. He waited and waited. The last straggler left the pub and headed home, watlsing with the invisible woman. Nothing. No-one. He crawled out of his hiding place and crept back to the pavement just in case. Looking up and down the street, there was no-one to be seen. The spot in the gutter, where he had hoped (but not expected) to find an envelope, looked rather empty. He sighed. No. No daydreaming. He hoped Ian wouldn’t be too disappointed. He patted his pocket. No keys. Damn. Must have dropped them. He re-traced his steps to the bush. There they were, where he had been sitting. But there was something odd, to say the least. His heart started racing and sweat prickled his back. His keys were not resting on the soil, as you would expect. They sat on a clean, white envelope. It had DEREK written across the front. Derek raced home. He didn’t know what to think. His mind raced ahead, excited as a child, desperate to give Ian the news. What would they do? Who would they help? Could they change the world? Yes. He slowed his breath as he entered and shut the front door carefully. He didn’t want to arouse suspicion with Mags. He didn’t want her finding out. Yet. He said hello to her and made his excused, stomping upstairs. His excitement grew once again with every step. He could feel the positivity, the vibe, coming from Ian’s room. “Ian!” The whisper was a rasp full of childlike joy. “Dad!” Ian replied the same. “Here. Look!” Derek sat on the bed and passed the envelope. He told Ian of its mysterious appearance while he counted the crisp notes. Two hundred pounds. Two hundred! They spoke for half an hour about their plan to change the world. The advert would enter the local paper the day after tomorrow. They would consider each reply on merit and then – change a few lives. They would ensure that when the money was received that the pay-it-forward philosophy was mentioned in the hope that it might catch on. Derek doubted it. Ian was so sure it would work. They would see. The two weeks were a whirl. Every day there came a brand new revelation as bill after bill was anonymously paid, every debt was cleared. Even the guttering, that had been hanging off the house, had been repaired one night. Marge received a raise and a promotion and was also ordered by her boss to ‘take a few weeks off to re-energise’. And every night, after the pub, Derek prayed as he walked towards the church. And every night he was greeted by ever-inflating packages. First five hundred, then a thousand, two, four thousand. Always crisp freshly minted notes. One night he was horrified when, approaching the drop-off point, he saw a gentleman. He stood, smiling, nodding, beckoning. This was too weird. This wasn’t anonymous anymore. And, apart from anything else, the gentleman stood six foot five tall and certainly appeared to be roughly the same build as a rhinocerous. If the gentleman had have been wearing a suit and dark glasses, he could easily have landed a part in any of the more violent Hollywood movies. As he approached, still weary, he felt his anxiety slowly melt. This hulk of a man exuded an almost inexpressibly overwhelming air of peace and love. His vraiment would have to be described as white as that was the nearest earthly description. It shone so brightly it should have been impossible to look; yet instead, he felt warmth spread through his eyes to his mind. Not his physical brain, his mind. His soul. At that moment, he knew there was nothing to worry about. That, on a universal scale, everything would turn out just fine. The gentleman’s skin had a rich sheen, a luminescence. A light came from somewhere deep within. He held his arms out, beckoning for Derek to continue approaching. There was no doubt in Del’s mind anymore. He could spend forever in the company of this man. He stood next to this man and he hadn’t a care. All of his worries became insignificant. They were materialistic nonsense. Things that belonged to the dour physical world. “Here.” A briefcase appeared in mid-air and, as the man gestured, it glided towards Derek. He reached for the case and nodded his thanks. The gentleman nodded back and smiled a wide joy-filled smile. Then, in an instant, it was over. Derek stood on the pavement by the church, still holding the briefcase. His shoulders sagged with the weight of his mortality. The dark and drizzly night closed in around him and the cold seeped back into his body. The following night was the same and Derek found that as these heavenly meetings continued, the warmth lasted longer. He was able to enjoy much more fervently, the pure altruistic rush that he and his son were both enjoying. They worked together, deciding which deeds should be done, which charities were most needy, who would benefit most. These were difficult decisions. Ian found it frustrating and often painful having to choose so objectively between one person and another, or one child and another. “There’s always tomorrow”, Derek would say. And Ian would reply with a smile. “Yes. Tomorrow we can change the world.” And they would laugh till they cried. And all the donations were carried out anonymously. Ian had stressed this and Derek had agreed. They didn’t want any attention. It also ran along with what Ian believed. That charity and love should be done for its own reward. And what a reward! Since the first donation, local papers, then the nationals grabbed the story. The altruistic deeds of an anonymous millionaire. And, despite Del’s thoughts to the contrary, the world really was changing. With every article came the inclusion of the ‘Pay-it-Forward’ philosophy that had inspired Ian. After only a few days, they were pleased and amazed as altruism began to spread. Del doubted that this charitable fever would last too long. But it was a nice change, to say the least. Yet, Derek knew that as the days went on, time was running out for dear Ian. One day there would be no tomorrow. He was consoled by the angelic presence and the growing certainty of God and the hereafter. This feeling of love kept him buoyant and he felt positive and good about himself and the world. This feeling had rubbed off onto Marge, too. And onto anyone he came into contact with. However, as his capacity for love was growing, so was the anticipation of the pain and suffering to come. Looking at Ian, with his hair growing back ever so slightly, when they were both laughing and playing, he was so overcome with the love and pride that every fibre was needed to stop himself from collapsing into tears. Because despite the feeling in his heart, he knew that a great loss was to come. Ian was not so good. He became weaker and weaker. Paler and paler. During the few hours I which Ian was lucid, they would look at books together and talk about the deeds they were doing. But it became more and more difficult. Eating without retching and vomiting was almost impossible. He was in pain much of the time, the strong drugs he was still taking were having less of an effect. He would cry with the pain and that was more than Del could bear. He would stand outside in the cool night and cry. His sadness throttling him with every sob. Weeks ago, he would have given up, he was sure of that. Now at least, he knew he had a purpose, even if for a short time. The sums of money were quite staggering. The night before, the angel had passed over six of the largest briefcases he had ever seen, full of fifty-pound notes. He would have to catch a taxi home and he certainly wouldn’t have time to count it all tonight. He estimated there to be about fifteen million. He may be wrong. There could be more. And he was grateful for the chance to change a thousand lives, a hundred thousand, maybe. Today was Children In Need. He was looking forward so much to making that phone call and making his massive pledge. He have to count it, though. But he could think of better things to do. The following day was spent sat on Ian’s bed with a calculator and pad. Ian slept, mostly. When he did wake, Del would read more of his book Pay-It-Forward. He was surprised he hadn’t finished it yet. The book was nearing the end and Derek had been inspired by the idea. He had, under Ian’s instruction, placed a carefully written note into each gift. They hoped that people might take the time to do a little good. Maybe pay-it-forward could work in a small way. Derek finished counting the money. Despite the sums he had received, he was astonished at the total. Sixteen and a half million pounds. £!6,500,000. £16.5 million. They could do a lot with this. “Dad? You’ve finished.” Ian’s weak voice came from beneath the covers. Derek leant forward and pulled the cover back. “Yes. We can do a lot with this.” “You can, Dad. I feel so tired. I don’t think I have the energy to help you today. Not now. You can do it, Dad.” They both paused, understanding the signs. These could be the last few hours. “Dad? Could you read to me again?” “Sure, Ian.” And he picked up the book and continued reading. The tale had reached a crescendo. People were becoming more compassionate because of this small boy’s idea to change the world. And the world was changing, and the change would gather speed. Thousands of people had been touched by his selfless acts. Even hardened criminals. When meeting the President, he was told what a great thing he had done. But the boy was humble and modest. He had simply wanted to make the world a better place. He neither wanted, nor needed the commendation. “Dad? You can stop reading now.” “We’re nearly finished.” “I know, Dad. But I know how it ends. And I don’t want you to be upset.” “I’m sure I’ll be okay.” “Maybe. ‘Sides, I’ve got some things I need to say.” Ian struggled to sit himself up and collected his thoughts briefly. “I like that book, Dad. Just from doing some tiny things, he changed the world. I wish I could have done that. I wish I had longer.” He paused. Del’s head bowed. “The boy dies, doesn’t he?” Del asked. “Yes he does. But it was almost his choice. He was trying to do one more good deed. He was that kinda person. Imagine what kinda person he would have become, Dad. And I’m sad. Because I’ll never be able to do that. Change the world. I want to but it’s out of my hands.” “We have! We’ve done so much good! Look at the lives we’ve changed. In just two weeks! You’re just like the boy in the book.” “But that was not really my choice, was it? You did. You chose. That first time when you helped that boy I the snow, I reckon that was God testing you. Maybe if you had have kept the money, none of this would have happened. That’s why you’re like the boy in the book. ‘cept it’s me who’s dying.” “What do you want me to do? I’ll do anything?” “I dunno Dad. Just be with me.” Ian’s life was ebbing away as dusk and then night-time fell. He hardly moved, yet Derek talked to him and soothed him. He spoke of the great times they had had. The Christmas they both got trapped in the snow and spent three hours walking home. The time they built the playhouse in the garden together, Derek drilling a whole in his finger, Marge and Ian caught between concern and laughter. The time Ian got a puppy for his birthday, a puppy so energetic and full of life. He called it Digger. The time it ate the fresh beef joint as Marge was getting the shopping in. The time they were all chased by cows, through the field and over the fence. The holiday when they all sang kareoke and Ian won after singing ‘Music and Me’. The time when poor Digger had to be put down. He talked of the things he imagined Ian would be doing soon. “Yes. And the angels will greet you, all smiling and happy. Digger will come running up to you and lick your face, like he always used to. You’ll see Grandad and he’ll take you on long walks through the most beautiful countryside. You’ll have so many friends and everyone will love you. So, so much,” “But I won’t have you, Dad. Or Mum. I’m gonna miss you.” Derek leapt to his side and put his arms around him and burst into tears so fierce that the foundations of the house shook. The sadness coursed through their limbs in bursts that the whole world would feel. Around the world, people wept without knowing why. For five minutes, there was no laughter, no happiness, no joy, but also no war, no viciousness, and violence. Just an immense flood to swamp the world. Heaven and its billions of angels looked on in anguish as they felt the pain deep within them. Outside, a storm erupted with all of the rumbling might it could muster. Then Derek made a quick decision. “Wait there, Ian. Turn your TV on.” He rushed downstairs as Ian watched with anticipation. Gabby Rosalind was about to announce the current running total. He wiped the moisture from his face, although that was a struggle. He smiled. He liked Gabby. She had a good face. Then, as he watched, and the computer was in the middle of its whirring routine, a suited man rushed onto the set. What’s happened, he thought? Marge and Derek charged upstairs, smiling and excited. They sat at the end of the bed and watched. “Well, ladies and gentleman.” Gabby said, as the man in jeans, probably the producer, rushed back off the screen. “We are truly blessed tonight.” Her voice went a little shakey. “There’s the total so far, yet it’s not entirely accurate.” She looked off camera for confirmation, “Okay. We have just received a phone call from a gentleman. He wouldn’t give his name. But he insisted that his son Ian was mentioned. This night, Children-In-Need will be dedicated to a special boy. A boy who has inspired his father and mother to great things. A boy who…” She paused to collect herself. “…a boy who will not be with as long. And yet in his short time with us has truly changed the world. And tonight is dedicated to Ian for his bravery and generosity” She stifled a cough and wiped her eye. “He has donated to us, tonight, an earth shattering sixteen and a half million pounds.” And the nation went wild. The numbers spun. Derek and Marge held each other tightly. So proud of their son. They turned to him. But he had left. He lay with a gentle smile, his eyes closed, a single tear left on his cheek. He was gone. Marge cursed everything and everyone. Especially God. She had, even up to the last minute, believed that there would be one final gift for them. One final bill that would be paid. The greatest, miraculous gift that could ever be given. But they both awoke the following morning and there was no change. The air was dead, and Ian’s room quiet. Not empty but unlived in. The breakfast table seemed empty. The oxygen didn’t seem worth breathing today. Yet the paper was full of the Ian’s deeds, especially his biggest and final gift. Derek had always insisted that it had all been his son’s idea and inspiration. Ian who had changed the world, in a small way, despite everything. He did not share Marge’s view. He had changed over the past weeks. However, he was full of longing and sorrow for his beautiful son. He knew that he still had a job to do. A role to play. To make sure his son’s dream came true. Continued 0 read 'multiple endings' and tell me which one you prefer.