Dirty Old Man (A True Story) (7 page)

     “No?” I said, thinking that if it was a reason for not being in school then I very much wanted to hear about it.

     “It’s Darren, I can’t believe you haven’t heard, didn’t you see the police cars and ambulance go down our road last night?”

I shook my head.

     “He hung himself at the golf course, they found him last night. We went down there to see what was going on but they’d cleared everything up by then so we couldn’t see anything.”

I felt as though I’d taken a blow to the stomach and had the wind knocked out of me, I think I was in shock.

     I’d been forced into joining the St. Johns Ambulance some years
ago; I didn’t enjoy it and regarded it as social suicide. We learned all about shock there, and this was it.

     “What?” I managed to slur, becoming aware of my feet that felt as though they were setting in concrete. I’d heard her clearly enough but my brain couldn’t process the information.

     “He’s dead, Jesus I can’t believe you didn’t know about it, everyone on our road has known for hours.” She put her hands around her throat, made a choking sound and laughed.

She’d always been an immature idiot but at that moment, I realised I had nothing in common with her at all and I wanted her out of my sight before I scratched her eyes out.

Darren was my childhood friend, I’d known him since I first started school, we’d not hung out as much these past few years because he was in the year above me and we had very different friends. I had mainly idiot friends like Amy that would take a piece of devastating news like this and turn it into idle gossip for laughs.

     “Look
Amy, just go away.” I said with a tremble in my voice.

     “I didn’t think you talked to Darren anymore, I can’t see why you’re so bothered.”

     “Seriously, just go away.” I said again.

She shrugged her shoulders and turned on her heels to walk to school with the red face of rejection.

     I didn’t know which way to turn, I wanted to bury my head somewhere as the tears settled on my water line deciding whether to drip or torment my lashes. I was closer to home than I was to school and could have turned and gone back at any point.

I needed an adult.

My mum would be at work and my dad would still be in bed and would be angry if I woke him. I’d be a burden to them if it turned up so decided to go to school instead. My dad would probably call me a liar anyway and say I was attention seeking, the more I thought about it, the more it occurred to me that
Amy may well be lying, she was a serial joker but she had a spiteful streak in her too, this would be stepping way over the line.

I can’t recall how long I stood in the street but Mrs Arnold came out to scold me about the flowers. She stopped dead when she saw me.

     “Good god child, whatever is the matter? You look white as a sheet.”

I suppose I was in a daze as I looked at her.

     “I’m sorry about the flowers.” I mumbled as I turned and made my way to school.

     The gates were crowded when I arrived, I scoured the bike hut for Darren’s bike as I passed, it was normally propped up in an arrogant fashion against someone else’s bike.

It wasn’t there.

I continued gingerly into a school that was swarming with, what I would later learn to be counsellors. People were sitting on the floor crying, the whole place had become chaotic. The teachers had slackened their ties a little, the order seemed unbalanced somewhat. Then I felt in my heart that it was true.

By the time I reached my classroom, we were hoisted off into an assembly in the lecture theatre. There were more counsellors there and some very sombre looking teachers.

     “I have some very sad news,” began our head-teacher. “Yesterday, a pupil here many of you know very well, took his own life.”

Darren’s teacher, Mr Thompson scoured the room, making eye contact with his class, then he briefly looked at me. I don’t know what sort of reaction he was looking for but I don’t think I gave him any.

     “As you will already have noticed, we have many counsellors in our school today and they’ll be available to anybody who needs them.”

My stomach churned and twisted and I wanted to go home. It was too much, the sound of children crying and moaning, trying best to deal with the tragedy. My throat felt as though it was shrinking as the lump grew bigger and it hurt to try and swallow it down.

To me, the lecture theatre had always been an overbearing, almost intimidating place to be but in light of today, it suddenly seemed a lot smaller and the acoustics were practically non-existent. The ceiling appeared to be lower and the walls as though they’d moved in to unite us closer in our grief. It was as though those very walls were absorbing every emotion and projecting it right back at us as we expressed our various degrees of grief and for some perhaps, even guilt.

I can’t remember much of what was said after that, something about a memorial service that would be held on the day Darren’s funeral once they could determine the date. I looked over to
Amy, her eyes reddened and puffy were full of remorse, I forgave her instantly, her crime seemed insignificant now.

They mentioned no cause of death besides stating he took his own life. I suppose they were just shielding us from the grisly truth but it left a lot of questions unanswered for some. As morbid as it may sound, it was likely I thought, that they didn’t want to say the word ‘suicide’ at the risk of glamorising it.

     We went back to our classrooms in
silence; the counselling sessions were in full swing. I thought some of the children were probably there to skip lessons, but I suppose that could have been the cynic in me.

I sat at my desk with my head in my hands and people left me alone. I’d grown a reputation for unpredictable behaviour and lashing out which was probably the reason.

I didn’t go to see the counsellor myself; I couldn’t see how their long words and awkward silences could bring me relief. They couldn’t bring Darren back, they couldn’t turn back the clock and bring back yesterday. A counsellor seemed rather pointless so I continued the day in my zombie state.

     At lunchtime, I grew sick and tired of people talking about it in such a flippant manner. Everywhere I went it was; ‘Darren this, Darren that.’ until I could no longer bear it.

It was only days ago we stood yards away from where I was now standing. We were in the dinner queue and he announced to everybody
within earshot that their pubic hair was the same length of the hair on their arms. Shortly before stuffing a cake into my pocket and framing me for the crime. That was his sense of humour; his jokes were often vile and uninhibited but incredibly funny. He was the clown and now we were all in mourning for him.

I walked over to the office where the school photos hung on the wall, Darren stood in the back row with his head down, the only person whose face you couldn’t see. That was another of his jokes and he’d immortalised in the school reception area.

I can’t recall exactly what was going on in my head when I punched that photo off the wall, I don’t remember clenching my fist but I remember how everything seemed to just stop, even the despair subsided. The moment the photo smashed on the ground, the noise started again.

The receptionist came out from the office and the deputy head came screaming around the corner, they didn’t yell but just looked at me standing over the crime scene.

I wanted to experience real feelings again, I wanted to feel fear, I wanted to be shouted at – punished even. I just wanted to make sense of the way I felt inside, to justify the uncontrollable rage I felt but I didn’t know how.

The deputy head, Mr Law, took me into his office and the receptionist made me a cup of tea as I slumped into an armchair, I knew the drill, I’d been in that office enough times.

     “I understand you’re going to be feeling a plethora of emotions for some time to come, however nothing justifies vandalising school property. I know it may seem harsh right now but in hindsight, there are children and staff that may have wanted to look at that picture too.” He smiled a little. “Lord knows we’re all feeling angry because we don’t understand why it happened. Why somebody would take their own life like that, what you’re feeling is very normal. I know members of staff here feel very similar to the way you do, I’m not saying they know exactly what you’re going through because that would be condescending and unfair, but they have felt rage too, only they have to suppress it otherwise the whole place would be in chaos wouldn’t it? Darren was a very troubled young man, and we’ll never truly know the extent of his problems but we can remember him for who he was and the way he made our lives better.”

I understood exactly what he was saying, I’d spent so much time in that office for my sins but right now I didn’t want to leave there. I felt secure and understood for the first time I could remember.

I looked around the office and saw photographs of Mr Law’s children on the wall and I realised he was just normal person too, with a family and responsibilities. He wasn’t the caustic ogre we made him out to be, yes he was stern but I suppose it was necessary to keep people like me in line, and to keep a level head in situations like this. He was good at his job. I wanted to tell him that but thought better of it; I’d probably change my mind the next term anyway.

I rarely found myself opening up to anybody about anything, I feared if I did then they would see that as my acceptance of a problem, and think I could move forwards. I didn’t want to cheat myself knowing I felt
different inside so I didn’t say anything.

     “We’re going to be having a memorial service on the day of the funeral as you know,” Mr Law said in a shaky voice. “A lot of the children from year nine will be
attending; I suppose we could make an exception for a year eight to go if that’s really what you want. A lot of people believe funerals are no place for children and I’ve often been one of those people. However, I think it may provide a little closure for you. I don’t want you to look back in years to come and wish you’d attended but were denied the right. I don’t want to be the person that stood in your way, so if your parents agree, and I’ll type up a letter today, then you’re welcome to be there too. I’ll arrange transport.”

I didn’t think my parents would care either way so I nodded my head.

     “Yes, I think it might help if I go.”

     “I can’t tell you what to expect,” he said, “there will be a great deal of people experiencing the whole grief spectrum, and people won’t quite act themselves as you well know.” He smiled a little. “I can’t tell you what will happen there because I do not know myself but one thing I do know very well, is that most of us will be there looking out for not only you, but all of the people who loved Darren and are representing our school.”

     “Thank you.” Was all I could manage, it seemed insignificant compared to the reassurance I’d just been given but I hoped he’d understand that I truly meant it from the bottom of my heart.

     I dragged myself home after school, my little sister Beth who I rarely acknowledged at school because she was considered a ‘geek’ (I know that sounds every bit as appalling as it was.) She was going to her friend Lou’s house after school as she lived just around the corner from us. I didn’t want to go home on my own that day so I went round her house too. They played upstairs and I sat in the kitchen on my own as nobody was home. I sat in silence with my tears providing my only bitter company.

Then the back door swung open and Ber
nie came in. Originally he’d moved in as a lodger, as he was studying robotics at the university. He supported himself by working part time and running a martial arts club on Tuesday and Friday at the St. John’s Ambulance headquarters. He quickly formed a relationship with Lou’s mum, Barbara and they lived together in this small council house where I was sitting in the kitchen.

     Lou hated Bernie, she claimed to never feel comfortable around him, and said once that he played with the zip on her trousers as she sat next to him on the sofa.

Barbara was a mechanic, she had long blonde hair, a dozy expression, and was leader of the St. John’s Ambulance meetings I was forced to attend on a weekly basis.

     “What’s wrong poppet?” Bernie asked me, he looked a little concerned but that may have been because there was a stranger crying in his kitchen.

     “Her friend committed suicide last night,” said Lou who was
standing in the doorway, “that’s why she’s upset. They’ve got to go home now anyway.”

She stood with her arms crossed; you could sense the animosity in the room.

     “Do you want me to give your dad a call?” he asked as my sister emerged behind Lou.

I immediately said yes. I’m not quite sure why but perhaps it was because I thought my dad wouldn’t believe me. Having another adult speak on my behalf would make everything more official. Besides, he wouldn’t yell if Bernie were to call him. He respected Bernie and had him upon a pedestal of equal height to himself.

     “He said I need to send you home now,” said Bernie as he got off the phone.