Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

“It’s time for me to move on – again - Dad!” I remove the dying flowers from the vase and replace them with a fresh, petrol-station bunch. The display looks a bit thin so I pinch one or two extra blooms from nearby graves. “That looks better. They’ll never miss them.” I reach for a ready-made roll-up. I know as a regular smoker, Dad won’t mind. And like me it wasn’t just tobacco he inhaled. “I went down to see Sarah, to sort of say goodbye. Had my old clothes on – well she wouldn’t be used to seeing me in a suit. She hasn’t changed, offered me a spliff and was surprised when I refused. To be honest we didn’t really have much to talk about. I can’t believe we spent a whole year together –till I moved back north. Still she was good for me. I’d just been released and she helped me get things back together. So different from the saintly Rebecca – mum’s favourite, although I’m not sure you ever really liked her.” I take a sip of water. “Talking of mum – which I’d rather not – I

I didn’t think I would ever see you again. Not after all this time. I thought you’d left me, and all this, behind you. What made you come? Why now? Funny that you knew I would still be at the flat, our flat. Did you know I wouldn’t move on? Not like you, Steven. You, with your nice job, nice home, nice life – all very settled, all very safe. Is that why you came? Is it all getting a bit boring for you? Did you want a reminder of the old life, the old you? Was it strange to be sitting in our old flat, on our old sofa? It hasn’t changed much; there’s still a bit of damp in the corner of the bedroom, the tap still drips in the bathroom. I keep it tidier now, of course. But then, I’m not smoking as much as we were then. It was nice to see you. You looked different - fatter, comfortable in your cord trousers and your chain store jumper. You look like a father, a family man. Are you a father Steven? You didn’t say, and I didn’t want to ask. You seemed sad though, Steven. Are you

So you’ve left. I can’t say I’m all that surprised. You never seemed able to fully commit to life. To all its responsibilities. To all its difficulties. To everything you owed to people. Eleanor called to let me know. Yes, I know. Ellie called to tell me you’d gone. She can’t even use her actual name, that one. What do . . . did . . . you see in her? With her dodgy ex-husband and her scruffy children. She can’t even give them proper names. What sort of name is ‘Cassie’ for goodness sake? Cassandra is such a beautiful name. A Greek goddess, I think. Was she the one who could predict the future but no one ever believed her? Did you tell her? Ellie? She didn’t say anything about it on the phone but I think I should go and see her. Look her in the eyes. Only then will I know if she knows. I visited your father yesterday. To tell him the news. There were signs you had been there recently. Was that before you left or after? I talked to him about you but he was no more help tha

Every time my mind races ahead I pinch myself hard. Stay calm, Jimmy Boy, stay calm. The important thing is to act normal, do nothing unusual. They know that in the films, but then they do something stupid that gives them away. She rang me, Ellie did. She’s never rung me before. That’s how good she is at hiding her feelings. I was half way down the High Street on my morning trip to look at the runners and riders in Ladbrokes. Ellie said she needed to talk to me. “Sure, Babe. Talk away.” I bobbed into a coffee shop and mouthed espresso to the barista. My heart was thumping. It was the call I’d been waiting for. “It’s Steven. I’m worried sick, Jim. Have you seen him?” She really did sound worried. She didn’t even bother to tell me not to call her Babe. “Seen him? When d’you mean?” “I mean he left for work yesterday morning and hasn’t been home. I told the police and they asked if I’d checked with all his friends.” She sounded really stressed. The police ; was that a war