by Ralph Dartford
17th July 2013
Dear Shane,
We are writing this letter to you from our old table at Café Denis on Silver Street. Please excuse us for not writing on a regular basis, but you seem so very far away now and we don’t know if you want to hear from us at all these days. We suppose that we’re taking a bit of a chance really. But you might get to read this and feel a little different about everything. I hope so anyway, because we did not get a chance to say goodbye before we went. Just to let you know, we are both about to have an Omelette and chips as usual, also a mug of steaming, sweet tea.
It’s pouring with rain outside, really teaming it down and the drains are starting to fill up; I just know that awful smell is going to return and linger. The streetlights have just come on and there is rubbish everywhere. Nothing changes.
There was yet another stabbing the other day in Pymmes Park. A young boy of seventeen, gone because of an argument over a bicycle. It does not affect us as much as it did in the old days; murder seems to be a way of life now, a bit like shopping or brushing your teeth. Maria told me that the Prime Minister, David Cameron, was talking on the radio last night about bringing in the troops and even of national service. Mind you, they have been saying that for years. Even Margaret Thatcher, before she died, was saying that it should happen. Bloody Margaret Thatcher. She changed everything. Do you remember the stones we threw at her memoriam statue? Some things were worth getting arrested for way back then. I used to think she was evil in those days, but now, I just don’t know, she might have been right about a few things.
Our little Ryan should be going to Alywards in September. But he won’t of course. It’s the only school that he could have gone to. They are the rules. He still has that unsightly brace on his teeth. I think that it was fitted all wrong, his gums bleed all the time. It’s was so hard to get an appointment at the dentist’s around Edmonton to try and get it sorted. Have you heard about the new lottery prizes for free dental health? What is the world coming to? People are going to go mad for it, mark my words. It might get better in a few months, once the craze has died down. We wish you were here Shane.
Where the Millfield Theatre used to be has now been completely flattened. They are talking about putting a petrol station there or something. They tried to stop it and there were demonstrations, sit-ins and all sorts of things going on. Someone said the other day that the television even came down to report on it, but it was all too late. I suppose the decision was made years ago, especially when the Weir Hall library went. It was always out of our hands; most things are. I still see Andrew who worked at Millfield House sometimes walking the streets. He says he did a few shifts at Forty Hall before the end. He looks so sad and beaten. He loved that place so much, we all did.
I remember the night when we saw the soul singer Eddie Floyd perform there. He was fantastic. You got a little bit tipsy and twirled me around in the aisles, nearly knocked someone’s drink out of their hands. You told me you loved us and that we would all be together forever. You never liked impossibilities, even then. The pure, silly romantic in you. How on earth did they ever get Eddie Floyd to perform there anyway? In Edmonton of all places. He was wonderful; a great singer who seemed to mean every word that came from his lips. Do you remember the old manager? What was his name? He was a right character. He kissed me once in the bar for no apparent reason at all. He was excited about something or other. When he left, there was big fuss in the Gazette. Andrew says that he fell in love and moved to Yorkshire. Good luck to him.
I remember the exact moment that you and I fell in love. Do you? The Italians have a word or a saying for it, something about a thunderbolt. That’s what it was like, being struck by lightening. I don’t speak Italian, but Maria does; she went out with Paulo if you remember and could speak the language a bit, well that’s what she says anyway. She has just gone out the back to have a cigarette, the café will be closing in a minute and she’ll be locking up. Perhaps I’ll ask her for the word, tell you what it is in my next letter.
It was the first time that I ever saw you on that Friday night in the Bull. You know what? You looked gorgeous, even though you were as drunk as a skunk on Guinness and whiskey. You had a cigarette stuck behind your ear when you asked me to dance. I can even remember the record ‘Have You Seen Her?’ by the Chi-lites. God! You were such a good dancer, virtually whisked me off my feet. I still don’t know how you learned to move like that, you’ve two left feet most of the time. You also had too much after shave on, you smelt like a coconut or a glass of Malibu. What was it, “Old Spice”? You reeked of it. When you walked me home afterwards to my front door on Windmill Lane and kissed me, long and slow, I knew that my life was about to change forever. You were a real gentleman and did not try to come into my house or anything. That had never happened to me before. Blokes that I’d previously met had always wanted something more than just a kiss and a cuddle. They weren’t even blokes really, more like little boys. You made me feel that special, grown up. You were my first and last.
I still sometimes look at our pictures of our wedding day. Who would have known that I was carrying little Ryan inside me at the time? Not even we knew. That wedding dress flatters me. I could never get into it now, not even if I sucked my stomach in. You looked like a right villain in your suit, handsome and ready for action. What did it cost, two weeks wages? I suppose it was all worth it because our parents were so proud of us. Your Dad made a lovely speech. I remember being so happy, such beautiful words. I miss your Dad every day. I’ve tried looking for him, but he never shows up. He might one day.
For crying out loud Shane! We can’t keep this up, not anymore. These silly letters that never get sent or received. Little Ryan and I are dead, have been for years now. So are Andrew, Maria and your Dad. You know this and so does everybody else. Café Denis is a cafe for our ghosts now; we sit here all day looking out at this dirty world. You came in the other day for a cup of tea; I reached out but could not even touch you. Ryan wanted to show you his football stickers. It was awful and you looked so thin. You need new shoes.
Why did we all have to die? Maria to cancer, Andrew in a car accident, your Dad to drink and little Ryan and me to an angry young man with a blade at the bus stop. Ryan and I get so angry about it sometimes; remember each tiny moment of that final minute. We should have taken the car really, but the petrol was so expensive then.
All I asked him to do was pick his rubbish up from the pavement, his box of half eaten chicken and chips. He called me a slut and then pulled his knife. He got Ryan first, straight in the heart. Ryan seemed to be smiling as he fell to the floor, almost waving at me. Then it was me, I was screaming and he told me to shut up and that I was a crazy fucking bitch. I tried to reach down to Ryan, pull him to me, but the man’s hands went to my neck and he cut my throat. I went dizzy, fell on top of Ryan and I suppose that was that. I’m tired of recounting it, so exhausted.
The young man who did it is still in prison, will be for many years. When he returns to Edmonton, we won’t even be able to talk to him, ask him the obvious questions. That’s another burden of our deaths. His family still lives here, in those flats at the end, by the Great Cambridge roundabout. I see his mum walking up and down Silver Street at all hours of the day and night, picking up rubbish and putting it in bins. She has not got over it, never will. She’s not dead like me and Ryan, but she might as well be though.
This is what we’re going to do Shane. Because this cannot go on any longer. Ryan and I going to make a deal with you and ourselves. We’re going to gather them all up. The dead friends and family of our world. Maria, Andrew and the rest. If I could find your Dad, then him as well. We are going to walk away from here, from this so called Silver Street. I remember that you once said this to me: “Keep the faith and always demand the impossible.” You said it to me as your Dad was fading. I tried to believe it and did for many years. But, I can’t keep any faith here now. It’s all gone. Ryan and I are just two skins that can only walk around the streets of our lives.
So we will go away now. As far as possible. We won’t look back, not once. Down the roads we will travel, over the fields and through the towns of our childhood. Through the day and the night, the wind and the rain. We’ll hold hands, tightly. When we find the sea, maybe the sun will be shining. We will all step into it, slowly, eyes forward, until our heads are covered, until we are gone and there is mercy.
Farewell Shane.
Carol
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