Dad’s cancer – Bodies in a Window – Paperback/Kindle

Posted on by Opher

The backdrop for this novel was the death of my father. I am standing in the hospital room by the side of his dead body looking out the window.

In thia extract we have just been given the diagnosis.

Excerpt – Bodies in a Window

We sat there stunned. I don’t know why. We both must have known it was coming. I’d known from the beginning. It was hearing it like that though. It sucked all the words out of your head and stopped you thinking. It was as if your brain stopped working. That’s what it was like for me – fuck knows what it was like for the old man. He was the one in front of the firing squad. But had that faraway look, seemed detached and did not appear to even be listening. The words were falling short. He was not taking any of it in. In fact he gave every appearance of not wanting to be here at all. I could understand that but…………

At least one of us was attentive. I listened as the Specialist told us what was what. The words seemed echoey and were coming to me as if I was in a long tunnel, but I tried to make sense of them despite the fact that I was still reeling from the impact of that first statement. Dad was dying. That’s what was going round in my head. It clouded everything. When those other words arrived they did not even seem to gel together to form any sense.

There are extensive tumours throughout the liver. I expect they are secondary. We will do further tests. I expect the primary will either be in the lung or gut. I can see from the extent that it is inoperable. Are you a smoker Mr Cooper?

Yes.

He smoked like a trooper – had done since he was a bloody trooper. He’d joined up in the war and his best mate had given him his first cig. Imagine that! You go through a fucking war with your mates getting shot to pieces, steel and bullets all around, the enemy doing their utmost to blow you to bits and you get a death sentence from your best bloody friend – killed by friendly fire! I felt like laughing out loud.

The feeling of being submerged eventually passed and reality hit home. Dad was dying. It was confirmed. He had inoperable liver cancer. There was nothing they could do. I sat there seething. This should not be happening. He was much too young. It should have been picked up much earlier. They should have been able to treat this.

What’s the treatment? Dad asked.

Treatment? I looked around at him in disbelief. He was highly intelligent. The guy had said it was inoperable. What was dad talking about? I stared at him and wondered what was going on in that head of his. The guy was telling him that he was dying. He was not stupid for god’s sake. Why was he behaving like this?

We will give you palliative care, the specialist said kindly. He must have been used to delivering speeches like this and the reaction of patients to the news. There will be some pills for the pain. But there is nothing we can do. I am afraid that the tumour is inoperable.

Dad nodded. He latched on to the pills. They were going to treat him with pills. That’s all he needed to know. The shutters went down again.

We will have a better idea of the state of affairs when we get the bloods back. They will tell us a better picture of what time we have left.

Dad was satisfied. He’d heard all he needed to know. He did not need to know the duration of the death sentence – they were going to treat him with pills. There wasn’t much more to say. It was as if he had blotted everything else out. He did not want to hear it. The specialist told us to check in with the receptionist and book another appointment. He would send a prescription through to Dad’s own doctor. Dad allowed himself to be shepherded out through the door. Our appointment was over – except it wasn’t quite over for me. I needed to know more. I waved dad off to the receptionist to see about his follow-up and stayed behind for a quiet word with the specialist. He seemed prepared for this, even glad. He must have done it a thousand times.

‘How long?’ I asked.

‘Two months – maybe four’, he told me. ‘The bloods will tell us a bit more. It is hard to be exact. Everybody is different.’

‘Is there nothing you can do?’ I asked – I mean I had to ask, didn’t I?

‘I’m sorry’, he said. ‘There is nothing we can do. It is much too advanced.’

‘Would it have made any difference if he had come in three months ago?’ I had to know. If I had done something about it back then, at Christmas. If I had noticed.

‘I doubt it,’ he said diplomatically. ‘The symptoms are largely silent on this type of cancer until it is far too late to do anything about it. It is rare for us to be able to treat a cancer of this nature.’

That did not make me feel much better and certainly did not let that sad excuse for a doctor off the hook; he had been utterly reprehensible. Something needed doing about that smug git. I thought I might just be the person to do it.

Bodies in a Window: Amazon.co.uk: Goodwin, Opher: 9781986269544: Books

Diagnosis – Bodies in a Window – Paperback/Kindle

Posted on by Opher

I drew on a number of incidents and people from my own life experience to compose this novel. It was cathartic. I was standing at the side of my dead father looking out the window.

Excerpt – Bodies in a Window 

Dad drove me in to the appointment in his flash blue Hillman Hunter car. I call it a flash car only because it was a damn sight newer and more expensive than my pile of rust. It was only two years old and he was very proud of it. He’d only just got it. In reality there was nothing special about it. It was a middle of the road saloon – a Hillman Hunter for fuck’s sake. But it was the best car dad had ever owned. He loved it. It was his pride and joy. I just wish he had managed to buy the thing earlier when he might have got a bit more use out of it. Trust him to start getting things together when he was about to fucking check out of the game!

On the day of the specialist appointment he drove that car like he had something to prove. I was glad we had seat belts in the front, my heap of rust didn’t. He drove fast. At one point a car pulled out of a side road in front of us. Did he brake? Did he brake fuck. He went straight round the back of it without slowing and with tyres squealing. Nice manoeuvre – unless some bastard was coming up behind the fool who’d pulled out. Maybe sitting on a death sentence made you a bit more cavalier with your life, though the bastard might have shown a bit more care and consideration towards me. I was planning on hanging around for a while to come. We lived and we somehow arrived at the hospital in one piece.

We sat in the waiting room and made small talk about football and cricket. Botham was the man of the moment. Dad talked about all of that incessantly. He was avoiding talking about his illness. Any distraction would do. He really did not want to confront dying. We assiduously skirted around it. I knew that if I hadn’t been there he wouldn’t have gone for that appointment. I was sure of that. But I got him there and he was going along with it.

Unlike that bastard of a doctor the specialist examined him thoroughly. Sent him for X-rays, took bloods and set us out in the corridor waiting again.

We were both quiet then. I looked out the window at all the people going past. I was deep into thinking. Those people out there all had dreams and aspirations just like me. Their lives were full. I could picture what some of their lives were like. I could even identify with some of them. I could fit in their shoes.

Dad just sat quietly, deep in thought.

Eventually we were ushered back in. The specialist had the X-Rays up on the screen. He did not bother explaining them to us. I could see the dark patches myself. I was a biologist. I knew the score. The specialist had everything he needed to know. The X-rays confirmed his suspicions. He pulled no punches. He sat us down and looked at both of us with a very serious face. I felt sorry for the guy. He must have to do this every fucking day. It was no fun telling people that they were dying. It had to take it out of you.

‘I’m sorry Mr Cooper you have inoperable liver cancer’.

Bodies in a Window: Amazon.co.uk: Goodwin, Opher: 9781986269544: Books

Bodies in a Window – Paperback/Kindle – Sex

Posted on by Opher

This character and subsequent events of a highly sexual nature were based on a real event. A parent came in to school to complain about the actions of the boys with his fourteen-year-old daughter. Apparently the police weren’t interested. He expected me to instil different attitudes into the boys.

I am in the room with my dead father, looking out the window. The young girl walks along with her friend.

Excerpt – Bodies in a Window 

Les had helped me plan it. My parents were away and I was fourteen so they thought I was old enough to look after myself. Of course I could. I was nearly fifteen for heaven’s sake. Les helped out there a real lot though because I know they still had their doubts. They liked Les and thought she was a calming influence on me. She assured them that she’d look after me – the lying vixen. They thought it was fine leaving me alone for the odd weekend as long as I had Les for company. I wouldn’t get up to any harm with good old Les. To look at us you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in our mouths. But then parents rarely saw what was in front of their noses. Heaven knows what was in their heads. Silly sods.

I knew what was in my head though.

I wanted Doug and I wanted sex. That was all that was in my head. I was crazy about him. I don’t know why him in particular. He wasn’t your big hunky type. He was a little guy with long hair and he seemed so sweet. All the girls loved him. He and Oz were the two heart-throbs of the year. I suppose that was sufficient to start with. I adored him. I’d set my sights on him even though he was well out of my league. I thought I stood a chance. I was determined and I had a couple of weapons in my armoury that the other girls didn’t. I was realistic. I would have loved to have a relationship but I knew that wasn’t about to happen so I was prepared to settle for what I could get.

I was crazy about boys in general. I had been for well over a year. Doug was the focus of it at this moment in time but it wasn’t just about him. Sex was the only thing on my mind. Not to put too polite a spin on it, like the boys said, I just wanted to fuck. I know that was not what young girls were supposed to feel. It’s supposed to be love and romance and all that, princes and frogs – but not with me. I had this thing about sex. That is all that seemed to matter to me. It consumed me. I wanted one of them to put his thing inside me and fuck me for ever. That sounded like heaven to me. I seemed to feel it more than the other girls. They were interested but in a sort of soppy way. It was all love and fairy tales with them but not me. I wanted the real thing. I got so hot between the legs and I couldn’t help thinking about it. It sent funny feelings gurgling in my tummy. It sometimes made me so wet down there that it was uncomfortable. I found myself dreaming about it in class and had to make an excuse to get out to the loo. That was easy enough. Most of the old male teachers were too embarrassed to ask. If they thought it you were having a period they just let you go. The female ones were not quite so easy to pull the wool over though. Some of them really gave you the first degree.

Bodies in a Window: Amazon.co.uk: Goodwin, Opher: 9781986269544: Books

First Date – Bodies in a Window Paperback/Kindle

Posted on by Opher

This is very much based on autobiography. I am standing in the hospital room with my dead father looking out the window. Partially it it my own life. Partly it is the people walking past. We knit together.

Excerpt – Bodies in a Window

So for our first date I invited Jenny to this party. We were going as a foursome. I was bringing my friend Rich and she was bringing her friend Pat. Rich was not so much into Kerouac and poetry but he liked good music and knew what was happening. He was a good guy to have on board. We always seemed to find the hip joints and he always found the best bands. I was much too disorganised to do that on my own. I needed Rich to organise me. Rich was hip in his own way, different to me but he certainly knew where it was at.

I’d been at school with Rich. He had been the coolest cat in class. His hair was greased back with a big quiff that was so long it could reach his chin. Right from early on he had liked all the good loud Rock Music, Little Richard and Eddie Cochran. I bought that Eddie Cochran Memorial album off him, and had this cool motor scooter that he’d adapted. He’d taken all the fairing off and lowered the seat by taking away the petrol tank. He’d replaced that with a motorbike tank. Then he’d put these great ape-hanger handlebars on. It was so groovy. Everybody looked up when he rode it through town. It was a real girl magnet. They loved drooping themselves on it, hanging off the back. He was always popular. Rich was a good guy to have around.

The other thing about Rich was that he had well-off parents and was the first of us to get a car. He taught me how to drive. At least he sat there in the front of the car drinking beer while I drove. We just went off for hours driving aimlessly through the countryside. Whenever I asked him which way he’d say – straight on – it’s always straight on. We always got somewhere and found our way back home.

Rich was cool.

The party was a wash-out though. It was as dead as a doornail and Pat and Rich didn’t seem to be hitting it off too well either. It looked like the evening was turning into a disaster. We were sitting around in the gloom rather despondently wondering what to do. It was time to head out of there and nobody had any idea of somewhere better. It was beginning to look as if the pub might be the best option.

To my surprise Jenny announced that her parents were away and she had the house to herself. We could go round there. It sounded a bit too good to be true. I really fancied her and the idea of getting her alone was great. It sounded to me as if we might be up for some action.

We hustled up some beers from the offy and were out of there like a shot. Rich had his foot right down to the floor.

It didn’t quite pan out like I imagined. Back at her place, things went a bit pear-shaped, we sat around talking and drinking beer and having a laugh but somehow it did not develop into any raving sex scene, mainly, looking back, because Pat really did not fancy Rich one bit. Weirdly we found ourselves sitting around bemused while Jenny played the piano to us. Pat read us some French poetry – Baudelaire and Rimbaud – quite cool stuff but all too intellectual and intense the way that Pat delivered it. I was intrigued but Rich was bored to tears. He wanted some action. I did too. I only had eyes for Jenny.

Jenny and I had a little snog before the end of the evening but that’s as far as it went. It was obvious that Pat wasn’t interested in Rich and that put a down on the whole thing developing any further. Rich was not sophisticated enough for her tastes. I wasn’t either by all accounts. She’d made that quite clear to Jenny the next day. To her eyes I was as uncouth as Rich. Though that didn’t come out until later and didn’t seem to put Jenny off me. We seemed to hit it off. I don’t think anything would have made any difference to that. It was visceral.

In some ways, many ways, it was a boring evening but strangely I didn’t find it so. I was besotted with Jenny. Just being around her was good enough for me. Sex was a bonus but did not seem anywhere near as important as usual. When I got home, with Rich’s grumbling in my ear, I was buzzing with Jenny. I’d spent the evening with her and she’d agreed to see me again. What could possibly be better?

Bodies in a Window: Amazon.co.uk: Goodwin, Opher: 9781986269544: Books

Bodies in a Window Paperback/Kindle

Posted on by Opher

Standing in the hospital next to my dead father looking out the window. This novel is about life and death. The array of characters are from all walks of life, all ages. There’s life, death, sex and boredom. Purpose?

Introducing my old man – a war veteran, now living on his own following the death of his life-long partner. But he has his dog.

Excerpt – Bodies in a Window Paperback

The damn sun was shining in the window and woke me up. A nuisance – a damn nuisance. I curse silently. I should have pulled the curtains then I’d have been alright. It’s been so dull out recently that I didn’t think. It hasn’t disturbed Tom though. These days he’d sleep through the bloody Atomic bomb. He’s still curled up asleep on the bed by my feet. He hasn’t stirred one bit. He’s sleeping a lot lately. But that damn sunshine that is really annoying. It has made my day an hour or so longer. That’s another blessed hour to fill with nowt to fill it with.

There is nothing else much to do so I lay there and think. There’s no point in trying to get back to sleep. That never happens these days like it used to do when I was young. I could sleep for England on my days off back then. Not now. I lay there and allow my mind to drift. I think about Margaret and how proud she’d be about Arthur. She was so worried about him. He went through all that long hair phase and that loud Rock Music. She was so worried. That Malcolm Muggeridge on TV had produced that programme about all the long haired students having promiscuous sex and taking drugs. It scared the life out of her. She thought Arthur might get caught up in all that caper. She was vexed about him getting involved with all that drug lark, getting some girl pregnant or messing his life up with some crack heroin or other. But the lad’s done well. He made his way. He’s a teacher now. He’s settled down with a wife and kids. He’s a good lad. I like his wife Lucy. She’s a sweet girl. She’s been good for him and got him on the straight and narrow. I don’t have to worry about him any more. She’s sorted him out. That Lucy is a good girl. Margaret would have really liked her. All her fears have come to nowt. That’s good that is.

It’s a funny old life. You can’t tell where it’s going. I reckon they’ll blow the whole place up before too long. I wouldn’t be at all surprised. There’s no telling any more. They are capable of anything. All these Arabs and nutters with bombs. They only have to get hold of an atomic bomb and we’ll all be blown to Kingdom Come.

The world is such a strange place now. It seems to go at such a pace. I can’t keep up with it – all these drugs and sex and the weird fashions. They seem to change from day to day – all this long hair and dyed hair, shaved heads, tattoos – lasses with tattoos, drinking and smoking like troopers and popping out kids like nobody’s business. They’re so brazen and scruffy. There’s no pride. They do what they like. It’s become decadent. Law and order is breaking down in front of your eyes. Margaret would have a bloody fit. Good job she’s not here to see it. That’s all I can say.

It wasn’t like that in my day I can tell you. There were lads who had a few too many bevvies like, and there were always a few of the girls who were up for it. Oh yes, that went on. But most people were respectable. Most girls wouldn’t have dreamt of letting a fellow have his way. They kept all that for after they were married. That’s how it should be. Margaret would never have allowed any of that carry on. She’d been brought up right. Her parents instilled respect into her. I blame it on the parents. They don’t instil any respect any more. And as for that hair and the silly fashions – well – parents wouldn’t have stood for it in my day. They’d have soon knocked all that out of you. An’ if they hadn’t the army would have done. I can just imagine my old Sergeant Major West faced with a bunch of those long-haired layabouts – You growing your own greatcoat, boy! This isn’t the bloody Guards! We don’t wear Busbies here lad! Get yer bloody hair cut! He had a right old way with words did Sergeant Major West. And you couldn’t so much as make a peep back. He’d have you out on jankers soon as look at you. You’d be cleaning privies with a toothbrush and painting coal white, out in the rain and snow running around with rifles and full packs. That’d soon knock some sense into their bloody heads I can tell you. It bred discipline. That’s what’s wrong with the world – there’s no discipline.

I looked over at the clock. It was still not seven yet. I always get up at seven. Keeping to a good routine was important. I like routine. The world runs on routine.

I put my head back on the pillow and tried to will the second hand to go round a bit faster. It never bloody works. I don’t know what’s gone wrong with the world. It’s all gone mad. There aren’t any standards. People just do what they want. It’s disgusting. It’ll bring the whole country down. They’re no better than the savages; though you’re not allowed to say that kind of thing. If you said that to the little thugs they’d likely give you a right kicking. They scare the hell out of me. They stand around on street corners smoking and looking surly. I hear it on the news – the football hooligans and skinheads – they’ve got knives. So much as look at them and they boot yer head in. Where will it all end?

That minute hand was dragging.

Tom started to stir. It took him a while to get going – a lot longer than me, though we’re both in the same boat with these flaming old bodies of ours.

Eventually the hand touched seven, it was time to move and I dragged myself out of the sack. It was hard these days. My body stiffened up overnight. It was a mass of aches and pains. All the joints creaked and protested. I wasn’t tall and straight any more like I used to be. All my muscles have wasted away. My arms and legs have hardly got any meat on them and the skin hangs. I’m a bent old scrawny thing. I wondered what Margaret would have made of me now? Hardly the lover boy I used to be. But she’s not here to see. She’d probably tell me I’ve brought it on myself by not eating right or not exercising enough. Sometimes I think she was the lucky one. The big C is nasty, like. Seeing her waste away like that. Terrible to see. But at least she is out of it now. She didn’t have to put up with all this – all this deteriorating away and living on your own.

It’s lonely on your own.

I worked my way to the edge of the bed and fumbled around for my slippers with my feet. When I had located the dam slippers I slipped them on. Then I hoisted myself to my feet and winced as the old body protested – but at least I was upright – or at least as upright as I get these days. We’d take it from there.

Bodies in a Window: Amazon.co.uk: Goodwin, Opher: 9781986269544: Books

Bodies in a Window Paperback/Kindle

Posted on by Opher

Gave me quite a shock to read this. I haven’t read this book for many years. This new character was based on my Mum.

I am standing by a window at the side of my dead father looking out. I tried writing the different characters from varying perspectives.

excerpt – Bodies in a Window 

I don’t like it here. I never have done and I never will. I don’t fit in. I’m like a fish out of water. They are all a bunch of snobby gits. They put on their airs and graces – pretentious idiots. All they care about is showing off. They swank around like they’re the big ‘I am’.

It’s Jim’s fault. He wants to move up in the world. Still does. He thinks we should do better than our parents did. I can see that. I want my kids to have better opportunities than I did. Part of me says that we’re every bit as good as any of them. But it is one thing thinking it and quite another doing it. It feels so wrong to me – not how I was brought up. I wouldn’t mind the affluence of the estate but it’s the people. They all seem so false and unreal to me – plastic people living plastic lives. Jim thinks I’m daft. We scrimped and scraped to buy this bungalow. I love it as a house, don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with it as a home except that it’s just not me – well not so much the place as where it is, in the middle of this bunch. It’s not the bungalow that’s wrong as the people around on this bloody estate – the snobby gits. I was brought up among real people and I’m happy with people who are down to earth. I grew up in a community where people cared about each other, looked out for each other. People mattered – not things. This lot couldn’t care less about each other. They’d trample each other to death if they thought they could gain some advantage. They don’t care. I don’t want to fit in with them.

Here on this estate they’re out mowing the grass with straight lines, polishing the car and showing off with their dinner parties, golf and kids in boarding schools. Imagine having kids and even wanting to send them away to some bloody boarding school? What’s the point of having them in the first place if you want shot of them? It’s bloody peculiar, that’s what it is. I can’t stand it. They are so cold and selfish. They’re just not my sort and never will be.

The trouble is that I have no friends here, well, very few. There is Mrs O’Grady, but she’s a fish out of water just like me. The truth is that I don’t want to have friends here, leastways not with the likes of them. I’d rather be on my own. But Jim goes off to work each day and I’m all by myself. I’ve got nothing to occupy myself with. I’m not one for housework. It was fine when the kids were little and my mum was alive. She’d come round with the car and take us out for the day. We went everywhere. She’d knock on the door and shout through the letter box ‘come on open up. I know you’re in there.’ We’d come running. I’m lost without her. The kids loved her. But now she’s gone and the kids are at school and life seems empty. I don’t want to fit in and I’ve got far too much time on my hands.

So I’ve got my bike. I cycle everywhere. I cycle in to Kingston, up the big hill at Esher, to go to the cattle market. I used to take the kids there on the back of my bike. Can you imagine that? It’s a good way – a good seven or eight miles – but I don’t mind. It passes the time. The exercise is good for me. Cycling up that bloody hill you sure get enough exercise I can tell you. I used to be able to do that without stopping, even with the kids on the back. I can’t now. I have to stop and push it up the last bit – fair takes the wind out of me I can tell you.

I like my bargains. That’s why I like the market. I hunt out bargains. There’s plenty of reasonably priced stuff to be had there. Then on Saturdays I go round all the jumble sales. You can pick up stuff for next to nothing – good stuff too. I enjoy doing that. It stops me thinking about my mum. It fills in the time. I live for my bargains – and the kids of course.

Bodies in a Window: Amazon.co.uk: Goodwin, Opher: 9781986269544: Books

Another Excerpt – Bodies in a Window – Paperback/Kindle

Posted on by Opher

I had the idea for this novel years before I wrote it. It took the death of my father to realise it. I stood in the hospital room next to his body.

Chapter 1 – Perspectives on a Sunny Day

Life goes on.

That’s all I know. As far as I’m concerned, right now, life is trivial, pointless and boring. It’s nothing more than a repetition of the mundane, periodically interspersed with equally nonsensical novelty. Nothing makes sense. Sadly, today, that is exactly how I’m seeing it. There is no purpose to anything.  It appears to fall into a reassuring pattern – but I think that is an illusion. Change is all there really is. You can be sure that nothing will last for long. Everything you do is doomed to be destroyed in the vagaries of time. Nothing lasts. It’s a pretty miserable state of affairs when you really get down to thinking about it.

I stood in the sanitised room, breathed the Dettol and allowed my mind to run freewheel. Well, I didn’t really allow it to run free, so much as lose control of it. I’d let go. There was no hand on the rudder. It went where it wanted and that appeared to entail a long string of gloomy observations. Right at this moment in time life was looking pretty miserable to me.

Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t always been this morbid; my brain has not always flowed in such a melancholy manner. I used to be a happy, easy-going, positive sort of guy. But that seems a long, long time ago now. I’m no longer that person. Life knocked that naïve optimism right out of me a long time before today.

It is days like this that have robbed me of my positive outlook, and I’ve had a few of these kinds of days. Though fortunately not too many on a par with this particular doozy of an example. This was in a category of its own – a kind of one-off. This truth is, for obvious reasons, you can only experience this event once.

Back when I was young ….. I could laugh at my own naivety ….. I used to postulate solutions to the world’s problems. I even used to have faith in the intrinsic goodness of human beings and believed there were things worth striving for. What a fool I was back then. That was before I realised the true nature of all those movers and shakers out there, the wealthy and powerful, greedily clawing in all they can, and willing to carve up their own grannies for self-advancement. They are a bunch of callous self-servers.

The problem is that I woke up to the reality of humankind but probably didn’t really believe. Today brought it all home with a vengeance.

Bodies in a Window: Amazon.co.uk: Goodwin, Opher: 9781986269544: Books

Extract – Bodies in a Window Paperback

Posted on by Opher

The death of a parent is a huge event. Not only the emotional attachment, the awareness that they had cared, provided and sacrificed to bring you up, but the loss of that bulwark. They were a protection against the forces of nature, holding back death. Suddenly death is real. You are exposed. There is nothing between yourself and death. Your protection has evaporated.

This book was not just about death. It was looking out of that window to see life in its normality. Each one of the people passing had important things to be doing, a life to live. Inside the room normality had disappeared. Inside the room was death.

Extract:

I could tell he wasn’t there the minute I walked into the room. There was no presence. I’m not a big believer in all this spiritual stuff. I don’t believe in gods or heaven and all that indoctrinated crap that they force-feed kids. But life has a presence that you can feel with some sense or other. I only reached out and touched his rock-hard face to confirm what I already knew. He was as cold as ice. The bastard was gone. I was alone in an empty hospital ward. I was in the presence of a big absence – a black hole where my dad had been.

It was over.

All the long days of pretence and acting; all the performance; it was finished with. The chapter was well and truly closed.

The tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t hold them back. I missed him. Already I missed him. I could not quite believe that I’d never hear his voice again, never dial that number and hear his voice. The thoughts and emotions tumbled away behind my eyes as I stared vacantly out of the window at the world outside and watched it going about its business. Nothing had changed out there. I watched the people going about their business. How could that be?

I stood silently and stared out with glazed eyes. I watched those people and sought to connect with them. They were just like me, like the people I knew. But they were oblivious to what I was going through.

In my world everything had changed – the ground had shifted. Nothing would ever be the same again. But out there it went on as usual.

Extract – Bodies in a Window Paperback

Posted on by Opher

Standing in a room with your dead father

Extract:

How rational we become at times of emotional turmoil.

 Humans! I despise them all. I hate them – all of them – even myself – every last human bastard on this planet. I have come to the realisation that we are the stupidest creatures who have ever evolved on this beautiful green sphere – and there have been a few monsters that have evolved here, I can tell you. 

I think the worst thing about us is our damn intelligence. We can’t even claim ignorance for the vileness of our acts. That makes it all far worse. Everything we do is consciously done with intent. We know exactly what agonies we inflict and we thoroughly enjoy inflicting it.

But life goes on – at least for a while to come. We’ll eke out the last days of our vainglorious reign and probably still be around to witness our total annihilation of what once was a beautiful green planet full of beauty and potential. We’ll leave behind a legacy of pain, garbage and senseless destruction.

But hey – that’s probably just the mood I’m in right now. It’s chemical. And I have good reason. You’d probably be feeling a tad down if you were standing where I am right now.

Death goes on too.

I’ll feel differently in the morning……………. probably.

It is strange the morbid, dismal thoughts that go through your mind while you stand in a hospital ward, beside a bed on which lies the remains of your old man, the person who begat you, who looked after you, nursed you, cared for you, loved you without limits and then fucking goes and dies on you – the bastard.

Except that wasn’t him in the bed at all. That was just an ice-cold marble sculpture of some haggard wretch whose cancer-ridden body some master sculptor had seen fit to replicate in stone. He’d done a fucking good job too. The sunken eyes and gaunt cheeks were perfect. The nose stood out like some grotesque beak. He’d captured it. It was a perfect replica of the man he had been yesterday. But he’d got the colour wrong. This marble effigy was as pale as snow. There was none of the sallow, jaundiced pastiness. The smell had gone too. Obviously there are some things even a great artist cannot replicate.

Bodies in a Window – Paperback

Posted on by Opher

I was remembering back to the day of my father’s death, standing in the hospital room, alone with his body, looking out of the window. My head was full of huge emotional turmoil. People outside were going about their business completely obliviously.

A parent had come into school in a distraught fashion, looking for people to blame. His fifteen-year-old daughter had planned a weekend orgy with her friend while he and his wife were away. All the boys in the neighbourhood had been round for a sex-fest. He wanted to blame the school.

I incorporated it into the book.

Extract:

I had begun thinking of myself and examining the depths of my own psyche looking for clues – for the evidence to condemn myself. I reckon most people would be just like those wealthy fuckers given half a chance, me included. I have come to believe that the whole human race is a savage, callous, selfish group of mindless monkeys out for nothing more than sex, power and wealth, and they don’t give a toss for anything or anyone – least of all nature or the plight of other creatures. If it isn’t about that trilogy of crassness, then it’s about cretinous fun – usually involving some form of cruelty or abuse.

I’ve always had a soft spot for nature. I detest cruelty.

I gave out a deep sigh which came out more like a sob as I absently pondered my own philosophical views on the nature of humanity. They weren’t currently very flattering, particularly when it came to our record with fellow creatures.

Outside the window I watched a young boy on roller skates, all tousle haired and scruffy, who reminded me of myself so many years before. Perhaps he was indeed just like I had been? Perhaps he had pets and enjoyed playing in the fields, climbing trees and wading in ditches and ponds, catching frogs and newts? But would that be enough in his adult life to prevent him from shooting birds or chopping down trees? I thought not. At heart he was human. He was all like the rest; like all the rest of us.

Indeed I have a pretty low impression of mankind and the circumstances were providing me with opportunity to give vent to it. I have come to realise that the majority of people are insane, shallow and stupid. I am convinced that they won’t be happy until they’ve destroyed the whole planet and laughed themselves to death as they busy themselves with slowly frying the last living creature on the sphere.

I played with that image in my head. My mind seemed to attach to it.

They have no scruples – as far as I can see they wouldn’t even want to eat that poor creature, they’d just want to watch it squirm, to make it suffer. That’s how they get their kicks. I believe that. They really would – they would enjoy watching some poor creature, even if it was the last creature on earth, as it screams its way to a horrendously painful death, and all for nothing more than their own amusement. I have really come to believe that.

People are nasty.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Bodies-Window-Opher-Goodwin/dp/198626954X/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2TPMTXORD1MIA&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.lWqi-f83EoXLlwi3Ij1kM45KucHJeZBO13sRl5Q-6kbGjHj071QN20LucGBJIEps.kgAabeNQxn-of0f9bwz4EOJffh0KpDSS0BkDK6HJr7s&dib_tag=se&keywords=opher+goodwin+bodies&nsdOptOutParam=true&qid=1732615200&s=books&sprefix=opher+goodwin+bodies%2Cstripbooks%2C124&sr=1-1