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
