Free Winterwood by Patrick McCabe

heard:
    —Bastard! Fucking bastard!
    At that point, I could have sworn I smelt the loathed dampness.
    —O Jesus, I groaned, as I glimpsed my face in the window. It was chalk-white.
    —Bastard! the oil-rigger repeated, before launching into an unnecessary torrent of vile invective. My relief - when I realised
     who it was, and also, of course, who it wasn't — was immense. Piper Alpha stood before me, quaking. It gradually emerged that he had been bitterly aggrieved by my earlier
     reluctance to lend what he described as 'a sympathetic ear' to his experiences.
    I had no option but to persuade him that he'd been mistaken. Which he hadn't. His appraisal of the situation had been, in
     fact, entirely accurate. I hadn't been listening to his tiresome 'life story'. Not to a single word he'd said. But I made us some tea to mollify the cretin.
     We sat together at the table. He must have been droning on for at least three hours. Eventually, his eyelids began to droop.
    —I think that's enough for tonight, don't you think so, Dominic, my friend? he said as he stood up and pushed back the table.
     Adding, charmingly: I thought at first you were a bit of a cunt, but now I think you're all right.
    Catherine used to say:
    —You can be canny, can't you, Redmond Hatch? Quite resourceful when it serves your purpose? Not at all the innocent you like
     to pretend. Must be your rural background. That old native cunning we often hear about.
    I smiled at the recollection of my wife's tender ways.
    Then I heard Piper Alpha bidding me goodnight, shambling off, suitably placated.
    As I stood there, out of nowhere, I experienced this appalling image of Imogen — screaming on Piper Alpha as the oil-rigger
     cried:
    —She'll be burnt alive!
    It was as though she were there in that hostel kitchen. Right there screaming and begging me for help.
    —The afraid things! The afraid things, Daddy!
    Why, I asked myself, ought I to think of such a thing? What had prompted me to—
    Then I saw her again: a silhouetted dwarf behind a ragged fence of fire. Her arms reaching out in tortured appeal.
    —Ah, I heard a familiar voice whisper, have you gone and lost your precious little friend? I lost mine too. He drowned one
     day, in the sweet factory river.
    I went back to bed but, once again, sleep proved impossible. I couldn't stop imagining Imogen in Bournemouth. She was wearing
     this daft little floral bikini and every time Ivan shouted she raced along the shore to the water. And stood like she used
     to, pressing her fists up to her face. I wondered had Ivan ever actually brought her to the seaside? Ivan, in so far as I
     had been able to make out, was a very good father. He definitely spent a lot of time with her. Assisting her with her lessons
     and, generally, being as dutiful as he could. I thought of Catherine lying there on the Bournemouth sand. Removing her sunglasses
     and looking over as she said:
    —If I didn't love you, I'd marry John Martyn. I'd marry him and call him 'sugar lips'.
    I found myself laughing, exactly as I'd done back then.
    —'May You Never', I had said to her with a chuckle.
    Once she had actually said she'd got married too young and that she hadn't really lived her life fully. That she liked being
     — adored, certainly. What woman didn't? But only up to a point. She wanted to be loved for herself, she said. I wondered had they discussed
     it in the classes? All I knew was - it hadn't bothered her before. And it made me sad. Because, deep down, I couldn't seem
     to stop it. But you can analyse too much. You can analyse all you like. People have problems and that's all there is to it.
     The fact is, whether we like it or not, there are no single, identifiable reasons for love coming to an end. All that happens
     is that one day it just stops. You wake up one morning and you say to yourself:
    —Where's it gone? I wonder, where could our love have gone?
    I didn't say it because for me it never happened. I never woke up