Free Come Not When I Am Dead by R.A. England Page A

line and I’ll go and find
him” I can hear the false smile in her voice.
“Oh great, thanks, the children will be so pleased” .   Pleased?   Pleased?   I could have chosen a better word than
that but off she went, I heard her calling him “Charles!”   Charles!   His name’s fragging Charlie.   I heard little children playing on
wooden floors and some toys being bashed about, the sounds of his house.   I don’t want to hear his
domesticity.   And in my head I see
wide dark oak floorboards and dark coloured rugs, diamond leaded windows and
large oil paintings of animals on the walls.   I’ve no idea if it’s really like that,
but it is now.   I sing a little tune
to myself   ‘to you, my heart cries
out perfidia…’and look at the book on the shelf by the phone and then I hear a
sigh that flutters through my bones, unsteadying me.   “Hello, what’s the problem with your
donkey then?”   His words seeped out
and lust seeped right through me, stealthily but surely.   I like hearing his voice on the phone,
it is a deep child’s, it sounds like I want to wrap my arms around it, pick it
up and hold it tight, press close to my cheek.   “Can you be a little more specific?”
“you’re my donkey problem”   I still
say as Farquhar
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s me you spanner” and there is silence at the other end while he collects
himself, I shouldn’t have said that.   “Has your mobile broken or something?   Check it.   Just quickly though, I can’t do 6pm
tonight, make it 7pm, OK?”
“OK, I’ll be out after I’ve had something to eat, I shall see you at 7pm then,
thank you Mr Stevens.   Goodbye.”
Ooooh, it’s so exciting, it’s all so exciting and I sit down and laugh with the
devilment of it all.   I’m a rascal.
‘Joseph, Joseph, Joseph, I’M BAD’ I text him.
    “Did I ever tell you” I say to Charlie
at about 7.40pm “that my grandpa built this fishing hut?”
“no, you didn’t, but that’s very nice”
“the others want to replace it with a new one.   They talked to me about it once, but I
must have looked so sad, they thought I was going to cry, so they’ve never
mentioned it again” and I smile, one hand burrowing in my pocket looking for a
lighter, the other holding a cigar.   “What are the others like?”
“nothing really, just boring.   I
mean look how beautiful it is here and they just never come” my arms are open
now, I know that I have very expressive hands and a very expressive face, it
makes me laugh if someone ever videos me, I look like a cartoon character but
luckily people find it endearing because I couldn’t do anything about it
anyway.   I think I look like a prat
though.  
    We are sitting on a very basic old wooden
bench, a plank on two stump logs.   The
river is black and the dead grass is white, there’s the far off cries of ewes
calling their lambs to them and Bill hooting to me, ever nearer, I am aware of
everything.   We’re surrounded by
dark shadows of trees and a faded pink in the sky.   “I’m glad they don’t come” and my head
turns around on my neck like a radar “I don’t want them to come, but it’s odd
isn’t it?   They all have access to
here, but I never see them.   Have
you ever seen anywhere as perfect?   Have you?   In all your
travels, have you ever seen anywhere as utterly perfect as here?” I am smiling
at the glory of this world, I’m so excited by it all “no I haven’t” but he is
looking at me and not out at the view
“you’re looking at me, look at the view!   So, have you?” I laugh and try to get him to appreciate what I see, but
he’s appreciating his view of me “I’m not talking to you anymore.”   I laugh and my face contorts without
control, I laugh with my face down, towards my lap because I’m embarrassed but
happy.   My heart swirls and claps
itself together because he was looking at me with appreciation, because he was
being romantic and loving and