Fifty Years

          It was foolish to assume Ed and Annabell could ever keep the peace.

            “What’s she doing here?” He demanded, the moment we entered the flat. “I thought you said you’d arrange for her to piss off.”

            “She lives here.” Annabell replied.

            “That’s as may be, but you can at least do us the decency of fucking off while we collect Tom’s stuff.”

            “Tom agreed to join me for lunch today.”

            Ed turned to me in disbelief. “It’s true.” I said. “And she even invited you.”

            “Like hell.” He turned back to Annabell. “You’ve caused Tom enough trouble already without messing about in his head again.”

            “This is none of your business.” She replied.

            “Actually, it’s none of yours, anymore. You took that decision to break up with Tom, and he had no choice in it at all. You brought about a cataclysm in his life, one he was powerless to stop. Now it’s over, and you make no more decisions for him.”

            I was touched; Annabell paused, out of respect for the words, but quickly gathered herself back up.

            “Oh, I see.” She laughed. “There I was making all his decisions for him, like he never had any free will to choose for himself. Is that it?”

            “We’re done here.” He replied. “Come on, Tom, let’s get your stuff.”

            “Yeah, ‘go on, Tom’, do as he says.” She mocked Ed’s voice. “You’re no better yourself, telling him what he can and can’t do. And as for you,” she turned to me, “don’t you have a voice? Do you have any balls at all?”

            I’d been watching the argument as though from afar, and wasn’t ready to participate. “I don’t know, Annabell.” And I didn’t. I was caught, suspended between two currents. But Annabell shook her head in despair and disgust at me and walked away, so a wave crashed over me and Ed’s current swept me away. We collected my stuff and made it back home for lunch.

 

*

 

            I spent lunch acting a little miserably and so after a while Ed determined that he would distract me.

            “What will we do about the next adventure eh? ‘Big Girls Don’t Cry?’” I looked up, for the first time in a while. He continued. “It seems obvious to me. We find a big girl, and make her cry.”

            “That’s mean Ed.”

            “What would you suggest then?”

            “‘Big Girl’ obviously refers to age rather than fatness. Let’s go find the first adult woman we see and ask her what made her cry most recently.”

            And so we did.

            Ed lives about five minutes walk from Kilburn tube so we thought we’d head out towards it. Nobody was about on the road but Ed suddenly stopped and pointed at one of the houses. I followed his line of sight and saw a woman sitting alone at a kitchen table, eating lunch. She was in her late thirties, blonde, wearing a tracksuit that betrayed a figure which had no doubt once been most attractive.

            “There she is.” He said.

            We went up to the door and knocked. She opened and looked at us guardedly, as though she feared we wanted to preach or sell. I was in front so I started.

            “If you have a spare moment we just wanted to ask you a question for a survey we’re taking…”

            “…actually,” broke in Ed, “we’re here because the Pixies of Fate have decreed that we ask you one specific and important question.”

            She looked rather perturbed by Ed’s words but didn’t slam the door in our faces. Something inside her seemed wrong.

            “I see.” She replied, as though it were an ordinary situation but required a little thought. “Alright, come in. I’ll make some tea.”

            We entered and sat down. Old style music played quietly in the background. I couldn’t help but wonder what she made of the two of us barging in on her. We’re both tall, over six foot, and though both of us are slender and wiry, Ed always seems to physically dominate any situation he finds himself in. Eventually she returned with some tea and sat down with us. Ed got straight to the point.

            “It’s imperative that you describe to us the last occasion upon which you cried.”

            “I see.” She said, reflectively, and began her story. “My parents have been married fifty years now. It all began at the seaside. My dad was messing around with a beachball and hit my mum who was sunbathing at the time. Anyway… the details don’t matter. They were married and everything was wonderful. They were so in love. Time passed and I was born, along with my brother.

            “At first we were such a happy family, and that continued for many years until…” She frowned. “Well. Years passed and harder times came. My brother and I were often unhappy until finally we left home. I still live alone, myself, but my brother got married.” She smiled. “He and his wife had such beautiful children.” She paused, and slowly her smile faded and faded until it looked as though she might cry right there, on the spot. “I’m sorry.” She said.

            “Go on.” I said, encouraging her.

            She began crying, but forced the words out. “He called me, my brother, this morning. My dad’s done it again.” Uncontrollable sobs now. “He touched my niece.”

            Ed and I sat in awkward silence, astounded by this openness from a perfect stranger. Eventually she calmed down a little and the misery hardened into anger.

            “I can’t believe my brother let him near her. I told him, and he never believed me. He said it was our secret and I’d only hurt everyone if I said anything. I never even told my mum! They’ve been married for fifty years! Fifty! And she has no idea… How will she cope? What must it feel like to discover the love of your life is nothing but a filthy pervert?”

            Ed stood up and walked around to her, placing an arm about her shoulder.

            “It’s okay. It’ll be fine.” He looked at me over her shoulder with an expression that said ‘let’s get the hell away from this crazy bitch’. “Thanks for sharing that. We have to go now. Destiny calls, if you know what I mean?” He smiled at her.

            She wiped her tears away.

            “One more thing,” added Ed, “what’s the name of this song playing right now?”

            I was appalled at his insensitivity, but the lady seemed not to care. She was in a perfect daze. “Mr Bassman.” She replied. “It’s from some jukebox compilation.”

            “Rock on.” Said Ed. And we hurriedly left.