Published: 17 July 2017

Saturday afternoon Awen met John Ashe with his lawn mower at Alice’s gate. He had arranged for the mowing but wished to pay Ashe at the time, avoiding doing so at the bungalow as Sam hadn’t come home the previous night, supposition placed him staying with Ashe. Also Awen had left some of his clothes at the cottage during his previous stay and needed to collect them, additionally discover what mess his brother had left from his previous week’s visit.

“Good afternoon John,” he called as Ashe awkwardly manoeuvred his mower through the narrow gateway, “I’ll unlock the main gate if you like.”

“G’day Awen, no I’ll manage. I thought you would have moved in permanently by now?”

“No Elyan has been staying over on the weekends.”

“Yea and we both know why that would be.” Ashe checked the fuel before returning to his vehicle for his broom and rake.

“I found out some more about Bert, I’ll show it to you later if you like.” Awen offered.

“That would be grand – by the way did you come visiting the other night?” Ashe quizzically asked.

“No why?” Awen falsely answered feeling the prickling of guilt flush across his forehead and cheeks.

“I thought I saw you on the beach near the bungalow”

“Na it wasn’t me mate.” Awen lied and felt guilty for doing so. He had grown to like and respect Ashe and such blatant lying wasn’t true to his character.

“Well I suppose it was some young fellow taking a walk but they don’t often come down my end of the beach.” Ashe shrugged away the suggestion but held his suspicion. “Suppose I better get on with the mowing.”

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Awen offered and followed Ashe through the gate.

“Rather coffee.”

“I only have tea.”

“Then tea will do, I’ll do the mowing first, shouldn’t take long hasn’t been the weather for growing grass.”

“I’ll put the kettle on.”

Awen entered into the house finding true to form Elyan had left a mess. Dishes were left unwashed on the sink’s draining board, while the kitchen smelt of cigarette smoke and stale vinegar from a pile of uneaten chips left in the kitchen tidy. Entering into his bedroom he found the bed unmade and the bedding across the floor and the atmosphere reeking of sex. “You are a messy bugger aren’t you?” Awen protested loudly.

“Noisy as well;” He clearly heard from behind. Quickly he turned discovering Bert standing outside the bedroom doorway but four paces away.

“Shit I didn’t dream you.” Awen gasped loudly as the blood drained from his face.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Bert smiled.

“I’m not frightened; I wasn’t expecting you as I thought I dreamt it all.”

“No you’re not dreaming.” Bert remained at distance in the hall beyond the bedroom door.

“How is it I can see you?” Awen asked somewhat confused.

“Because you wish to do so.”

“I don’t believe this, there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“Then I don’t exist, it’s up to you if you wish me to be here or not.” The apparition appeared to take a slight step away but the movement was without energy and was silent.

“No don’t go I have a million questions.”

“Hey Awen – you in there?” The voice of Ashe came from the rear door. Awen turned towards the call and back towards Bert but he had disappeared.

“Coming,” Awen answered.

“Were you on the telephone?” Ashe asked as he entered into the kitchen.

“No why?”

“I thought I heard you talking to someone. The mower’s broken down, I’ll have to return and finish the job during the week.”

“That’s alright but I’ll pay you now.”

“Bad news about the mill.” Ashe sympathised as the kettle came to the boil.

“Yes it was arson, someone poured petrol over the stacks of weatherboards. Do you take milk? There’s only condensed.”

“That will do fine, who do you think set the fire?”

“Do you take sugar?”

“White death – no thanks,”

“Ely blames Fields; he also thinks Barry tampered with the car but I’m not so sure, dad does rub some folk up the wrong way on the occasion.”

As they drank their tea Awen brought out the information Bishop had given him on Bert, explaining how he was wrongly accused of crime and how he met his demise, also the letters written by the mysterious M and his belief that the author was possibly Martin Bishop.

“It appears Bert was a poof.” Awen eventually disclosed, placing a nervous emphasis on the word.

“Does that worry you?” Ashe solemnly put forward.

“Bishop asked me the same question, no why should it?”

“It was the inflection you placed on the word poof as if it irritated you to even use the word.”

“No it doesn’t worry me I suppose it’s another slant on life.” Awen enforced.

“What would you say if someone close to you, as you put it, was a poof?”

“I’d say; good on them but in these times, as back when Bert was alive, I’d keep it to myself.” Awen collected the papers. “Why? Do you know something I don’t?” Awen added in an attempt to draw forth the relationship between Ashe and Sam without disclosing his knowledge.

Pussyfooting some called such a situation and now both he and Ashe were pussyfooting around the question like two cats ready for a spat while neither game enough to make a move.

“Do you know Martin Bishop?” Awen asked.

“I’ve met him but that was long ago before he became ill.”

“What was he like?” Awen was again fishing, attempting to discover if Martin was another, as Elyan described, fancy dancer.

“In what way do you mean?” Ashe cautiously asked.

“I don’t know; did he have family?”

“He was once married, if that is what you mean but the marriage didn’t last and they didn’t have kids. Later in life he lived out of town on his own. He was a solitary kind of bloke who in the most kept his own company.”

“I was thinking of giving Martin a visit at the retirement home, as it appears he once knew Bert.”

It was obvious Ashe had closed down further discussion on Martin Bishop and was eager to get about his work. “I suppose I should be going. I’ll need to take the mower home and work on it.” Ashe paused and taking a deep disassociating breath continued, “do you think it is wise visiting the old man, I believe his mind has gone?”

“I don’t want to question Martin, I only wished to get a feeling for what it was like living back then.”

“Well if that is all you’re after, why not join the Historical Society, they can direct you to a number of old folk who still have their faculties and are most happy to receive company and tell their story?”

“Maybe but -,”

“Well I guess you know what’s best but don’t forget Martin is old and frail. Even the slightest upset could kill him.”

Once alone Awen tidied his brother’s mess but as a protest left the bed unmade. Elyan had, as he called it, once again booked into the Alice Motel for that weekend, being the last for a while, as Sarah would be away in the city for a number of weeks attending a hairdressing course, learning how to design her own wigs and switches, for those too lazy to do their own hair, or when lacking in length to create a desired style.

Satisfied the house was tidy Awen commenced a search for Bert’s apparition, going from room to room, softly calling “are you in there Bert?” while feeling most ridiculous in doing so.

“I’m behind you Awen.” Eventually Bert appeared.

“So you are and you know my name.”

“Alice told me.”

“You know you look exactly like me, I could be your reincarnation.” Awen laughed.

“Possibly you are.”

“Now you’re scaring me.” The laughter slipped from Awen’s tone.

“Can you be seen everywhere, like over at our house?” Awen asked.

“No only those places I had visited.”

“And can I see you whenever I wish?”

“Depends on a lot of things, mostly atmosphere I guess and how strong your wish to do so, mostly it’s up to you.”

“I think I like that.” Awen was becoming accustomed to Bert’s presence, as nervousness and a state of the ridiculous leaked from his manner.

“So I don’t frighten you?” Bert softly asked.

“Not anymore; were you,” Awen paused searching for the appropriate parlance, “a sodomite and were you in a relationship with Martin Bishop?”

“What ever you think of me matters not, I loved Martin and he loved me.” Bert emotionally answered.

“Maybe I’m not that different than you were.” Awen admitted freely, feeling doing so to the dead was no different than admitting to oneself. As he spoke there was a commotion coming from the front as Elyan and Sarah arrived for their weekend. Awen opened the door as Bert melted away from the dull light in the hall.

“Awen, I hope you don’t intend to stay.” Elyan greeted, somewhat surprised to find his brother in the house.

“No but someone had to clean up your mess.” Awen complained, stepping to one side to give the excited couple entry.

“I told you we should have cleaned up.” Sarah giggled as Elyan gleefully slapped her ample backside. She released an excited yelp and moved away.

“You should have got mum over she’s the cleaning expert.” Elyan brazenly suggested.

“I haven’t made the bed.”

“Don’t worry about that, we’ll crawl back in as it is: Any beer in the fridge?”

“Only a few cans of four-x lager.”

“Never mind,” Elyan turned to Sarah, “be a good girl and get the box of grog from the car.” He once again slapped her backside as she passed. She released another yelp while scooting towards the door away from his reach.

“Nice bit of arse that.” Elyan disclosed.

“You’re disgusting.”

“I reckon when Sarah returns back from her course, we could move in here,” Elyan more advised than asked but didn’t receive the answer he hoped for.

“You won’t be, I will probably do so myself.”

Sarah quickly returned struggling under the weight of the box, almost dropping the lot at the door. She managed to reach the living room table as the bottom of the cardboard box gave way.

“Watch it woman!” Elyan shouted angrily, making a dash for the box before there was spillage.

“It’s all right I have it.” Sarah confessed.

“You break any of that scotch and I’ll make you lick it up.”

“I’d rather lick your scotch than…” Realising Awen was close she refrained from finishing her comparison. Both Sarah and Elyan laughed.

“It’s obvious three is a crowd. I’ll be going and this time clean up after before you leave.”

“Yes boss.” Elyan mocked and pulled Sarah into his grasp. She pushed him away.

“Cut it out there’s plenty of time for that,” turning towards Awen, “don’t worry we’ll clean up and thankyou for lending us the house for the weekend.”

Awen wasn’t happy letting his brother use the house but Elyan was family and therefore couldn’t morally decline but he still owed reverence to the memory of Alice as well as Bert and seeing he would be sharing the house with more than Bert’s memory in the future, letting Elyan use it as his private fuck pad wasn’t what he considered respectful.

Awen released a disbelieving huh then a grin at the thought of having his very own ghost but was Bert real or had it all been a dream? He remained unconvinced. It was true, sometimes previous dreams slip into the reality of the day, giving the thought ‘was that real or did I dream it?’ and it could be either but mattered not. This time it did matter and his sanity was in question.

Awen left his brother to his privacy but remained in two minds on seeing the apparition of Bert; how could it be so? He wished to believe but now separated from Alice’s house and back in town, the reality of daily living soon diluted his confidence. Ghosts do not exist. There was one remaining concern, if Bert were real, would he materialise before Elyan?

The Sea View Retirement home was some distance out of town along the north road and true to naming rights nowhere near the ocean. Even if you were to climb the tallest tree, the view of the ocean would still be beyond one’s visual capability.

Bishop had asked his aunt if it would be proper for Awen to visit Martin and seeing Rol had often done so with her on a number of occasions, she believed it may be a distraction from an otherwise uneventful day. Besides it would save her a trip, by delivering a new set of pyjamas she had promised. In doing so she made him agree to leave immediately if the old man appeared distressed in any way.

It was a long walk from town but the day was pleasant, overcast without any sign of rain and on reaching the home Awen had long since run out of questions for Bishop, while showing signs of nervousness in meeting with the old man.

“Let me do the talking, the staff know me.” Rol suggested as they approached the information desk. “Good Morning, we’ve come to visit Martin Bishop; I believe he has been moved to a different room.”

“Roland, yes they have placed him closer to the nurse’s station. He hasn’t been well lately; I’ll show you the way.” The duty nurse closed her book and beckoned the two to follow.

“How is Betty?” She asked as they walked along the corridor, her upright posture portraying authority as she gently nodded to those she passed.

“Fine,”

“And your mother, I haven’t seen her visiting of late?”

“No she’s been a little busy.”

There was a turn to the left, passing an old lady with long unkempt strands of grey hair, who hobbled along behind a walking frame. They moved aside to allow her progress.

“Good morning,” The old lady feebly croaked as she shuffled by, “nice day love,” she added without lifting her head, while wheezing under the strain of the few steps she had taken.

“Yes Mrs. Grose it’s a lovely day.” The nurse agreed, as they managed a turn to the right, passing a room with a number of aging men with slippered feet wearing faded pyjamas, while seated blankly in wheel chairs. Each in their turn lifted their eyes, to stare hopefully for a visit, to kill their continuous memories and pass the sameness of the day.

“To look at her, you wouldn’t believe Mrs. Grose was once the head mistress of a swanky girl’s school, now she doesn’t even know what day it is.” The duty nurse released a sigh, “so sad to think how life concludes – so sad, yet she still loves a cigarette, she remembers that if not her name.”

“Depressing,” Awen whispered to Bishop as a chill of reality shrouded him.

“I’m afraid it gets worse.” He answered as the woman took the last turn to arrive at the nursing station.

“Mary, these gentlemen have come to visit Mr. Bishop, is he in any state to receive visitors?” She asked of a woman in stiffly starched nursing uniform. She peered down her elongated nose towards the newcomers, while evaluating the condition of the old man.

“Oh I think so,” She finally answered and turned to the boys, “mind not to upset him and don’t stay too long.” Bishop thanked the nurse before offering a brown paper bag.

“Betty sent over some new pj’s for Martin.”

“Jolly good, he’s almost through the last pair. In you go and remember don’t upset him.” Mary accepted the package and directed the boys to where Martin was seated in his chair, his hands loosely resting in his lap; his head stooped while a light quiver controlled his lips.

“Hello Uncle Martin.” Bishop respectfully greeted. The old man lifted his head. Hello lad, its Trevor isn’t it?” He asked in a shaky voice, his washed out grey eyes lacking even the slightest sign of recognition.

“No Uncle Martin its Roland.”

“Oh Heather’s boy.”

“No I’m Elizabeth’s son.”

“Elizabeth who?” The old man appeared confused.

“Elizabeth Bishop. I have some one who would like to meet you.” As he spoke Awen stepped from behind Roland.

“Hello Mr. Bishop.”

“Oh my god it’s Bert!” The old man’s breathing evaporated as he began to shake.

“No I’m Awen,” but it was of no use Martin’s condition became erratic as he burst into uncontrollable sobbing.

“Bert, Bert I’m sorry Bert, I had to, I had to they made me do it.” He repeated over and over again, bringing the nurse to his side.

“I think you should wait outside.” She said while attempting to calm the old man. After giving him a sedative, Martin soon settled and fell asleep. The nurse returned. “I’m sorry but Martin will sleep now, maybe come and see him some other time. I don’t know what got into him; he’s usually good with visitors. ”

During the boys return journey Bishop became interested in understanding what had happened and why should Martin think he was talking to Bert.

“He was delirious, besides he didn’t even know who you were,” Awen excused, “and you yourself said I was the very image of Bert and it goes to prove they knew each other.”

“Yes I can understand that but why say someone made him do it and what did he do? He didn’t have anything to do with stringing Burt up to the tree, as the letters prove he was away at the time.” Bishop assumed.

“I couldn’t say.” Awen concluded realising he couldn’t admit he had discovered Bert and Martin to be lovers, as he wasn’t sure how Bishop would accept such knowledge.

“It’s a mystery but if you are talking to Betty don’t mention it or she’s go crook for upsetting Martin.” Bishop warned.

Awen agreed, yet the encounter haunted him. He felt a heart wrenching pity for Martin. Obviously after Bert had died Martin had to continue with his life and being gay, or expected of being so, wouldn’t sit well with many of the town’s citizens, especially after the wrong accusation of Bert and the molestation of the local lad. It appeared therefore Martin had married to disguise his true feelings and had to live his entire life as a lie and now seeing Awen he would die with that guilt. Or was it possible he had made his peace with Bert during the visit. Awen wished he could have at least accepted the apology in Bert’s name but how could he have done so with Bishop standing at his side.

“I don’t think we should visit Martin any more.” Bishop suggested as they once again reached town.

“I agree, it would prove anything and I believe his mind isn’t in any state to tell me anything.” Once outside the Post Office the boys parted company. Again Bishop warned about talking to Betty and again Awen promised not to, besides what would be gained by doing so.

“See ya.” Bishop called back at distance.

“See ya.” Awen answered and departed with a most uneasy feeling.

If you are following this story, let Gary know what you think of it:Gary Conder

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