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Norman having said his farewells decided to relax and enjoy. He was close to Doc and would miss him. Patrick was a mate also and if Nigel had read the Zen book and hadn’t had a breakdown, Norman might not have done lots of things. So with his pockets full of the money from Mr. Patel this was certainly great company to dine with. The meal ran well into the afternoon. Soon the other lunch- time diners had gone back to work leaving Mr. Patel to indulge his new staff and Norman.
Nigel’s medication mixed with strong lager loosened him up, “People just don’t fucking get it,” he announced, “ the reason Saddam Hussein didn’t want those fucking Weapons Inspectors in Iraq is because he did not want his enemies to find out he did not have any Weapons of Mass Destruction; it was so fucking obvious.” He then changed topics with a nervous twitch and amused all but their host with an account of how he kept his sanity whilst staying with his parents, ‘By inventing a new religion; whilst visiting their local church which is now a Wetherspoons; where somebody told him the World was flat. Following on from that revelation he amazed even his fellow comedians as he explained how he had also applied for various advertised jobs. Supplying a false name and address he would write the weirdest things he could think up; then get a real buzz on the days he calculated them being read. He had on one application in the health section, under are you taking any medication, written Viagra.’
After a few more examples of how Nigel had in fact lost his sanity, Mr. Patel put the four men in one large taxi and waved them off. Norman was first to be dropped off, there were many more handshakes and nearly tears, “Best wishes to Betsy, tell her to send us a card and you,” shouted Patrick as Norman waved them off. Doc and Nigel avoided eye contact with him as they waved back.
Nigel still on a roll started to tell Doc and Patrick, ‘Of his invention of the alphabetically indexed photo album, Ladies urinal, radiator magnets and of course their rejection by the powers that be.’
“Still comes in handy then Nigel, that Degree in arbitrary measurement,” concluded Doc.
Inside the apartment looked much different on Norman’s return. Betsy had placed his enormous case up against a wall; it looked like a wardrobe on wheels.
“That’ll be about all that will fit in your cabin Norman.”
“Where’s your luggage then.”
“She pointed to a large hold-all next to the bed and her handbag. “That’s me Zen and my Walkman of course. We will need to eat take-a-ways tonight I’ve cleaned the cooking area.”
“I’ll just have some of your left-overs, I went for that lunch.”
“And you’re still sober?”
“We did more talking than drinking I guess.”
“Boys talk!”
“Mens’ talk actually.”
“Anyway you’re home dear. How was Nigel?”
“How did you know Nigel was there?”
“Nigel miss a free meal, I don’t think so.”
“He was fine, quiet, over you, I guess.”
“Doc told you then, thought he would.”
“Why not, avoids complications, the truth.”
“The truth aye, I doubt you got that. Well I’m off for a huge shower, on, my, own.”
With Betsy out of the room Norman played the piano, very loudly. Maybe I can do this on the cruise he considered, cocktail bar music. He played then softly for a while before preparing a pot of coffee. Betsy returned, Norman poured their drinks and even lit her up a cigarette.
“I hope the frigging cruise isn’t no-smoking,” he said. “We’d have to jump ship.” Betsy laughed, then sat down and played her piano. She was brilliant and Norman was stunned as she rattled off some classics, old and new.
“I never knew you could.”
“Play so well.”
“Yes, play some more please.”
“No, I don’t want to break a fingernail.”
They spent the evening almost like condemned prisoners in a luxury cell. Playing chess, till Norman gave up trying to win, watching the news channel before they would leave such things behind them and very late some food was delivered. After picking through dinner and emptying a red wine bottle it was time to sleep. With the alarm clock set for 5.am sex was not even considered. They both got up several times through the night; Norman finished packing his case, Betsy checking round the apartment. In the end they agreed to stay up for the rest of the night and Norman made his last pot of strong coffee. Before the alarm sounded they were ready, just airing away the last of the cigarette smoke with a wind blowing off the wharf tide.
Norman was surprised as Betsy announced it time to leave t 5.30 as he was still expecting a taxi. He followed her outside. She slammed the front door and double locked it.
“Well this is it, keys please,” she asked. “I said I’d post back a spare set for my new tenants. The agent has his set.”
Norman watched as she pushed his keys through the letterbox, “Still no taxi Betsy.”
“I’ll give you a lift Norman,” she replied, walking towards her car parked in the courtyard.
“A lift, now I’m confused, I thought you were leaving the car.”
“You thought many things Zen, but thinking is not really knowing. Get in.”
Norman struggled to push his case and Chris’ carrier bags into the car, then himself.
“First Norman, you thought you could pass me over like an old employee to a new boss, you probably thought it was handy with Nigel coming back. He could take your side of the bed over; he preferred the other side actually. But then a change of plan, alas your old school chum realises you may not have the nerve to run away to sea, so tells me that you are as good as in love with me so I will come and hold your hand up the fuckin gangway. I’m going hold your hand to the train and when you get off Chris can hold your hand up the fucking gangway, not me. I’m doing the dumping here Norman.”
Silence fell on their journey to Waterloo which was quick in the early morning.
“Here you are one railway station,” announced Betsy in the coldest possible tone.
Norman squeezed her hand and spoke gently, “Thanks for, I trust you’ll have a great life, I’ll always remember us.”
He closed the car door gently pulled his suitcase out of the hatchback, “I will always remember us,” he repeated before dropping closed the last door on their relationship.
Betsy drove away slowly at first, then faster when nearly out of his sight. Norman would never know of the tears in her eyes and the pain in her heart as she headed home. Neither of them knowing yet she had conceived on Valentine’s Day.
At the first set of traffic lights she had to stop, looking down she noticed under the dashboard, a book, a yellow post-it note on the cover read, ‘Nigel I never did finish this, but thanks for the loan, Norman.’
As the London train eased to a halt in Southampton, Chris and Eddie were waiting like excited teenagers for their friends. They spotted the lone figure of Norman ambling towards them.
“Have you forgotten something,” asked Chris.
“Yeah where’s Betsy?” enquired Eddie.
“Knew I’d forgot something,” replied Norman.
“No not Betsy, my worldlies!” exclaimed Chris.
They hurried off the platform laughing, in search of breakfast and all swore to, “To live happily ever after.”
Betsy drove back towards Tower Bridge and her next life. Her car soon rolled over the cobble stones in the courtyard; she parked up then re-entered her apartment. She picked up the keys that lay inside the doorway and laughed on her way through to opening the balcony doors, “Thank fuck for new days,” she screamed, “another chance to get it wrong, again.” She placed the Zen book beside the bed, and then quickly picked it up again returning to the balcony only to toss it into the Thames. As she watched the book floating off to the wharf‘s end with the post-it note flapping in the wind like a sail, she felt cold and remembered Norman’s imminent voyage.
The door bell rang; she made her way thoughtfully over to the entry-phone.
“Delivery of storage boxes from Hampstead Madam.”
“Nigel, it’s been a long time, come on in.”
THE END
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