The rain was falling hard on the esplanade. The view from the apartment of sea and beach was obscured by mist.
‘How is he?’ Karen asked her mother.
‘He’s been in a temper since we moved here. Now he’s bitter as well.’
‘Bitter with you?’
‘With me, himself, everything.’
‘Doesn’t he have any interests apart from…?’
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Driving from Cardiff to Swansea, Lloyd found a passenger in his car.
‘Who are you?’ he said, slowing.
‘Your inner self,’ came the reply.
The guy certainly looked like him: older, more haggard, greyer. It could be him.
‘You’re on the wrong road, Jim,’ the passenger said, ‘every day commuting a ton of miles to that vehicle licensing hole.’
‘It’s a job.’
‘So’s being a galley slave. How about jumping ship?’
Port Talbot steelworks skittered by, its Meccano limbs tangled against the grey sky as if in agony. The other Jim had vanished, gone in a spurt of yellow steelworks gas.
Work went badly. Workmates faces resembled those of ghouls. The phone calls, a hundred ways of asking the same thing about car tax, lapped in his brain with a disturbing echo. He felt outside everything.
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A small group gathered by the gate shaking their heads in subdued silence. Each wore dull colours and sensible shoes. Some clutched bunches of drooping spring flowers which mimicked their own demeanour. Occasionally little bursts of conversation gurgled to the surface. It wasn’t a day for the customary jovial exchanges.
It took me completely by surprise. If I’d known, I could have taken better care. Could have covered things up a bit.
I know. There was no real warning was there? Now I’ve lost everything. I’ll just have to start all over again. It’s just so sad and upsetting.
Well, we’ve all suffered the loss in different ways. For me, it was my special Marguerite.
There were early attempts to pick up the pieces and put forward a more positive view of events. After all, not everything was completely lost and there was time for most to begin again.
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