Compliments, Cutlets and Candy
Compliments and Candy
a love story by Michael John Kelly
Chapter One
Will you walk into my parlour
He had long
since abandoned his pursuit of perfection. The cruel vagaries of life had taught John Joseph Ryan that perfection was merely an illusion. Like a
rainbow, a reflection in a stream, or a fluttering butterfly, it was tantalisingly
there, right before your eyes, but somehow always
just out of reach. The harsh reality was that there was always a flaw;
there was invariably some tiny thing that was not quite right. He had
slowly come to accept that near perfect was as good as it ever got.
That fateful morning
in Bristol was a prime example. It was April 11th, 1992, and all the
ingredients were there for the making of a perfect day. The weather was fine and set
fair; it was spring, and spring was his
favourite time of the year; it was also Saturday, and Saturday was his favourite day of the
week. But there was, of course, the imperfection. The blemish on that particular day was the time. It was 6-05
am, and early mornings, dawns and daybreaks had never been John Joseph Ryan's favourite part of the day. He was, by nature, a night owl; a party animal with considerable stamina and staying power.
He sat at the wheel of his car, mumbling and grumbling under his breath as he attempted to finalise his plans for what was threatening to become a long day. Time had once been his best friend, but with each passing year was fast becoming his greatest enemy. There was always so much to do and so little time in which to do it. He sighed , stretched, yawned and then lit his second cigarette of the day, turned the ignition key and set off on his journey.
He sat at the wheel of his car, mumbling and grumbling under his breath as he attempted to finalise his plans for what was threatening to become a long day. Time had once been his best friend, but with each passing year was fast becoming his greatest enemy. There was always so much to do and so little time in which to do it. He sighed , stretched, yawned and then lit his second cigarette of the day, turned the ignition key and set off on his journey.
He quickly discovered that an early start was not without its benefits.
Traffic was extremely light and he made steady progress through the leafy
suburb of Redland. As he turned into Coldharbour Road, the voices on his radio
were beginning to bore and annoy him as they droned on and on. A succession
of so called experts paraded their egos and opinions as to how and why Neil
Kinnock had somehow contrived to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory in
the previous Thursday's General Election. The majority of them were expressing surprise at
the result, but Mr. Rupert Murdoch had correctly predicted the outcome, and he
was making the most of the situation. He was boasting loudly about his flagship
newspaper, The Sun. He was bragging about its banner headline, which screamed
to the world that ‘It was the Sun wot won it’. Ryan smiled ruefully as he
listened to the discussion. Unlike his late father, he was not a political
animal, and he felt a distinct sense of relief as the talking finally ended and
the music started.
If this world is wearing thin
And you're thinking of escape
I'll go anywhere with you
Just wrap me up in chains
But if you try to go out aloneAnd you're thinking of escape
I'll go anywhere with you
Just wrap me up in chains
Don't think I'll understand
Stay with me
Stay with me
Stay with me
Stay with me
He attempted
to join in and sing along with Shakespears Sister, but despite the song being number
one in the charts, his effort was muted, hesitant and slightly off key. It
wasn’t long before he gave up as he realised he was wholly unfamiliar with both
the lyrics and the melody.
He perked up
as The Waterboys followed with The Whole
of the Moon.
I pictured a rainbow
You held it in your hands
I had flashes
But you saw the plan
I wandered out in the world for years
While you just stayed in your room
I saw the crescent
You saw the whole of the moon
The whole of the moon
You held it in your hands
I had flashes
But you saw the plan
I wandered out in the world for years
While you just stayed in your room
I saw the crescent
You saw the whole of the moon
The whole of the moon
This time he
was able to sing loudly and confidently. This time he was both word and pitch
perfect. Coldharbour
Road had now seamlessly become Kellaway Avenue, and the Golden Hill playing
fields of Bristol Grammar School loomed large to his left. Those fields were
heavy with history and tradition, and the news that they were about to become
the site of a new Tesco supermarket had fuelled massive protests.
Was nothing
sacred anymore? Ryan frowned at the prospect of those famous
old pitches, the scenes of so many dramatic last minute tries and match saving
tackles disappearing under a sea of concrete, but he was also well aware of the
power of profit, and was already certain of what the eventual outcome would be.
He gave a token honk and a wave to the handful of weary looking protestors who
were guarding the entrance, and then turned right and set off down the narrow
track which led to the Ardagh Bowls and Tennis Club. As he pulled into the
deserted car park, The Waterboys were approaching the final lines of the song.
Yes, you climbed on the ladder
With the wind in your sails
You came like a comet
Blazing your trail
Too high
Too far
Too soon
You saw the whole of the moon
You came like a comet
Blazing your trail
Too high
Too far
Too soon
You saw the whole of the moon
He held the long,
lingering final note, and then he sat back and lit his third cigarette of the
day. He felt a sense of relief that both the car park and Horfield Common
were empty. He wasn’t in the mood for idle conversations or false bonhomie with
strangers. He inhaled deeply, blew several smoke rings and placed the gold
coloured Benson and Hedges packet on to his passenger seat along with several
empty packs and a week’s supply of Sporting Life newspapers. Craning his neck,
he glanced into his rear view mirror and studied the reason for his being up at
this ungodly hour. The shiny black Labrador puppy calmly returned his gaze,
tilted her head to one side and then he heard her tail thumping furiously
against the upholstery. His spirits rose, his heart melted and he smiled for the first time that day.
The puppy
tumbled clumsily and somewhat inelegantly from the rear seat and was soon
rolling in the damp, recently mown grass. He left her to her own devices and
headed for the heart of the Common where he stood and watched the sun creeping
into view over the Purdown hills. It truly was one of those near perfect early
spring mornings. The breeze was soft and so gentle that it barely disturbed the
newly formed blossom, which was hanging proudly from the boughs. The sky was a
faultless blue for as far as the eye could see, and the sound of birdsong was
everywhere. From time to time he caught a glimpse of a single bird on the wing,
but it was the invisible chorus that commanded his attention; the wall of sound
that was pouring from the trees and the bushes. He closed his eyes and
marvelled at the variety of cheeps, chirps, warbles, trills and whistles he
could hear. There were so many different sounds and so many different species.
He felt just a little bit inadequate that he was unable to identify a single
one of them. Annie would have known them all. He pictured her standing there
with the palm of her hand raised, demanding silence. Five feet four inches of
red headed, Irish stubbornness and determination. Her head was on one side; her
eyes closed, lost in deep concentration. Then she would have smiled that smile;
that triumphant smile; the one that always followed a victorious moment following
an argument. Yes, she would have known them all. ‘Blackbird… Bullfinch… Chaffinch… Thrush…
Dunnock… Wren… Robin.’ Annie was a walking, talking human encyclopaedia with
regard to birds. But she wasn’t there, and he felt a pang of frustration and
irritation. He and Annie were never together these days. Right now she was at
home, tucked up in their bed; either sleeping or dozing fitfully as she waited
for his return.
Once upon a
time they had been the golden couple; the
envy of the neighbourhood; the first names on every party invitation list; the
paragon of a happy marriage, but then, they had drifted apart. The drift had
been gradual, but was now almost complete.
‘When the sex stops, love flies out of the window’. He recalled his
mother’s cautionary advice prior to his wedding. Dear old Mum! Her advice had
always been rather basic, but full of wisdom derived, no doubt, from bitter experience.
“Onwards and upwards”, she whispered and
skipped, almost childlike across the room to her walk in wardrobe in the far
corner of the bedroom. Her chosen outfit for the morning was neatly folded at
the foot of her bed and was ready for wear. She studied the range of colour
co-ordinated accessories of which there were six. "Eeny, meeny, miny,
moe", she jabbed her way along the line, pointing with her left index
finger and after some thought, decided
to ignore the winning colour, which was yellow, and instead settled on the red.
“A woman’s prerogative”, she whispered, and then changed the colour of choice to blue.
Returning to
the mirror, she brushed her shoulder length hair back and knotted it into a
single plait. She dressed quickly and confidently, deciding against underwear, and then took another look in the
mirror before turning round and patting her bottom three times. "Ready for action," she whispered.
Comments
Post a comment