A foggy day in winter

Jingles was strumming on his guitar, softly singing. I didn’t know what his real name was – everyone called him Jingles because of his earring. The room was so empty that the music seemed to echo off the walls. I joined in when I could remember the words. They weren’t exactly hard, but I didn’t much feel like singing. Not because I was unhappy or anything; just very wrecked.

It was icy cold, and apart from the music, all you could hear was the muffled sound of Pete, in the next room, breaking up more chairs to put on the fire. The logs had run out, and the fire had died right down, leaving only the depressing smell of stale wood smoke, mixed with the joss sticks slowly burning in a jam jar on the mantelpiece.

“Cheer up”

Jingles leant closer and smiled. I tried to focus on his face to smile back at him, but it was quite difficult to open my eyes wide enough - everything felt so lovely and floaty, so I gave up. Eventually he picked up his guitar again and carried on where he’d left off. He was quite good actually. I hummed the parts I’d forgotten

“Our house is a very, very, very fine house”

Even I could sing those ….. at least I normally could;

“With two cats in the yard”,

He looked up and smiled again

“How many did you take?”

I looked at him – I had no idea, and I couldn’t see why it mattered. I shrugged

“I can’t remember”

“Life used to be so hard………..he gave them to you did he?”

There was another big cracking noise outside. I pulled the sleeping bag tighter around my shoulders and wished Pete would hurry up and finish because it was freezing. Jingles put down the guitar. He said something, but so quietly I couldn’t catch it, then he picked up the candle, and went over to the door. It wasn’t really late, but the fog outside made everything so gloomy you could hardly see. I tried to get up off the mattress to follow him. I didn’t want to be left on my own, but I couldn’t quite manage – it was too difficult, and I sank back down again. The sudden silence made it feel even colder and I called out his name – I wanted him to carry on singing

He turned, his hand on the door,

“It’s ok – I won’t be long, you stay there”

I sat back again, propping myself up against the wall. Now the music had stopped, I began remembering things, and that wouldn’t do at all, because it might make me cry again. I’d been trying not to do that ever since it had happened. The tuinals were quite helpful. I didn’t care anymore anyway. Max could go and fuck himself – he could go off and find that Dutch girl and I hoped they’d both be splendidly happy. I didn’t give a fuck. Didn’t bother me at all. I was doing fine. I swallowed and there was a big lump in my throat. I absolutely wasn’t going to start crying again. No way. It was just that I’d never been chucked before and I didn’t know anything could hurt so much. He hadn’t even been a bastard. I remembered for a minute his soft voice telling me, so gently, about the girl he’d never forgotten

“……..and so I can’t get her out of my head you see? …… I think I’ll always love her, even though she’s not here anymore…..I’m so sorry.”

I hated him, and I didn’t care anyway. I didn’t miss him at all, not in the slightest. He’d soon see how little I cared. I’d show him. Pete had been really nice. I hadn’t realised before; I’d always thought he was rather horrible until that day actually – creepy, you know – staring all the time, and much, much older – I mean really old – possibly even twenty-two. And making fun of me, when I didn’t understand stuff – like why Marks and Spencer was the best place to shoplift from – it wasn’t my fault I didn’t know about the money thing.

That day he’d been different. No one else had been there when I’d arrived. I’d never been there on my own before – only ever with Max. I don’t quite know why I went, I think I just didn’t want to be alone and it had seemed like as good a place to go as any. It had been so kind of him to give me the downers – and he’d been right – I felt so much happier in that lovely mist they made in my head. Then the fire had gone out, and he’d said fuck and taken the last two chairs into the next room to break up. Jingles had come back after that and he’d seemed sad at first, then he’d started singing.

Pete had come back in once or twice – just put his head around the door. I thought I could remember him saying something to Jingles about giving him some space. I didn’t quite understand, because I was there, and he hadn’t asked me to leave, so how could it have mattered if Jingles was too? And now I thought I could hear someone having an argument outside the door. I closed my eyes, and let it all wash over me. Really, that was the best way to be at the moment.