Depression
We arrive back in Mulberry Lane. With our arms unlinked.
“Thank you for doing that Ryan it means a lot to me.”
“You’re welcome. I’m here for you Sandy, don’t forget that.”
“I won’t darling.” She whispers as she leans in and kisses me on the cheek.
“So what are your plans for the rest of today?”
“Well actually I’m going out tonight. Going to the pub with some friends; I would invite you but it’s girls only.”
“Well I could always dress up and get some melons from the supermarket?”
Sandra laughs and shakes her head, “You do those embarrassing dad jokes Ryan. You’re a talented author, come up with some more creative jokes darling.”
“Just because you don’t find them funny doesn’t make them dad jokes. Some dad jokes are the best jokes I know.”
“Never mind, don’t worry Si does…” Sandra stops herself from speaking.
“Si what?” I ask.
“Oh nothing, you don’t want to hear about Si.”
“He’s my friend and your husband; he’s bound to come up in conversation.” I say. I don’t want him to come up in conversation, don’t really want him returning and ruining what Sandra and I have, to be honest.
“Yes great friend you are, shagging his wife and what a great wife I am, shagging his friend.” Sandra whispers aggressively.
“Well now you put it like that,” I say.
“We should probably stop this, don’t you think?”
“What? No we shouldn’t.”
“We should, we’ll get caught, especially when Si gets back, he’ll find out. Don’t get me wrong it’s been fun but we can’t risk it anymore.”
“What? Wait a second, you’re dumping me?”
“We weren’t ever together really Ryan, were we?”
“Well what would you call us fucking then?”
Sandra looks at me. Her eyes begin to water. Her tears dribble down her cheeks.
“We weren’t anything. We had some fun.”
“Sandra that wasn’t just for fun. You have feelings for me and I have feelings for you.”
“Yes but it can never happen. It won’t ever happen. We have different lives; I have commitments to Simon and Sam.”
“Well good for you Sandra. I have nothing in my life. My wife could be dead for all I know, along with my kids; how do you think that makes me feel?” I begin to raise my voice at her.
“Keep your voice down.” Sandra whispers.
“Why? Are you embarrassed? Well guess what, don’t come running to me when you have someone in your home trying to murder you.”
Sandra slaps me in the face.
“Fuck you Ryan.”
“Go and get on with your commitments Sandra Cann. Have a good life.” I say as I turn away and walk towards my house.
I can’t believe she ended it just like that. It was from nothing. There were no signs; I thought she would leave Simon for me. But that is not to be.
“Ryan I’m sorry.” I hear Sandra shout.
I do not look back.
I walk into my kitchen and pull out the whiskey from the cupboard and open the bottle. I pour out a shot and down it. It burns down my throat and into my gut. I pour another shot and gulp it down. I slam the shot glass down on the table and begin to swig from the bottle.
I walk into the sitting room and look around at the old-styled furniture. I leave the sitting room and pull out my keys and look to go into the garage for the first time.
I walk over to the garage door. I test the keys in the door and eventually I unlock the door and open it.
The garage is completely empty. There is nothing in here whatsoever except dust, spiders and spider webs.
I sit down on the ground, continuing to drink from the whiskey bottle.
I wake up from a nap. I feel awful, my head spins and my senses have vanished. I smell a strong stench of whiskey.
“What a waste.” I say out loud to myself. There’s a wet patch where the bottle has tipped over.
I attempt to stand but cannot. I try again and fall back onto the ground.
“Fuck.” I shout. “Fuck.” I shout again.
I push myself up with my legs, my back against the wall. Although now standing upright and on my own two feet; the wall is supporting me.
I stumble out of the garage and into the hallway, shutting the door behind me.
I open the front door to get some fresh air. To my surprise it is dark. I look to the neighbours. The Cann’s place is dark, Sandra is definitely out. The Brekken’s home is also lightless with blue and white police ribbon still surrounding the house. There’s a car sitting outside, surely an undercover cop car.
I look to Shola’s house, nothing. I look next door, nothing. My other next door neighbours, nothing also. Mulberry Lane is lifeless day and night, I’m bored.
I’m going to the pub.
I walk to the town closest to Mulberry Lane.
Up the old cobbled street, small shops on either side of the road. All their lights are switched off; all their doors have ‘CLOSED’ signs facing out into the dark of the cobbled street.
I stumble up the uneven surface and look to an alleyway. Wonder what’s down there?
I walk down the alleyway; it smells of urine and beer. I get half way through and I hear a bottle chink against the cobbles behind me, the light sound of glass moving on uneven stones. I pause for a moment and look behind me. My vision doubled and distorted, I see nothing.
Continuing to walk, I hear feet dragging along the ground behind me. I take bigger strides towards the opening. The sounds quicken and become louder and closer. I look behind whilst walking but there’s nothing there. I look ahead and a figure stands in my way.
A man wearing an army trench jacket stands in front of me. His face is in darkness because of the hood over his head. I look down to the knife in his hand.
“What you got?” This figure mumbles wearily.
“Nothing for you.” I say full of confidence. “Move.”
The figure’s stance changes; his pumped chest deflates, his shoulders slope and his height shrinks.
“Move.” I say again. I would never be like this sober.
The figure steps aside and I walk past him.
As I look around at the street I’ve discovered, the figure hits me on the back of the head with something hard, knocking me onto the ground.
I clutch the back of my head; all I can see are the cobbles. The realisation that someone has attacked me sinks in, so I stand up and turn around to him.
The orange street lamps reveal the face of the attacker. He’s an old man with a long grey beard, hay-like grey hair and beady brown eyes. The stench of urine and sweat fizzles into the night air and into my nostrils.
I use my fingers to feel the back of my head, touching my head gently; I look at my fingers to see no blood.
“Hit me. I dare you.” I say to the tramp.
“Give me money,” he says.
“If you hit me again, I will.” I say aggressively.
The tramp pauses, his beady brown eyes look me up and down. His grip on the wood he holds tightens. He lifts the wood up to rest it on his shoulder. He hesitates, his beady eyes still judging me. His arms tighten and he swings the wood at my face. I lift both my hands up and catch the wood. His swing was weak.
His beady eyes widen as he releases the piece of wood. I toss the wood over him and back into the alleyway which echoes with the hollow sound of it landing.
“Bad luck.” I say walking towards him.
The tramp takes steps backwards and trips on rubbish bags that are scattered across the ground. He scrambles back up and continues to retreat.
I look into his eyes. He’s scared. Usually I would have walked away now but I want to make a point to this tramp.
I clench my fist and swing it onto the side of the tramp’s face. My punch forces him to one knee, and then he collapses into rubble and rubbish.
He stays down, squirming onto his back.
“Don’t try and mug people if you can’t even fight.”
I walk out of the alleyway and look along the street. There’s a building that looks as if it used to be a cottage.
I walk towards the white building; it has wooden benches outside. There’s a wooden sign hanging above the door ‘The Mill’.
Bingo, a pub.
I walk in through the black double doors to stand in the doorway staring at the almost empty bar.
I stagger to the bar. After tripping over my own feet and nearly falling, I make it to the bar to lean on it.
The young female bartender looks up and I give her a wink. She stares at me and rolls her eyes, chewing her gum.
“Can I have a pint of Lager please?”
“Yeah sure. What would you like?” She replies instantly. Her voice doesn’t match her look.
“The cheapest please.” I reply.
She sounds very well-spoken and high pitched. She’s wearing a scruffy red top and black trousers. She has greased-back brown hair in a ponytail and wears gold wrist chains.
She pours out my pint and places it in front of me.
I stare into the pint, watching the bubbles rise to the thin white cloud-like froth.
“That will be three pound…”
She speaks but I cannot hear the price so I hand over a five pound note.
“Thanks.” She says.
She walks to the till and brings me back my change.
“Here you are.” She says as she reaches across the bar handing me my change.
“Thanks.”
I look down to the change and try to work out how much the drink was. My sight is double-vision still so I just slip the change into my wallet.
I look up to stare at the bartender but she’s disappeared.
I look around in the pub and there is nobody at all. How odd.
I pull out my wallet again and open it to look at the photo of Tanya and the kids. I place the wallet next to my pint so that I can stare at the photo as I drink.
After a few minutes, I hear someone walking towards me from behind the bar.
“Who’s that then?” I hear the young bartender ask me in her quiet, posh accent.
“Oh that’s my wife and children; Sammy and Alex.”
“That’s so cute,” she replies.
“Only problem is, I haven’t seen them for four years.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she sounds sincere.
“It’s fine. I don’t know why she left or how - or if someone is responsible.”
“What about the police? Did you contact them?”
“Yeah but they stopped searching after a year or so.”
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah; I don’t ever give up hope.” I pause to hear silence. “I see them in my sleep at least.”
“Just think of the good times.” The girl tells me. “I did that when my Mum died a few years ago.”
“Oh I’m sorry to hear that.” I say.
“You just have to move on don’t you?” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “Enjoy your drink.”
I watch her walk away and pick up my glass, which is empty. I sigh.
I think about getting another pint but I would much rather go home and drink whiskey by myself.
I leave the pub and walk back home to Mulberry Lane.
I turn onto Mulberry Lane and down the cul-de-sac. All the homes match the light out in the night skies, excluding the stars of course. I walk along the pavement and turn to crunch my way up the gravel path.
I get to my front door and search my pockets for my keys. Where are they?
I check my left trouser pocket, then my right. I tap my chest to see if it is in my shirt pocket. With no more places to check, I must have lost them on the way home or on the way to the pub. Shit.
Drearily, I remember my back pockets. I tap my right buttock to feel a piece of metal in my back trouser pocket. I dig into my pocket and pull out my front door key.
I really need to get a key ring for this bastarding key.
I open the front door and walk in to the cold. I look to the open garage door. I swear I shut that? The basement door is also open fully, revealing the dark inside.
I walk into the kitchen and pick out another bottle of whiskey. I decide I’ll not use the glass after a few shots so why bother?
I undo the bottle and throw the cap on the kitchen floor.
I walk into my sitting room and slop into the arm chair. I pull out my wallet and open it up, staring at Tanya and the kids again. I swig from the bottle as my eyes begin to grow heavy; they release my tears. The tears stream down my face and gather on my eye lashes, making it difficult to see the picture in detail. I can only see the blurred outline of Tanya and the kids through all my tears.
How did it all go wrong? Did Tanya leave me? Was she taken from me? These questions run around in my mind at least once a day. If there was a way to bring them back to me, I would do it. Absolutely anything.
After around twenty minutes of drinking and crying, I begin to feel nauseous and heavy. My body feels numb; my mind is blank with the only thought being Tanya and the kids. I drop the half empty bottle of whiskey on the floor. I’ve wasted more whiskey.
My eyes force themselves closed and before I know it, I’m asleep.