Chapter 4: Reg and Danny
Reg and Danny stood in the chip shop waiting to be served.
They kept their distance from the only other customer who, while standing at the counter had barely given them a glance. Reg knew that that the owner of the chip shop had no problem serving homeless people but he also knew that some of his other patrons were less than happy to see the two of them there.
Reg looked at his reflection in the shop window and thought, not for the first time, that he could hardly blame them. He was almost forty but his unkempt hair, miss-matched clothes and greying beard made him look twenty years older. Time had all but erased his memory of the handsome young man who used to stare out of the mirror at him before debt, drink and drugs had robbed him of everything he was and left him on the street. It was strange, Reg reflected, that sometimes you didn’t know you were falling until you hit the ground.
Danny, who was at least twenty years younger than Reg had suffered from mental illness his entire life and, after being orphaned and spending his formative years in every kind of institution, had found himself on the street and in spite of everything had coped as well as anyone Reg had known since becoming homeless himself.
The customer in front of them took his food and left the shop, avoiding eye contact with Reg and Danny so resolutely Reg was surprised he could see where he was going. The owner caught Reg’s eye and nodded before he shovelled chips into a paper bag.
Reg noticed that Danny had crouched down and was rummaging through the battered backpack in which he kept his ‘collection’.
Danny had a habit of amassing all kinds of things on their travels throughout the town. Reg had never questioned this hobby and marvelled at the way in which Danny selected and cared for his collection, replacing older items with new and spending hours cleaning and admiring objects others had dismissed as rubbish.
The chip shop owner placed two paper packages on the counter and Reg motioned to pass over the coins but the owner held up his hand. “That’s okay. They’re on me.”
“That’s very kind.” Reg pocketed the coins and picked up the packages. It was a ritual they had been through many times before but Reg would never have considered not offering the money. He may be homeless but pride still stood for something.
Turning towards the door, he saw Danny had stood up with his back to him, his shoulders hunched over. “C’mon Danny. Let’s get going.” Danny grunted and shuffled into step behind him.
As they left the chip shop a dog, a stray of indeterminate age or breed that had adopted them and who Danny had named Dog, came around the corner sniffing the air expectantly. “Yeah, alright you’ll get yours.”
Reg turned and held one of the packages out to Danny only to see he had turned his back on him again. “C’mon Danny, you know if you don’t eat them Dog will and then where will you be? You need some hot food.” In an almost unprecedented display, Dog shifted his attention from the paper packages and trotted over to Danny, sitting down beside him and looking up with what, to Reg at least, was concern.
“What’s up, mate?” asked Reg, walking over to him and peering over his shoulder. Looking down, he saw, cradled in Danny’s hands, a small brown paper parcel. Written across the front in black marker pen was Dad, 1 The Hill, Thornton, Nottingham. “Where did you get that?” Danny grunted and nodded towards the chip shop. “Danny,” said Reg. “We talked about this. You can’t just take things.”
“Didn’t take,” said Danny looking Reg in the eye “found.”
“But it’s not yours.”
“Not mine.” Danny looked back down at the parcel. “For Dad.” Danny traced his finger along the word as he said it. Reg looked down at Dog who cocked his head in a ‘Don’t ask me’ kind of way. Then Danny seemed to decide. “Take it to dad.” And with a determination Reg had never seen in him before he walked up the street, Dog keeping pace.
“Oh for the love of…” Reg jogged to catch up. “We can’t walk to Nottingham.”
“Not Nottingham,” said Danny, his eyes fixed on some distant point, “Dad.”
Reg knew better than to try to talk Danny out of whatever was playing on his mind. It would have to run its course, it always did. “Can we at least walk and eat? The chips are getting cold.”
Danny stopped abruptly causing Reg and Dog to stride several paces ahead. Danny put the parcel in his backpack and held out his hand. Reg walked over and placed one of the packages into it and waited, holding Danny’s gaze. Danny seemed to think for a moment before saying “Ta,” then he walked again, opening his chips. Reg walked after him opening his own.
“Don’t forget Dog,” said Danny, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
“Chance would be a fine thing.” Said Reg but dutifully picked up a chip and threw it down to Dog who caught it without breaking stride.
Twenty minutes later, chips finished and all Reg’s attempts at conversation rebuffed with monosyllables, they arrived at the wrought iron gate of a small cemetery set in its own square, a respectful distance from the terraced houses and shop fronts surrounding it.
Reg was about to protest as Danny touched the gate handle but fell silent as he turned it and stepped inside followed by Dog. To Reg’s surprise he saw Danny holding the gate open for them and once they had passed he closed it again with practiced care. “I didn’t think it would be open” said Reg, trying to keep the apprehension out of his voice.
“Not always,” Danny walked up the path. Reg looked down at Dog who held his gaze briefly before trotting after Danny. Catching up with them, Reg said, “What are we doing here? I don’t like these places.”
“Dead can’t hurt you, only the living can.”
Which was true enough Reg supposed but that didn’t stop him casting nervous glances at the silent stones.
They arrived at a small square headstone, set into the ground inscribed with the name Wilson. Dog laid down next to it, his front paws barely touching the edge. Reg considered that this was not Dog’s first pilgrimage there. He saw placed on the stone a number of odd items. A broken toy soldier, a single glove and a teaspoon. As Reg watched, Danny examined each object, replacing some and putting others into his backpack. Suddenly Reg understood Danny’s obsession with collecting things. He also understood the occasions when Danny and Dog were nowhere to be found for hours on end. He was coming here, to lay offerings on this grave.
A thought occurred to Reg. “Is that your dad?”
“Dad,” Danny repeated, tracing his finger along the name on the grave as he had done with the parcel, before removing a broken door handle Reg had seen him pull out of a skip a couple of days before, and place it with reverence on the stone. He stood up and stepped back so he was shoulder to shoulder with Reg.
“You remember him?” Asked Reg, keeping his eyes fixed on the grave.
Danny appeared to consider this. “Happy once,” he said “then sad, then gone.”
Reg placed his hand on Danny’s shoulder, there didn’t seem to be anything else to do. Danny let it rest there for a moment before turning to face Reg with a sheepish, questioning look. Reg smiled and nodded. Danny smiled back before reaching into his backpack and retrieving the parcel. He knelt once again in front of the stone and after a moment’s deliberation, placed it against the top edge with the address facing up. Once again he traced his finger, first across Dad written on the parcel and then along the name on the grave.
Danny stood next to Reg. “You’ll come here again.”
Reg didn’t know if it was a question or a statement. “If you want.” Danny seemed satisfied and without another word, he turned round and headed back down the path. Dog moved over to Reg, raising his head and allowing Reg to scratch him behind the ear in a sign of solidarity before trotting down the path in Danny’s wake.
Reg looked back down at the grave and its mismatched decorations. Oh well, he thought, the parcel was no more lost now than it had been and whoever ‘Dad’ of 1,The Hill, Thornton, Nottingham was he couldn’t imagine he would begru
dge such a tender ritual by a grieving son.
Turning to face the setting sun, Reg allowed it to warm his face before moving down the path between the lengthening shadows of the gravestones towards the two silhouettes standing at the gate.
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