Happy New Year one and all.
I have decided not to bother with a resolution this year. It seems especially pointless given that in 4 weeks time we will have two new family members and at this point we have yet to even meet them. I have absolutely no idea what this year will bring … which is just a little bit exciting.
The dogs have stopped quarrelling and lain down. Some are in front of the fire, others have their heads tucked into the laps of dozing members of P’s family. There is chatter in the kitchen and Christmas lunch to come.
Outside the Sun has begun to shine and the ice is thawing. My phone is in my hands and on the screen is a text from my sister, H, to say that the doctors consider there is nothing more to be done for my father. Their aim now is to make him comfortable and wait for the inevitable. I wonder how someone so proud, so fierce, can die.
Aberdeen is a grey place; the Granite City. It is stolid and, on Christmas morning, silent. Silence has a double nature. It can be an angry refusal to communicate, lips pressed shut. Or it can be quietness, stillness and peace. Kneeling in Church this morning, I find, quite to my surprise, that it is the latter that I wish you Dad.
There is a tremendous storm closing in tonight. The wind is roaring and I was hurrying home ahead of the rain. As I passed the small row of shops around the corner from my house, I saw a face flicker in the doorway of the accountancy firm as a cigarette was dragged on. He caught my gaze, a man slumped in the doorway, a can of lager in his hand and a knitted woollen had pulled down below his eyebrows. I hurried on.
Once home, my conscience began to nag at me. This was no night to be sleeping rough. Equally, I didn’t feel inclined to spend breakfast explaining to P why there was a tramp at the kitchen table.
I grabbed a torch and headed to the garage in search of compromise. I was convinced that there was an old sleeping bag to be had. There wasn’t. But there was an old blanket and a plastic groundsheet. I gathered them up and headed back out.
I approached the man warily. Disconcertingly, he looked even more wary. As I committed to walk up and speak to him our mutual wariness raced neck and neck towards panic.
“Hello” I opened “Are you locked out or are you sleeping out here tonight? If you are, I have a blanket and a groundsheet that you would be welcome to.”
“That’s very kind of you” he said. “I am staying the flat upstairs but they would rather I didn’t drink or smoke there so I have popped out to have a cigarette before bed”.
Absurdly, we then shook hands and I pottered off again weak from the amount of blood that had rushed to my cheeks.