Extract of

Meet Martin

© Tom J Vowler 2006

I’m thirty-three.

He’s so fat, the men lowering him have beads of sweat breaking out on their foreheads even though it’s a cool day. There are more people here than I’d have thought, one or two even crying. They must be real family; yes, they’ve got the same oily skin and dry mousy hair. Even the women have his puffy cheeks and one long eyebrow. My parents look earnest, more dutiful than upset. They stopped calling him Uncle Martin years ago; he was always Mr Perkins after that. But they’re still here. He did lots for the church, would be their respectful mantra. I’m not normally one for goodbyes, but I couldn’t miss this one.

I’m nine.

I always walk home from school this way now – ever since Mum and Dad had to see the headmaster cos I was always losing my dinner money and coming home with rips in my uniform and blood on my shirt. Me and Chris come this way even though it’s longer, cos we don’t have to go past the kids in the top year who always wait by the park. I like coming this way cos we usually stop at Mr Perkins’s house, who lets us play with his dog and gives us lemonade and those biscuits that you scrape the chocolate off with your top teeth.

I’m thirty-three.

I check on Rachel and the children. Her to see that she’s still deep in slumber, them to remind myself why I’m doing this. Jack is scrunched up in the corner of the top bunk, all wild hair and flushed cheeks, as if he fell asleep mid-play. Below, Sophie is nestled among bears and dolls, more peaceful than her brother yet not as heavily asleep. Outside, I go in the shed and change my clothes before slipping out of the back gate. I curse that the night is so clear but who knows if my resolve will remain should I go back inside to the soft S of my wife’s body. There’s a route that goes around the corn fields and along the river. It takes me about an hour to reach his house.

I’m nine.

Chris has chicken pox so I have to walk on my own today and when I get to Mr Perkins’s, Rufus comes running out doing his angry yapping, which would scare some people, but then he just rolls over and lets me rub his tummy and his eyes go all funny like he’s in a trance. Mr Perkins usually comes out about now but I can’t see him. His door is open so I go inside. There are beer cans on the floor and the smell is like dirty washing and really old carpet. There are some toys that look too big for Rufus and the curtains are all drawn. I go past the kitchen and see that Mr Perkins hasn’t washed up for a long time. I can see a flickering light coming from the room at the end of the hall. In the front room the TV is on, and it’s strange cos I’m on the screen. Me and Chris are running around the garden chasing Rufus. On the sofa Mr Perkins is lying there with his shirt undone and his trousers and pants pulled right down. He sees me after a while and with his free hand waves me to come over. I run home, falling over on the way, which gets blood on my shirt and Dad asks if I walked home by the park again.