Writing for Fun
September 2017
Letting Go - Jeff Kebbell
The small boy of about ten walked along the canal towpath. His stepfather had used him for a punch bag for the last time. Mummy had died from a hiding and although he had been told she had fallen down the stairs, he knew differently. It was Christmas Eve and the stepfather had said he was bringing some friends round to give the boy a special Christmas.
Coming to a narrow bridge over a lock, he walked halfway across. The dreams of a future with his mother had been taken away, but not quite.
The black water was like a void but he knew Mummy would be waiting there for him and he would be warm and clean. He started to climb over the parapet.
‘The water is very cold and unforgiving,’ said a voice. ‘Can you swim?’
A raggedy old man stood leaning on the parapet not far from him, but making no attempt to approach.
‘I can’t swim,’ faltered the child.
‘Anywhere to go?’
‘Not any more.’
‘I’m off to a party. Why don’t you come and join us, have some fun and we’ll bring you back here if you want to come.’
‘My stepdad didn’t send you, did he?’
‘No, I don’t even know who you are, except that you look like you need a friend and a good time. Come on, we mustn’t be late.’
Very nervously the boy approached the old man who gently took his hand.
‘You know, I stood on a bridge once like you and was going to jump into a river but a couple of scruffy old tramps stopped me and I’ve travelled with them ever since.’
He didn’t mention that many years before as a young doctor he had performed an operation on his girlfriend that had resulted in her death and he being struck off the Medical Register. Two portly scruffy old men joined them from the shadows and the doctor introduced them.
‘These men are ex commandos, Tom and Dick and I’m Harold.’
All three gently shook the boy’s hand.
‘Perhaps you could go ahead,’ said Harold to the portly men and get things ready?’
The two men went and the boy found he was not afraid. ‘What’s your name, son?’
‘Daniel.’
‘That’s a good name. You’ll be okay with lions, then.’
He smiled and Daniel smiled. After a twenty minute walk they came to some hoarding round an old bomb site, soon to be built on. Pushing one part aside, Harold motioned the boy in.
‘Don’t be frightened, there’s no-one here who will hurt you.’
About a dozen badly dressed men of differing ages stood around a fire and stared at him.
‘Hello son,’ said one smiling and showing a few green teeth. ‘Welcome to the party.’
He had a bottle of cider he would have proffered but Harold shook his head.
‘What would you like? Orange, Sprite, Coke?’
‘Coca Cola please.’
Harold went to a cardboard box and took a can out. ‘Come and sit by the fire.’
Daniel obediently sat down and opened his can. The heat from the fire soon warmed him and for the first time in ages he felt safe. Harold spoke. ‘There’s warmth in that fire, Daniel. Its stored-up sunlight through all its long years. The tree that gave you that timber was catching sunlight and storing it away for this moment. In that fire what you see is something captured from the sun.’
Tom and Dick appeared with a large tray, very large and on a separate fire covered with an old iron frame bed began to prepare and cook a huge meal.
‘Dick was a cook in the commandos,’ said Harold, ‘and can cook anything even when bullets are flying round him.’
Bottles of oil were produced and lots and lots of food. On another part of the cooking fire small bird carcasses were being roasted.
Pigeons and ducks,’ said Harold. ‘Tom fishes with a light line and a piece of bread on a hook. The bird swallows the bread and is wound in; it is very quick, actually. There are too many pigeons and ducks, so he helps to keep the population down.’
Soon a lovely smell of cooking made Daniel realise how hungry he was. He was given a large bucket of sprouts in water and a knife and shown how to trim them. Harold sat down beside him and started peeling potatoes.
For the first time since Mummy had died, Daniel felt at home and happy. Someone with a mouth organ started up ‘Silent Night’ and a ragged choir of homeless people began to enjoy themselves. Tom went round with cans of beer and soon everyone was singing. It was like a choir of broken kazoos but Christmas had come to the down and outs. Some cried for families lost and gone. Daniel said, ‘Can’t they find homes for these people. They’re not worthless.’
Harold replied, ‘When people like this have been homeless for more than two or three years they cannot go back. They take the old and put them in homes where they are warm and cared for but they curl up and die. Tonight with the food parcels and singing they have a memory that will last them a long time.’
Finally, with plastic plates and cutlery and more beer the feast was ready. Two other people joined the tramps and introduced themselves.
‘This is Brian from the NSPCC and Joan from the Social Services.’
They shook hands with Daniel and each gave him a parcel to open the next morning. The singing went on till midnight by which time Daniel was falling asleep. He was wrapped in blankets. By the time he lay down he was far away. His dreams were good and he didn’t wet the bed.
Christmas Day came and Daniel opened his presents, one of which was a rucksack to put them in. He said a reluctant farewell to all the people on the site and went with his five new friends to the canal and the bridge. He was given time to think and he looked at Tom, Dick and Harold, Brian and Joan.
‘It’s time to decide, Daniel. The water waits but you can go with Brian and Joan who will find you a new home. You will never see your stepfather again and life or death starts here.’
Would you let me jump into the water?’
‘No, of course not.’
They all laughed and Daniel with his Christmas presents went to the five most important people in his life and to a new beginning.