Perking the Pansies, Jack and Liam move to Turkey

Chapter 15 - Jack's Guardian Angel

It was an annual ritual and I was glad of it. I meandered through the exquisitely coiffured garden,  past regimented rows of blossoming standard roses, each planted with military precision and each with a small plaque placed at its roots. I was heading towards the ornamental pond with its elaborate faux Roman fountain, three dolphins entwined in space above the water. It was one of those rare, glorious English spring days. Just like the day of the funeral, a perfect day for a cremation. As I approached the fountain I spotted a young man sitting on a memorial bench.

"Hello," I said. The stranger looked up and smiled.

"Hi. Who've you come to see?"

"John." I pointed to the black onyx plinth that rose vertically from the lily pond, one of many that lined the perimeter like a modern day stone circle.

"You?"

"My kid brother. Died in car accident last year."

I studied the small cameo portrait of a handsome smiling boy; short dark hair, chocolate skin and huge black eyes. The simple inscription read: Deependra. Died Age 13. Sadly Missed.

"Terrible," I said, "only a child. It's not supposed to happen."

"No. And John?"

"My partner."

"Oh, I see. He was taken young too then. I did wonder."

"Thirty-six. Pneumonia."

"I'm sorry. I come here a lot. It helps."

"Me too."

"Sometimes I get more flowers than I can fit in the vase. I give some to John, since they're neighbours now. That okay?"

"Of course. That's lovely. I bring champagne. John adored champagne."

He  smiled.  "Well, nice meeting  you, I'll leave you to your drink."

"Bye. And thanks for the flowers."

Deependra's brother wandered off through the rose garden and waved without looking back.

"Hello, John."

I unpacked my instruments of remembrance: a half-bottle of Moet, one plastic glass, six tea lights, a box of matches, an MP3 player and a commemorative poem, laminated by Maurice at work. I placed the tea lights in a row, one for each anniversary, struck a match and lit the six wicks in turn. It was a still day and the candles flickered longer than usual before the breeze snuffed them out. I leant the poem against the lip of the pool in front of John's final resting place. It was a first. I'd never attempted poetry.

"I've written something for you. I'm sorry it's naff. I'm sure you'd say something cutting about it."

I removed the wire muselet and opened the champagne, taking care to hold the cork and twist the bottle, a trick John had taught me many years before. The cork popped out cleanly, not a drop wasted. I filled the plastic glass and poured some champagne over John's memorial plaque. It fizzed as it dribbled.

"Cheers, or şerefe as we say in Turkey." I took a large gulp.

"I need to talk to you, John. The thing is I'm not sure I've done the right thing. Not Liam. He's wonderful. I think you'd like him. I know you'd like him. He's got your impish twinkle in his eye. I mean moving to Turkey. Some of the expats are just awful. God, in real life I'd cross the street to avoid them. You wouldn't put up with it for a second. I know, we should have done our research, but we can't come running home at the first sign of trouble can we? Still, Mum would be chuffed to bits if we did."

I looked around the tidy cemetery. It was serenely silent except for the sound of birdsong and the trickle of water from the mouths of the dolphins in their petrified embrace. It calmed me. I sat on the bench and inserted the earphones of the MP3 player, already queued for the moment. I pressed play, closed my eyes and sat back. The soulful tones of Boy George's Il Adore, his beautifully crafted lament to a lost friend, poured over me. I cried as I listened and reminisced. I remembered John cuddling a weeping stranger at London Pride after the red balloons had been released, each one commemorating someone who had died of AIDS. I remembered John buying a McDonald's Happy Meal and handing it, without a word, to a beggar on the street. I remembered John helping a drunken tramp to his feet because he'd fallen over and cut his face. I remembered his quick wit and winning smile that lit up my life. I remembered his resolute loyalty and steely determination. I missed him for all these things but most of all I missed him for him. His illness had been short, only a few fleeting weeks. His demise was swift and unheralded. His white room fell silent as the machines were turned off and I watched his last laboured breath. I was unprepared. I was felled by the turbulence. I created a ghost within to keep him alive.

What of me now? My life as a wanton Lotus Eater was blessed. It seemed achingly unfair. I'd been given a second time around and I sensed John's steady hand at the tiller. It wasn't the moment to run scared.

Strangely emboldened, I decided I was content to return and face my demons.

"Goodbye, John." I ran my finger lightly over his plaque.

"See you next year. I love you."

I poured the champagne dregs into the pond.

"A treat for the goldfish. I hope you like your poem."

I wept about your silent cage

And touched the scars upon your face

You have now left the stage

I am now a colder place

The latent gift of an innocent age

Masked demons that lie in wait

To retribute with speedy rage

Ascendant star shot down by fate

I have now gone to an unmarked place

Filled with love of a different style

It's not the sun that warms my face

But my memory of your blazing smile

So mark my words, heed my mind

Live fast, die young to endure

In the hearts of those left behind

For love is a pain without a cure

I laughed as I walked past the crematorium where I'd said goodbye six years before. I could almost hear John saying, "What a load of sentimental old crap. Get a grip, Jack."

*****************

Coming Next: Chapter 16 – Judgement Day

Perking the Pansies, Jack Scott's award winning, best-selling debut book is available in paperback and as an ebook from all usual retailers. Signed copies are available direct from the author.

Out now: The sequel - Turkey Street, Jack and Liam move to Bodrum. Also available in print and digital editions.

For more information check out http://www.jackscott.info