Broke-Ish [Completed]

Chapter 9

His name was Bob. I have lived in this flat for many years and have never known this. Never cared to know if I'm honest. When Bob first moved in it was with his then wife and the netted curtains hanging in his window were a blinding white, not the sad, dingy, haven't-been-washed-in-years shade that they became to be. His wife's current location or status is unknown. Whether she left him, got abducted by aliens or died is a mystery, could have been all three. Bob has two sons and four grandchildren, none of them visit. But each Christmas, if they aren't too busy, If they have the space, he takes a 10 hour and 35 minute, multi-stop coach journey from Wolverhampton to Edinburgh (where they now reside) to spend a few hours with either of them (both if he's lucky) before returning to the stale B&B they have booked for him. "You'll be more comfortable there," says one son. "Too noisy for you here dad," says the other. Bob doesn't like to feel like a burden so he agrees and so he usually ends Christmas days in front of a tiny, big back television with a cold mince pie, a crusty cob stuffed with turkey and a cup of sugary tea, alone.

Four weeks ago Bob rolled his heavy black recycling bin down the footpath and left it at the end. He had mistakenly put a plastic bag In there when it was last due to be emptied and naturally the bin men treated this as if it were asbestos and refused to empty it. He opened the bin to double check that all was in order, gently placed the lid back down before saying a silent prayer to give the bin man strength then went back into his house and died (a non-recycling related death.) It took four weeks. Four weeks for anyone to notice, that's 28 days or 672 hours which is close to the amount of time he would talk to me whenever I saw him but still, it's pretty sad.

I spent most of our neighbourship avoiding him. I was glad when I walked past his house and his pointy little head wasn't in the window. I'd be relieved when his door number wasn't on any 'sorry we missed you' cards I'd received and if the delivery man ever knocked my door asking me to sign for any of his parcels (which was rare as he barely left the house) I'd tell them to leave it by his door "that's what the other delivery guy does," I'd lie. All so that I didn't have to deal with him knocking my door and boring me for what felt like hours, and now he's dead.

PROSECCO PEASANTS

Yaz, Jasmine, Kara, Liv

Liv: Can you believe it???

Jasmine: No way that's soooo sad!

Liv: I know, his cat flap was broken as well so all his scent wafted into the street

Jasmine: OMG he had a cat! Vile creatures, I wonder if it started to eat him

Yaz: He doesn't look like Bob

Liv: I know if I'd have to guess I'd have gone for Paul or Neil

Yaz: I think he looks like a Steve

Kara: God that's awful, dead for 4 weeks and no one noticed. Hasn't he got kids?

Liv: Yeah 2 sons...you should see them hauling everything out his house and throwing into a skip like they can't wait to get it on the market

Kara: That's how it is with some families Liv. Their parents lives are an inconvenience to them as they get older and their deaths even more so

Jasmine: Here Here. The oracle has spoken

Now that Bob has been removed from his house and the smell of his decaying body no longer sticks to the air, I can breathe freely. I want to buy flowers, pay my respects, and get rid of that small tingly guilt sensations in my stomach for being so unneighbourly to a lonely old man. They say give flowers while people are alive but I understand why most don't. What business (or desire) would I have knocking Bobs door with a bunch of Aldi's finest, it would have been weird. I mean, what would you rather do? Buy an ex colleague flowers while they're alive or dedicate a Facebook status to them if they die. Letting everyone know that you only saw them the 'other day' because everyone knows that people you recently see are exempt from dying right? What would you rather do? Buy your old school friend, who you haven't seen since Miss Baker history class, flowers while they're alive, or send some letterbox flowers to their parents' house using a discount code you found on Google if they die. I know, I know its distasteful. But if there is to be any flower giving between me and my recently deceased neighbour then I much prefer this scenario.

I don't fancy walking to Aldi today. It's not like it's far, there's pretty much one on every road nowadays but still, the corner shop is closer and easier to navigate. I walk through the delayed automatic doors and scour the tiny flower collection for a yellow reduced sticker. Don't judge me, his death hasn't improved my finances, I'm still on the breadline. Unfortunately it's too early in the day for reductions, the shopkeeper obviously still believes there's a chance that these tiring flowers may still be brought at full price and it turns out, he's right. The likelihood of me going home and coming back out again to buy flowers for a neighbour I barely knew are slim to none. I pick up a bunch of yellow and white flowers that look like oversized daisy's and take them to the till.

"£3 please," says the shopkeeper. The label says £2.99 and I debate whether or not to raise this with her before handing over a fiver. I decide not to mention the extra penny, I don't want to be that person but I don't thank her when she hands me back 2 dirty pound coins, on account of her robbing me.

I walk out of the shop, flowers in hand, thinking what exactly am I going do with them. There hasn't been a funeral so I can't leave them at his graveside or his temporary spot at the crematorium – I really haven't thought this through.

"What's good Liv?" I turn my head towards he familiar voice. Michael. Jasmine's on, off then back on again boyfriend. One of those couples that have the cheek to tell people that they've been together for years, discounting the multiple break ups, lies, cheating and side pieces. Realistically their total relationship length is around three weeks at the most but I don't tell them that

"Alright Michael," I reply unenthusiastically. It's hard how to know how to be with him being as I never now their relationship status. Monday it's all men are trash, Tuesday it's the boy did good #RelationshipGoals – it's exhausting. I choose to reman nonchalant. We engage in tiny repetitive talk. He asks about my dad, I ask about his mom like I didn't see her at work a few days ago complaining about the bruise on a banana.

"So what you saying then?" he asks and we've already been here.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Noo," I reply wearily, where's he going with this? The flowers are wilting.

"You know me and Jasmine are over innit! Too much drama man but you..."

"Me what?"

"Don't act like that Liv I've seen the way you watch me! I'm just saying innit, I'm available," he shrugs. I look at him, he looks at me, I look at him, he looks at me, he winks.

"Piss off!" I walk past his amused face and take my phone out, about to text Jasmine then I stop.

The thing you should know about our friendship group is that there used to be five. There used to be Izzy. At a house party a few years back one of Yaz's ex boyfriends came onto her, or she came onto him, my memories a little rusty but the point is, Izzy is no more and it wasn't an overnight thing either, it was very gradual. Like when they put the price of something up a few pennies a time and then one day you notice you're paying a whole pound more then you did before for the exactly same item, sometimes even a smaller item. Yaz is the admin of our Whatsapp group so she removed Izzy then Izzy set up a new one with the rest of us minus Yaz but new Whatsapp groups are just so much harder to maintain then pre-existing ones and it got annoying having to relay information in both so Izzy's group got quieter and quieter until eventually she left which was awkward. So we arranged a meal with Izzy which Yaz found out about, so then we arranged a second meal and it's very expensive having to maintain different (but mainly the same) friendship groups. Over time it dwindled down to a text here and there, a how are you when we'd see her out and about and now Izzy posts pictures of forced fun interactions on Instagram with girls she doesn't even like and passive aggressive quotes about fake friends and being as real as they come and that is why I won't be telling Jasmine about Michael coming on to me, not unless I have to. Not unless there's a sure sign I mean, they aren't together anyway, no point causing her pain for no reason right? That would make her feel shitty and I'm not about to be that friend.

I walk past Bobs house and leave the flowers on his doorstep, like his deliveries. My phone luminates and vibrates in my hand - a message on the SD app. Hmm who do we have today?