Title: When Connie called Harry
A Short Story: Length: 3800 words.
Harry never received visitors. His ‘cell’ mate, Rhemus, received calls on a regular basis, mostly Sundays, high days and holidays - nevertheless, he was called upon just the same.
Harry sat upon the mucky floor, in the corner, knees bent. He wore a permanent frown, like a set of tram lines impressed on his forehead, along with a pair of striped flannelettes, tied up at the waist with string – standard issue. His situation: always sad. You know the soulless sound of a continuous toll of a bell at a funeral on the greyest of grey days? Well, this imagery best represented his misery. He was stony cold. He felt nothing. His eyes stared out like those of a frozen fish.
Rhemus too, held an unpleasant disposition for most of the time. He did brighten sometimes, glowed even - because when he got the call, he would be better for a while.
Connie had made an emotional call to her mother, but quickly realised her decision to ring her was a wrong one. ‘Connie, the doors always open for you,’ said her mother, ‘come home, love. Come and stay with us for a bit. Get yerself together, heh!’ she added. Connie recoiled. No way would she ever consider going back to Scotland! She would never give her mother the satisfaction of saying I told you so! But Connie’s pride had always got in the way. In her eyes, anything bad that had ever happened to her had been her mother’s fault. But life was tough at the moment. She felt hot tears pricking.
‘Sorry mum. I can’t hear you!’ Connie lied, ‘look mum, I haven’t much credit left... Hello...Hello!’ She raised her louder voice over her mother’s vain responses. ‘Mum, not sure if you can hear me. Look, I’ll ring you soon’. She rang off and placed the mobile phone in the inner pocket of her bag. She pulled the strings up wearily and picked up the tin in which her day’s earnings rattled around. She wiped her eyes. The skin on her face was sallow, spotty and patchy too, because of all the crying of late.She was feverish again. Her lips were dry and cracked. Her mouth parched. She walked along the pavement, her tatty bag weighed heavy on her shoulder. Head down, she turned the corner and collided into an elderly couple and their dog. The dog yelped. Connie apologised profusely, and crouched down to fuss the dog. She carried on down the high street, only to pause outside ‘The Dog and Partridge’ contemplating on whether or not to go in.
Connie Nicoll was born in 1981 and was an only child of Harry and Margaret. They lived in the Scottish borders. Her parent’s marriage was far from harmonious. Long story! Her mother eventually left. Connie was fourteen.
Connie knew her dad had never been an easy person to get along with and he had little time for family and friends. He was a workaholic first and this had resulted in his alcoholism that came later. His work had always involved travel. He had lived a lonely life really and took to solitary drinking. After attending meetings and visiting trade fairs he would sit in bars for hours and hours, alone.
Once his wife had left, Harry continued to work from home, a beautiful stone croft. He was a wood and leather worker, specialising in hand made shoes, clothes and toys. He displayed such talent and meticulousness, aside of his sometimes erratic personally. More recently, he had made a conscience effort to cut his work load and spend more time at home with Connie. It had not been easy for him to change his habits.
He was heartened when his daughter, whose demeanour had been always been untidy, scruffy and disorganised as a little girl, suddenly demonstrated a natural ability to come up with new ideas and designs and help him out, practically; making things with her nimble fingers. It gave him a focus. Connie became Harry’s world. He missed her greatly when she was at school. One day he watched her from the window as she leapt off the school bus. He had a lump in his throat at seeing her happily, waving goodbye to her friends. The poignant moment of her smiling at him, so sweetly, when she caught sight of him in the window, left him sad and regretful at not being there for her when she was younger.
They shared evenings cooking and joking around. He passed on his work skills and tips. One day Connie announced that she intended to follow his career choice. They talked of working together, as business partners, once she had finished her exams. Connie went on a couple of trips with Harry and he worked hard at overcoming the strong urge to drink.
Connie’s mother had always been over protective. Perhaps she felt she had to be, but Connie found her too controlling. Growing up, Connie mixed only with those who were vetted by her mother first. Only to be pressurised by her many times to coldly drop her friends who proved not to fit in with her so called principles. Her mother had tried to fuel Connie with a hatred for her father over the years. Agreed, he had not always followed the straight and narrow. Trouble seemed to have followed him around, nevertheless, Connie loved him and he loved her. He had been a good dad on the whole. After the marriage breakdown it had been proven that Harry and her Connie were better off. Their bond had strengthened, and, with no extended family in existence, their lives had connected. Life was good.
But their harmony was to be rudely interrupted and ended all too abruptly! The new found joy they shared turned out to be short-lived. A tragedy for both then, when Harry proved to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Why Dad? Connie was forever questioning it. Why you?
Connie’s mother implied that Harry deserved his eventual downfall in 1997. Connie was not going to judge. She just missed her father, terribly. Connie felt she had been robbed of him. She was totally disillusioned. But the sudden cold reality was that her father did not need her anymore and nothing was more certain! She had to move on. She felt she could not stay on at home alone and refused to move in with her mother and Genial Gerry, her stepfather. Her life had been turned upside down once again. She decided an offer from Gavin, a male friend, to move down to for the south coast was the way to go. That was ten years ago, she had only just turned sixteen.
Gavin introduced her to a Christian community group that he and his family had known since he was five. The social framework, within the small village, appeared simple at first and Connie liked it. They rented a small flat with a couple of friends, and others, who visited and did not leave for days, sometimes weeks. Gavin worked as a gardener. She worked with textiles from home. The household was always chaotic. She managed to clear some space, however, and made felt bags, brooches, hats and scarves. She would sell these from a local market stall.
Connie did not have a faith and she soon felt pressured by Gavin and their friends to embrace the church. Privately, she felt comfortable with her non-belief. She would argue her standing on the matter. But, she became troubled by their attempts to recruit her in. In her view she found them increasingly interfering and controlling. This was reminiscent of life when growing up. Mum being so self righteous. The church was her only love and with Gerry’s new status, it was ironic that she should end up being married to a priest!
Connie’s world was caving in on her. She had been revisiting emotions that were all-encompassing. Her only escape from ‘the clan’ was a visit to the Post Office, and the market stall once a week. No more! ‘I must get out, Dad!’ She’d mutter to herself ‘I must… I must,’ and did so, without leaving a forwarding address.
Rhemus rolled onto his back, grunted softly, surfaced briefly and then drifted back into serenity. Harry stared up at the ceiling. As usual, rest evaded him. He glanced over at Rhemus. Envious of his peaceful state he cleared his throat, loudly, in an effort to disturb him. Rhemus only turned in his bunk to face the wall again. Harry pulled his covers up high and tight across the bridge of his nose. Outside the covers he held his arms, rigid, like those of a corpse, on a slab. As Rhemus slept, Harry looked across at him, and watched his covers gently rise and fall.
Harry’s situation continued to haunt Connie. From a young age, Connie had always demonstrated a maturity beyond her years, but her father’s incarceration highlighted her vulnerability. After she left the England’s coast, to build her life in the capital, she was confident in manner. Self assured. She was, seemingly, unaware that she was in need of guidance.
On her arrival in London she met Daniel, almost immediately, at the hostel. He was chatty and friendly. In the first few weeks, she spent almost every waking hour with Daniel and his girlfriend, Sammy. Daniel, in particular, was very giving of his time and energy. Credible attributes indeed. Connie thought herself fortunate to have met him. She hoped her instant attraction for him was not obvious. She was naive about relationships. Daniel was not particularly tall, he was lean – a little on the skinny side. He had floppy, ash blonde hair with a long fringe which he’d part like curtains to reveal, what Connie regarded to be a face to die for.
Daniel played the violin on street corners. A character, obviously well-known in his locality, had managed to build a kind of celebrity status. The busy corner of the high street was his patch. He appeared to be making a good living just busking, while Sammy created wonderful pavement art at his side.
Connie managed to land a job working in a large store. She worked in the textile department. She enjoyed the contact with the public on a day to day basis - something she was not used too. Her attention, however, tended to be on her social life, rather than her work, and she would clock watch all day. After work, she would leave in a hurry, desperate to seek out her friends. She would hang out with the couple, in bars, until late. Still secretly smitten by Daniel, she failed to notice his personality change, for the worse, when drunk.
Connie had been riding on the euphoria of living in London and the magnetism of the artistic couple she had come to know. But now, when Connie saw Sammy, she found her sweet nature to be almost non-existent. She was sheepish, sullen and dismissive, and when Connie questioned Daniel about the cuts and bruises she had seen on Sammy’s face on a couple of occasions, he was evasive. Connie should have trusted her instincts. She really should have picked up on a drinker’s traits, having lived with a father who drank, but, then again, her father had never been violent.
For the months that followed Connie found Daniel alone more and more, and Sammy would be missing for days. They say love is blind and Connie’s early impressions of Daniel had not been well judged, and, unfortunately for her, had turned out to be grossly inaccurate.
Connie somehow, unknowingly, found her life to be totally intertwined with Daniel’s. As for Sammy, she kind of - faded away.
Both Connie and Daniel were drinking heavily in the locals after work. Drink clouded Connie’s judgement. She knew Daniel had a violent side. When drunk, he would sometimes pick a fight, kick out, or shout abuse. Connie could only cope with his aggression by drinking more. In her increasingly drunken state it was difficult to keep a grip.
Five years on and they had got themselves a bad reputation. In her efforts to support herself and Daniel too, Connie had been sacked from her workplace, for pocketing fabric remnants, buttons and bits and pieces. She had been trying to build up some saleable items to sell on a market stall at weekends. Her creativity sidelined. She had been finding it harder to raise money for necessary materials for her to make and do, and thought her employer would not miss a few odds and ends.
Daniel had a few brushes with the police. Recently he had been arrested for causing an affray and let off with a caution. His popularity had plummeted.
Nine years since Connie last saw her father, she hit an all time low. Daniel was rarely sober. The drink had gone to his head and his size nine boot ended up in Connie’s head, one bleak night. Police called it a frantic attack and appealed for witnesses. Daniel was there at her side as they rushed her to A&E, silently threatening her with her life if she were to ever tell on him.
‘What was life like grow’in up in Virginia?’ Harry attempted to strike up a conversation with Rhemus.
Rhemus sat up. ‘erm good’ he said, a little surprised at Harry’s interest ‘yeah, really good,’ he affirmed with a nod. ‘Our family was huge. Lots of aunts, and uncles, cousins round our place all the time - happy days’. He ran his fingers through his greying hair, and the tight curls now stood up on end.
‘Yer know after my marriage ended. I was really happy for a time, wi’jus my wee daughter, Connie.’ Harry concentrated really hard to recall Connie’s face, her expressions; it was getting harder and harder for him to do this. A headache began to creep on.
‘Y-e-s, nice that you had the chance to get close to her, strange it is tha’ she never visits though,’ replied Rhemus warily. Harry didn’t react. ’My mother is still alive, do you know?’ Rhemus said, quickly changing the subject ‘She’ll be eighty four in June. My father’s just turned an octogenarian too. Put their longevity down to good eat’in, plenty of sunshine, and spread’in the gospel in song ev’ry week. Jeez, it’s sure good for the soul’.
Again, Harry didn’t take offence by this last comment. Rhemus thought he might, he had done many times before. You see Harry had never been a religious man. Harry was remorseful, no doubt about that, but Rhemus thought it was a little late for repentance now.
Harry fought hard and fast just to keep up the talk. He was slowly losing the ability to stay with it. The headache was excruciating. ‘I forgive my ex-wife for all her short comings yer know. She really did come into her own once she left. I wish her well. I really do.’ Harry said. Rhemus thought Harry’s affirmation showed promise.Harry sat down heavy upon his bed. He swung his legs up and raised his knees to his chest. He rocked for solace. His whole body ice cold. He continued ‘I think meeting her man was a good thing. He is a good man. She’s dropped her hypocrisy. She’s doing fine. She’s really helpin’ people in the real sense. Oh! I know she’ll not come to me. Why should she? I was a lousy husband’. He paused for a moment. Rhemus ruffled his own hair again, he felt self-conscious watching Harry’s predicament. ‘I was about to go to her, do yer know! On the very day of the shooting, I was actually on my way to see her. To make my peace with her! Can you believe that?’ Harry said bitterly. ‘As for our Connie, well I can understand why she’ll never be able to see it. Why she’s never worked it out. It’s my fault really,’ he said sadly. ‘She and I forever united in our atheism! We were so proud about that!’ He announced loudly. Then he released a wail. In despair he fell from the bed to the floor. Last thing he saw, before he passed out, was pity, in the eyes of Rhemus.
The good Samaritans walked into the ‘Dog and Partridge’. They took a seat at the bar and ordered a couple of bottled beers. The man engaged in chitchat with the barman. The woman poured her beer into a chilled glass. She surveyed the patrons and acknowledged a couple of regulars. The girl, Connie, had not seen her yet. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in her grimy appearance and obvious unease. She sat in the window seat. A woolly hat pulled down, her hair, fair and lank hung down to be shoulders. She wore a track top with a grubby t-shirt and jeans. Her head hung low. Beside her was the boy, Daniel, he lay out flat, mouth open, either he was unconscious or asleep.
The woman approached Connie cautiously. ‘Hello Connie. Remember me?’ She smiled broadly. Connie looked back blankly for a moment. Then her eyes flickered in recognition.
‘Yes, I do remember you. I’m sober today, that’s probably why. Been working this morning on the market, just got here myself.’ Connie replied. Daniel groaned. Connie shuffled nervously in her seat.
‘Well, I won’t offer you a drink this time.’ The woman looked her up and down somewhat disdainfully. ‘How’s life treating you and Daniel?’ The woman said firmly. She pulled up a chair and sat down.
‘Oh yer know. Not so bad.’ Connie lied for the second time that day. She cast a nervous glance over at Daniel, but he was out for the count.
‘Why do you do this to yourself, Connie? Every year I visit, I see you, and you’re worse each time. Is your life not worth better than this?’ She pressed.
‘I’m fine, really I am. It’s been a bad day that’s all. Who do you think you are some kind of social worker?’ Connie said, endeavouring to shake away the seriousness and shift the focus.
‘You know that I’m not. I’m just concerned for you. You’re a young woman, Connie. Your life is worth much more than this’ the woman motioned her arms in a clean sweep. ‘You owe yourself more than this!’ she repeated. ‘Why don’t you go home, Connie? Go back to Scotland, today.’ She said gravely.
Connie shook her head. ‘I could do…I’ve considered it. I just couldn’t bear it. Mum doesn’t want me.’ Connie replied.
‘I can’t believe that! What mother wouldn’t want her daughter?’ The woman urged.
‘I beg your pardon,’ replied Connie, ‘but, you have no idea! You don’t know what life has been like for me,’ Connie said angrily.
‘Oh I think I do. Remember you talked to me and my partner last year, and the year before that, about your father, and your mother and your step father. You promised us you’d get in touch with home,’ the woman insisted.
‘And I did. I spoke to my mother today, actually,’ Connie said. Tears rolled down her cheeks at the thought.
‘Tell the woman to shove off. Interfering ‘ole busy body,’ said Daniel, suddenly.
‘Looks to me as if it’s been a bad year, and that your Mr Hyde here is neglecting his better half more and more.’ The woman nodded across at Daniel. Connie followed her gaze. Daniel was struggling to sit up. Unshaven and dishevelled, Connie bothered to linger at the sight of him. He belched loudly. He stared out through his fringe with blood shot eyes. He was still thin, yet bloated and unhealthy. A trace of dried vomit formed a line down his chin. He swayed and tripped as he made his way through the crowded pub to the toilet.
And Connie decided there and then that she never wanted to see him again.
She started to panic. She got up, but her knees gave way and she stumbled forward. The whole day had been leading up to something. She had felt it from the moment she had woken up that morning. Then the call she made to her mother. What was that all about?
The woman led her out into the street. Her partner followed.
‘Breathe deeply, Connie, or you’re hyper ventilate if you’re not careful. Relax love. Relax. It’s ok,’ his voice was soothing. He had a kind face and a warm smile. ‘Your mother loves you, Connie. You’ll be off better off at home. Go home for your own sake.’
The man offered his right arm to steady her. The dizziness passed. The woman took her hand and in it she placed some folded notes. She closed Connie’s fingers over the money and gave them a squeeze. ‘Connie, there’s enough there for the fare home. Clear out and go!
Waiting on the platform early the next day, and in the carriage on its northbound journey, Connie whispered to herself, repeatedly. ‘Dad, I’m going back. Is that alright? Only, I can’t take anymore.’
Connie pushed at the heavy gate. The church was lit up both outside and in. It was Monday; she remembered Gerry would be taking evening service. Exhausted and emotional, bag and rucksack on her left shoulder, she slowly, weaved, in and out, around the grave stones. She wasn’t drunk, just broken. She fell down onto the damp grass, sod in her mouth….home turf? Not quite. She lost her bag briefly; the light in the graveyard was poor. She felt frantically for the strap and bit it hard. She whimpered like a lost puppy. She lay abreast of the pink stones in a foetal position. At first, she listened to the distant sound of the church organ and the singing and then she tuned into the rhythm of her own heartbeat.
She couldn’t say how long she’d lay there. In her sub consciousness she connected spiritually and when she awakened. She got up to kneel. She removed her wet hat and used it to wipe clean the marbled headstone set before her. She read the words out loud:
Harrold Nicoll b. 1956 d. 1997
aged 41 years.
Dearest father of Connie.
Love you Dad and will miss you forever.
Taken from this earth too soon.
A tragic victim of crime
To pray for him then was the most natural thing to do, and as she did so, Harry finally got the call!
Blinding light beams burst through Harry’s chamber and his confines fell away. His body levitated from where it was slumped. The sound of Connie’s voice in prayer rang loud in his ears! His whole being was fabulously warm and wonderful. His spirit brimmed over. This was fantastic! ‘Keep him safe and warm, dear God. I love you Dad.’ He heard her say. ‘And I love you!’ He exclaimed!
Gerry gave his step daughter’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, as she knelt, praying at her father’s graveside.
‘You know, Gerry. The one thing I can only hope is that my salvation will make a difference to his.’ She said.
‘Oh, I’m sure it will.’ He replied, softly.