29 September 2006

Dearest Michael,

Please don't get too excited, but I think I saw him last week, on Craven Road, buying a newspaper and smoking a fag. I was so sure it was him I followed a few paces behind as he wandered towards Paddington, but it was raining, and my eyes aren't what they used to be, and I lost him. God knows where he went. I searched for hours all over the station. It seemed so silly. Got myself in quite a flap. This silly young policeman asked if I was alright, and I'm afraid I was quite sharp with him. I'm sure he thought I was an old fool, but everyone thinks that when you get to our age, don't they? I'm quite sure it was him I saw though. You don't just forget people, do you?

When I got home, I dug out that last letter of his. ‘I don't want anything to do with her’. He was always saying that, but I never believed him. ‘London's too fucking cold’. I knew what he was on about. ‘We should make a few discrete pilgrimages to some of the old haunts, shouldn't we?’ Of course, he meant places where he might bump into her. ‘I'm taking off for a few days, don't be alarmed, I'll be back in touch when I've got my head straight". Him? Get his head straight? That'll be the day!

I suppose we could just be a pair of silly old farts acting out one final mystery. Would that be such a terrible thing? I merely suggest that we spend a few evenings in the old haunts; if nothing else, it'd be a nice trip down memory lane. What if it really is him, wouldn't that be exciting? I'd love to talk to him again, have a few drinks. Do you remember how, when we were leaving a pub, he'd make such a show of putting on his scarf? I really miss those little things, don’t you? I don't know. Remember we joked about him still being alive? It'll be winter soon, too cold to go out. Wouldn't you like to squeeze in one last adventure? What do you say? Monday at the Oak?

Yours, Peter

P.S. Do you know how often they pull bodies from the Thames? One a week, I hear. I often see them down near Vauxhall Bridge, where they said he went in. I'm down there most days. They're bound to get sloppy with the identifications, sometimes, aren't they? And I never believed he ended up in the river anyway. He’s just not the type, not at all.

P.P.S. I'm not suggesting we tell anybody yet, certainly not Paula. I see her regularly, but we don't say much. What is there to say? She used to get so angry with us when we talked about him still being alive. I suppose one day we'll have a sit-down talk, and everything will come tumbling out. For now, she seems happy enough, alone. That damn dog of hers finally died, but she still seems to walk more or less the same dog-walking routes as she used to. But her mind's quite sharp, I can tell you that. I used to have quite a crush on her, but that was years ago.

***

5 October 2006

Dear Paula,

I thought I'd better write and let you know that Peter's at it again.
Remember the fuss he caused at the funeral? Well now he thinks he's actually seen the bastard, in Craven Road of all places.

Look, I don't want to be too hard on him, but this happens every few years.
I've decided to ignore him for a while, in the hope that he may finally give up. Having said that, I hear he was down at the Oak every night last week, sitting all alone, staring out the window. What's up with him? I swear he's getting worse. Just between you and me, do you think he's started walking the wrong way down Sane Street? We're all getting on; one of us has to be the first to lose it upstairs.

Yours, Michael

***

6 October 2006

Michael

I stopped opening Peter's letters a long time ago. Please don't make me do the same with yours. I don't want to know about his stupid fantasies. If he's got nothing sensible to say, he should keep quiet. With the greatest respect, Michael, that goes for you too.

Paula

***

13 December 2006

Dear Paula,

Just a quick note. Poor Peter died on Sunday. They found him in the Oak at closing time, slumped by the window. Apparently he's been going in there every night for months. Silly of him to be going out in the middle of winter. Funeral's a week on Monday, I think there'll be a good turnout, and I do hope you can come. Despite your differences, he was never malicious. He just didn't want to give up on his best friend.

With love, Michael