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Doughboy 3 ...Never really asked the question, but, not really up to me to ask. Did lie in bed thinkin bout it. Tried not to, but thoughts keep jumpin in, cannot stop your thoughts from bein thoughts. Question was obv. If you were ever gonna come back. Not just a quick - say *hello* - buy me a new coat - then bog off to wherever. Back back stay back. Not just back, hello, see ya later, gotta be offski. Work to do. Cannot be helped. Protectin people. Shootin people for money. So *By The Way* here is what you missed 1. I learnt to ride a bike, a proper two-wheeler when I was somethin of age. Nix helped. 2. In the nativity, in the infants, I was a angel with paper wings & a silver foil n bent coat hanger halo thing floatin above my head. You seen the vid, but not the same, is it? That is all a bit blah cos have no memories of it myself. There are more important misses. Not everythin got videoed. 3. Mum smokin, rain pourin outside.
“May as well enjoy myself. Only pleasure I have. Too late now to worry.” Mum smilin in a completely not real way. “Got to enjoy yourself while you can.” Goin on bout who is gonna look after, look after, look after… All 3 of us starin at the telly. Countdown conundrum, numbers to add up n take away. Time tickin down on the clock. All havin thoughts that did not add up. “If I want … ” Nix finally goin over n givin her the hug she been waitin for, all snot n tears. Young Reagan frozen on his chair wi all the remote controls lined up on his knee. Pickin his nose to give him somethin to do. Changin channel like a idiot, like it made any difference. The end of ER, tellin you wot was gonna happen next week. Nix n Mum stoppin to watch. 4. Bein told by Nix the week before. Drivin me to football. I did used to play. Then. At 13 years of bla. Before I stopped everythin. We did go to the park once upon a time, if you remember. You have seen me kickin a football. Tho was better at kickin other kids. Big for my age in those days. Solid. Quiet. Slow thinkin n movin. Case of bein in the team n doin what I was told. Easy to do what you told, just borin. End up doin things that are not your own choosin. “You know Mum has not been well?” Nix not turnin round to me. Lookin ahead at the road, stoppin at the lights, indicatin right. Askin him, what? What? But not even wantin to … anythin. Nix tappin his fingers on the steerin wheel, waitin to do a right. George Michael on Radio Local, the DJ chattin into our silence. Turnin right into the summery day, sunlight blarin in thru the windscreen, shaftin into our faces, havin to pull down our eye protectors, but not like they make much difference, still havin to squint. Sittin in the passenger seat, havin to look at myself in the little mirror. Like Henry Ford n his design crew expectin wifey will be sittin there checkin her lipstick. “Been goin to hospital for all these tests.” “How come no one told me?” Angry that, as per, bein treated like the lickle baby. “No point in tellin you, if, you know.” “No point in tellin me, if, what?” “If there was nothin to tell you.” 5. Here is a video that sits in my brain. Mum wi white gloop round her mouth n her nightie hangin open. Hospital visitin time. She needed someone to button her up. I cud see her boob flesh. Worn out skinny. She really needed someone to do up the buttons. Pale skin all saggy. Did not want to see it. Really did not. Gettin a glass of water, a plastic glass, holdin it up to her lips cos you have to drink water. White round her mouth. Like Africans in the desert. Holdin up the glass, movin her mouth away from me like a baby that is not wantin to feed. Her lips tight shut. Mumblin. Swearin at me. She never swore but she knew all the words. 6. Next day, Lynd suddenly back from wherever, knockin on my door. “Gotta get goin shortly. Visitin time.” Like he was in charge all of a sudden. Big head pokin round the door, cut off at the neck. “Leavin in bout 10 minutes.” Half-noddin at him, but more of a okay-see-ya, than a right-just-put-my-shoes-on. Level 4 on Band of Brothers. Deep inta the 2nd World War. Brand new game. Bizarre gift from Nixon. Trollin round Tescos late last night buyin whatever we felt like. Ready meals, ice cream, cake, crisps, plenty of meat, cds. This Band of Brothers as a bonus. Maxin out his credit card like he was leavin the country. On the sick from school. Sick of everythin, but not havin any sort of a cold or any more spots than usual. Rippin off the cellophane, lookin at the disc on the way home. Nix makin me play it up in my room cos he had stuff he wanted to do downstairs. Phone calls to whoever. Bringin me up a nice plate of lamb bhuna, half a garlic naan, portion of yellow pilau, nice big fat greasy onion bhaji. Kulfi for afters. Had made him stop off at Zamil Sweet Centre on the way back. Seein as he was in a card chargin sorta mood. Throw in a box of baklava plus a nice selection of variousers. So Lynd turnin up was a big yawn. Bridie drivin up days ago, moochin around, makin cups of tea. The house full of whisperin voices. Playin the Band of Brothers levels, findin it a constant challenge. Shoulders, back, thumbs, eyes, brain, all sore, but in a sort of proud way. In a race to get to the end. Destroy everythin. “Reagan?” Bridie this time. “Be havin to leave now if we not to be late.” Noddin but no way amma puttin the war on hold. Too important of a battle situation.
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