Patient Blue

Rosslynne I and rather unexpectedly Guru George, are leaving Sapphire House on Saturday May 5th and will be moving into her large house in Reigate. I’ve grown strangely fond of George and fascinated by his thoughts on life death and the Universe, especially now in light of the worsening on-going and devastating planet wide events and phenomena. Some of his theories seem somehow scarily plausible and profound.

With Rosslynne having always had a soft spot for the old reprobate, it seems a natural progression for George to come with us. Rosslynne also thinks that George and her Aunt Barbara, Barbi as she prefers to be called, will hit it off right away. She lives at the house as a kind of permanent guest caretaker feeding the chickens and ducks, tending the vegetable gardens and her extra special exotic plants.They are about the same age give a year or two. In fact it’s Barbi’s sixtieth birthday on May fifth and we’re going to have a little party to celebrate both her birthday and our new lives together.

Barbi I’m told, for an old girl, is apparently very alternative, a hangover from her hedonistic days in the seventies. Rosslynne,thinks that Barbi might even be a benign Witch, of the earth mother variety. Concocting potions and remedies for all manner of things with often the principle ingredient being cannabis grown in her own large greenhouse. The thoughts and theories of George should really appeal to Barbi, who will almost certainly appreciate the company of a fellow non conformist. Besides George has nowhere else to go and Rosslynne is known for her kindness, taking in waifs and strays including so it seems, me.

Roz and I are together now, spiritually at least and with every passing week becoming closer I think, or at least hope. We each act as a kind of shelter for the other, protection against the dark forces of fear and paranoia that stalk us relentlessly. Much to my regret, she still seems to regard me as a special friend rather than an object of lust, desire and love, but I remain optimistic of a breakthrough on that front and know that given time, persuasion and probably alcohol, this can change. Then in the biblical sense we can once again become so much more. I’m not too disheartened that when Rosslynne first invited me to live with her at the house, she had added, ‘in separate bedrooms,’ especially as she had then said,‘to start with anyway.’

Time spent at Sapphire House over the previous eight weeks has been good for me life changing even, but the freakish events occurring in the world outside have begun to encroach. They can no longer be totally ignored even here in this relative cocoon of safety and dare I say it, sanity. The unit itself has become run down and although on the same emergency electricity grid as Crawley hospital, power is now off for most of the time. The only staff left at the unit, they obviously have nowhere else to go, are Hanif and Chelsie. They do the cooking and cleaning and dispense drugs, very liberally in some cases. Living in full time and sharing a room at least overnight.

Julia Brain has not been seen for weeks and we heard she moved with her family to rural France where they have a second home. This is obviously to avoid the increasing anarchy and lawlessness as English society breaks down and once again becomes oddly tribal. Carol Collier has also gone I think she may have joined Owen VanBowen. It can only be a short matter of time before Sapphire house is closed and locked up for good or used for more urgent purposes other than experimental Psychotherapy for a bunch of oddball piss-heads.

The majority of all medical services are now focused on those affected by heat stroke, Malnutrition and conditions linked to unclean water and sewage. Thousands, mostly the very old and very young, that old cliché again, are dying each week, but more and more previously healthy members of the community are also succumbing to the heat, dehydration, Dysentery and even rampant Cholera.

The first resident to go, Andrew, left two weeks earlier. He was picked up by his wife Helen in their red Ford KA. She was a tall rather plain woman with extraordinarily large hands and at around six foot, several inches taller than Andrew himself. As she swept through the door he ran to greet her wrapping his arms around her ample waist, sobbing, ‘Mummy I missed you my little cracker I love you and want to come home.’

She replied, ‘there, there baby boy, it’s all better now let’s go home and put you to bed.’

‘Your bed, Mummy?’

‘Our bed baby boy and Mummy’s gonna give you a good seeing to.’

Then they were gone. Andrew looked back at us and smiled broadly as he followed his big wife to their small car. Gravel crunched under the tires as they left the grounds of Sapphire House forever. We all waved as they went.

’Fuck me, what do you make of that then?

‘Takes all sorts’, said Anne, who almost but not quite suppressed a sneeze, holding her nose which puffed out her cheeks and emerged as a squeak.

Dilys, held up a sheet of paper on which she had been scribbling and showed us all what was written

I believe that Andrew sees his wife as a mother substitute but is also sexually attracted to her as well. This smacks of an almost classic case of Oedipus complex by proxy. The situation is further complicated by the fact that she also likes to screw kiddies who she may almost consider as her own sons. Therefore as Michael so succinctly put it, fuck me what do you make of that then?

Everyone laughed,′ sage and astute observation Dilys.′

‘Thank you,’ said Dilys, You know I’m going to miss you lot when you’re gone. Wow, this must be the most words I’ve ever said in the whole time I’ve been here.′

‘Why not come with us, Michael, George and me I’ve got such a large house and you’d be so welcome.’

‘No thanks Lynne, anyway I’m going to live back with mum.’

‘Bring her too.’

‘No she wouldn’t leave her house, but thanks anyway, give me your address so I can at least stay in touch, even if only by writing.’

Anne is also leaving and although still nasally challenged, she has at last managed to control her titanic sneezes for long enough to have sex with DD, Deaf Daz. She had achieved this seemingly impossible event during his last visit by stuffing her nostrils with cotton wool at the fore play stage of proceedings and DD had done the deed. They were to be married and despite speculation that initially it was arranged just for him to gain full British citizenship, a moot point now anyway, it seemed to actually be love. Rosslynne and I were invited to the ceremony, if as Anne pointed out, weddings’were still possible in the chaos that now reigned. We both promised to attend. Guru George was not invited as Anne, still views him as an odd and potentially dangerous crank, fair enough observation if you didn’t really know him.

On the morning of May fifth, Rosslynne, Guru George and I climb into my car. One of the few private vehicles that still has fuel and prepare to leave Sapphire House for the last time. I’ve written to my Mother who now lives in South Wales with her sister my Auntie Gladys. She has my new address and I hope that the letter I sent explaining everything reaches her, but in these difficult times I can’t be sure. There gathered to see us off are Chelsie, Hanif, Anne, Daz who has moved in and Dilys. They all wave as we drive out through the gates. Dilys has written on a placard of white card that she holds up above her head GOODBYE GOOD LUCK AND GOD BLESS. She blows us a kiss as we exit the gates. Rosslynne and George wave through the back window until they are out of sight. It’s frighteningly hot, well above a hundred degrees even at eight thirty in the morning and the air conditioning system in my car, barely makes an impression.

‘Into the unknown my friends, into the unknown.’

The roads are eerily quiet and ours appears to be the only vehicle moving. The fuel shortage means that most cars are now redundant or obsolete and may never take to the roads again, though many will probably become homes and shelters for the increasing numbers of refugees that now populate southern England.

The plan is to first drive to my place at Blenheim house, pick up my easily transportable personal belongings then post the keys with a note through the Estate Agents door. As I haven’t paid rent for over a month I think the flat may already have been re-let. One of the many things I had forgotten to do before entering Sapphire House was to arrange to have my mail forwarded. Mum had gone to the flat a couple of times in the first two weeks I’d been away and forwarded my mail. This was mostly bills including a demand for payment of rent and a redundancy notice from Real Money, personally signed by Jesus Socrates, thanking me for my hard work and wishing me every success in the future. The letter also informed me that I was due one month’s salary and I have also been awarded a discretionary redundancy payment of £1480.92. These amounts have been deposited in my bank account and are full and final settlement at the termination of my employment effective from the first of April. Apt I think. Although I hated Real Money and could never have faced going back there I feel a jolt as I realize for the first time in my life I am unemployed and with the way things are it’s unlikely I will ever find full employment again.

Few vehicles other than Police patrol cars, whose uniformed hard faced occupants stare at us suspiciously as we pass, are moving on the roads. Many shop fronts appear either boarded up or in some cases burned out.

’May be looters, says Rosslynne.

‘Undoubtedly,’ agrees George.

Sullen groups of youths stare at our car as it passes, some shout and gesture at us. ’Christ, I wouldn’t want to break down here.’The other two mumble agreement. The thermometer in the car shows the outside temperature as one hundred and ten degrees, but it may not be working properly and could be hotter. The air conditioning system offers only the barest respite. As we leave the Crawley area heading south on the A29 towards Bognor Regis I notice a blue transit van approaching quickly from behind, whilst up ahead an ancient Nissan Micra doing no more than about twenty five miles an hour pootles along hugging the middle of the road.

‘That car it’s empty,’ says Rosslynne, there’s no one at the wheel.′ The car does indeed look empty.Perhaps it somehow started accidentally and is just running away, I mean look it is all over the road,′

I’d best give it a wide berth and get round it when I can.′

‘Yes be careful Michael.’

‘No look, there is someone there in the driving seat.’

I can see a head, actually lower than the back of the seat wearing a flat cap and now next to it in the passenger seat another. A wizened bewildered face turns gingerly to look at us, a little old lady being driven by the little old man in the flat cap. The blue Transit is now right behind us, no more than six inches from my bumper. I can clearly see the two fish eyed, slack jawed oafs in the cab. We are driving through a succession of sharp bends and even with the lack of other traffic it is not a place to overtake. I curse under my breath and muse that if I were ever asked to come up with a good luck saying or proverb to put in a fortune cookie, it would be something like, “May the vehicles on the road ahead drive quickly, whilst the vehicles on the road behind drive slow.” For some reason it always works the other way around whenever I’m driving. Even as now when there are very few vehicles still mobile.

The Transit pulls out overtakes me and the Micra on a sharp bend and is gone. I think seriously about giving them the finger as they pass but decide against it as the two men in the cab look seriously dodgy, and more than capable of overreacting badly to such a gesture. At the first available clear stretch I put my foot down and power past the Micra which continues untroubled on its slow erratic way to who knows where?

We arrive at Blenheim House without further incident. The communal gardens look wilted and forlorn with yellowing grass and leaves, the untended flowers in their unkempt beds all look dead or at least terminally ill. We make our way to the second floor and I insert my key in the lock which fails to react. Placing my ear to the door I can hear the faint but unmistakable sounds of muffled voices, one of them female. Thinking it might be Alice, who has returned and changed the locks I knock loudly on the door and shout out, hello, ‘Alice?’ I sense the stirring of the others behind me and Rosslynne says; ‘shall we wait downstairs?’

Before I can answer, the door is opened and a heavily tattooed man wearing just shorts says ‘yes?’

‘Oh I live, lived here, Michael Johnson.’

‘We live here now, Pavel and Danuta. Your stuff is down in storage area, some might be missing, thieves all over, goodbye.’ The door is closed forcefully.

‘Well folks, it looks like I’ve been evicted. No surprise really seeing as I haven’t paid the rent for over a month.’

’You have a new home now, my place get your stuff, just the essentials and let’s go. I told Barbi we’d be there by five to start her birthday celebrations.

I go to the storage room and find my remaining goods and chattels piled, or rather dumped in one corner. I pick up some of my clothes and books and what is left of my CD and DVD collection. I notice that quite a few are missing, but I can’t be bothered to argue the point with Pavel, who will just deny it in Polish, or Lithuanian or wherever he comes from anyway. I pack my belongings, my former life, into the boot of the car and we head towards Reigate.

The house is approached by a narrow tree lined lane some three miles south of the town centre. The road climbs quite steeply through mature trees towards the summit of a hill where the house nestles, hidden from view. You would need to know it was there to find it, which right now is a good thing. It stands in substantial grounds on part of the North Downs, situated between Reigate Hill and Box Hill.

‘Left here’ Rosslynne indicates an almost concealed driveway flanked by two brick pillars and I turn the car, crunching gravel under the tyres. We have made it just in time as the petrol gauge has been on red for a while and once this car stops I doubt it will ever move again.

‘It’s quite long, the drive.’

Either side of the wide drive there are sweeping lawns, slightly yellowed by the extreme heat but still relatively lush. There are many mature trees, Oak, Yew and tall Pines.

‘Beautiful grounds, the trees are magnificent.’

‘Magnificent, that’s a big word, to me it’s just the garden and I hardly notice them, but now I’ve been away for a while coming back I have to admit the old place does scrub up well. The house is just round the next bend, it’s called “Treetops” by the way.’

As we round the bend, one of the most attractive houses I have ever seen, comes into view.

‘Georgian I believe?’

’That’s right George, it dates from around 1800, my parents moved here in the 1960’s. I was born here, it was once very run down almost derelict but they fell in love with the place, spent a lot of time and money renovating it.′

As we draw nearer to the house with its mellow honey coloured walls festooned with thick tangles of Wisteria in premature flower and framed dramatically against the wooded hillside of the North Downs. I can see standing at the top of the wide steps in front of the entrance porch, a woman with long grey blond hair parted in the centre and loosely tied in two bunches. She is wearing a full length lilac dress and smoking a cigarette.

‘Aunt Barbara, she must have heard the car.’

Once the car has crunched to a halt, Rosslynne immediately jumps out and mounts the stairs to her aunt and they embrace. ‘Barbi, it’s so good to see you again I’ve missed you so much.’

‘You too my darling are you all better now, sorry I couldn’t visit. Here have some,’ she offers what I had thought was a cigarette but is actually a spliff, to Rosslynne who shakes her head and says ‘maybe later.’

‘Oh come on it is my birthday and I’m only going to be sixty the once, in this life cycle anyway.’

‘Meet my friends they’re going to be living here for a while, maybe forever? The handsome guy there is Michael and the distinguished Gent with hair the same colour as yours is Guru George.’

‘Hello Michael, and hello Guru George, my, what an interesting man you are. Do either of you smoke?’

‘Oh yes,’ says George.

‘I thought you looked the type Guru. Michael?’

‘I gave it up but let’s face it I’m weak and I still love it, what is it?’

I call it the house green, nice lively bouquet with seeds from an original Thai source. An old flame of mine turned me on to it and showed me the best way to grow it, now the greenhouse is full of mature plants,pretty, delicate serrated leaves that really pack a punch. A bumper crop with all this extra heat and sunshine, every cloud and all that.′

I have to admit that for an older woman Barbi isn’t half bad, a kind of Julie Christie, in her older days, look alike. She has kept a trim figure and her large breasts are still firm. She has green eyes that have a mischievous twinkle and her long hair is lustrous and although graying, far from ageing.

‘Anyway, let’s get inside out of this freakish heat, this sun, I mean I’m a worshipper like everyone else, but I’m starting to think we might have pissed off some powerful Lords of karma and fate and we’re being slowly roasted to death as a punishment.’

‘The Sun has got his hat on and is coming out to play.’

’You know Guru, do you mind if I just call you that rather than Guru George? I think you might have a point there, whatever you just meant by that little ditty.

‘Yes.Guru is just fine and I’ll happily explain that ditty, which is actually the title of a short story I have been working on, along with many other things that I believe to be true.’

‘Great a philosopher, I just love alternative thinkers and creative types, especially ones with your unique looks and bearing. I’ve had a lonely time in the last few months and I’m a very physical woman,very touchy feely and responsive to the right kind of stimulation.You know the sort of thing. I hate sleeping alone especially as I have so much to give and share and no one right now to give it to or share it with and my collection of toys no longer bring the comforts they once did.’

I actually wonder in all seriousness if she is referring to dolls or Teddy bears or something equally innocent, but Rosslynne says; ‘Aunt Barbi, behave yourself, look you’ve made poor George blush.’ And she’s right, Guru, as he was now to be known, is flushed in the face and it isn’t just the exceptional heat of the day causing it.

After the searing heat of the outside the interior of the house feels cool and comfortable. The large entrance is dominated by an elegant London made long case clock. It stands at least seven feet tall in a highly polished lacquered case. Barbara sees me looking at the clock, ‘keeps excellent time and is older than the house I have to wind it once a week.’

‘It’s a beautiful piece.’

‘This house is stuffed full of antiques, including me of course.’

‘I’m sure the most beautiful piece by far,’ says Guru.

‘Why you old charmer you, flattery will most definitely get you everywhere.’

We enter a large lounge that has leather armchairs and a huge sofa. The walls are oak paneled and there is a large fireplace with a gilded mirror above. ‘That’s an original Adam Fireplace, my parents bought it at an auction some years ago for a ludicrous price, but it does set the room off nicely. It works too, many a winters evening I’ve sat in front of a roaring blaze, though if this heat continues I don’t think I’ll be doing that again anytime soon.’

’They obviously had great taste your folks, this house is stunning.’Trying to emulate the guru I add, ‘as are you.’

‘Nice try, almost worked.’

‘I blush, well I do think you are, you know stunning, beautiful’-′ I tail off as I become aware that George and Barbi are looking at me.

’Anyway who’s hungry I’ve made my signature dish, Chicken Curry. I strangled the main ingredient this morning, it’s with rice, special mushrooms, magic of course, and extra, extra special homegrown spices and as it’s my birthday I’ve been especially liberal with the spices. I’ve also got some great booze, top quality Champers, a nice selection of reds, cider and beer, enough to cater for all tastes unless that is your some sort of anemic pussy. Guru, Michael, you aren’t a couple of pussy’s are you?

We both say no.

‘Thank Christ for that, let the party begin.’