PICTURES OF LIFE - Chapters 9-10

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CHAPTER NINE

To say that Julia James was on the hunt may be an exaggeration, but then again maybe not. All that can be said for definite is that the interview with DI Summers had decided her future for her. With thinking again of the night of the fire, Vernie and Dale were starkly highlighted with their good points and faults. And all the good points were with Dale, and vice versa.
She didn’t know what her plan of action would be. All she knew was that she had to get out of the house and she had to find Dale Crawford. After all, it wasn’t that big a town, so how hard would it be to find a taxi? However, nearly two hours into her frantic search, despondency set in and she found herself in a café, approaching depression.
The world seemed to dislocate from her mind as she sat there. Her past life seemed to flash before her, and she saw all her mistakes, and it seemed as if life had congregated like that, as if some mischievous demi-god had looked at her and said, ‘hey, am I gonna have fun with you.’
Well I’ve had enough, thought Julia, I’m not taking it anymore. Something has got to change.
Can determination do such things? Can the world change when the cards are stacked so hopelessly against you? Perhaps we should ask Dale Crawford. Because at that moment, he walked into the café, noticed Julia in the corner, walked over and said: ‘Hi.’

Peter Picasso was not used to rushing, but having been unable to refuse Rachel Hollis, he now found himself racing across town for his meeting with Veronica Dean. A philosopher would no doubt point out to him that, if the universe was going round and round as he thought, his destiny attuned to his life, then he would have no need to rush at all, for everything would fall into place. But his destiny was compounded even more when he couldn’t find the address and ended up going round and round the town.
Eventually he found exactly where he wanted to be, and as he was about to ring the bell, the door opened and a disembodied voice advised: ‘I’ve been expecting you.’
Peter peered into the gloom, eventually finding Veronica Dean lying on the floor doing yoga exercises. Eventually getting up, she held out her hand and Peter shook it.
‘Hello.’ He said, ‘I wonder if you can help me.’
To which Veronica replied: ‘If you were psychic, you’d know that I can.’
Peter observed Veronica for the first time. Perhaps forty years of age, she held her years well, with a young, if slightly manic face, topped with a mass of long, curly, auburn hair. He could imagine Rachel looking like this at that age, and with constant exercises Veronica had also retained a thin and supple body, attired in t-shirt, long, gypsy skirt and a cardigan. The word ‘hippy’ came immediately to mind.
Gathering his thoughts, he began …

Julia James’s immediate thought was to tell Dale Crawford that she had been looking for him. However, she changed her mind, realizing that her thoughts were racing ahead of his. As such, she said: ‘Oh, hello, fancy meeting you here.’
Dale sat down, placed his coffee on the table. ‘I often come here,’ he said.
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Julia, adding, ‘there’s a lot of things I don’t know.’
Dale watched her sat at the table. He realized he could so easily fall for this woman. He had lived near her for years; at times Julia had helped him in the past, such as when his wife died. But it was only recently that he saw how appealing she could be.
He decided to go straight for the jugular. ‘So you’ve not been drinking today?’
Julia huffed. ‘I’m not an alcoholic, you know.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No, that’s alright.’
‘I just meant … you look a lot nicer when you’re … err … ‘
‘Sober?’
‘Something like that.’
Julia James then proceeded to cry.

Veronica Dean sat back in her chair. ‘So let me get this straight,’ she said. ‘You painted a picture that came true, and a ghost has begun appearing in your street.’
‘That’s right,’ said Peter.
‘And you want me to investigate.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And do YOU think you’re psychic?’
‘I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just the universe that’s moving round and round me. Can that happen?’
‘Of course it can.’
‘You mean you’ve come across incidences like this?’
‘Yes, and they’re well documented from around the world. Carl Jung called it synchronicity – a period when coincidences break out in a seemingly meaningful way.’
‘And that could be happening to me?’
‘I don’t know. But I’m interested enough to see.’

Or maybe it was the street that was experiencing synchronicity. Was it not destiny that brought Dale to that café at that particular time? Or was it merely chance?
Dale Crawford couldn’t have cared less which it was. All he knew was that Julia was crying, and he could do something about it. He reached out, touched her hand with his, and Julia’s hand seemed to curl around his, held it tight, as if taking energy. Finally, she sniffed back a last tear. Said: ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’
‘But I feel so stupid.’
‘You have reason to be upset.’
Julia looked into his eyes. ‘I couldn’t be upset for long with you.’
‘Your knight in shining armour, eh?’
‘Yes.’
‘Come on,’ said Dale, ‘let me take you home.’
Ten minutes later, he pulled up outside Julia James’s house, and as they stared into each other’s eyes, both knew destiny had been going round and round, but had now settled upon them. And together, they walked inside.

CHAPTER TEN

The sun had crossed the sky above the street and it had seen many adventures that day. But as afternoon turned to evening, and eventually to night, much more would be seen by the moon. But Old Man Hollis had no understanding of an all seeing sun and moon as he walked down the street, destination, the butcher’s shop. That old butcher was standing in his way, and it was time to step up the pressure.
‘My lads been in for any meat recently, Thadias,’ he said as he walked into an empty shop.
Thadias immediately knew what he meant – the meat was his own body. He looked around his empty shop. Was it stupid to blame young Bobby Crawford for his rumours about his pies, or was someone else making sure his trade declines.
Old Man Hollis continued: ‘Has ANYONE been in for meat?’ A malicious smile creased his craggy face.
Thadias said: ‘I’ll never sell. Not to you.’
‘That’s alright. I’ll wait until there’s nothing left to sell.’
‘That’ll never happen.’
‘But it will. And then I’ll take.’

A different kind of bully tripped up Bobby Crawford as he was walking home from school. His face hit the dirt.
‘Clumsy,’ said Moz, another malicious smile on a malicious face.
‘Yea, clumsy,’ said Jimmy, his own smile just stupid. But he wouldn’t realize that. He was doing Moz’s bidding, and that’s all that mattered.
The kicks began again, and with every kick Moz thought of his father, and the kicks he would eventually give him. But that was for years to come. For now, there was only feeling big outside.
Perhaps Bobby Crawford would understand this one day. Perhaps he would understand that it was nothing personal. But for that moment, all he could think of was Thadias Grimes and his pies. Boy, would that fat butcher suffer. Maybe Old Man Hollis had a father like Moz. And things continue to go round and round.

But only Peter Picasso understood this. He was alone in his bedsit, an empty canvas to his front, his paints to his left and right, and at that moment, he sat cross legged in deep meditation. He was sucking up the coincidence of the universe, and taking it into himself.
Would it work this time? Was the universe still attuned?
Eventually, he opened his eyes, and a manic stare seemed to emanate from them. He stood up, took a deep breath or two, and picked up his brush. And as the sweat began to break from his brow, he feverishly began to paint …

‘That was magic,’ said Dale Crawford as he lay back in Vernie James’s bed. He felt no guilt – why should he? What had Vernie James ever done to deserve compassion? And anyway, it had been love making as he had never known before. Julia was the first ‘older woman’ he had ever been with, and he was amazed at the little tricks she knew, the timing she had, the sheer capacity to please and be pleased.
She, too, was feeling good as she lay, her head resting on his bare chest. ‘I never want it to stop,’ she said, her voice almost dreamy.
‘Maybe it never will,’ said Dale, and they both understood the implications of the words. But as a sound echoed from downstairs, they knew that, for the moment, it must.
‘Oh my God,’ said Julia, ‘Vernie’s back.’
It was a typical instantaneous reaction. Bodies flew out of bed, clothes were hurriedly thrown on, tripping them up with their state of disrepair, and as Dale Crawford disappeared out the back window and down the drainpipe, he felt the full flush of youth and thought, I’ve never been so alive in my life.

There are times in life when you just get this feeling that something is about to change; something is in the wind; some form of destiny is approaching. And if more than one person feels like this – if a group of people feel like this – then it transfers from individual psychology to sociology. And the sense of change on the street was palpable.
Dale Crawford felt this, and so did Julia James. Thadias Grimes felt this, and so did Old Man Hollis and his sons, Wayne and Duane. And Peter Picasso felt this – perhaps more than any one else. And when such a realization hits us, we do what makes us feel best. And to most people that remains a trip to the pub for a drink.
Thadias Grimes felt a pessimism as he gulped from his pint of beer, which was not helped by Peter Picasso’s goading of Thadias and his pies. As for Dale Crawford, nothing seemed to depress his good mood; until Peter Picasso told him about Bobby and seeing a ghost. As for Old Man Hollis, he and his sons didn’t join in this banter. As always, they sat at a table in the corner, wanting to talk to no one and being talked to by no one. It was a status quo that seemed to satisfy all.
Certain people were, of course, missing from the pub. Julia James, for the first time in so long, sat at home without a drink. She was satisfied just reliving the day. Rachel Hollis had been round to Peter’s bedsit for a repeat performance, but was disappointed to receive no answer. Hence, she was alone in the big house. As for Vernie James, he was ‘out,’ as he always was. Just where was anyone’s guess. But of what order was the change to be?
Old Man Hollis was the first to leave the pub – to go for a walk, he later said – followed by Duane, who had ‘somewhere to go.’ As for Peter, Thadias and Dale, they all left at about the same time, and for some unknown reason, they all took some time to reach home as they went their different ways. Wayne Hollis was the last to leave the pub. He walked up the street, and one minute he was there and then, suddenly, he was gone.
Wayne was not to reach his home that night. Yet, apart from him, the last to reach home was Thadias. He was transfixed, staring at the shell of the burned out house - and Jack Thomas’s ghost wandering about within.

(c) Anthony North, November 2007

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