This is one that runs a lot – pretty much most days at some point (especially today) – popping into my head for a few seconds whilst I’m driving, washing up, walking on the beach. I wake up from the full version sometimes - late at night, early in the morning. Occasionally I wake up to it. It’s never far away. Sometimes I wish it was, and at other times I don’t.
If I had to compartmentalise it within a genre it would be a Film Noire. It runs in high contrast black and white - very dark, no colour. But then what else would it be? A friend's death is always dark.
I don’t feel completely comfortable writing about it, but I don’t want it to go unrecorded, and I’m really not sure that I want anyone else to read it; in which case why put it here? I think I have to. This is my place for being me, and this is as me as it gets.
As I've said before - it's all about me.
When it happened it was Dave that let me know, he phoned me. First call in a while and I’m glad it came from him, we always were a trio. Me, Dave and Ju-Ju - Julian Wood.
Anyway, here goes - Roll’em... I'm being sardonic, but it isn't funny.
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It is warm in the car, far too warm. The heating is right up - Norway can be a cold country.
He’s sitting in the driver’s seat looking out of the windscreen. He’s older, thinner, but he hasn’t changed that much – at least outwardly – he’s still Julian. The car is surrounded by tall pine trees. It’s getting dark.
He speaks first. “Oh you’re here again are you? Sorry I can’t offer you any vodka, I’ve drunk it all as always. How’ve you been - okay?”
“Yeah fine thanks…you?”
He shoots me a strange look, a kind of half-smile. His face looks crooked, ironic. That’s such a stupid response from me. He’s in a car full of exhaust fumes and he’s drunk the best part of a bottle of vodka – how would he be? Why do I always ask him how he is?
I know what he’s going to say next.
He says it.
“Remember playing darts at the Bells? How did we get away with it? And in our lunch break. We were only fifteen. Three-o-one, double to finish and half a pint of bitter - remember? Remember old Charlie?”
“Yes Ju-Ju, I remember. Who usually won?” I always ask that.
“Dave.” (One time he said ‘me’, but just that one time.)
“I thought I usually won.” I always say that.
“No, it was definitely Dave. Want some music?”
“Why not – what’ve you got?”
“You’ll know it when you hear it.”
He puts a CD in the player, the sound of violins rise above the purr of the engine and the Psychomodo kicks in.
I look around the car. Where’s the hosepipe? I can’t see it poking through any of the windows. How’s he rigged it this time… through the boot? He leaves nothing to chance. I look around the floor for pill bottles, most times there’s only one, occasionally a couple - no pills tonight though.
He’s singing at the top of his voice, spitting the words out, concentrating hard – ‘Mr Soft’. A few times it's been 'Judy Teen' but it’s usually ‘Mr Soft’. He loved that track.
“Don't you know; life gets tedious enough without this extra grudge to bear? You so slow, shift your ideas, make your mind up in a jiffy, let's be fair.” He growls on in his deep rough voice. He's no Steve Harley – “We'll be taking off tonight, turn off your eyes and shut the light, you're the most, you're so unreal, we'd all be dead without your spiel!” He’s flat as always - he never was much of a singer.
“Ooola!” I sing at the end of the line. I always do it, I can’t help myself, a habit really.
He turns towards me.
“You remember it then?”
“Yes I remember it.”
I know what comes next. He’ll say - ‘I’ve been living it.’
“I’ve been living it.” He says.
We sit in the silence of friends watching the pine cone laden branches wave in the breeze. It’s getting darker. We must be very deep in the trees. It’s totally silent. No traffic noise, no planes – just dark. Heavy silence and the comforting sound of the breeze. Nobody is going to find us here. He grips the steering wheel hard, his knuckles turn white with the effort.
“Why do you come?” Always that and I always give the same answer.
“I don’t have a choice. The film starts running in my head and I’m here again.”
“I always was your entertainment.” Always.
“You were my friend.”
“And your entertainment. Remember that party? The fancy dress party that wasn’t? I came dressed as Charlie Chaplin… I was the only one in fancy dress. Ha - ha – ha, thanks friend.”
“It was only a joke, we were young. You didn’t mind.”
“No, I didn’t mind. I never minded did I? Seen anything of Dave?” Sometimes he asks other questions but he’s been asking about Dave for a few weeks.
“A little. We talked about you.”
“Nice to be remembered.” Sometimes he says 'I'm surprised you remember me'. We remember him.
The film continues to run. We listen some more to Cockney Rebel like we used to when he wasn’t dead - and like I’ve listened so many times since - in the film in my head - but never in the real.
“Ju-Ju I need to ask you something.” Here it comes - the big question in a small word. It is such a hard word - so small, but so hard. I let it sigh out of my mouth. I'm not looking at him as I say it.
“Why?”
I look towards him. His chin is on his chest. It always is when I look towards him after asking the question. He’s asleep this time. I can hear him breathing. Sometimes, the really bad times, I can’t and then his skin is titanium white - as white as sea salt. I'm relieved. I prefer it when I can hear him breathing - not that it changes anything.
‘Bed in the Corner’ is playing softly on the CD player.
The film always plays out to ‘Bed in the Corner’. Then the light fades and the film ends.
“I love you Julian. I’m sorry. Rest now.”
I’m always a little too late.
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