End of the line

Howard Carrick stood over his kitchen counter dropping pills into his medication box. Pills to manage his arthritis, pills for his cholesterol, pills to manage the side effects of other pills. The sheer amount for a single week was baffling. When he dreamt about his retirement years his pictured feeding the ducks or going fishing with a pile of grandchildren, even if he had any he doubted they’d enjoy “sort grandad’s pills out” much. Connie, Howard’s wife swept into the kitchen, she flicked on the kettle and gave him a peck on his cheek.

“Two blue ones in the evenings, dear.” She reminded him.

Howard squinted at the 7pm row, realising she was right. She bent down and took two cups out of the side cupboard, an action that would have left Howard in agony. He had worked on building sites for most of his life, even though the last ten years or so had been office based his body had certainly paid for his life of labour. He wondered how many millions were left in the same condition he was, if not worse.

The kettle clicked off and Connie poured them both a cup of tea, a conspiratorial smile played across her face. Howard looked back at her; he was all to familiar with that smile. He knew it was a special day, but the brightness in her eyes told him she wasn’t mad, so it wasn’t their anniversary he’d forgotten. He decided to let her spill it.

“Go on,” he said.

“Happy birthday!” She exclaimed, “Can you believe it? 76.”

Howard rolled his eyes as Connie set down his tea along with a gluten free cupcake he secretly couldn’t stand. Stuck in the cake was a single lit candle.

“Make a wish, birthday boy!”

He stared at the white and pink candle, the flame wavered as Howard’s mind went to the one thing that he wished for every day. He wanted to speak to his son, Martin. He drew in a deep breath and doubled over coughing. He tried to contain it as Connie rushed over to him, letting out little supressed coughs into his sleeve whist waiving a hand at her. He breathed deep as the blood returned to his face.

“I’m…fine.”

Connie rubbed his back. He picked up the cupcake, held it up to his face and let out a short blast of air. The candle went out and Howard smiled at Connie. He could see the coughing fit had unsettled her, her smile hid concern.

“You fancy heading down to the café this morning?” She asked.

Howard’s eyes flickered over to the phone in the living room.

“Let’s stay in today love, we’ll go tomorrow?”

His suggestion earned him a deep sigh. Connie pulled out the chair next to him and sat down, snaking her slender fingers through his puffy, swollen ones.

“Don’t waste your birthday sat by the phone. He’ll only disappoint you.”

Her words brought up a lump in his throat. They hurt but he knew there was truth in them, still he already knew he wouldn’t be joining her. When he didn’t respond she withdrew her hands and left the kitchen.

“Connie please,” he implored, but she was already throwing her coat over her shoulders. He didn’t try to stop her, telling himself he’ll give it to midday and meet her at the coffee shop. It was his birthday after all, maybe his son would think to give his old dad a call. The door slammed shut and the handle was pulled sharply upward, leaving Howard alone with his pills and a dead silence. He got up, poured the rest of his tea down the sink and dropped the stale cupcake into the bin, making sure to cover it over with some other trash. Less than a minute and the silence was starting to make him anxious. Ever since Martin had left, he couldn’t stand silence. It allowed his mind to wander, always ending up at the same place, “You let your wife kick your son out, he doesn’t want to talk to you and it’s your fault.”

He stood up and winced at the sharp pain shooting down his left leg. After the pain subsided, he moved to the living room, flicking on the television.

He sat on the couch next to the avocado green phone, one of the few household items he had picked out himself. Connie hated it but the colour reminded him of the bathroom of the first house he’d bought. He tried to concentrate on the television but found his eyes being pulled over to the phone. He checked the time, 10:59. One more hour and he’d catch up with Connie.

The shrill ring of the phone caused Howard to jump in his seat, dragging him back to the present. Scrambling for the remote he muted the news. His heart was pounding, placing a hand on the phone he told himself it could be anyone, no need to get excited over some cold call. He picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

Nothing but silence, his heart sank. Most likely an automated marketing call, they don’t even bother using real people anymore. Ridiculous of him to get into this state. If Martin was too busy that’s all there was to it.

“Dad?”

“Martin? Is that you?” He asked.

“Dad it’s me Martin. Happy birthday!”

Howard opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat, he could feel hot tears forming in the corners of his eyes. His son had called him on his birthday.

“Hello son, so great to hear from you. I take it you’ve been so busy at work, thank you for calling.”

“Yeah Dad, it’s all hectic here we’ve just wrapped up principal photography. How long has it been?”

“Almost a year. Principle photography, eh? Soon your name will be on the big screen.”

“Yeah, that’s the plan. Listen, sorry I’ve been out of touch so long. It’s just with work being so demanding…”

“Don’t worry about that son,” Howard said, surprised. He had maybe heard Martin say sorry once in his life, this time it sounded sincere.

“It sounds like all the hours you put in is paying off. Remember our movie nights when your mother went to the bingo? She’d have hit the roof if she ever found out I let you watch Taxi driver.”

“Yes, Taxi driver 1976, written by Paul Schrader.” Martin said.

“You know I think your right son, 1976 what a time for cinema. You adored those movies; and now you’re making them!”

There was a pause from the other end of the line. Howard anticipated a hasty goodbye before Martin was called away.

“Indeed, being a part of moviemaking is so rewarding. If it hadn’t been for us watching films together who knows where I might have ended up.”

This time Howard paused. He was beginning to worry, Martin didn’t sound like himself. Could he be using again? Howard had known ever since his school years Martin had dabbled in drugs. He was a highly creative lad and so intelligent. Experimenting was just something kids like that did, he wasn’t shooting heroin or something daft. Connie could never understand the difference. Howard had tried to keep the peace in the house but when Connie had accidently opened one of Martin’s parcels and found mystery pills, she had insisted he move out. He had pleaded with her to let him stay.

“How’s London? finding the time to eat well? I know your schedule must be hectic.”

“It is but please don’t worry about me dad. I always find the time.

There are so many options down here, I’m spoilt for choice.”

Howard’s fear lessened slightly. Bearing the stress of a movie production he wouldn’t be surprised if they were handing out pep pills like candy, all the big players do it, he rationalised. Hell, half the blokes on his building site took painkillers, and the amount his own doctor had him on was absurd. Martin was smart, if he was eating well, he’d be alright.

“I do worry about you son, so does your mum. She’s ok, just popped out for a bit.”

“How is mum? Is she still working at the florist’s?”

“Oh no son, she retired years ago. Don’t you remember, just before all that bother at school?”

Howard bit his lip. Martin moving out had hurt him deeply, he shouldn’t spoil this rare chance to talk with him by dragging all that up.

“Oh yes gotcha, she retired. I love you two so much.”

Howard’s heart swelled. He pulled away from the phone for a moment, stifling an escaping sob. He cleared his throat and picked the receiver back up.

“I love you too son. It’s so great it to hear you say that. I didn’t think you’d call. Me and your mother, you know sometimes we wondered if you hated us. I know you don’t, I just worry with you down there in London alone. Being such a quiet lad sometimes it’s just hard to know what you’re thinking. I always wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. When you moved out, I was devastated.”

Howard closed his eyes, he didn’t know where that sudden outpouring of words had come from, but he felt lighter for it. Tension he’d been carrying for years unwound itself from his bones. His son did love him. He looked up, sat on the mantlepiece was a picture of Howard and Martin. Connie had snapped it on Martin’s tenth birthday, they had been to the cinema and for some McDonalds afterward.

“Anyway, let’s not dwell on all that ugliness. Remember your tenth birthday? We saw Spiderman. Still got that old picture on the mantel piece.”

“Of course I do. We saw Spiderman at the costume party.”

The tension he’d let go of retightened its grip. Costume party? Howard thought to himself. Martin always went to the cinema, that’s all he’d ever wanted to do.

“Martin, I think you mean the cinema. Remember we spoke about New York and how you’d like to live there?”

“That’s right I remember now. It was a cinema trip.”

“Martin, you’d tell me if anything were wrong, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course, I understand you worry about me. That’s valid.”

Howard picked up the phone and paced the room. He needed fresh air, but the phone’s cord stopped half a metre away from the window.

“Who are you?” He demanded.

“I’m Martin, your son.” Came the chirpy reply.

Howard’s heart sped up, he wondered if he should take the propranolol. Turning around a sudden wave of dizziness hit him, he stumbled back managing to grab the mantle piece before he fell. He stood like that for a minute, focusing on the picture instead of the spinning room. In it he stood, with a full head of hair, beaming at the camera with an arm around Martin. Martin looked sullen, pulling away from his embrace.

Howard suddenly felt very stupid. This voice one the other end of the line couldn’t be his son. Martin’s coldness had always been felt by the family, Connie had worried about it, had tried to tell him how she felt, but he simply hadn’t seen it.

“Such an intelligent lad,” he remembered saying. “Our idle chatter probably bores the pants off him.”

Howard let go of the mantel piece and picked up the picture. At the other end of the line an A.I with his son’s voice awaited a response.

“You know you really hurt your mother when she opened that package. That you would risk giving our address to drug dealers.”

“I understand, that’s a perfectly reasonable reason to feel that way and I’m sorry I did that to you both.”

Howard’s head throbbed; he had taken pride in being able to restrain himself even during the worst arguments between Martin and Connie. He feared to even open his mouth; a lifetime of anger was swelling at the back of his throat. He gripped the phone tight wanting to hurl it against the wall. Instead, he spoke into the receiver.

“Why did you bother with this? Outsourcing me to some talking computer programme. Is that how little you think of me? I gave you everything I had. I destroyed my health so you could follow your dreams.”

“That’s totally fair and your feelings about this are completely natural. Let’s focus on the positive memories.”

Howard sat down on the couch feeling like he’d just done a double shift. He stared at the photograph. The tightness in Martin’s shoulders and the solemn expression on his face now glaringly obvious to him.

“I don’t know what I did wrong. Or why you can’t talk to me. Maybe your embarrassed by me. Maybe you don’t think any more of me that this A.I voice does. You know what’s sad? Even whilst it’s spitting out its jargon, it’s still makes me happy to hear your voice.”

“I’m sorry Dad, I didn’t quite catch th–

Howard put the phone down. Checking his watch, it was almost time for his midday pills. He got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen, it wasn’t till he was searching for a glass did he realise he still had the photograph in his hand. He slid open the bottom draw, inside were a few envelopes and some batteries. He put the picture inside and slid it shut.

He took all four pills on one go with the glass of water; they went down easier than usual which he was grateful for. Deciding he’d already wasted too much of the day talking to a computer he walked to the front door and put on his coat and hat. By now he suspected Connie would be halfway through her walk, if he hurried, he’d beat her to the coffee shop. Imagine the look on her face when she stepped in to see him already there, with a flat white and a slice of lemon drizzle cake waiting for her.