Through a screen, Christine, darkly

Stanley Whitmore: Good evening.

Kristina Taynychenko: hello, Mr. Whitmore. How are you doing this evening?

SW: Please forgive the lateness of these replies; I am not well equipped, as you might say, to type as quickly as the youngsters. I am very pleased to “virtually meet” you. This evening I am sitting at my computer, looking out onto my garden. My daughter thought it might be nice for me to have a more verdant view as I sit here, I suppose to give some kind of illusion that I am not simply sitting before a machine. I must say, it is rather working.

KT: Exactly, it is like you and I talking. Forget about the machine. Do not worry about lateness of replies, I will wait for them. You seem like real English gentleman. Please forgive ME for my English.

SW: Not at all, my dear. You mention your English, may I ask where you originate from? If I might be so bold to ask in this day and age. It seems that can be an offensive question these days, goodness knows why.

KT: young people so sensitive aren’t they! It is not like that where I am from in Ukraine. 

SW: Are you in Ukraine at the moment? Gosh, perhaps you will call me an ignorant old fool, but I was not even aware that one could use a computer in a war zone. Are you in danger my dear? Is that a silly question?

KT: Mr Whitmore you could not ask a silly question. Thank god no, I am not in Ukraine. I leave early in the war and I come to your country on special refugee scheme - I see from your profile you are in England. I am living in Brighton with kind family who took in Ukrainian refugee. But it is possible to have phone and computer in war zone, even when you are in danger. I still call my family who are in Ukraine. I speak to my brother just this morning.

SW: I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you. To be so far from them at an impossibly difficult time. 

KT: I cannot say how hard, Mr Whitmore.

LATER

SW: I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I mentioned to my daughter that we had been getting to know each other and she seemed rather sceptical that you might be the person you say you are. I assured her that you bore all the communicatory hallmarks of a young Ukrainian woman and that did she think me so foolish as to allow myself to be hoodwinked? But she was rather insistent. I should like to show her an image as proof of your identity. Would you mind everso sending me a photo?

KT: of course, Mr Whitmore. I am happy to. I send you plenty of photos for your daughter, please tell her not to worry.

KT: would you like special photo just for you Mr Whitmore? You know, type of photo you show only romantic friend.

SW: Dearest Kristina. I hope I have not misread the situation as I write this response to you. I had understood our exchange to be an opportunity to get to know each other. When I asked for your photos it was simply as a mechanism by which to prove your identity to my daughter. I certainly don’t for a second wish you to think I was asking for anything improper. I do not wish for us to begin what may become a “romance” (I use your word) on lewd terms. I hope you know that your “English gentleman” would not ask this of you. Perhaps, after we have had the chance to converse a little more, I might hope to come to Brighton and take you to dinner. I am not asking for “romantic” photos, but I don’t wish for you to feel at all rejected. It was perfectly romantic to see your face in the photographs you did send. I hope you do not mind me passing comment on them. You being Ukrainian, I had of course imagined that you were blonde, and the wideness of your eyes suggests to me a mesmerising naiveté. I was not expecting the lusciousness of your lips, which betray your womanliness. You are beautiful, my dear. Is that your bedroom in the background of the photos? In exchange for what you have shared, which I expect to fully put my daughter at ease, I also share an image of myself, enjoying an absolutely delectable pint from my recent trip to Didsbury Real Ale Festival. Oh, and please call me Stanley.

KT: Stanley thank you so much for your kind reply. I love to see this photo of you at the Real Ale Festival. You are looking so handsome with your beer. I am also hoping that one day we can meet, to have the real drinks.

KT: My turn to be sorry for the late reply. Things are not good in Ukraine at the moment. I am very worried for my family, that I will lose them. Especially my brother as they make him fight. Do you understand this feeling, Stanley? It is personal question, I know. Please only reply what you are happy.

SW: My reply shall be long, as you have asked me a question that I can’t but help give proper consideration. I am happy to share my story with you, Kristina, although I wonder how much you will really want to hear it. As well as growing fond of you I have come to trust you, and for this reason I lay my heart on my sleeve. Do I know what it feels like to fear losing my family to war? No, not this exact feeling. For my father the war was over before I was born. It was another force which held a fearful tyranny over my life. You must acknowledge, my dear, the fact that I am of an advanced age. I have lived not even one life before I began our correspondence, but two, three, five, perhaps even five hundred. I behold them in my mind’s eye as various gardens through which some kind of “I” has whiled away his time, and through which I can still wander. Occasionally the scent of clematis armandii or some such evocative flower will immerse me in that space, but there I do not live. What I mean to say is that I have an enjoyable relationship with the past, and I acknowledge it. If we are to progress in this romance, we must acknowledge it, without allowing it to lessen our enjoyment of the future. We must move on, and mustn’t be in any way envious of those who are no longer with us. That said, you asked me about loss and so I must talk about Rosemary. We had been married for thirty years when the cancer came for her the first time. Secondary stage breast cancer. It was a terrible shock, and I have to admit that I did not carry myself with dignity. I had prided myself on being a support for her throughout my life but I did not realise that I hadn’t considered, not even for a millisecond, the thought that she might die before me. I am older; I am unhealthier; I am statistically more likely to die at an earlier age. This assumption had crystallised somewhere in my subconscious and become a fact as blinding and nurturing as the brightest of sunlight. To confront the alternative had been impossible, but was now unavoidable. She had to comfort me through my distress. To admit this makes me ashamed and I entrust this uncomfortable truth to you, Kristina. After an awful series of treatments, Rosemary went into remission. We don’t say “recovered” for cancer, because once you have had it, the demon never goes away. I used to think that “remission” meant “cured”, but of course it is only re-mission: a sending back. Surely, after five years, back the cancer came. Rosemary endured another brutal series of treatments, and then it went. She got two more healthy years, before it came back, one final time. During those years, even those years in remission, one must live with the spectre of future loss. I am not the sort of fellow who can dismiss the demon, once it has made its visitation. It is not as immediate and present a fear as yours, my dear Kristina, but a fear nonetheless. I hope this missive has served to bring us together, rather than lessening me in your eyes.

SW: I have not heard from you for some time, Kristina. Perhaps my last message was too much for you to bear; I wish I had not sent it.

LATER

KT: I make much apology for not messaging you, my Stanley. Things have been very difficult. Your last message makes me cry, not from thinking less of you, but only thinking more. You are brave gentleman. 

SW: You should not afford me such generosity, Kristina, but to hear from you nourishes me. I trust you are well?

KT: I must tell you truth, Stanley, as you told me. I am not so good.

SW: What is it, my dear? Has something happened with your family?

KT: Yes my brother, he is due to be sent on mission. It is suicide mission. Not actually suicide, but so pointless it is suicide. In one week they send him into Russian territory. YOU MUST NOT TELL ANYONE. This is secrets of war.

SW: I won’t tell a soul. I only wish I could do something.

KT: There is nothing you can do my Stanley. Please don’t worry if you don’t hear from me, I am so busy trying to fix problem. I’ve got to get him out.

SW: Does he want to leave?

KT: Yes. He is good fighter and believe in the war until they make bad decisions about strategy. He feel like they throw away his life.

SW: Can you get him a ticket?

KT: It is complicated. We have to get him out first, and pay people who will get him out in secret. They ask for lot of money. 

KT: I don’t think I can do it. 

KT: I am crying all the time.

SW: How much money?

KT: ₴103,360, I don’t know how much in pounds

KT: £2000

SW: Please don’t cry. I can send you the money.

KT: No Stanley, I cannot ask for your help.

SW: You must let me help you.

LATER

KT: You are kind man. You have Paypal?

*************************************************

Dave Harker: Krissi I love your photos. I read your post. can’t believe Storm are messing you about like that.

Krissi XX: oh Dave, thank you!!!!!!!!!! It means so much you love my stuff xxxxxxxxxx

KX: you know what modelling agencies are like. I could have signed up ages ago, I just don’t want them to take the mick. I heard Kate Moss got a really bad deal when she started there cos she didn’t fight her corner.

DH: yeah you look like the fighting type, ha ha. do you have an OnlyFans?

KX: no babe but I do pms for special fans

DH: that’s me Krissi

KX: you serious about getting into the inner circle? it’s ££

DH: try me

KX: ok so Storm have asked for a shoot in the rain, only you need all this special make up and equipment. they don’t send a photographer you have to do it all yourself. I’m asking for my DeepFans, that’s my top tier, to send £500 to contribute. you get to see the shoot before anyone else and you get some personalised extra shots. I need £2500, slots are going quick tho.

DH: ok, I’m in. you know what I can just send all of it.

KX: all £2500?

DH: yea

KX: amazing!!!! Dave I absolutely love you. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

KX: do you have Paypal?

*******************************************************

John Weaver: Hello?

Christine Tayler: Hello, John. What can I do you for?

JW: Oh good, you’re still out there! From your profile it looked like you’d been offline for a while. I was hoping you hadn’t been snapped up by someone else.

CT: No no, still present and correct. You have fought your way to the front of the queue of people clamouring to get in touch with me. (Joke)

JW: So the app says I should send you a personalised message which shows I’m interested in getting to know you and I’m stumped. I do want to get to know you but I’m useless at these things. Can you tell me something about yourself?

CT: Well firstly I have to say that my profile is truthful. I’m undeniably middle-aged. So if you are one of those older men who seems to want to chase a kind of fantasy of flirting with some young thing online, you won’t find it here. I’m looking for someone more trustworthy.

JW: No! That’s not me Christine. I like to live in a little thing we call REALITY. Anyway it was you, specifically, I wanted to get in touch with.

CT: Well, why? Shall we start there?

JW: You mentioned on your profile about writing poetry. I like that. I have a very vivid imagination. People don’t expect it of me, as apparently I come across as “stuffy”, probably because I wear a lot of tweed.

CT: What happened to living in REALITY?

JW: Well I am a realist. That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the pleasures of the imagination. Would you be happy to share some of your poetry?

CT: Definitely - if we ever need the mood bringing down.

JW: Ah, do we have a Larkin on our hands?

CT: A Larkin?

JW: The poet, known for his quite bleak tone - very witty, though. Try ‘This be the Verse’. I think you’ll know the famous line. I sense you have a sharp edge.

JW: Which I like, I hasten to add.

JW: Do you have any children?

CT: Yes. What about you?

JW: No, none. How many children?

CT: One child. Do you have any other poetry recommendations?

JW: Your messages have taken on a very staccato tone. It seems I have brought the mood down even without the poetry. I’m sorry if I’ve spoken out of turn, about your child.

CT: It’s just that she’s not in my life any more.

JW: I’m truly sorry to hear that.

CT: She’s an addict. Not that you’d know it to look at her.

JW: Can you not see the signs?

CT: Well, obviously I saw the signs, because I lived with her. She’s been addicted to other things, over the years, where it’s been more obvious: alcohol, cocaine. She’s mostly on painkillers now, and from the outside she’s holding it together. She earns enough to pay her bills.

CT: You’re probably wondering why I don’t see her any more. Thing is, keeping that all together is incredibly hard work for her. Her whole existence is completely dedicated to the pills. Nothing matters more than keeping up that semblance of normality, so she can get more money, to get more pills. She’d do anything. It’s the same boring, desperately boring, story for any addict. Perhaps it sounds harsh to you.

JW: Nonsense. You sound like you speak with real insight.

CT: I came home from work and opened the door to the kind of stillness which only comes from absence. I didn’t even bother looking for a note, a message on my phone. I think maybe she just couldn’t stand me trying to help her. She’s out there but she hasn’t hit rock bottom yet. She doesn’t not want the stuff. There’s no space for me in her life, because if I’m there, and I know

CT: what I mean is

CT: it was all right when we acted like we didn’t know. She hoodwinked all the people in her life, and wanted to pretend I didn’t know it. Now she just wants to be a liar in peace. She’s completely disappeared, won’t answer my messages, isn’t with her friends. Even changed her bank account so I can’t send her money.

JW: I’m sure she knows where you are. She’ll reach out to you when she’s ready.

A FORTNIGHT LATER

JW: Hello, my 7pm friend. I thought you had plans this evening?

CT: Cancelled them. John, I just felt like I couldn’t miss our chat.

JW: I’m flattered of course, but we can always do another time. Perhaps even talk over the phone?

CT: It’s fine - better for me to stay in anyway. Our chats have made me feel so hopeful, John.

JW: Don’t tell me you’re having to give up the poetry? Quelle horreur!

CT: No, John, just the opposite of giving it all up. Talking to you has made me feel like I CAN do something again. Like I can help her. You said she’d come back to me when she was ready, and you were right.

JW: Has she been in touch?

CT: No no, not yet anyway. But one day she will be ready to talk, and I have to be ready to help her.

JW: How so?

CT: I’ve decided to save up a fund for her to go to rehab. When she needs it, she’ll need it straight away.

JW: Rehab Christine, that’s an enormous sum…

CT: I found one in Thailand for £10,000. I have to do it for her. And John, if this has meant anything to you, you’ll help me too. Can you help me?

CT: John?

JW: Just a moment, Christine. I had forgotten my PayPal login details. Gosh, with all these passwords sometimes I quite forget who I am.