I Chase the Comet

It was a familiar noise, but John Everyman went to his second-floor window anyway. The back yard of the house next door. There was a dog, Jack Russel terrier, white and leggy, made of springs and enthusiasm but the owners were out for the day and it was locked in.

The dog was trying to jump the fence but was falling well short of the top. Chink. Well short. Hopeless. Chink. But kept at it. Chink. It had worn a hole in the grass. It kept going. Chink. He hated the sight, trying and trying at a hopeless task. But never giving up. Chink.

He pulled the curtains across. He turned the television on loud. It was a quiz show with a machine that dropped the winning counters. Then he got a flash. A connection. TV would give him what he wanted? The TV. Chink. He was just like the dog. He had been having this insight . Too much TV.

He reached for his remote control. But it was as if the media knew he was about to defect. Suddenly there was a newsflash, a street in Paris. A terrible blast. Killed and injured people in a debris field as if a small part of civilization had been shredded. Then a hazy video interposed, a dark-masked man, a black flag with white, liquid writing, flanked by others with readied Kalashnikovs. “We will bomb you again.” Chink.

The vision cut to a suited London politician. Sleek and persuasive. An exasperated hand though his greying hair. Words like “outrage” and “appalling waste”. “We will bomb them in return.” Chink. John Everyman, for the second time, had a connection. The hawk nosed man and the London politician. They were the same as the dog. Chink. They were trying at the same failing plan but sticking with it, Chink. He could see the man’s hawk-nosed face on that of the rearing dog, earnest, trying, leaping again for the top of the wire, the persistent fail, the stuck mind. The same tactic. Then the London politician’s face on the dog, rising. Chink.

He remembered his resolution to turn his television off. Too much TV. But suddenly he felt very tired. He leaned back, beginning a sprawl. The quiz show came back. Chink.

Suddenly another noise. Voices. He went to look. Two young girls were at the dog cage with a set of keys. He hung back a little. He did not want to be caught “looking at children.”

The older one, about fourteen, was fiddling at the padlock. She had long brown hair, a striped summer top on a thick body giving a sense of something strong about her. The other was younger, fair, lightly framed glasses, skinny. But they were sisters obviously. The hair, the shape of the face, and the noses, both longish. Different physiques.

The dog was bounding. A guttural bark. He jumped and whirled, then whirled and jumped at the same time, losing balance and crashing into the wire. He got up and cantered. The younger girl bent down to the fence wire, her fingers through to the animal. “Come on boy.” It gave her a ravenous licking then leapt against the gate. Chink. But with a different resonance. Impatience. Chink. “I can’t get it,” the older girl was saying of the lock. “I will ring Dad.” Out came the phone. Chink.

“I will have a go,” said the younger one, taking the keys. In quick moves she had it and the wire gate flew open.

The dog bounded against her. Off balance, she fell backwards with a shriek but half a laugh. The dog attacked her face for another wild licking while she was helpless to prevent it. “Yuck!” as it scampered to the other girl, “Err…” she revulsed again, “dog lick.”

“Come on boy,” said the older girl who had forgotten the phone and slipped a lead on its collar. Off they went. The younger one was lithe to her feet, gone. Suddenly all was quiet. An alarming silence. The cage gate swung a little as the phone in the man’s pocket vibrated.

A call.

“Is that you, John Everyman?” A woman’s voice. But not one he knew.

“Yes.”

“My name is Jane. I am your cousin. You remember your Auntie Mary, your mother’s sister? I am one of her children.”

“Yes, I do. Liverpool. I remember. Liverpool.”

“Well, your Auntie Mary recently passed away.”

“Oh, I am so sorry… I should have…”

“No… no… no problems there. We understand. The families have got out of touch. But I am in Manchester today. Can I come and see you?”

“See me…?” He had always liked Auntie Mary very much. But little contact. Now a tighten of fear. Was there a problem? The woman continued: “Before she died your Auntie Mary asked us to find out about her sister’s children, that’s Marion, your mother.” His mother had died a long time ago. His father did not like that side of the family. “It seems you are the only one left. I have some news for you which you might find helpful. I see there is a Café just around the corner from your place called “The Palace”. I suppose you know it?”

“Yes.” Of course. Rajid’s place.

“Can I meet you there? How about two o clock?”

He agreed.

He put away his phone. He turned off daytime television. It was easy. He picked up the remote control and levelled it with deadly accuracy. The infrared pulse took the TV’s life. All the things that had happened to him. The accident where he was hurt. The injuries that promised to heal but never did. The insurance company. The police about his driving. The poverty he had sunk into. And in that, no family to support him. But now a cousin. Someone was offering to help him. He went back to the window and looked out.

The cage was empty. The gate hung open.