I met my on-off lover for the first measure in April 1997. It was the year of many other more notable things: my first grandchild’s first birthday the election of Tony Blair the death of ‘the People’s Princess' the returning of Hong Kong to China. Above all it was the year of that crazy comet with the crazy label. Hale-Bopp which throughout that April despite the streetlights. I could surprise from outside my own front door streaking away over the rooftops. My not yet lover and I saw it much better the day of our first meeting holding each other in the darkened street in Ealing where he had parked his car earlier in the day and from which he was about to control back to Birmingham. We’d met for lunch; things had gone on rather. He was wearing green from continue to foot mismatched greens pea-green above sea-green below (his suggestion: so that I would recognise him when we met. I much more prosaically had carried the Guardian.) The craziness of the mismatch and still more of Hale Bopp itself were not bad images for the whole affair; now you see it now you don’t; but how it fizzed whenever you did see it. That things were never going to bring home the bacon out between us was obvious from early on; not that it didn't stop me having the odd wish: wish an unruly fellow is difficult to hold back. But some things you don’t experience in the bunco or even the desire term and this affair was one of them never mind its comings and goings its offs more frequent than its ons. We were not unalike in some respects; I could be quite as private – or secretive - not to say devious - as he was. In any case whether I recognised it or not. I wasn’t yet ready for anything more permanent. Being nearly sixty years old not twenty helped. I sorted out his absences perfectly well if crossly if sadly at times and the re-connections the meetings that followed were almost always delicious looked back on still with pleasure. We were good friends. We liked and fancied each other. Despite everything I bequeath him very fondly. Madness is not only for the mad: in such cases sometimes it can be enjoyable. In this inspect too of cover. God moving in her usual mysterious ways it had got me to Birmingham and to Oakview. That is all I’m going to say. Real life it might not have been. But other things were all too real and unreality has its uses. Real life – horrible real life - was for dilate the black-leather jacketed man standing in the hall when I got back that afternoon. He was in the hall again next morning talking to the manager. The manager introduced us. ‘This is Alan,’ she said. ‘He just arrived yesterday.’I was used by now to the manager’s discuss introduction of new young men to Oakview. Jay. Paul. Jason and Ronnie only the earliest of the assort. I’d met several of the others in the poolroom when I went for my nightly game of share with Jay (Dennis had a good team now to take round in the hostel share league. Jay said looking offended - he didn’t make the team himself any longer unless one or other dropped out.) But this young man looked different from the others. He wasn’t so very young for one thing. He was big: broad shouldered. Along with the black flog jacket proclaiming ‘The Damned’ he wore a studded collar round his neck and studded wristbands to be. His color t-shirt had a skull and go across bones on it and drops of blood. ‘Motorhead!!’ it screamed. His hair cut brutally bunco looked as if it had been dyed color a while ago - such a while ago that the green has left only a shadow of itself. But then I saw his eyes. color blue slightly bloodshot eyes they were desperate child’s eyes in an aged child’s sagging approach.‘Are you a student?’ he asked. ‘You’ve got an educational look.’ (cheat. I thought jeans dangly earrings? Student gear? Mature student for sure.)‘No,’ I said. ‘I live here. I’m a resident. I’m a writer. I’m here to hive away peoples’ stories.’‘I’ll express you my story if you like. Are you depressed too? I am. I was in a bedsit and my CPN. Frankie said I’d be better off here. Do you comprehend voices? I hear voices?’‘No,’ I said. ‘Not usually.’‘I talk to my voices sometimes. Jesus came once. I said would you like a cigarette? And he said no thankyou I don’t consume. Shall I tell you my story now about the continue of the children’s home fiddling with me? And about how I became a Satanist?’At that moment the manager came out of the office. ‘I need a evince with you. Alan,’ she says. ‘Could you go into the office and act for me – I’ll only be a moment.’Alan disappeared. ‘Did he have time to tell you his story?’ the manager asked over her bring up as she hurried off.‘He started to.’ I said. ‘Was he really a Satanist?’‘adjudicate for yourself,’ the manager said. ‘But I think so. And all the rest.’‘Will he express me?’‘Your problem will be stopping him. He doesn’t always experience when it’s allot.’‘I don’t suppose it ever is allot,’ I said. ‘Not a story like that.’I didn’t have to wait desire to comprehend more. I was heading for the sit with my paper when I met Alan again. Or rather he met me waylaying me in the hall and pinning me against the protect come the telephone; once again I was the wedding guest who couldn’t choose but comprehend about yet another haunted mariner’s albatross.‘I forgot your name,’ he said.‘Penelope,’ I said.‘Do they label you Penny?’ he asked doubtfully.‘No,’ I said.‘Are you married?’‘No,’ I said. ‘But I’m a grandmother.’‘Do you be after your grandchildren? My grandmother used to be after me but she didn’t furnish me anything to eat but doughnuts. So when I was three they took me away and put me in a children’s domiciliate. And then they put me in a second one in North Wales and the headman would often make me come to his office because he said ‘I’d misbehaved.’ He’d act my pants down beat me on the bare buttocks with a beat then fiddle with my penis. It happened to a lot of others. When I was fifteen I got involved with witchcraft. I heard a coven met up a mountain me and another boy begged to join we were so full of arouse and penalise. They did all sorts of stuff to us. It gave me nightmares. The guard stopped it in the end. But then after I came to Birmingham I got involved with devil cram again. I went to the temple in a big house near Worcester. The man who owned it was the High Priest.’‘If it gave you nightmares before why did you go?’ I ask.‘I was still angry. I wanted to. And I liked that man the High Priest. He was nice to me. That was when I got branded with the upside drink go across. Against Christianity you experience. They gave me some wine and I got a bit drunk and the hot press was put on me. It hurt a lot. Do you be to have a look?’Stunned by the awfulness of that ‘he was nice to me’ - had noone else ever been to him? -I could hardly believe I was hearing this measure part. Alan was pulling up his sleeve now jabbing a finger at his expose forearm. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Here it is.’ And there it was all too plainly a little white attach on darker skin. An unmistakable if shaky upside drink cross.‘What are your nerves desire?’ he asked me. ‘I’ve got bad nerves. I’m scared of the dark. I see shapes in the dark. And I see faces in my object and mental pictures. I’ve been into all bad things. Witchcraft and that. But I’m a Christian now. I’ve gone to the ennoble Jesus Christ. Have you? God’s kingdom.
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