Banks is sitting on his bench, tucked away behind the bushes, in the gloom of the alcove. When I arrive he shuts his eyes then opens them again and sighs. I’m in no mood to care. Next to him on the bench is a bottle of clear liquid, which I snatch, open, and pour into my mouth. It has a strong, fiery taste and I choke, spitting some of it back onto the concrete.
‘Watch it,’ Banks says and takes it from me. ‘That’s proper stuff – expensive!’
He swigs from it himself and then lets me take it back. I take a long, defiant swallow while he makes a roll-up and we sit in silence with the smoke flowing out into the frozen air. The alcohol hits my stomach and Banks relaxes, head tipped over the back of the bench. I ask him a question I’ve wanted to ask for ages. ‘Banks,’ I say, ‘how did you lose your wife and baby?’
He doesn’t move, not even an eyelash, but I know he’s heard me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked, but the Shrink Woman once told me that running away from things causes more problems than it solves. That looking at something right in the eye without flinching often shows it’s not as bad as we first thought. Suddenly, though, that seems stupid. How could losing a wife and baby get any better for being looked at?
‘I shouldn’a married,’ Banks says. His hand is covering his face and his voice is muffled. ‘I was never very good at anything that matters.’
‘Did you walk out?’
‘She threw me out.’
‘Why? I wouldn’t have.’
‘Yeah you would. So would I.’
‘Were you drinking?’
‘Yeah I was drinking, and… other things. I was no good.’
‘When did you have your first drink?’ I ask him, and he laughs wearily.
‘That’s a daft question. When did you? It’s not like that. When you start, it’s not drinking is it. It’s just having a beer, or a whisky – or another chocolate biscuit! Too much of anything can kill you.’
I have the bottle in my hand again and this time it tastes okay. It seems a silly question indeed and I start to laugh. I lean against Banks’ coat and sigh. ‘Tell me a story about you and your wife,’ I demand. ‘About your baby.’
For a moment he doesn’t say anything, but then he relaxes. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘When I was about twenty, Daniel came along. Danny, we called him. His mum and me, we lived together. I had a job and everything, like a real bloke, y’know?’
I shut my eyes. It’s warm and cosy here. Banks pauses and I can hear him rolling another cigarette, then he coughs and goes on.
‘One day we came here. S’why I came back after, ’cos I remembered. Anyway, there was this little funfair thing set up – stalls and stuff. We parked the pram by the hoopla and had a few goes, then we went to the next one, and the next. Didn’t win anything, course, but it was a laugh. Then… there was this little kid with a big ice cream… and we looked at him, and then we looked at each other, and guess what? We didn’t have Danny. We’d forgotten him. The pram wasn’t with us. We’d left him somewhere!’
He takes a drag from the roll-up, which flares against the grey light like a beacon, and then goes on. ‘Man, we went mad. My heart was bombing an’ I was thinking over and over What-if-he’s-gone, you know? We’d have to tell the police we forgot him.’
Banks is quiet for a long time, so I have to ask: ‘What happened? Was he gone? Is that why you’re not still with them?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘No. He was still there by the hoopla where we started. Parked up, quite happy. We just wheeled him off home. We never told him – not even later. Guess we were ashamed.’
He sucks the last gasp from the roll-up and flips the tiny scrag of paper away.
‘I remember one time,’ I tell him. ‘I found a watch lying on the grass in Hyde Park when we went to London. I imagined someone looking for it – retracing their steps, searching the ground where they’d walked, where they’d sat – but they wouldn’t find it, would they? Not even if they looked all day and night for a week. I’d found it completely by accident without even looking, but couldn’t tell them I had it. Life is crap sometimes.’
Banks laughs. ‘How is that the same thing?’ he asks. ‘Losing a baby isn’t like losing a watch!’
I don’t know what to say. I think it’s just that life is unfair. That the more you want something, the less likely it is to happen. If there are gods, I think they like messing with us. Banks is still looking at me, waiting for me to explain, but I give up.
‘Why d’you keep coming here?’ he asks me. ‘Drinking my booze, hanging around.’
I can’t answer that either. Not really. ‘I don’t have to,’ I say. ‘If you’d rather I didn’t.’
He fixes me with a long stare, until something creeps in and softens the look. He hangs his head. ‘Course not,’ he says. ‘I only wondered.’
‘I worry about you,’ I say. ‘I came along a couple of times, but no one was here. Not even the old man. I went up the top and sat on that bench. I wondered where you were.’
‘Don’t do that,’ he says. ‘Not on your own.’
‘Because of Alec? You do know, don’t you?’ I say. ‘What would you do if I did come and he went for me, Banks? Would you do something then?’
There’s a long pause. Neither of us moves. Above the bushes, the air darkens as I watch.
‘Just don’t come,’ he says at last. ‘Better that way.’
I see something. Finally, I see. Sometimes it’s just not that easy for people to choose. Sometimes it’s got nothing to do with who you love best.
At last we see the sun start its slide down the sky and then it’s dark. The temperature has dropped so that I’m shivering and I wonder again how Banks can stand it.
‘I should go,’ I say. ‘Sorry if I said things I shouldn’t.’
In the almost dark, I turn my head to find him looking at me. Everything is spinning slightly.
‘It’s cold,’ Banks says. ‘Let’s go into the house.’