Sunday evening. Kid eating a bowl of spaghetti upstairs in Ulysses’ room.
Does this mean I’m yours now? said the kid.
No. We’re sort of borrowing each other, he said.
Kid thought about this.
Looking after one another, added Ulysses. Just for a time. Seeing if it works out. We can always come back, if you miss your mum.
I won’t miss her.
（Hard as nails, he thought.）
Or here?
I won’t miss anything.
Not even Ginny or Cress? he said.
They can visit. And Pete’s coming for Christmas.
Is he now? Ulysses laughing. It’ll be you and me for the time being. Think that’ll be enough?
More than enough, said kid.
The morning of departure was dull and cold and a small crowd had gathered outside the pub to wave farewell.
Ulysses, dressed in his demob suit, placed the bundles of his dad’s copperplate etchings carefully in the boot. He threw the sleeping bags onto the back seat.
Col? You seen Cressy?
He probably couldn’t face you. Feels let down by you—
Aw Jesus, Col, give it a rest.
The last of the bags went in the van. Pete came out of the pub with Ulysses’ globe, which he placed in the boot.
Cheers, Pete.
I’m not good with goodbyes, Temps. Never have been – and he threw his arms about Ulysses and began to cry. He said, I’ll be there at Christmas, Temps, if I don’t get the Palladium gig.
Rosemary Clooney, I heard?
Yeah, big time. I need to hold me nerve on this one.
He’ll crap it as usual, said Col.
What’d you do with Claude? said Ulysses.
Don’t look at me, said Col.
Well I am looking at you. I wanted to say goodbye.
To a bleedin’ bird? said Col and he shook his head and said something indecent, and walked back into the pub.
Ulysses turned around and said Hey hey, here they are. Ginny and the kid running towards him. Peg clack clack clack behind them, chewing her lip.
He took the suitcase from Peg and loaded it in the van.
All set? she said.
Yeah.
You seen Cress? he said.
Isn’t he here?
Ulysses looked at his watch. We should get going.
Give him another minute, she said.
Thought you’d be gone by now, said Col, coming back out. I’ve got a delivery on its way. They’ll need the space.
Col?
What?
Stop.
What?
Stop. Shake my hand. Shake it, dammit.
Col shook.
Watch your back, mate, said Ulysses. And Col said, Thanks Temps, and he wanted to add something about friendship and distance, but the emotion and reflux got in the way, and the sound that escaped his nose was phlegmy and dreadful. He staggered back into the pub, clutching his stomach, a wordless, crumpled husk of ever-growing regret.
Ulysses looked about for Cress. He said, Peg, I gotta go. Tell Cress—
I’ll tell him.
They hugged. He whispered, We said everything? Course we have, she said.
I’ll look after her.
I know you will.
Peg’s fingers across his mouth. Ssh. No more now.
Come on, Ulysses! Kid tugging his jacket. Let’s go.
Go on, said Peg. Now or never, eh?
Bye, Ginny!
Bye, Uly!
The slam of car doors. The intake of breath and silence. Ulysses turned to the kid. Ready?
Ready, she said and gave him the thumbs up. He nodded and turned the key in the ignition. The engine caught straight away. Even the van couldn’t wait to get the fuck out.
He drove around the block, stretching time to its elastic limit, disbelief that the old fella hadn’t turned up to wish them well. Peg seemed unconcerned, said maybe he couldn’t face it, you know how he is. Peg would check on him later, but still. Ulysses passed the cherry tree again, the unadorned and silent witness to the comings and goings of that small corner of earth. In years to come, it would cower as the wrecking ball swung, would face its own demise as many a tree had done before, with grace and humility at the same old same old of human disregard.
Ulysses drove away from the pub, the rusty creak of the sign, coronation bunting already loose and falling like lace from a hem. He shifted up a gear, left the terrace where his mum and dad’s old place had been and headed towards the canal. A final look about for Cressy before they crossed the bridge and headed south.
There are moments in life, so monumental and still, that the memory can never be retrieved without a catch to the throat or an interruption to the beat of the heart. Can never be retrieved without the rumbling disquiet of how close that moment came to not having happened at all.
And when Cressy appeared in the rear-view mirror, that was one such moment for Ulysses. He stepped on the brake and flung open the door.