PERRY, YOUNG
AND OLD
Perry was
deeply touched by his breakfast. He had laid it out the night before. He did
this every night – and every morning he thanked his past self, who had been so
kind.
He sat at
his kitchen table relishing the food, perfectly cooked in the elaborate timers
that had cost so much. Occasionally he stopped, thinking how his past self had
bustled around last night, working so hard for his pleasure. ‘Thank you, Old
Perry,’ he said.
Perry
checked his watch. He kept it half an hour fast, mistrusting himself to be on
time. This also was a matter of past and future selves, he saw, as with the
breakfast. Recently he had named his past self Old Perry – who was kind and
thoughtful and knew that Perry was inclined to be late.
‘Yes,’
thought Perry, with a sad smile. ‘I’m a dizzy trollop.’
It was time
for the shop. He crossed the chintzy streets with their stuccoed houses,
self-conscious boutiques and cafes, swift on his little strides, and was
actually inside his shop, turning the sign to Open, when he remembered the
cash.
‘Damn.’ He’d
been short of cash ever since he’d bought that mirror. ‘Damn.’ He'd always kept
most of his cash at home, to control his spending, but Old Perry had imposed
further restraints.
He hurried
back through the elegant streets. His house was a silly little Regency thing,
painted pink and absurdly narrow, its rooms piled atop each other on three
floors. It had once seemed amusing. ‘Built for a Duke’s doxie, no doubt,’ he
would tell his friends with a laugh, back when he had friends. Nowadays, Perry
only had Old Perry and Young Perry.
He opened
the front door, which was cheap and thin and led direct into the tiny lounge.
Wheezing and hot, he climbed the narrow staircase to the upstairs kitchen. He
opened the kitchen drawer. The bottom of the drawer was lined wth newspaper. He
lifted this newspaper and took out an envelope. Inside was a note with the
combination to the safe, written in Old Perry’s square bossy hand. ‘A fusspot,’
said Perry irritably as he put on his spectacles, which hung around his neck on
a red ribbon. ‘So strict.’ Now he was flustered: without Old Perry’s
foolishness, he would already be hurrying back to the shop. What if some big collector
should call?
He muttered
and shook his head. He never hid this rebellious streak. It showed that he was
emotional, and that Old Perry was right to restrain him.
Upstairs
again to his tiny bedroom, where he lowered himself to the carpet and slid under
the bed. It was very uncomfortable: one hand holding the note, the other
turning the combination lock, sneezing in the dust and dark – and he was rather
stout. He'd kept the safe in his bedroom for years, but Old Perry had pushed it
deep under the bed and had set a combination that was impossible to remember,
and had put the combination in an envelope under the paper in the kitchen
drawer.
‘More
rules,’ thought Perry, irritably. ‘I’ll be very late.’ But then he corrected
himself: it was for his own good, because he was so impulsive, as the mirror
had shown. So expensive, but how it had called to him!
At last the
safe was open. And what a surprise! Two chocolates, Belgian, wrapped in gilt
paper, sat on the pack of banknotes. He smiled with pleasure and then grew
quiet, thinking of Old Perry who loved chocolate but had left him this treat.
Old Perry
was severe but kind. His lips were thin and did not smile. He sat up straight
and pushed his spectacles hard against his face with a thick straight finger, especially
when he thought of Perry, who was unreliable.
Perry
squirmed out from under the bed, dusty and hot. He brushed himself down and
felt guilty; thick rolls of dust lay on the white carpet. But he was late and
his future self would have to do the vacuuming.
He put the
combination into the envelope and slid the envelope back under the newspaper in
the kitchen drawer, his lips drawn thin and censorious, thinking of Young
Perry, his future self, who was charming but untrustworthy. He didn’t have a
clear picture of Young Perry, but certainly he wasn’t built for housework,
unless it involved design, perhaps, or light work with a feather duster.
Perry laid
the chocolates on the kitchen table. He washed his hands with his head on one
side, smiling and thinking of Old Perry who had left him the chocolates and of
Young Perry who would come home and see them with delight.
He hurried
to the shop. He was too late to do the paperwork. He’d have to do it at
lunchtime, which meant there was no time for shopping. This was Old Perry's
fault, whose rules were becoming impossible. Perry was angry for a moment, but
then he thought, ‘Old Perry knows best.’
When he came
home he went into the bedroom to change. He stopped in shock. Rolls of dust,
thick dust from under the bed, lay on the white carpet. Old Perry had left
this. ‘Unfair,’ thought Perry. ‘Unkind.’
He stepped
around the dust and changed into his dressing-gown and slippers. Shaking his
head he went into the kitchen and saw the chocolates on the table. He was
grateful for a moment that Old Perry had left him this treat, but then he said
aloud, ‘I’d rather have a clean bedroom, thank you very much.’
He thought
of Old Perry who had left the dust and of Young Perry who was too dizzy to clean
it up. He unwrapped a chocolate. He found that now he had a clearer picture of
Young Perry, who certainly loved chocolate. He loved chocolate and ice cream
and cake, which was bad for all of them, and he laughed often. His skin was
pink and his flesh soft. He was too vain for the glasses, and left them slung
on their ribbon around his neck, so that he blinked vaguely and was clumsy and
absent-minded, which was either endearing or, when you thought about it,
perhaps not.
Perry put
the chocolate into his mouth. He was defiant at this selfishness. He remembered
Young Perry but thought, ‘You can’t leave chocolate forever.’
It was time
to prepare the breakfast for morning. He looked in the fridge. Odd: there was
no bacon and no sausages. He frowned. Old Perry hadn’t been to the butcher’s:
he also hadn’t done the paperwork or the vacuuming, all because of his own
stupid rules about the cash and the envelope and the password and the safe.
Perry saw
Old Perry: the shop was closed for lunch, yet he was idling in the back room,
self-righteous, with pursed lips and firm spectacles, sitting up straight to
hide his fat belly but who did he think he was fooling?
Perry
slammed the fridge door. He sat restlessly in front of the TV. Once he got up
and went back to the fridge. Definitely no breakfast stuff. He thought of Young
Perry coming to the kitchen table next morning. Then he was irritated, because
Young Perry would accuse him.
Perry
changed to his dressing gown and went to the bedroom, stepping over the rolls
of dust. He stared at the alarm clock. Old Perry had moved it across the room
to the sideboard, where it couldn’t be reached from the bed. He had stood it on
a tin tray to make it louder, and had taped a sign on the wall over the bed.
‘Get Up You Fool’, it said.
Perry tore
down the sign and put the clock on his bedside table.
He was late
getting up. He had turned off the alarm and rolled over and dozed, so that he
was sleepy and bad-tempered when he came to the kitchen table. He already knew
that something was wrong. No appetizing smells filled the flat. No sound of
sizzling, no waft of warm air. He stared at the cold containers. And the kettle
was empty.
‘Cruel,’ he
thought as he hurred downstairs. ‘Unkind.’
Again he was
late opening the shop, so again he couldn’t do the paperwork. At lunchtime he
closed the shop but did no shopping and no paperwork. He sat in the back room
with his arms folded, the glasses pushed hard against his face, thinking that
he was defied but that he would defy people in return, especially Young Perry,
who was useless.
In the
evening he watched TV and didn’t even consider making breakfast.
Next morning
the alarm rang and Perry rolled over and slept. Even so, he noticed the funny
smell. It was very faint. Presumably it was breakfast. As he dozed he thought
about one of those foreign sausages, or a smoky French cheese, or perhaps a
funny smoky kind of tea. He slept and woke and slept again. At last he got up
in a panic.
He rushed to
the bathroom and washed quickly. He’d be very late, and perhaps a rich
collector had driven down from London and was waiting outside the shop in his car,
the engine running, and would go away angry and tell his rich friends that
Perry was unreliable.
‘I’ll just
have time for a bite of breakfast,’ thought Perry. ‘Just a bite while I put my
shoes on. A mouthful of bacon perhaps, with a bit of bread that I’ll dip in the
grease. Not the sausage, though, which smells burnt.’
He hurried
to the kitchen, but there was no food. His plate was laid as usual in front of
his favourite chair. On the plate was the envelope from the kitchen drawer and
inside the envelope was crushed ash, which most certainly was the combination
to the safe.
Perry stared
at the table, and saw himself as Old Perry preparing this surprise, and as
Young Perry, who would flap his hands with dismay.
‘Enough,’ he
thought.
He breathed
and counted, breathed and counted, because this was marvellous against stress.
He would be
sensible. He would run the shop properly. He would think about advertising, and
sell the things that normal people bought. Above all he would forget about Old
Perry and Young Perry.
He put on
his coat. He hurried to the stairs and saw the wire too late.
As he fell
he saw himself tripping over the wire, and also saw himself as Old Perry tying
it across the stairs. He did not see himself as Young Perry, because there
would be no Young Perry.
///ENDS///….