PERRY, YOUNG AND OLD
Perry was deeply
moved 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 happy resignation. ‘I’m a dizzy trollop.’
It
was time for the shop. He crossed the chintzy streets, with their stuccoed
houses, self-conscious boutiques and ambivalent 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 been amusing, but – like so much else in his life –
now seemed foolish.
‘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
and pink rubber gloves.
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, very annoying.
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 tasty smells filled the flat. No sound of
sizzling, no waft of warm air. He stared at the cold containers. Even the
kettle was unfilled.
‘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 hurriedly. He’d be very late, and perhaps a rich collector had driven down from
‘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 table. The cooking pans were out on the table, 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
saw himself staring at the dining table, and himself as Old Perry preparing
this surprise, and himself as Young Perry, who would flap his hands with
dismay.
‘Enough,’
he thought.
He
did his breathing exercises, which were good against stress. He would be
sensible. He would run the shop properly. He would think about advertising, and
sell the kind of stuff that normal people bought. Above all he would put an end
to Old 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///….
