Lament for Darley Dene

A Memory Shared

A Memory SharedThe moment Uncle Ben opened the door and let Henry in, he could see straight away how vulnerable his nephew was feeling. With head hanging down, the young boy shuffled along the hallway, a small, hunted animal surrendering to its fate. Mum and Dad hadn't told him why they had to go away, that much was obvious. And so typical. Too busy with their own lives to worry about their son. Ben caught sight of a concerned face pressed against the car passenger window at the kerbside and, as the vehicle sped off, he raised his hand limply. He was here, to save them from too much worry, to ease Henry's pain…and that was fairly typical too.

Ben helped Henry with his coat. No words broke the depressed atmosphere settling between them and Henry sat and watched the television whilst Ben prepared dinner. They'd asked him to do that too. A terse phone call, a splutter of garbled words. Ben grunted, accepting their pleas for help. There was no one else. Could he look after Henry, just for a few hours … please?

Later on, after the main course, Henry moved his spoon around the bowl without actually eating any of the dessert Uncle Ben placed in front of him. He appeared deep in thought. Uncle Ben, noticing his mood, sighed and looked meaningfully at his nephew. “Sorry I don't seem too talkative. I'm not really used to this,” he said.

Henry put down his spoon quietly and looked at his Uncle, the slight expression of pain still on his face. “It's not that.” He sat back in his chair. “What's happening, Uncle Ben? Why did Mum and Dad drop me off here, without a word? Has someone died?”

Uncle Ben blinked, coughed, shifted position in his chair. “How old are you again?”

“Twelve. What's that got to do with anything?” “Perceptive. For a twelve year old.”

“Per-what?”

“Perceptive, means you can guess things really well.”

“So, I am right, about someone dying?”

“Well, not quite, no.”

Uncle Ben stood up, gathering together the untouched bowl and spoon from in front of Henry. “Your Mum is very upset, Henry. So upset she didn't know what to say. Dad didn't know either. It's Grandpa Frank. He's not very well. Your Mum thought he was getting better, but that's not quite the case.”

He paused and for a moment struggled to find the right words. His voice sounded low and heavy when he continued. “We all thought he was getting better. He was in what the doctors call remission. But the chemo has destroyed his body's ability to defend itself and he's caught some sort of infection…” He shrugged his shoulders and went over to the sink with the dishes. “Your Mum didn't want you to see him the way he is right now. That's why you're here whilst your Mum and Dad go and…” His voice trailed away and he began to wash the dishes in the sink. “It'll only be for a few days.”

“But they could have told me that themselves, Uncle Ben. Why didn't they? What are they afraid of?”

Uncle Ben gave a little laugh. “Well, I suppose they were thinking of you, thinking you might be frightened… or upset. Which, I suppose you're going to be, Henry.”

Henry's face remained blank, his uncle's words filtering through. “Yes, I like Grandpa Frank. I haven't seen much of him lately and now I know why, but…” Henry moved his finger around a little spot of custard that had dribbled down from his bowl, “You see, the thing is, Mum and Dad, they're always like that. Always worried, or scared about what I'll see, or do. They never, ever let me do anything by myself. All my other mates get to go to the city, go down to the skateboard park, stuff like that. Not me. And now this. It's just not…God, I wish I was older. Fifteen or – or eighteen.”

Uncle Ben came back to the table and sat down. He poured Henry a glass of juice and slid it across the table. “Yes, I know. Amazing as it may sound, I used to be twelve once – many years ago.”

“I bet your mum let you out to play, didn't she.”

Uncle Ben shrugged again. “At first.” Ben frowned, “Is that what's really troubling you, that your Mum doesn't trust you enough to let you go out on your own? Your Mum's just afraid, Henry, afraid of lots of things. And this business with her own dad, well it's sort of made you even more precious to her. So that's probably why she's over-protective right now.”

“But she always is. When you were twelve, your mum let you out, you said?”

“It's not so simple – the world was different then. Safer. Not so many cars.” He smiled at the memory. “But yes, she did let me out on my own. I'd always be in the street, kicking a ball, or playing hide and seek. Lots of bike rides and going on adventures. Getting up to all sorts, but all of it innocent enough. But then – well, like I said, at first she let me do those things, then it all got very scary.” He stood up and busied himself with making a cup of coffee, sensing Henry's eyes boring into his back. Struggling to keep the emotion at bay, he cleared his throat noisily and pressed the back of his hand into his eye, hoping against hope his nephew hadn't noticed.

“So, what happened back then, Uncle Ben? What was it that was so scary?”

Ben held onto the edge of the sink and took a deep breath. Henry was more of a terrier than he'd bargained for. He turned to look at him. Was this the right course to follow, he wondered to himself. Revealing things from the past was always fraught with danger and open to misunderstandings. The world was changing with frightening speed and young people … Well, they wanted everything now. Instant. A peek into the past might not solve anything at all, might even make things worse. But then, as Ben studied his nephew, he saw the pain, the confusion and he reached a decision. If he could teach Henry a little about how to come to terms with life, the way it can change, the way loss somehow makes you feel stronger, more equipped to face life's challenges, then it might just do some good.

He took another deep, ragged breath. This was going to be an emotional journey, raking up long forgotten events. But if it really could help… “Okay,” said Uncle Ben emphatically, “I think you could do with a good story. It's long, but it's true. And it's all about being twelve, because when I was twelve something happened to me that was to change my life forever. I didn't know it at the time, of course, because being twelve, well, you just meet things head on, without thinking.”

“I try to think, to be sensible, but it isn't easy.”

“No. Of course it isn't.” He sighed. “So, this story of mine, do you want to hear it?”

Henry gave a single nod and his eyes widened in gleeful expectation. “You bet.”

Uncle Ben smiled warmly, “Well, let's go into the living room and sit by the fire with our drinks and I'll tell you my story about Darley Dene.”