And Wilbur smiled, aware that his physicist-philosopher-accountant friend was about to give him one of his long theories on the nature of reality, as if they were still slouched on a beanbag in his flat.
‘This idea we have that time is something linear and comes in set units that wespendis very western … in a lot of traditional African communities there is no abstract idea of the future. There is no future at all …’
‘No future? How does that work?’
‘Well, time is made of events. Seasons. Ceremonies. Funerals. And nothing has happened in the future so it doesn’t exist, and when it happens it will become sasa, which is the Swahili for “present”. Andthen it will become zamani, the past. And that is what waits for us. Because one day we will be the past, but not the future. There is no future. Time travels backwards. And it is always on top of itself. Which fits with a lot of what we know about physics. So anyway, what this means is that the past is ahead of us and not the future.’
Claudette was rolling her eyes with a smile. ‘Here he goes …’
‘So everything is woven together. Your mum and dad meeting here is more real than anything in the future, because it happened. When we think of the future we are thinking ourselves out of life. It’s like what Einstein said about time being a mode by which we think and not a condition in which we live. What I took from the book is that we need to focus on what is real, because that is how we make time. Not by forever thinking of this abstract nothing known as the future.’
He was, in his own deeply gentle Charlie way, offering Wilbur advice. Wilbur might not have realised it, but the Ghost did.
Wilbur wasn’t really listening. He was staring across the room at Mr Parkin, who – after a brief chat with Jim the landlord – was standing on his own with a plate of food, umbrella hooked over his arm. Eventually he put the plate down and walked to the door. Maggie rushed back over to Wilbur.
‘Shouldn’t you go and speak to him?’
‘No. I don’t think there’s anything to say.’
Maggie’s mood shifted. She walked over to Mr Parkin with a sense of purpose. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked as he stood at the back door. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay?’
‘No,’ he said, without any bitterness. ‘I think I’ll go now. But thanks for thinking of me.’
‘I think Edith would like it if you stayed. We all would.’
This seemed to tighten Mr Parkin’s – Cecil’s – face, as if holding back a sudden surge of emotion. He looked over at Wilbur. ‘I’m not sure about that … but thanks for your kindness. It’s very much appreciated.’
And with that he went outside.
The Ghost followed, beckoning the Dreamer to follow him.
‘I’d seen him,’ said the Ghost to the Dreamer as they walked through the pub wall. ‘I’d seen him the day before in the street and I’d been rude.’
‘Good.’
‘No. No. Not good. It wasn’t our business. Whatever we thought of it, Mam loved him.’
‘She’d prostituted herself with him.’
‘No. That’s just something you embellished in your mind. Mam liked him for a long time and they weren’t together, not official, until years after he stopped being her landlord.’
‘But Dougie—’
‘Exactly. We couldn’t keep Dougie alive but we could keep his hate alive, and that was what we did. But who did it help? Not Dougie. Not Mam. Not us.’
‘I just don’t like him.’
Mr Parkin walked across the damp, drizzled car park, wondering if he should use his umbrella but deciding against it.
‘And that’s fine,’ said the Ghost. ‘I don’t know if I do either. But Mam meant something to him and he meant something to Mam.’
They watched Cecil dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief as he reached his car. The Ghost clenched with some strange emotion. He called across the car park, ‘I’m sorry,’ as loud as a ghost could, which was to most ears a notch below silence. ‘I should have made an effort with you. I should have seen you and Mam together. I should have come to the wedding. I’m sorry … And I’m sorry I didn’t talk to my mam at the end. And … thank you for making her happy. By all accounts you made her happy in those last years, that’s what the folks at the pub said. And happiness wasn’t always easy for her. So, yes, thank you.’
Of course, Mr Parkin hadn’t heard a thing. He stood there and fumbled with his car keys, then opened the door and drove away.
Out of the Window
They saw Wilbur putting down his novel in their London bedroom. He leaned over and kissed Maggie and she kissed him back and for a moment it was how it should always have been.
