He stood in the middle of the room with his shirt undone, in the bedroom with lavender flowered walls and lilac velvet curtains, next to the double bed with its satin eiderdown and single pillow. He stood in a musty miasma of urine and sour medicine. His shirt had been buttoned up five minutes ago, but now it was undone again.
He couldn't do his shirt up, so how could he unbutton it?
'For God's sake, look at you. I'd done it. I'd done it up. Just look at you now.'
'There's no need to take the name of the Lord in vain, my lad. The third commandment, remember. Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the …'
'Yeah, Dad, I know. The Lord will not hold him guiltless. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'
'You're very bad with your commandments, my boy. You're a poor thing. There's the third as well, you know. Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long ...'
'Oh, Dad, I do try to honour you. I do my best; I always have, but you … you drive me mad. Look at your shirt. I've done it up three times already this morning.'
'I've got to go and feed the fishes.'
'The fishes can wait. You've got no trousers on.'
'No. Fishes now or the fishes they will float. It's time. It's time for the fishes.' The struggle was working his mouth. 'I'm late wait late. Late to the fishes. Come on.'
'No Dad. We feed the fishes in the afternoon, remember? It's still the morning. It's half-way through the morning and you're not dressed yet.'
The old man fetched his Smith's double-belled alarm clock, the clock he never ever forgot to wind up every night without fail.
'Look, Alan. One o'clock. Dinner time.'
'No it's not, Dad. That's just you being naughty, trying to make the day go faster. You've only just had your breakfast. The day doesn't go any quicker just because you put the hands forward, does it? Now try, please try and cooperate. Just stand still.'
The old man stood still. His blue eyes focussed intently on the miracle of the buttons.
'They do me up, Alan. Look. You're joining me.'
'Yes, you old fool, I'm joining you, and this time you can stay joined while I get you some clean trousers.'
The old man remained standing where he had been set. He continued to explore connections, things that joined, that stuck, that tore.
'Dad. No. Oh no, not that. Stop it. Dad, dad, that's your stoma. You know it is. For God's sake, you've had it for five years. It doesn't come off.'
'It's on me. It's a sea anemone, an octopus. It's squidding me. It's stuck on me. Get it off.'
'Leave it alone, dad. Don't tear it. Get your fingers out. Oh no, now you're bleeding. You'll get another rotten infection and they'll say I can't cope.'
'I've got to feed the fishes.' The need rode his lips.
'I'll feed you to the fishes. Look … there's pee all over the floor, you've got your fingers inside your body and you're bleeding like a pig. I'm going to have to call the nurse.'
'No. No. Not the nurse.' Panic drove him. Spittle flecked. Nose flared. Eyes white-widened. Panic enlightened him. 'Don't put me in the hospital. I don't like it in the hospital.'
'Look, Dad. I just can't cope any more like this. I can't take the frustration. One minute you're reciting the bible like a vicar; the next you don't even know my name.'
'Alan. You're my Alan.'
'Yeah, Dad, I'm your Alan, but I'm me as well. I've got to get out sometimes or I'll explode. I'll say things that you'll remember; I'll hurt you. I was meant to go to work this afternoon, but I can't leave you on your own. I never know what you'll get up to next. Meals on wheels just aren't enough. Remember what you did with your dinner last time?'
'Mash with powder in it. Gravy lumps.'
'I know. But at least it was cooked for you, and it was fairly warm.'
'Potato mountain. Common Market. Gravy lake.'
'That's what it was, is it? It was a big mess, anyway. We can't expect other people to put up with that sort of thing, not people who aren't us.'
'Angela. She's soft.'
'Unfortunately Angela's not soft, Dad. She's hard. She's so hard she's gone off with some other poor soft idiot. Angela didn't like us very much once mum died and she was going have to get her hands dirty.'
'Don't send me to the hospital.' His pocket-crumpled tissue face collapsed. His mouth churned, gurned. His eyes tuned into his brain and then lost their clear reception again. 'I'm trying to be good.'
'No, Dad. We'll leave the hospital till the last ditch. I'd miss you too much, anyway. I'll have to get a woman in; someone who can keep an eye on you while I work; someone who earns even less an hour than I do.'
'Not Connie. No. Connie was rough to me.'
'Not Connie. Connie won't ever come here again. Connie thought she was coming here as a nurse, not a kindergarten teacher. Connie had enough of you taking off your clothes and calling her mummy last time she came. She had more than enough of your drawing all over the walls. Connie said that if she ever had to listen to you reciting Churchill again she'd fight you on the bloody beaches.'
'We shall go on to the end.'
'That we will, Dad. That we will. Now let's fix you up a clean bag, join you back together again and get your trousers on. Then we'll go and give those big fat koi carp an extra handful of pellets for a treat.'
'We shall never surrender.'
'No, Dad. Well, not yet, anyway.'