A Patch of Fog Page #5

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Come on, come on, come on.

Excuse me?

Aren't you Sandy Duffy?

F*** off.

Robert.

Robert!

What the f*** is wrong with you?

I spent half last night

talking to the police

because some dick smashed my

windscreen. And Lucy's too.

- Well, did the police find out who it was?

- No.

- I covered for you.

- It's too soft.

- Is Lucy alright?

- No, she's not alright.

Nor is her daughter.

This is serious, Robert.

- What's serious, Sandy?

- Well, you turning up at my house.

- What? You and Lucy?

- What?

Because if I remember,

you told me that youse two were

both just colleagues.

Right, no, and last night, you

said to me that you were going

home to mark some papers.

So, how do you think I felt

when I looked through

your window and it

looked like the f***in' Waltons?

Oh, that's funny, because

when I looked through my window,

it looked like

the f***in' Mansons!

It's too hard.

- Where's yours, Sandy?

- Oh, for god's sake.

- I left it.

- Don't lie to me.

Shh!

You gave it to her daughter,

didn't you?

- What?

- Aye, I know.

I know what happened. She asked

you to do the interview.

You said no.

So she hopped into your bed.

- Lucy hopped into my bed.

- She hopped into your bed.

And then you said yes.

You know, she's just

using you, mate.

- Yeah, I've seen it before.

- Mm-hm.

Best thing you can do

is not do the interview.

I don't know if your head's

full of wee sweetie white mice,

but I will be

doing the interview.

And you're so wrong about Lucy.

- Oh, really?

- Really.

- We can all do interviews.

- What?

Imagine the interview

I could do about you.

Ah, f*** this.

So, you're still hell-bent

on a life of quiet

contemplation after the special?

Or can I tempt you

away from all that?

Why are you still pushing this?

Sometimes I wish the f***ing

thing had never been published.

Is it that obsessive?

That fan?

Is that what's

stood your back up?

No, no. Thanks to you,

all that's sorted.

Is it?

F***, f***, f***, f***

f***ing work with me!

Alright, mate?

- Change.

- Cheers.

What time do you stay open till?

- Twelve.

- Alright, man. Thanks.

Goodnight.

One day there was a fog

and I went out.

Got lost in it.

So, what do you think?

Yeah.

Yeah, I'm very happy with it.

No, no, I mean,

I mean about the cars.

- Do you know who did it?

- No, how would I know?

It was probably kids.

They run wild these days.

Not in your neighborhood.

Aren't you forgetting

that I do this for a living?

I know when someone's

not being honest with me.

You're imagining things.

That's what my

ex-husband used to say.

Sorry, I have to take this.

- Yes, Robert?

- - The delivery men are coming at three o'clock

and I'm snowed under here at

work. Could you do me a favor?

- Could you let them in for me?

- Yeah, but I don't even have a key to your...

It's never stopped you

in the past has it, mate?

F***!

Nothing like a drink

after work, eh?

Where is everything?

Now listen, Robert, I wanted

to make proper amends, you know.

I wanted to go that extra mile.

So, the lads who

delivered your sofa,

I got them to take

everything else away.

But don't worry you're

getting brand new stuff.

It's all gonna arrive tomorrow.

So.

Well, what'd you get me?

Well, you got a 40 inch TV.

You got a laminated floor.

You got a bookcase.

You got a coffee table.

You got a rug. You got cushions.

All on me.

All arriving tomorrow.

Ok?

Brilliant.

Right, well drink up because we've

got our night class to go to.

That's why I gave her an imaginary

rocking horse as a metaphor.

Sort of like the fog

in a patch of fog.

- Yes?

- Now I'm sorry to say this

but that's a load

of nonsense, Vera.

Why do you say that?

Well, because the fog's

not a metaphor.

- Isn't it?

- No.

No, the fog's not imaginary.

Right.

The fog's, the fog's real. You can see it.

You can touch it.

So how can something real

be a metaphor?

It does, doesn't make sense.

Maybe you should look up

the word metaphor

in your wee dictionary, Robert.

It is Robert, isn't it?

Now, over the break

I want you all

to write a story

based on this video.

Is that you, Sandy?

None other.

It's a creative arts

project I'm involved in.

You'll notice that I've

emailed you all a copy.

I want you to study it closely.

Who is this man?

What does he want? What stage

of his story are we at?

I want you to tell his story.

Use your imaginations

to the full.

It's only make-believe,

after all.

Have a good break.

Hey. Why did you do that?

- It'll never work, Sandy.

- Oh, it already has, Robert.

It's typical of my

teaching methods.

I made the video,

I sent it to my night class

and that's how

you got hold of it.

So why was it shot

in my living room?

- Really?

- It doesn't look anything like your living room.

Not anymore.

Well, Lucy. I'll tell Lucy.

She'll believe me.

I'll tell Lucy what you've done.

Yeah? And I'll tell Lucy

that you're a total nutcase,

you've been

stalking me for months

and you probably

wrecked her car, too.

Now who do you think

she's gonna believe?

And if I ever see you again,

if you dare go anywhere near

Lucy or Phoebe, I will set

the police on you like that.

Goodbye, Robert. I wish I could say

it was a pleasure knowing you.

It wasn't.

No, wait. Don't leave me, Sandy.

Don't leave me.

Right, if I've done

anything wrong, I'm sorry.

I can change.

But just give me another chance.

No.

You jumped in front

of a train for me.

I jumped in front

of a train for me.

We're not friends,

we never were.

I despise you.

I've always despised

everything about you.

I only put up with you because I had

to, and now I don't have to anymore.

Oh, well, I'll still

go to your class.

You can't stop me

from doing that.

- I'll still get to see you.

- No, you won't.

You are a disruptive influence.

If you show your face

around here again

I will see that security

show you off the premises.

No, no, you can't do that.

I can do that.

See, I'm Sandy Duffy.

Who the f*** are you?

You're on there.

I'm obliged to call the police.

I'll take you downstairs.

Stand on the street with you,

put me arm on your shoulder.

We'll wait for the

police to turn up.

Anywhere between

20 and 25 minutes.

Put your money away. Hey?

What happened to one guy

doing another guy a favor?

I get off in 20 minutes.

Fancy a little drink?

Well, f*** off then!

Hey?

Hey?

Who do you think you are?

Sandy Duffy?

You're not, you know.

Look, get out. Go on.

Go on, get out.

Lucy.

So, after your

mother passed away

your father's anxieties

became more pronounced

and he was diagnosed

with agoraphobia.

He never left the house again?

Only for his own funeral.

So is the novel autobiographical?

Or semi-autobiographical?

He was agoraphobic,

but was there really a fog?

Well, it was in the days before

the city had banned coal fires

and Belfast's like a valley,

so the combination of coal fires

and a cold snap produced a fog

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