A Patch of Fog Page #6

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that turned day into night.

You couldn't see your own hand

in front of your face.

And you got lost in one?

Yes.

For how long?

About four,

four and a half hours,

but it seemed a lot longer.

I can imagine.

In fog the father went

looking for the son,

but your dad didn't?

That's not nice.

The dramatic

inadequacy of reality.

How did that make you feel?

I was six.

How do you think?

- Frightened?

- Mm-hmm.

- Abandoned?

- Sure.

Rejected?

Lay it on, why don't you?

Yet you dedicated

your book to him?

"For my father George.

Farewell, my lovely."

Can you remember how you felt

when you wrote those words?

There was an intense

feeling came over me.

My heart began to thump.

My palms to sweat.

I even had trouble

breathing for a while.

Quite an emotional moment.

Yeah, it was.

Difficult moment?

No.

- It was the greatest feeling in the world.

- Greatest feeling in the world.

Thank you.

Lucy, can I have a moment?

You were right the other day.

About me seeing

someone else, in a way.

The person who wrecked your car.

You broke into somebody's house?

What were you thinking?

That man sounds dangerous.

No. Robert's really only

a danger to himself.

"Traced his fingertips along it.

It felt good to be in contact

with something

so old and strong."

I didn't tell you everything because I...

I didn't want you thinking badly of me.

I couldn't bear that.

I don't know what to think.

Moved further

into the thinning fog.

The granite wall

loomed up before him.

He traced his

fingertips along it.

It felt good to be in contact

with something so old and strong.

The wall led Jack

to a heavy gate."

Oh, sh*t.

"Peered through

the bars like a prisoner.

The fog swirled,

revealing what lay beyond.

Somehow Jack knew he had

reached his destination.

'Andy, ' he called out.

Dad? I'm over here!

Jack allowed the voice

to lead him.

The fog parted.

There sat Andy, shivering

on a slab of cold stone.

Jack wrapped his boy

in his arms.

'I knew you would come, dad.'

'of course I came. The house

felt so empty without you.'

'you're not angry at me?'

'how could I be angry at you?'

'do you want to go home, dad?

The fog is going.'

'don't be scared.'

'I'm not scared.'

'we'll go soon.

But first let's sit with your

mum a little while longer.'

the end."

How did you get in?

Trade secret, Sandy.

Fancy a drink before

we get started?

Start what?

You stole something from me,

where is it?

Oh, don't worry.

It's in a safe place.

- I buried it.

- Well, I want it back.

- No, you don't.

- You're a thief!

And you stole my manuscript.

Where is it?

Well, it's not

really yours, is it? Eh?

A patch of fog by George Duffy.

And that lovely dedication.

"For my son, Sandy.

Farewell, my lovely."

You took that a little bit

literally, didn't you?

Why are you doing this?

Why did you pick me?

I didn't. You picked me, Sandy.

- What?

- You picked me from the start.

You chose my shop.

You bought me a drink.

- You saved my life.

- I told you the other night that...

No, all that stuff you said the

other night, you didn't mean it.

No, you picked me, Sandy.

Remember when you said

you'd show me the manuscript?

Well, I've seen it now.

It's ok. It's alright.

I know.

Look, whoa, whoa, hey, hey.

Sandy, Sandy.

Sit down. Sit down.

Are you ok?

My father was an embarrassment.

He wouldn't step

outside the house.

He knew I wanted to be a writer.

I found the manuscript

after he died.

But he turned his greatest

shame into a triumph.

And what did I get?

A lousy f***ing dedication.

Well, f*** him!

You see?

Come here. Have a drink.

Have a drink. Eh?

We'll show him.

You've been spreading

yourself far too thin, sand.

Alright? Now it's time to

concentrate on what really matters.

Yeah. It's time to concentrate

on writing your own book.

You just have to sign these

resignation letters first.

- What?

- Well, you know, night vision, uni.

You'll have to resign.

You'll have to pack it all in.

I've already done mine.

You're my job now, Sandy.

You. That's why

I'm gonna be moving in.

Hey? You do all the writing.

I'll do all the cooking and the

cleaning, and I'll look after you.

Because I know you've got a

great book in you, Sandy Duffy.

Yeah. Just you sign this

and then that's it.

Alright?

Here you go.

Come on. Sign it.

You really are mad, aren't you?

Hey?

If you think I would willingly

entomb myself with you?

It's not gonna happen, Robert.

That's not nice, sand.

I've done all this for you.

- It's your decision.

- Yeah, it is.

I was just thinking

about Lucy, that's all.

- What about Lucy?

- Well, imagine if it comes out

that Lucy done a TV special

on a paganist?

She slept with him as well, eh?

How bad's that gonna look?

She'll have to disown you.

Telly will get rid of you.

You'll lose everything, sand.

This big lovely house.

You'll lose it all.

You'll have no-one.

Eh? I mean, look.

At least this way you still

get to be Sandy Duffy.

And I know how much

that means to you.

You'd rather die than the truth

come out, wouldn't you, sand?

You've always found it hard to

make friends, haven't you, Robert?

Yeah, until I met you.

Yeah. I'm you're only

friend though, aren't I?

- Yeah.

- Yeah.

And now the last people

who might ask a question

about your whereabouts...

you've just told

them in this letter

that they'll never

see you again.

Now you've told me

you buried it.

Where is it?

- I'm not gonna tell you.

- Oh, yes you are.

Now, Sandy.

No, stop it.

- You wouldn't hurt a fly.

- Huh. No flies on you, Robert, eh?

You don't know me.

Where's my f***ing manuscript?

- Stop it, Sandy.

- Where is my manuscript?

You've cut me.

Now, I won't be on me own again.

I'll be in the room

upstairs on the left.

Oh, no, you're f***ing not!

You can't take f*** off

for an answer.

This has gotta stop before...

Sandy.

Sandy...

Stop it, Sandy.

Oh, this is ridiculous, Robert.

Robert?

Come on, that's enough.

Robert.

Robert, I didn't mean it.

As I say, I was

only trying to sca...

I was trying to scare you.

Sh*t.

Come on, Robert.

Wake up, please.

Oh, f***, f***,

f***, f***, f***.

Sh*t.

F***.

Goodbye, Robert.

Oh f***. Sh*t!

Sh*t!

No!

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