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Back Home by Ron James

I woke with a start. You know that feeling when a noise has woken you but you are not sure what it was. What was it?

I can hear the TV downstairs. Our bedroom is above the lounge, so if you are in bed when the TV is on, the sound sort of vibrates up through the pillow.

Pam stayed up after I came to bed, she must be still watching it. What’s the time? 1.15!

She’s fallen asleep down there. I run my hand across the bed, she is next to me.

Surely she hasn’t come to bed and left it on!

I put my dressing gown on. If we have burglars I don’t want them to see me in a state of undress, although I have to admit burglars don’t normally watch your telly.

I walk down the stairs to switch it off. As I go into the lounge I glance to the left.

Oh, bloody hell! there is someone sitting there, but he certainly doesn’t look like a burglar.

He is just sitting there watching T.V. and doesn’t move as I walk in. He’s elderly, probably early 80’s, short, thin, almost scrawny, pencil moustache, wearing what I would call old-fashioned clothes. A tweedy jacket, white shirt, tie, cavalry twill trousers and really shiny black shoes, or maybe boots, and holding what looks like a flat cap on his lap.

Oh! And by the side of him is an old battered suitcase, the type you see refugees carrying in old second world war black and white newsreels.

‘Who the hell are you?’, I say.

‘Who are you?' he says.’ I’m Stan and I live here.’

I must admit he does look a bit confused, but how did he get in?

‘How did you get in?’

‘With my key, I told you I live here. Where’s my daughter and who are you?

This is crazy, I don’t recognise him and we know most of the people in this part of the road, as we have lived here for a couple of years. So how did he get here?

‘How did you get here?’ I ask.

‘Well’ he says ‘I’ve been on my holidays to Llandudno and the coach had an accident on the way back and we got delayed. I had to get a taxi back from the town, bloody expensive it was too, cost me twelve quid

‘I’m Stan Soper and I live here’ he reiterates.

Just then Pam comes in looking bleary-eyed. Who’s he?’ she asks.

I explain what’s been going on, although I’m not quite sure I know myself.

I must admit she takes it better than I thought she would.

She thinks for a minute and then it dawns on her.

‘You said his name is Soper, that’s the name of the family who lived here before us.’

‘He’s come to his old house.

Yes, but how did he get in?

Don’t know……………Yes, I do.

 We never bothered to change the locks when we moved in, he must still have a key. Poor old boy, he is confused, perhaps he banged his head in the accident.’ I’ve got his daughters phone number somewhere I’ll give her a call and she can come and get him’.

Pam finds the number and calls but it goes to answer the phone so she leaves a message saying, your father is here and please can they call back.

We go to the kitchen taking the phone with us, to make a cup of tea, leaving Stan watching Columbo, his favourite program apparently.

Just then the phone rings, I pick it up, it’s a woman’s voice. ‘I have just had a strange phone call from this number’ she says.

‘We have your father here and he seems a bit confused’

‘ No I don’t think so’ she replies

‘What do you mean, I don’t think so. Your father Stan Soper.’

‘No you are wrong’ her voice rising.

‘Is your father Stan Soper, short man, moustache, flat cap?’

‘Yes that describes him, but it can’t possibly be him, you see he died in a coach crash on the motorway ten years ago, in fact, ten years ago today’.

I look at Pam, and I whisper ‘She says he died ten years ago’.

We both rush back to the lounge.

There is no one there. It is very cold and very empty, just a flat cap laying on the settee.