Page 57 of Lost Souls

Chapter Thirty-Four

Give thanks for a little and you will find a lot.

(Nigerian proverb)

To Arnie Garth’sdelight, the Olde Englyshe Shoppe in Santa Monica has one remaining bar of Kendal Mint Cake, which in fact comprises the entire stock and which the relieved proprietor is only too pleased to offload.

Arnie is far less delighted when he samples a tinycorner of the famed Cumbrian confection. As he spits it out over a passing tourist, he starts to realise how seriously depressed he is and how even the taste of this incredibly sweet English delicacy can seem so bitter on his tongue. Such is his deepening gloom.

He begins to wander up the celebrated Third Street Promenade, all bright lights and sparkling shopfronts, and feels even more miserable. Passing the seemingly endless parade of smart stores, cinemas and restaurants, all he can see are people enjoying themselves, couples young and old kissing and cuddling, apparently without a care in the world. Even the homeless appear more content than he is.

As he reaches Venice Beach, wisely resisting the temptation to nibble off more minty corners, he notices amongst the even more happy and generally better constructed couples, of all ethnicities and orientations, two dogs contentedly copulating behind a car. Finding himself supremely envious at this point marks a new low in his fall from what he has until now considered a reasonably fulfilling life.

Yet he begins to wonder, just at the time that this same life is going to be snatched cruelly and unjustly away, through absolutely no fault of his own, whether, in truth, happiness or even basic contentment have eluded him at every stage on his journey, and if a life solely devoted to petty crime, serial adultery, loveless sex and hard-core pornography was truly that enriching.

It is more than Arnie Garth can bear.

The sun is sinking spectacularly, mockingly, back into the sea when Arnie, for some reason, retraces his steps to Santa Monica and its celebrated beach. Yet instead oflooking for a cab, he finds himself standing on the bridge over the busy Pacific Coast Highway.

Leaning over and looking down onto the swiftly moving traffic.

Deep in thought.

***

Noreen is just starting to become worried.

It is quite late, and she has never had this trouble in the past sourcing her regular supply of Kendal Mint Cake. Perhaps, she thinks, it isn’t quite the minty staple of an American diet she might have supposed.

She senses Arnie’s very pleasant and rather pretty sister staring at her in some concern.

“He’s been gone for hours!” worries Noreen, looking over towards the window. “Oh, Cleopatra, do you think he’s had an accident?”

“Arnie? He doesn’t have accidents, hon; he causes them.” Cleo softens her tone as a new and very different thought strikes her. “Hey, you’re missing him, aren’t you?”

“Missing him?Me? No!” She looks thoughtful, playing nervously with the worn wooden toggle on her uppermost cardigan. “Well, maybe… a bit. Daft, eh?”

Cleo smiles. “Daft. Arnie does sort of grow on you. Like… like thrush.”

Noreen suddenly leaps up and dashes over to where she had dumped her bulging bag.

“Ooh, I know!” she enthuses. “Let’sknitsomething for him.”

As if on cue, Stanley’s head pops up out of her bag, holding a bundle of wool in his sharp little teeth.

“Jesus!” says Cleo Cleaves, not unimpressed.

***

Arnie is still on that bridge.

This time he is gripping the edge. He looks down over the highway and practises hefting himself up and over, like a golfer before he finally tees off.

Behind him, an elderly, white-haired gentleman in faded jogging gear and an old straw hat is approaching very slowly. When he sees Arnie, he stops, although to an observer it might be tricky to distinguish this from his jogging.

“Hey,” says the kind old guy softly, not wishing to unduly frighten the man on the bridge. “You doin’ what I think you’re doin’?”

Arnie doesn’t even turn round. “It’s not like I got options, Pops. My life sucks. I’m going straight to hell – why wait?”