Lost and Found
by Jack Kendle
Part 7
Chapter 9
My dear Jack, or rather 'Sir' Jack - Congratulations! You thoroughly deserve it!
I'm sorry not have written for so long, but I have been a little unwell - nothing to worry about, I assure you and what with one thing and another, I have been remiss in writing. I do hope you forgive me.
The 'one thing or another' is what I am writing to you about.
Annabel, Jack and I have decided we would like to mark what would have been Peter's 75thbirthday next November, with a gathering of all our close friends and what family is left. We would be delighted if you would be our 'guest-of-honour' along with JJ.
Do let me know if you will be free and able to come over to celebrate with us. I shall be sending a more formal invitation later, but I did rather want to send you a personal letter first.
All is well here, even though we all get older, don't we? Annabel and the children are blooming - I'm about to become a great-grandmother! Isn't that a frightening thought!
I suppose you're abreast of Jack's news? He tells me he and you see each other frequently. I've never really understood what a 'multimedia designer' does, but he seems good at it and it seems he is doing well out of it, so I suppose it must be something people need! I've never got the hang of computers! He and Sebastian have certainly made a success together.
I read a review of one of your new pieces; you go from strength to strength, my dear man, but for me, I shall always love 'Omnia' best.
Anyway, Jack dear, I hope all is well and that you and JJ will be able to make it to our gathering in November.
Write soon!
Much love,
Elizabeth.
So Pete would have been 75 next November! And that makes me... too bloody old, that's what. I've just flicked through this journal, which JJ found in one of his 'clearouts' in the attic. What a time that was - so many years ago now. I suppose Weber and Evans are out of prison, but hopefully too old to do any harm, if they're still alive.
I suppose I had better dot a few i's and cross a few t's so I can get this out of my system. I want to put this journal behind me. I rather wish JJ hadn't found it, or at least not told me about it, but there we are, what's done is done.
I've made provision in my will that Tommy gets this manuscript after I'm gone, to do with as he sees fit. He doesn't know the whole story - not by a long chalk and I think he needs to know. What he then does with it is his business, I won't be around to care.
He found himself a lovely wife and has two adorable daughters. His law practice is doing well. My Tommy gained a lot of publicity for his successful defence of a gay employee unfairly dismissed. Made his gay old dad very proud! He'll take the silk soon, I'm convinced.
Emma's husband is a bit of a bore, but nice enough. Apparently, according to Em, he 'tolerates' my 'alternative lifestyle' and 'understands' how unhappy and 'desperate' I must have been. Honestly! A rather mediocre Second in Sociology or whatever from a very minor university seems to give some people such deep insights into other peoples' lives. It doesn't stop him enjoying large quantities of my favourite malt, miserable old sod! However, it is a terrible shame not being able to have children, but they've adopted two and going for a third. Enough grandchildren about the place at Christmas!
Billy Higgins now runs his own counselling agency for abused children; he was awarded the OBE last year. He has five kids of his own! We still keep in touch.
Rosie died a few years ago. Ancient. She was bright as a button right up to the end. Massive heart attack. I went to the funeral, of course. First time I had seen Hannah in donkeys years. Success doesn't seem to have made her happy. She got rid of that Ben character pretty quick and had two more failed marriages. She's on her own now, and apparently not a happy woman. But she did end up owning the company. What price happiness eh?
JJ is still with me, of course. Less hair, not as bright red, but still the same JJ. We love our house here in Scotland, out in the middle of nowhere. I try and stay here as much as possible; it's very conducive to composition, but still have to travel to town regularly; conducting the odd concert; getting dragged out to attend premieres, hold master-classes. I much prefer to stay at home. I've got to go into town soon to finish the 'retrospective' recording of my life's work; 7 CD's down, one to go - 'the Early Years.' I'm not even dead yet for heaven's sake! But it pays the bills, so I suppose I shouldn't complain.
Daniel, of course, I hear about a lot. He's living in Germany, a professional musician in a German orchestra. He and Dieter are very happy together. They kept in touch after that disastrous trip all those years ago. They come over as much as their schedule allows. It's always lovely to see them. Dieter has become such a nice man; so relaxed. They're very happy together.
And Leo?
The astoundingly beautiful, blond, blue-eyed sexy thing whom I lusted over. Lioncub.
I had his picture on my desk for years - one of the ones I took of him just after we had made love in that hotel room in Berlin. After JJ had given me this journal, I hunted out that amazing snap of the teen on the beach; Leo in his Speedos, full-stretch, free as a bird. What an astoundingly beautiful boy he was! Even now, in my advanced dotage, I still feel a twitch of... could it be lust when I see that picture? Compared to how he looked the last time I saw him...
It was about five or six years ago now. I had been in town on business with my publisher and on an impulse, had gone to a concert. I had seen that the orchestra was playing one of my pieces - not a premiere or anything, just one of my first works I had written after Berlin. I thought I'd pop into the concert and see how the work had stood the test of time. So, I was to all intents and purposes incognito in the audience. The orchestra wasn't one of our top international ones, but competent nevertheless and I didn't know who the conductor was. I scanned the names of the players. Leo Nielsen. I have to admit, my heart gave a bit of a lurch at the sight of his name. All at once, I was carried back to that schoolroom, watching a nervous, ravishingly beautiful sixteen-year-old playing my piece with such insight. He had given it a name of his own, I recall, Where am I, I believe it was. I let my eye roam over the ranks of violinists onstage, to catch a glimpse of that familiar white-gold hair... nothing. I looked again, more carefully. A misprint in the programme? Then, I saw what had to be Leo, but the change in him! I even gasped out loud. I knew I shouldn't expect him to have stayed unchanged since his teens, but I was surprised at how much he had changed. The flitting butterfly, the proud peacock was now devoid of that lustrous ash-blond hair. His bald pate shone under the lights. He sat at his desk, warming up, leaning against the back of the chair. He had put on a great deal of weight and under the strong lighting, I saw his pasty complexion, the sunken eyes, a wispy moustache. What a transmogrification! He sat towards the back of the section, rank-and-file violin, not even principal or co-principal! What had happened? Where had the promise of youth gone? Of course I knew one didn't keep one's looks, but Leo had been an exceptional musician as a teen. He could have done much better than this. As I sat in the a udience, I mourned what had happened to Leo, without knowing what it was. It was as if he had no spark in him any more; just a routine fiddle-player in a so-so orchestra. My lovely Lioncub I whispered to myself, where did you go astray?
The orchestra played my piece, but I didn't really register it. I was watching Leo all the time, waiting to see that spark again, that tilt of the head he had, the slight grin when he was so obviously enjoying playing his violin.
Nothing. I felt unbearably sad. As the orchestra stood at the end of the piece, Leo's eyes swept over the hall, over me. Did they stop briefly on me, before moving on? Was there a sudden flash in those now dulled sapphire eyes?
I didn't think so. His look moved on, over my head, disinterested, bored. I left the hall in the interval. Sic transit gloria mundi - thus passes the glory of the world - or that's how I felt anyway.
* * *
Tommy? It's JJ. I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your father is in hospital. He collapsed after the recording-session this afternoon. He's comfortable, but the doctor suggested, well he told me, to call you and ask you and Emma to come as soon as you can, he sounded rather insistent I'm afraid...
* * *
This has been lying on Jack's desk ever since... he...
I've spent the whole night reading it. I couldn't sleep, anyway... all these years of sharing a bed... you could count the nights we spent apart on the fingers of one hand...
I promised Jack I would finish it... death-rattle and all he'd said... So, Jack, for you, my love, my everything, I will do this. Then it goes to Tommy like you asked. It'll be up to him what happens then.
Jack's been... had been... a bit under the weather recently, but as usual he shrugged it off. Nothing a lie-in and a large Glenmorangie won't put right, he used to say.
He didn't take enough care of himself; didn't exercise and got through rather more booze than he should have. It's my fault, I should have seen the signs, told him to ease up a bit, slow down, but it wouldn't have been any use; he'd have gone on just the same.
He was scheduled to conduct the last CD of his 'Retrospective.' I told him he should postpone it, but he wouldn't hear of it;
It's the last CD, JJ. Then I'll take a break, I promise.
I gave in and he went. I knew that 'Omnia' was scheduled for that CD and that Jack wanted very much to record it again. So, as I say, he went. I had a project up on Hoy, so I didn't go with him.
I got the 'phone call at about five, on the third day of recording; Jack had just done the last take for 'Omnia.' According to Bob Brent, the producer, who was a good friend of both Jack and me, one moment Jack was on the podium thanking the orchestra for their work, the next he was collapsed on the floor. Bob called me and told me what had happened and where they had taken Jack. It took me bloody five hours to get off that fucking island and into town! All the time I was telling Jack to hold on, to wait for me. Don't go before I get there, Jack!
He hung on, thank God. When I got there, I could hardly see him for tubes, monitors, officious nurses. The doctor who took my hand, in fact the only other person apart from Jack that I registered, took my hand and led me aside. His name-tag said he was Dr. Hu. On any other occasion, I would have smiled at the incongruous name so synonymous with the children's TV series "Dr Who," but I was in no mood for smiling - neither was he.
"Mr Johnston?"
I didn't take it as a question. I just waited for the man to continue.
"Mr Johnston?"
"Yes!" I said, almost angrily. "I'm Mister Johnston. Now tell me about Jack - about Mister Kendle!"
"I'm afraid Mr Kender has suffered a severe heart attack and in the past few minutes a secondary arrest. We also have reason to believe there is an embolism... when that reaches the lungs... " The droop of the man's shoulders said it all.
"Does Mr Kender have any next-of-kin?"
"You mean I'm not next-enough?" I looked over at Jack, supine, still, surrounded by uniforms, machines, mechanical noises, bleeps and the noise of the respirator, hissing: in - out - in - out, with a horrible, fatalistic inevitability. It wasn't if, it was a question of when that hissing would stop.
I needed to be with him, to hold him, to feel him...
"He has children? I strongly advise you call them Mr Johnston. Now."
I looked into the doctor's oval, brown eyes. They were without hope and the short man gave a small sigh and a barely perceptible shake of his head.
"We can sustain him on machines for a few hours - no longer. I'm sorry."
Hu left. I called Tommy and Emma and told them the news and where we were.
I went over to the bed. The nurses had gone, but the machines were still there, doing their efficient best at keeping life flickering in the most important person in my life...
Hiss! - in - out - in - out - how many more times? Fate had already decreed the answer; Fate knew. There was a definite number, but I didn't know what it was.
I didn't know what the fuck it was! Ten? Twenty? Two hundred? Two thousand?
Hiss! - in - out - in - out.
I badly wanted the goddam hiss! to stop, it was invading my brain, my being, my universe; the place which should be occupied by Jack. Not this fucking HISS!
But it didn't stop. It was Jack's universe now. It was what kept him with me. I should love that hiss, not hate it.
I took his hand; all punctured with needles, bruised, blue - old.
"Oh babe! Oh Jack!" I had nothing more to say. I repeated myself, over and over, the mantra in tandem with the hiss, "Stay with me my love. Don't leave me."
I don't know how long I sat there, holding Jack's hand in mine, feeling it seem to grow colder. A slight squeeze opened my eyes in an instant. Jack's eyes were open and looking, I thought, at me.
I heard a sound, a faint, rasping sound in his throat and leaned in as close as I could.
"Will you give me up for a while, JJ?"
I had no words. I held the thin, dry hand to my lips.
"He's been waiting for me, you see... "
I could hardly make out the words.
"Omnia... ."
Silence.
He nodded.
Then:
"et nos cedamus... "
The damned hiss which had become my friend now relinquished its acquaintance and gave over to a shrill, insistent buzz - what a clarion-call to eternity that is!
Farewell, Jack Kendle! Be there to meet me, my love!
* * *
Jack's funeral was a quiet, family affair. I asked Elizabeth, but she was not well enough to attend. She sent a heartfelt letter and a large beautiful bouquet of flowers. Apart from me, Jack's children and grandchildren, the only other guests were Jack Two, Daniel, Dieter...
and Leo.
He must have seen the announcement in the press. On the morning of the funeral, I got a 'phone call.
JJ?
"Yes?"
This is Leo, Leo Nielsen. I don't know if you remember...
"Yes, of course I remember you, Leo... "
I'm so sorry to hear about Jack.
"Thank you, Leo. So good of you to call."
Actually, JJ, I'm here, in the village and was wondering if, perhaps...
So Leo came to Jack's funeral and played I Am Here at the service. He played it from memory; beautifully, with such tender feeling, such subtle nuance, such beautifully controlled phrasing, it was breathtaking.
My mind went back nearly forty years to that youth with the white-blond hair and cornflower eyes, who - for a while - had Jack so entranced, so bewitched, I thought I might lose him for ever.
But I could never tell Jack that. Jack had to be the one to decide whether it was the primrose path he wanted to tread or else the steep and thorny way.
Luckily, our way was neither steep, nor thorny, but how was either of us to know that?
God bless you, Jack! Be there for me, my love, when it's my turn!
Omnia Vincit Amor!
Dear JJ,
Thank you for sending me Dad's journal. I'm really touched that you had the trust in me to do that, it must have been hard for you.
I'm glad you did for another reason. Dad was never anything but the perfect father to me - always. He put me and Em first, we never ever felt that we were anything but the most important people in his life, whilst all the time he was suffering so. Em and I never had an inkling that Dad was anything but what we saw him as: a wonderful father, friend and confidant.
Reading his journal now and seeing how he suffered, it amazes me that he managed to continue,in our eyes at least, being the kind loving father he was.
Of course we knew that he and Mum had their rough patches, but apart from the odd row, it never really affected us.
As you know, it came as a shock when he and my mother divorced, but they both obviously tried very hard not to let that sad fact be more difficult for us than it was.
He and my grandma were very good friends, and I am always somewhat amazed at how broadminded she was, I know she was saddened by the divorce but was determined that Em and I should be protected as much as she was able. I think it was a lot to do with her that Mum didn't make more demands at the divorce; the house and visiting rights and all that. In that respect, my grandmother was light-years ahead of her daughter - her son-in-law being gay and leaving her daughter for a man.
You know of course that Em and I adored you, no that's not quite right, we stilladore you and I can say we are so glad you made our father so happy.
He often told us how much he loved you, how you had made his life worth living. He used to say that he had been 'lost and found' - how apt that is. He must have felt terribly lost when he realised his true feelings, trapped in a marriage entered into too quickly and with little thought. But that was Mum for you; what she wanted, she got. At least then. I don't think she has had much of a fun life since she and Dad split up.
Anyway, JJ, I shall send the journal to Carl, if you agree, that is. I think he should post it on his website. His charity has done amazing things in the past few years. Dad's journal would be just right for the site.
I know how alone you are, JJ, and let me say again you are more than welcome to come and stay with us whenever you feel like - that is if you can put up with the little brats! By the way, there's another one on the way! We saw on the ultrasound that it's a boy - at last!!! We are going to call him Jeremy Jack.
So, thankyou again for the journal. I sincerely hope and firmly believe that it will help others who are 'lost and need to be found'.
Fondly,
Tommy.
________________________________________________________________________
This is the manuscript as Tommy Kendle sent it to me. He asked me to post it on my website, which I do with pleasure. I asked him if I needed to change names, etcetera. Tommy just replied, "No, tell it as it is. If there is any threat of litigation, tell them you've got a damned good lawyer, the best. Me."
So here it is. My father was such a bastard. It took me a long time to recover, and this site is my way of trying to redress the wrongs he did, not just to me, but to countless other boys who had done nothing wrong other than be in his path. He's dead now. After he was released from prison he suffered a massive stroke. I can't say I felt sorry for him, even then. Whatever monster he had been, he was that no more; reduced to a dribbling idiot, mindless, incontinent. I gave up visiting him in the nursing-home, there was no point. Even while he was still mentally alert, he never, ever apologised to me, never showed any remorse whatsoever for what he did, I honestly think it never even occurred to him.
One thing I do know; he won't be spending eternity in the same place as Dad and his Pete, for which I thank God from the bottom of my heart.
Carl Weber, site owner.
F I N I S
