I’m just going to type away until something starts to make sense.

A while back, I got a phone message from a Canadian phone company, saying that various people had been trying to contact me. Although none of the relevant words like ‘father’ and ‘dead’ were present in the message, I knew that the attempted communication was this, “Your father is dead.”

So I had a little time to deal with the fact, before receiving the facts (not that it did me much good).

This morning I noticed a FB message on my phone, saying, “You don’t know me, but I’m your best friend’s cousin’s wife. Please call me on this number.”

Which is just another way of saying, “Your best friend’s dead.”

It being eight o’clock and an hour ahead of UK time, I had to find myself something to do before calling at a more reasonable time. I went out as usual to get the croissants, than wandered around the back streets behind Grande Place, all the while holding back the tears and keeping the upper lip stiff. Trouble is, without actual confirmation, the multiple me’s in my head wouldn’t and couldn’t stop blathering on about how the cancer had got him… no no, you don’t know he’s dead… but you know what the message means… but I can’t assume on no evidence… oh fuck, I wish I’d called him when I was thinking of him the other day… shut up – you don’t know he’s dead you moron…

So I went home and called. Yup, he was dead.

Hearing it from an actual person (thank you Theresa) had the tears welling up and the thoughts gathering about me him us them death disease and saying goodbye.

Until she said, “I need to tell you how he died: he killed himself.”

Kablam.

My dearest, most wonderful friend, who I had shared so much with – thick, thin and all the other widths – for the last forty-odd years, with whom I had been so very, very drunk, with whom I had laughed cried dribbled shouted hugged and watched fall asleep on so many, many occasions… the first man to whom I had ever said, “I love you”… the fucking bastard went and fucking killed himself. Without telling me. Without saying goodbye. And taking all of his cares with him, without sharing them with me.

I still love you Marty. But I’ll miss your dopey laugh, your loyalty, your uncompromising politics, your utter generosity – and all that Marty stuff. You were there for so many of us all through your life – how come none of us was there to make you feel welcome enough not to leave?

It’s been a privilege. Thank you. Yes, this bit makes sense.