Nicholas Calderbank, “Golden Boy

Golden Boy

Nicholas Calderbank

You had it all.

The looks.

The brains.

The gift of the gab.

Everyone wanted a piece of you.

You were hot!

We hung on your every word. We imitated your gestures.

You were already a legend. The world was your oyster.

- I’ve done quite well, myself, you’ll be pleased to hear. I was never going to set the world alight. But I have made a contribution. Modest yet worthwhile.

I remember watching you in the match against... St. Stephens, was it? You ran circles round them. No one could touch you. You were the only man on the field. Do you still do your 200 press-ups before breakfast?

And the crumpet! Queuing up. Round the block!

- I’m a married man. My wife is a fine woman. We have two fine children, one of each sex. Both now living on the other side of the globe.

And according to the reports we receive doing well in all areas.

When I retired last year, my colleagues gave me a splendid send-off. I was presented with the watch that I am wearing. It keeps perfect time.

A leader. A political – or spiritual – leader. Offering hope in these troubled times. A mass movement. Gathering support on all sides. Inspiring people wherever you went. With your words. Your presence. Your self-belief. Changing the course of history.

You’re taking the piss, aren’t you? I know you. You’re a born tease.

- I’m an active member of the community. I’ve been asked to stand for election to the local council.

Or the theatre. Your Hotspur was unforgettable. You were equally adept at stand-up. You had us all in stitches.

I yearned to be you. Did you know that? To have your ease. Your grace.

- I’ve worked for everything I’ve got. I’m a grafter. I’ve had to be. No one gave me a leg-up. I did it off my own bat.

Are you still biding your time? Don’t leave it too late.

Have you read “A La Recherche du Temps Perdu” by Marcel Proust? I have. All six volumes. It’s a masterpiece.

Those shoes of yours! You used to be an impeccable dresser. In fact, something of a dandy.

- I’m loaded. I’ve been quietly stashing it away for years.

I could go round the world. On a luxury cruise. Miami. Honolulu. Bangkok.

I could leave today.

I want a Ferrari, I’d buy a Ferrari.

You had it all. In the palm of your hand. Where did it go? Did you piss it away? You had no right.

If that had been me, I’d be running an empire by now. It’s enough to make you weep. Don’t you understand? We loved you, you cunt.

How does it feel? Is it hard to live with? I’m surprised you haven’t topped yourself. Maybe you have. Are you dead? Did you die?

THE END.