Chapter 28
The Big Importance of Small Things
The ghost followed Wilbur out of the shop and all the way to Endcliffe Park, through sun-dappled streets.
He stood and watched his sixteen-year-old self walking across a buzzing road to the park, with adverts for Guinness and Corn Flakes recently painted in bright colours on the sides of the buildings behind him.
He was walking to Charlie’s house. He had a spring in his step because of the new Saturday job.
A homeless man with a shaggy beard and frayed suit was sat on a bench.
‘Hey up, Wilbur, lad. How goes you?’
‘Hey there! I’m well, thanks. You?’
‘Can’t complain. The sun shines down on me. That’s all we can ask for, isn’t it?’
He saw Victor a lot around town, and always chatted to him.
Victor Willows. He had fought in the war two decades before and when he came back he had nothing.
His house was bombed and he had lost his family.
He held out a tin of coins and gave it a rattle.
‘Don’t suppose you have a copper or two for a cheeky old beggar? ’
‘Actually, Victor,’ said Wilbur with an amicable smile, ‘today you are in luck.’
He liked to give him money when he could. And today he could. He dug deep in his pockets and gave him all he had. Which amounted to three shillings.
‘Ta, Wilbur, laddo, and not just for the coins.’
‘What for, then?’
He tapped a finger just under his right eye. ‘Seeing. Thing is, Wilbur, this world is full of folk who look but never see. I am looked at a hundred times a day. But not many see. Thanks for seeing, lad. Keep that, lad. Stay seeing …’
‘I will,’ said Wilbur.
‘You liar,’ muttered his ghost.