Last Tango in Aberystwyth
“I was shown into a room upstairs at the Seaman’s Mission in which sat two very old men, with fine wisps of white hair on their shiny pates, and old suits that had stayed the same size for years as they both gradually shrank. They were drinking tea and still chewing their breakfast with grizzled unshaven jowls and false teeth that suggested the necessary lip control to be a working vent was no more than a distant memory for them. They were twins, Bill and Ben.
‘Few years ago he probably performe...d at their birthday parties,’ said Ben. ‘Their little faces glowing with excitement.’ ‘All pink and freshly scrubbed, their hair neatly combed and everyone smelling of vanilla,’ said Bill. Then he turned to me again as if just remembering something.
‘Are you sure the confrère spoke after Mr Marmalade was dead?’ ‘The what?’ ‘His confrère, Señor Rodrigo.’ ‘You mean his dummy?’ ‘We never use that word, it’s insulting. Are you sure he carried on speaking?’ ‘No, I’m not sure, I’m just saying that’s how it seemed.MoreLess
‘Few years ago he probably performe...d at their birthday parties,’ said Ben. ‘Their little faces glowing with excitement.’ ‘All pink and freshly scrubbed, their hair neatly combed and everyone smelling of vanilla,’ said Bill. Then he turned to me again as if just remembering something.
‘Are you sure the confrère spoke after Mr Marmalade was dead?’ ‘The what?’ ‘His confrère, Señor Rodrigo.’ ‘You mean his dummy?’ ‘We never use that word, it’s insulting. Are you sure he carried on speaking?’ ‘No, I’m not sure, I’m just saying that’s how it seemed.MoreLess
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