We weren't his best buddies when he was stood across the road with a sharpened stick shouting "I am at war with you....!"Patrick didn't come for breakfast today. We not his best buddies since we asked him to leave on Tuesday for being extremely abusive to Kate. We're not his best buddies since two social workers turned up to speak with him. We weren't his best buddies when he was stood across the road with a sharpened stick shouting "I am at war with you....!". We certainly were not his best buddies when he 'explained' to Bram that I had stabbed in the back. Maybe Patrick is sulking with us - who knows I am still worried for him.
I waited at the door not really knowing what to expect.
The door opens, I am welcomed and I entered the world that is Patrick. I tried not to look into the kitchen or bathroom but walked into Pat's bedsit, the smell clinging to the over heated room. Inside my gaze wanders, Patrick follows my gaze and volunteers softly "I am so ashamed...".
His room is full of societies cast off's. Patrick is a one man recycling machine of rubbish. There are broken toys, bits of furniture, old papers, magazines, piles of clothes at different levels of rancidity... everywhere!
"Is this why you wouldn't let the social workers in Patrick?"
"Are you frightened that they will say you can't stay here because of all of this?"
"Shall we do something about it?" I ask tentatively.
Later that afternoon we take the bagged up clothes to our hall to dispose of - we'll get him a new set. Next week we've arranged to tackle the rest of the bedsit. As we throw these clothes into our rubbish he goes to give me a hug, changes his mind and offers his hand instead and without looking up from the ground mutters "thanks - I don't deserve it...!"
I feel a lump in my throat - "Patrick you'll always deserve it...!"