Hampton

 

Hampton stood in front of the large three-story town house gazing up at the first-floor window.  Neat window boxes, frames painted pale blue, the building looked inviting, like something from a Dickensian musical.  Something stirred within him, a brief recognition and then it was gone.  A tear ran down his cheek, but he had no idea why.  He stroked his straggly beard and ran his hand through greasy unwashed hair.  His face was a mixture of confusion and sadness.  He turned and walked away.

People called him Hampton, but that wasn’t his name.  He couldn’t remember his name.  He couldn’t remember anything from before.  A dense fog had descended over his mind blocking out his identity.  Who was he? He didn’t know.  Where did he come from?  He had no idea.  Somewhere along the way something went wrong in his head.  Now he was just “Hampton” the scruffy man with the filthy beard and greasy hair, with no idea who he was.

The sun was beginning to set as he reached the doors of the homeless shelter.  A large imposing building that offered a little sanctuary to the down and out, the dispossessed and the homeless of the town.  He hurried along to be sure of his place for the night.  The nice lady was waiting for him at the door.  Was it Jenny? Judith? He couldn’t remember.

‘Hurry up Mr Hampton, come and get in the warm.  We have a hot meal ready for you, I hope you like shepherds pie.’

‘Hampton’ He said, and smiled.

The usual crowd were in tonight, all men, because men always seemed to slip through the system.  Some of them had lost their jobs, some lost their families others seemed to have lost their minds.  Hampton wasn’t sure where he fit in, he seemed to have lost everything.  Charlie sat on his own in the corner, no one really liked Charlie, he didn’t say a lot and the smell was quite overpowering.  Hampton didn’t mind, and he felt sorry for the man.  He hoped he helped by just sitting with him, even if he had no words.

‘Alright Hampton, how was your day then old mate?’ Charlie said

‘Hampton’ said Hampton nodding.

‘I wish I knew what you were on about.’  Charlie said tucking into his shepherds pie. ‘What goes on in that head of yours?’

Nothing, Hampton thought.  Nothing goes on, I don’t know anything or anyone.  I cant remember.  And I cant make my words come. He looked at Charlie and shrugged.  ‘Hampton’

He spent a restless night on the makeshift bed.  It wasn’t the Ritz but it was warm and dry, and the food was nice.  The next morning as he sat down to a cooked breakfast Charlie came over and sat with him. 

‘What you up to today then?’  he asked.

‘Hampton.’  Said Hampton.

‘Yeah, I thought as much.  I got an interview with my social worker.  I’m starving though, maybe she’ll buy me lunch.’

Hampton looked at the remains of his breakfast, then at Charlie.  He scraped the food off his own plate onto Charlie’s. ‘Hampton’ he said smiling.  Charlie wolfed it down like he hadn’t eaten in months. Hampton got up and took his plate back to the counter where the nice lady stood.

‘Did you enjoy that Mr Hampton?  Now, we have some sandwiches for you all today, take a bag with you and don’t eat them all at once.’  She smiled and handed him a brown paper bag.

‘Hampton’ he said and walked out into the morning.

His walk took him past the big house again and he stopped to gaze.  He couldn’t remember why.  Did he know the people who lived here?  He didn’t think so.  Something about the window boxes looked familiar.  Maybe he had some, wherever he came from.  He walked on and into the park.

He was dozing on the park bench watching the ducks splashing about in the water when a voice startled him.

‘’Ere, ‘Ampton, you got anything to eat?  I had a skinfull last night and couldn’t get to the shelter.  I’m starving.’

Hampton looked up and saw Pettigrew sitting beside him.  Pettigrew the drunk.  Pettigrew the ex-lawyer, apparently.  If Charlie stank of BO, Pettigrew stank of booze. But it was just a coping mechanism.  Who knew what went on in Pettigrew’s life to lead him here.  Sometimes one thing goes wrong in your life and sets off a chain reaction.  Before you know it, you are sat on a park bench begging food off a homeless man.  Hampton took his bag of sandwiches and handed them to Pettigrew.

‘Hampton?’

Pettigrew took a sandwich out of the bag and ate it greedily.  Hampton watched as he gobbled it down.  He thought it would give Pettigrew indigestion eating so fast, but he couldn’t find a way to tell him.  Pettigrew finished and let out a loud belch. 

‘Thanks mate, you’re a lifesaver. I should try not to drink I suppose, might get free dinners more often then.’

Hampton shrugged, ‘Hampton.’

‘Wish we knew what was wrong with you, old son.’  Pettigrew said ‘Do you remember anything?’

Hampton didn’t know how to express himself.  He remembered being a child, he remembered a holiday he had in Edinburgh when he was 23.  He remembered the shepherds pie last night.  The rest was a blur.

‘Hampton.’ he said sadly.

‘We should get you somewhere familiar.  They reckon that helps get your memory back.  Trouble is we don’t know what’s familiar to you. Well, thanks for the sarnie mate.  I might see you later if I can stay off the booze long enough.’  Pettigrew winked and headed off towards the park entrance.  Where did he find the money for booze, Hampton thought?

Hampton went back to dozing in the morning sun.  Alone with his thoughts he wondered if Pettigrew was right, maybe he needed something familiar.  But where?  His mind was a turmoil of emotions.  When he tried to concentrate on where he lived, he began to cry.  As he tried to recall his family, he felt scared, his heart raced.  It was like nothing worked properly in his head anymore.  He had tried to form words, to make himself understood, but it just came back to one word.  Hampton. He couldn’t even remember what that meant.  A place? A person? Nothing would come, just fog and emptiness.

His despair was rising, a tear ran down his face.  He couldn’t carry on much longer.  His mind was broken and his spirit wasn’t far behind.  A cry broke his melancholy.  He turned and saw a young girl on the floor holding her ankle, a broken stiletto next to her.  He hurried over and helped her up.  She looked apprehensive at first, then the pain in her ankle overcame her fear and she let him help her to the bench.

‘Thank you.  I slipped.  Those damn shoes.  I don’t know why I.....’  she stopped mid-sentence staring at him.  She put her hand to her mouth and gasped.  ‘Oh my God.  Is it you?  Dad?’

Hampton felt his heart race.  Was this someone who knew him?  His mind was grasping for something, some spark of recognition.  Nothing came.

‘Hampton’ he said.

‘Oh God, it is you!’ she cried ‘Hampton was our dog.  He was run over the day you disappeared, remember?  We’ve been searching for you for months.’ 

Hampton stared at her desperately trying to remember.  Her eyes filled with tears, she reached out and stroked his face.  The soft touch of her hand suddenly rebooted his brain.  Synapses fired, pathways repaired, the fog began to lift.  Memories flooded back.  A man laying on an operating table.  His operating table.  He was a surgeon; the man had died.  He blamed himself, he couldn’t sleep for days. Fourteen hour shifts and no sleep took its toll.  He remembered returning home in a daze, leaving the door open.  The door to the town house, with the window boxes.  Hampton, his little terrier bolted outside.  There was a screech of tyres, a yelp.  He rushed outside but too late.  It was the last straw, something inside him snapped.  His mind broke.  The fog descended and everything was black.

‘Katie?’  he said, tears streaming down his face.

‘Yes, dad, its me Katie.  Oh God we thought we’d lost you.’ She threw her arms around him.  He held her tightly in his arms and wept.