Nobody Wants To Know Him

III - Baby, You're A Rich Man

Wednesday 22nd November 1972
Liverpool, England
2.34pm

"So, yer telling me that ye was doing this paper round last week, saw me lights on yesterday after dark and decided to bring me a paper? What, were you surprised someone actually lived here?"

I nodded. It almost seemed like he was interrogating me with all the questions he was asking me.

We sat in the kitchen perched upon bar stools as we both drank a cuppa each. He'd made me another once I'd finished my first, as well as one for himself.

Poor guy. He must've not had any contact with anyone for years.

"Why though? I've been able to live here peacefully for years, never a need for the paper."

I shrugged at him, averting my gaze. "Thought it would be nice, see. Was intrigued too, I guess." I wasn't quite sure why I wanted to bring him a paper so badly.

Mainly curiosity, probably.

"See, yer like a myth in the city, y'know. Everyone's always talking about the fool on the hill living alone in his house like a loser. They all reckon you must be some bloody right freak."

He let out a light-hearted chuckle, bringing his mug to his mouth, adam's apple bobbing as he took a gulp.

"They always wonder who lives here, but not one person gives a single shit to come and bother to see who I might be. 'cept you, now."

If he was so bothered about no one coming to see him, why didn't he go out and see others?

"Why d'ya stay cooped up in here then?"

He laughed. "Don't have the desire to leave. If I wanted to, I would, y'know. But I'm perfectly happy 'ere by myself: I keep myself busy. It's not that I don't like talking to people or am afraid of it or something, like. I mean, I'm talking to ye right now, aren't I? Just don't feel that I need to. Most people piss me off a little anyway. Call me uptight or arrogant if you will but it's a fact." He raised both hands up as he said that, eyes turning to face mine.

I didn't really understand. If I was him, I'd feel confined staying in the same place for years.

"I do go out, y'know," he continued as if reading my thought, "and not just out into the garden. Someone's gotta do the shopping. Dunno how come no one ever notices me leave. Maybe I'm just stealthy like tha'.

That earned a small chuckle from me as I lifted my own mug to my mouth, taking a sip.

"I do have friends, too. And hobbies. Not just some nowhere man sitting in my nowhere land." It was almost like he was trying to convince me.

I turned round to look out the windows behind us. It wasn't quite dark yet, but I suspected the sun would start setting in about an hour or so.

"It's quite nice talking to someone, though. I've got friends, yeah, but I only speak to them over the phone, see. They're quite busy people, y'know."

"D'you work?" He had to have some sort of job to be able to afford the upkeep of this house. And that Rolls Royce didn't come from nowhere.

"It's a little complicated, y'know. I did art, and all that. Bit of music here and there. But me big break was with writing. I wrote a book back in '64, see. Was called In His Own Write. Just like poems 'n' shit, like."

God, I would've been 15. Didn't remember it.

"Earned yonks from it. It was a bit mental actually. It was proper successful, here and in the states, and I couldn't have been more grateful. Was a bit strapped for cash at that point, struggling to keep up with this good old house. Inherited it, see, passed through several generations in the family and was my childhood home, but I thought I'd have to sell it. Christ, it would sell for millions. But I wouldn't sell it willingly. Too attached."