Fast Fiction: Des Res
"And was there life after cricket?'' asks the old cricketer when, by chance, he encounters a former county team-mate. But, as Richard Mallinson's story reveals, some questions should never be asked.
As I was sipping coffee at one of the tables outside a bistro in Worthing there came into sight an old cricketing team-mate of mine - Desmond Restwick, or Des Res.
He'd gone on playing for the county after I'd been 'released' but of course by now he'd been out of the game for many years (as had I).
'Des,'I shouted.
He looked at me but I could tell that he didn't recognise me. I stood up and he came to the table. We shook hands while he tried to think who i was.
When I told him, he was greatly relieved.
'Yes, yes, of course,' he said, 'but you've changed a lot.' (Actually 1 hadn't.)
'I recall the day,' he went on, sitting down, 'when Kent hit us all over the field at Hove and you had the worst bowling figures that anybody could remem -'
'All right,' I said, 'don't rub it in. Let me get you a coffee and then you can tell me what you've been doing with yourself.'
When I returned with the coffee I thought how ill-preserved he was. He was bald, he had jowls and a paunch.
'And was there life for you after cricket?' I asked.
'Actually there was,' he said, I made a fortune out of garden gnomes and I was able to retire early. And now I spend my summers watching Sussex at Hove and away and cursing them for not being the side I used to play in.'
He gave me a quick sly look.
'And the side you used to play in, too,' he added with a smirk.
It was then that 1 realised that I had no further interest in him. I didn"t want to hear any more details of his life or any of his opinions on Sussex cricket or anything else for that matter.
But he went on talking for almost an hour and then said, 'Weil, I've enjoyed our little chat.' And, 'We must do this again some time.'
We exchanged phone numbers but so far nothing's happened.
Garden gnomes indeed.
