I was having a late breakfast in The Black Douglas when an old face walked in that I'd last seen at death's door. He was smoking outside The Zetland in the snow I recalled, trying to pick his cup up from a saucer.
Seeing Duggan again seemingly resurrected, I felt a pang of guilt that I hadn't given him much of a thought since then, or even enquired about his health and well-being to the many café owners who knew him in Deal. I had blanked him out I realised, brushed Duggan off like the casual acquaintance he was.
Anyone who had the bad luck to run into Duggan in recent years could see he was battling with the Big C. He wore black-out sunglasses and a baseball cap to try and disguise it, but speaking was an obvious strain and his conversation thankfully short.
He vaped now, Duggan told me in a matter of fact way. 'I've been in remission for five months. Hopefully that's the end of it but you never know.'
'You look good Duggan.' I said standing up to shake his hand. I could barely believe it was him, I was sure somebody in Miretti's had told me he'd died.
'The drugs fuck you up Tim, in the mind I mean. How's the shop?'
My antique business in town was where I had first met Duggan. He bowled in one morning in one of those tweed jackets that hung on the rails of charity-shops a little too long to look around and introduce himself as 'a name' in the local area. Polite and well-spoken, his past seemed unmade and I took him for a harmless eccentric, a timewaster and a tyre kicker to go with the rest.
He commented on my Church's brogues I remembered, then confessed quite proudly that he bought all his footwear in Shoe Zone. Of course, Duggan didn't want to buy anything but he had a girl, some barmaid he'd met in a pub that he claimed to be representing in the job market.
'Maxine's a clever girl and I imagine you need one in your business. She can do paperwork, type, make tea, anything.' He told me unconvincingly.
I declined his offer politely but over the next few weeks and months, I began to see Duggan much more frequently than I would have liked. Sometimes he'd cross the High Street to greet me like a long lost friend or beckon me to join him for a coffee outside one of the numerous cafes he haunted in the daytime. He began appearing in local pubs I drank in and of course at the shop, until one day I barred him and told him not come back.
By then, I heard Duggan had developed an obsession with a young actress in Doctor Who with whom he had started to follow on Twitter and it seemed beyond by the news-stories I read in the papers.
"I sent her flowers, that's all.' Duggan had told me when I'd last seen him sitting outside my local in the snow.
Seeing Duggan again seemingly resurrected, I felt a pang of guilt that I hadn't given him much of a thought since then, or even enquired about his health and well-being to the many café owners who knew him in Deal. I had blanked him out I realised, brushed Duggan off like the casual acquaintance he was.
Anyone who had the bad luck to run into Duggan in recent years could see he was battling with the Big C. He wore black-out sunglasses and a baseball cap to try and disguise it, but speaking was an obvious strain and his conversation thankfully short.
He vaped now, Duggan told me in a matter of fact way. 'I've been in remission for five months. Hopefully that's the end of it but you never know.'
'You look good Duggan.' I said standing up to shake his hand. I could barely believe it was him, I was sure somebody in Miretti's had told me he'd died.
'The drugs fuck you up Tim, in the mind I mean. How's the shop?'
My antique business in town was where I had first met Duggan. He bowled in one morning in one of those tweed jackets that hung on the rails of charity-shops a little too long to look around and introduce himself as 'a name' in the local area. Polite and well-spoken, his past seemed unmade and I took him for a harmless eccentric, a timewaster and a tyre kicker to go with the rest.
He commented on my Church's brogues I remembered, then confessed quite proudly that he bought all his footwear in Shoe Zone. Of course, Duggan didn't want to buy anything but he had a girl, some barmaid he'd met in a pub that he claimed to be representing in the job market.
'Maxine's a clever girl and I imagine you need one in your business. She can do paperwork, type, make tea, anything.' He told me unconvincingly.
I declined his offer politely but over the next few weeks and months, I began to see Duggan much more frequently than I would have liked. Sometimes he'd cross the High Street to greet me like a long lost friend or beckon me to join him for a coffee outside one of the numerous cafes he haunted in the daytime. He began appearing in local pubs I drank in and of course at the shop, until one day I barred him and told him not come back.
By then, I heard Duggan had developed an obsession with a young actress in Doctor Who with whom he had started to follow on Twitter and it seemed beyond by the news-stories I read in the papers.
"I sent her flowers, that's all.' Duggan had told me when I'd last seen him sitting outside my local in the snow.
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