CHAPTER - 5

5 

 

 

I’m sure it was not difficult to miss any of Monkie’s cars. This particular one was parked right in the middle of the crowded car park near five scooters with all the accessories. A rusted pile of metal with an Austin badge on the front and paintwork that was more or less blue. 

I mentioned the condition to Monkie, “I know you said your dad’s stock was low-end but isn’t this a bit… well, I’d say below the waterline.”  

“Maybe,” replied Monkie, “but he only lets me drive the ones that haven’t been through the workshop. New stock…” 

“From the scrapyard, I assume.” 

“Some for sure but this was a trade-in bought…” 

“You mean he paid money for it?” 

“A nominal sum to remove it from the gleaming showroom of one of his mates… Anyway, his reasoning is that in this condition there’s not much I can do to wreck them.” 

“A very good conclusion for sure,” I replied and gave the car the Rich quick walk around then announced that Monkie’s old man was certainly a very shrewd man when it came to balancing the pressure of giving Monkie mobility and the conservation of his bank balance.  

It did seem to go quite well though. That is, after the stuck starter motor had received a sharp bash with a hammer and the stuttering wind up from an almost defunct battery. One good thing: it had the advantage of a huge pile of blue smoke drifting in its wake that would serve quite nicely if an unseen getaway was ever required. Although I’m not so sure such a car had the capacity to qualify as a saviour of liberty but, if need arose, I was sure it would probably do its best.  

It turned out Monkie was as far into seventeen as I was coming up to seventeen, so we were actually only two months apart. With a ready supply of cars, he’d been driving for a while mostly around his dad's yard but on the odd occasion, when his old man was out, a swift sprint down the A3 and back provided excellent experience particularly on how to dodge the always lurking traffic cop in the black MG. Having practised all the necessary manoeuvres and with suitably gained expertise he had taken and passed his driving test by ten on the morning of his seventeenth birthday.  

Once we finally got underway and, even including the stop at the phone box, it was not long until we arrived at my digs. Before I introduced Monkie to Marge I did mention Wendy’s suggestion about how much cash we should have with us when we picked them up, but we agreed to see how things went before passing judgement.  

 

You know, I really love Marge and thinking about it a bit more I actually did love her more than my mum. Sixty something and lonely when I first met her. The curled grey hair and a look of permanent grief on her face. Dark clothes and a smile that lacked any sign of life. Her whole purpose probably had slipped a bit after Bernie passed away. We did seem to hit it off straight away although the first few weeks were a bit on the tentative side until the daffodil bulbs gave a hand. But I’m sure I brightened up her world and she definitely changed my life. Now I’d do anything for her. One day I thought I’d take her to meet Aunt Viv. They’d get on like a pair of canaries for sure.  

You know, I actually considered myself fortunate but, of course, that was not so difficult. I had this natural resilience. Add an overbearing confidence and you’d understand why I had a way of making the most of opportunities while learning a few neat tricks along the way. I had this thing about wanting to know. If I saw something that grabbed my attention, I had this urge to learn how to do it. Things like lip reading and picking locks. Things that had enabled me to survive. Now, I know that sounds dramatic, like I prevailed through a real disaster. To some that might be the case but for me it was simply an inconvenience or, at least, that’s what I thought. Just a stutter in time that was fairly quickly resolved by meeting Marge. 

I’ve already explained home life was a trauma. I was way ahead of my time and that meant constant clashes with authority which in our household was my old man. A guy with the biggest rod of iron you'll ever see and no fear of wielding it in the form of the leather belt I’ve already mentioned. Add to that a quick draw temper and there was always going to be trouble. That was until I started to really grow. By sixteen he would think twice before having a go. He knew there was a danger I’d do him real harm and, thinking of my mum, I’d definitely have loved every minute of it. But he still had the temper and when that took a hold the outcome would always be in doubt. 

It didn’t take a genius to realise he was a right bastard. When he didn’t get his way, that was when… well, he snapped was the best way to tell it. Anyway, all he wanted was a few beers, a few mega scotch chasers and a quiet life stretched out on the sofa. A rebellious son was something he definitely had not signed up for. The result: one chance too many and I was out the door. Quick as with no argument. All that was lacking was his size nine boot up my backside. But… I must admit this time I might have asked for it… no, I’ll have to rephrase that, I definitely did ask for it.  

The evening had been long and I’d forgotten my key. All was quiet when I got home and… you can maybe guess, wake the old man at your peril. The way in through the kitchen window. Wiggle the fanlight open. Reach in, open the big window and, using the waste pipe bend as a step, slide in over the sink. Easy. Done it so many times. But, and here’s the thing, not when more than enough had been consumed and not at four in the morning. In short, the sound of me throwing up in the kitchen sink woke the household.  

In a way, though, it was also my dad’s fault. He should have known better. One thing you should never do is pull someone’s head out of the sink, by their hair, to yell in their face when they’re in mid-heave. Not if you want to keep your pyjamas vomit free that is. Anyway, he was soaked and stinking and furious and yelling so much the man in the moon could hear and that was it. Things flew and doors slammed, and the overdue end finally arrived. My mum cried on the doorstep in the dark as she watched me stagger down the road. Turfed out into the cold at sixteen with nowhere to go. 

A disaster you might think. Not so, just a regroup was all that was required and that’s what I thought I’d do. No matter how tough it seemed I could handle it. First stagger to the park and a bench by the pond. Did I get some sleep? Some, I suppose, but only because I’d had so much to drink. Then I woke up shivering with the air so fresh and everything damp. I sat up, pulled my jacket tight and hoped the sun would strengthen before I died of frostbite. All I did was sit and stare in a dream and watch as people started to appear to give me a look they reserved for the down and outs.  

Anyway, the park warden exerted all of his peak cap authority and kicked me out as soon as he arrived at eight and I wandered into town. Trawled through the small ads and picked out three likelies. For Marge it was not so early but being on her own she still had the curlers in when I knocked. You can imagine how I looked. Park bench worn with a mega hangover. Ruffled hair. In fact, the whole tramp-Esque look. That visage of distress worked though and Marge virtually dragged me inside. Sat me down and there was a cup of tea, three sugars and a silver spoon. Then a bacon sandwich with proper ketchup when I offered to pay three months in advance. Breakfast and dinner included. I had one month in my pocket, and I promised the other two when I returned with my stuff. The funds being readily available in what had become my safety deposit box under the shed. I knew exactly how much I had. The carefully concealed proceeds of three years of opportunities and enough for six month’s rent and a good supply of spending cash. If my father thought, I’d try and come sneaking back through lack of funds he was mistaken. Besides, I knew something about my old man. A secret that one day might just give me an opportunity. 

With the old man having gone to work the coast was clear to go and collect my stuff. I picked up a cab from the station and, with a flood of tears, my mum helped me pack. It did not take so long. All I wanted was my best kit. I had some good stuff from working in the clothes shop. Ben Shermans, two pairs of Levis and a couple of smart suits. Oh, then there were the shoes, brown Cubans with the chisel toe and the spare bumpers and all the other stuff. You know, undies and the like. Four big shopping bags and a real struggle. But I wore the full-length tan leather coat so that saved another bag. A cardboard box with all my books topped up the taxi’s boot. 

Mum gave me a tenner that I said I didn’t want but she insisted. As you would expect she was worried, but I told her I’d found a nice place, and she should come and visit and meet Marge. Then she would see there was nothing to worry about. One thing she did understand. She knew I couldn’t stay at home. If I did there would be blood spilled for sure.  

School? I was sixteen so no need to bother with that anymore. Plans went on hold and after I settled down with Marge, I set about extending a network of opportunities. I was already working at the clothes store on Saturdays and that gave me a bit of a start. Now, with my extended interests, I had enough in place to ensure a reasonable return but there was a lack of consistency now and again. What about the thing with Monkie? Progress was what it was and a way to try to really firm up my financial stability.   

 

Marge’s place had a nice feel. I would suggest homely but it was much more than that. As soon as you walked in there it was, this expectation. It kind of hung in the air, the feeling this was a really great place to live. Warmth might do it but, as you can tell, I’m really struggling to put a finger on it. For me though, I suppose I’d say it was like blackcurrant jam. That’s my favourite by a long way and even while I’m spreading it on warm toast, with the butter already soaking in, I’m starting to feel the glow forming inside.  

Maybe I felt like I did about Marge because my life had been such a pile of crap. Perhaps her place was just so different being free from all of that. Suddenly I had stability, something home had lacked. Sure, my mother had tried but at times it was that tough… how shall I put it, she struggled is probably the simplest way. She struggled to find the time to deal with everything. No doubt about that. Do I have a problem with that? Absolutely not, I’ve already described the circumstances, haven't I. It must have been so difficult for her. Then, of course, just six months before I’d moved in Bernie had passed and Marge, I can tell you, she really did struggle. At the time I had no idea how much that would have an effect on me.  

You know what, now I think about it, I actually found the change traumatic. In some way I think I struggled, probably as much as Marge did, until this one time I came home. It was about four in the afternoon and Marge was on her knees in the back garden with a big bucket of daffodil bulbs and dibber in hand. But she was stuck. Winter it was and the light was already fading. I asked her if I could help but she just looked at me through a pile of tears. She said Bernie and she had always planted the daffodil bulbs together. Every winter they added a few more although maybe a few weeks earlier. This year she hadn’t been able to bring herself to make a start. He’d stand next to her and she would ask him where to put them. This was the first winter he’d not be there, and she said she couldn’t do it without him. She just didn’t know where they should go because he’d always told her. So, I pointed at a spot in-between two trees. She looked at me and smiled and said what a good idea. Then after I made a few more suggestions, and the bulbs were gone we went inside and for a cuppa. 

You know it’s crazy how these things happen. One moment I’m kind of tip-toeing around Marge, fearful I’d screw up somehow and the next everything had changed. Almost in a blink things were a lot more comfortable and all because of a bucket of bulbs. I like to think it was the coming together of two lost souls both not really realising how much help they needed. Both with the ability to… I’ll put it simply… to care. Now look at her. Bright clothes, neat smile, no frown. Me, I’m settled and secure and share her sense of happiness. And, what’s more, there have not been any more bulb moments. A couple of blips, maybe, but nothing major.  

I had thought I was invulnerable. Thought I could just brush all the crap away. But this incident, seeing her like that, on her knees, with the bulbs, it made me realise how long I’d shut stuff up inside. Buried it deep. All the stuff with my dad but most of all my brother. When I first knocked on her door I had no idea how really screwed up I was so deep inside. Screwed up mostly because of what happened to my brother. That was until that winter day when Marge and I planted some bulbs and we both started to genuinely smile again.