Frank 'n' Stan's Bucket List #3 Isle 'Le Mans' TT: Featuring Guy Martin

by J. C. Williams

  Monty looked around to spot the reinforcements, grateful that they had arrived, but then realised the reinforcements Dave was referring to were none other than his very person.

  Monty didn’t see what had felled his great friend and could only assume he’d been the victim of some form of terrible assault. He hopped, adrenalin pumping, on the spot, and his wayward eyes were typical of the conflict in his head — one pointing the way to safety, and the other to the barn ahead. Monty steeled his nerves, for the sake of his fallen comrade, deciding to follow the eye that led towards Dave. It was damn-the-torpedoes, full-speed-ahead.

  “Rraaaaahgggg!” screamed Monty, replicating the war cry of his fallen comrade, but he progressed no further than six or seven feet into the fray as well before he too went arse-over-tit, tripping over Dave, and landing mere inches away from him. At least we’ll die together, thought Monty. It will be a glorious death.

  Dave rolled onto his front, unsure from which direction this new assailant had attacked, so swung the gnome still in his hands wildly about, making obscene grunting noises all the while.

  Unbeknown to either of them, the only people involved in this mêlée were in fact, Dave and Monty themselves. “Where is he??” Monty shouted, popping up. “Get him, Dave! Get him!”

  One of the gnome’s boots caught Monty squarely in the jaw, sending him sprawling back to the barn floor. Along with this revised vantage point, however, came the benefit of their present circumstances being made apparent.

  “Stop,” Monty moaned, covering his face to guard against further gnome-based assault. “It’s just me and you fighting, Dave. There’s no burglar at all. Or ghosts, for that matter.”

  “There isn’t?” asked Dave, thoroughly confused. “Monty, what are you doing on the floor there? And what was that noise, then?” Dave held out the gnome, still at the ready, though by now it looked more like a French loaf of bread rather than a weapon.

  “It’s a kid. Look. Over there,” directed Monty, pointing.

  Sure enough, the potentially-lethal intruder likely there to sabotage their sidecar — or equally-lethal spirit or ghoul — was in fact revealed to be only a small boy, sat astride Dave’s sidecar, where he’d been making the pretend noises of a championship driver. The boy stared back at Monty, Dave, and the baguette-like gnome in Dave’s hand, wondering what all the fuss was about.

  Dave lowered his makeshift weapon, taking the gnome out of play, much to Monty’s tremendous relief. “Hey, buddy, don’t worry about the screaming,” Dave told the boy, who now looked as if he was wondering if he ought to be frightened or not. “We were just playing,” said Dave reassuringly. “We like to do that. We call it…” he trailed off, unsure what precisely to call it, actually.

  “Gnome wrestling,” said Monty with confidence, quickly coming to Dave’s rescue, apparently well familiar with the subject.

  “So what’s your name?” asked Dave, turning back to the young one. “Would you like me to show you how I drive the sidecar? I’m Dave, and this is my official sidecar passenger Monty. We’re here to fix her up, in fact, because we’ve got a big race coming up soon! You could help if you wanted?” Dave offered tentatively, hoping to allay the possible fears of their ‘intruder.’

  The boy nodded enthusiastically, and Dave walked over, offering a hand to help the wee one off the bike. “So. Where did you appear from?” Dave asked by way of conversation, but before any response could be given, the barn door flew open.

  “Tyler, I told you to stay out of here!” the panic-stricken woman called out. “Oh! I’m so sorry!” she added, noticing Dave and Monty stood there. “I hope he’s not damaged anything?” She closed the distance between them, and then scooped the boy up in her arms, pulling him into her chest, and stroking his hair.

  “Muu-uum,” the boy protested, wriggling in her grasp. “We were just gonna work on the motorbike!”

  “It’s fine,” replied Dave, as the woman, obviously Tyler’s mum, set her son back down so his flailing legs could once again find purchase on the barn floor. “He was just trying the sidecar out for size,” Dave continued on, cheerfully. “I’m thinking of swopping out your boy for mine, actually. Got a race coming up, and he’d be a bit less weight than Monty. That way, we should get more speed going up the hills. What do you reckon, Tyler?” Dave asked amiably. “Sound good?” he said to the now-giggling boy.

  The woman extended her hand. “I’m assuming you must be Dave? I’ve heard quite a bit about you. Grand Prix winner, is it?”

  “TT, yes, close enough,” Dave replied, taking her hand. “And this would be Monty.”

  “Ay-up,” Monty offered up agreeably.

  “I’m Rebecca. Well, Becks, you can call me. And this is my son, Tyler.”

  “Ay-up!” Tyler chirped, mimicking Monty’s salutation.

  “What must you think of me,” Rebecca said, chastising herself, pulling back and pointing to her current state of dress. “The first time you meet me, and I’m wearing pyjamas and a tatty pair of Ugg boots.”

  Dave and Monty smiled back, humouring her, because truth be told they wouldn’t have been able to identify one women’s brand of boots from another. And, beyond that, they both felt that pyjamas were a perfectly acceptable form of attire and not at all cause for embarrassment.

  “Frank and Stan showed Tyler the sidecar earlier,” Rebecca went on. “But when I was running him a bath, he must have decided he wanted to win a Grand— sorry, TT race— himself.”

  “Ah!” declared Dave. “I’ve just worked out who you both are! Specifically, I mean. In reference to the farm, I mean. Sorry. It often takes me a while to get up to speed.”

  “Takes him a while to get up to speed,” repeated Monty, nodding his head along for good measure.

  “A while to get up to speed,” Tyler agreed, nodding his own head along as well.

  “So,” continued Dave. “You’re the guys from England who’ve come to spend some time with us, if I remember correctly?” he asked, looking to Tyler.

  “A while to get up to speed,” Tyler agreed, still nodding his head.

  “Sorry for thinking you were burglars and all that,” Dave went on, turning his attention back to Rebecca.

  “We thought you were burglars,” Monty clarified. “Well, Dave did, that is. I didn’t, of course,” he added, shaking his head at Dave’s ostensible foolishness.

  “Burglars,” Tyler agreed, shaking his head.

  “It’s just that Frank said you were coming in a couple of weeks,” Dave explained. “So we — me and Monty, that is — weren’t expecting you to be here just yet.” Dave stared for a moment longer than necessary after he said this, feeling his face get hot. Rebecca was dressed for bed, with her auburn hair tied back, and while she looked less than glamorous according to her, she looked entirely presentable to Dave, her eyes shimmering whenever she spoke.

  “Oh. Well one room was finished in the other barn,” Rebecca told him. She took a step forward, cupping the side of her mouth and lowering her voice. “I told Tyler we were staying at a friend’s house in Liverpool, rather than try to explain to him what a hostel was. But then Lee said a room had become available over here, and I thought it was a wonderful opportunity to, you know, make a fresh start. Lee suggested we come over straight away, so that we could be settled in well before Christmas. And being here for Christmas means we can help out with the decoration,” she told him. “I’m a wizard with decorations!”

  “I’m a wizard also!” pronounced Tyler, popping his head up from the sidecar he’d scampered into, and his mother’s efforts at speaking confidentially obviously for nought. “I painted a picture of my teacher’s car, didn’t I, Mummy? Will I still have the same teacher in my new school?” he asked.

  “Probably not, honey. Anyway, we should get you to bed, little man, and leave these two to fix their… their bike thingy. It’s really nice to meet you both,” she told Monty and Dave. “And hopefully we’ll get to come and see you when you’re racing!”


  “Ah!” Dave replied. “Well we’ll likely see you around the farm as we’re here every day doing whatever needs doing and fixing whatever needs fixing. If you’d like to see a bit more of our Island, I’d be happy to take you for a drive around? It’s my mum’s car, but she wouldn’t mind.”

  “Sure, sounds great,” Rebecca answered. “Wave goodbye, Tyler,” she said, and Tyler dutifully waved goodbye to them, as instructed.

  With the barn door closed, Monty gave a broad smile.

  “What?” asked Dave, busying himself with a spanner.

  “Nothing.”

  “Good, let’s get on with the sidecar.”

  “You like her, Dave,” Monty told him, his grin not abating.

  “I bloody don’t, Monty!” Dave answered, his face flushed yet again, betraying him. “She was nice, though, wasn’t she?”

  “She was lovely indeed, Dave. Very pretty, and a charming personality. But, honestly, I really don’t fancy your chances.”

  Dave reared up playfully. “What? I say, my good fellow. I may be carrying some excess timber about the main deck, but what’s not to love?”

  “I was referring to the fact you said you’d borrowed your dear mummy’s car and if you asked your mum really, really nicely that maybe she might possibly let you take it out for a date night,” Monty said with a laugh.

  “Is that how it sounded?” Dave asked, shoulders drooping. “Bollocks, now she’s going to think I’m a complete plumb! I’m not very good at meeting women for the first time if I like them. And she is very pretty, isn’t she? I have to admit, I… Hang on. Wait a tick, why are you doing that thing with your eyes, Monty? What’s wrong with them? They’re even more erratic than usual.”

  Monty continued to rotate his eyes, nodding towards the door. And then there came the sound of a throat being cleared, from that very direction.

  “Sorry to, eh, interrupt again, guys… I just wanted to be clear. Which one of you was Dave, again, and which one Monty…?” Rebecca raised her finger like a wand as she said this, directing it one way, and then the other, like she were casting a spell.

  Dave grinned like he’d got caught breaking wind, desperate to say something, anything, but his mind ran blank. “She’ll be fine…?” he managed eventually.

  “How’s that?” asked Rebecca. “I don’t under–”

  “My mum,” Dave explained. She always lets me borrow the car. Whenever I want. So it’s… it’s not a problem?” he told her pathetically.

  The moment the barn door shut, Dave fell to his knees. “Bloody hell I’m going to be single forever,” he groaned. “Forever.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Monty replied, pulling a Toblerone from his pocket and tearing away at the wrapper. As he bit off a generous mouthful of the chocolate, he observed happily, “At least the gnome is intact. Thank goodness for that.”

  Chapter

  Eleven

  S usie peered over the rim of her coffee cup, making sure to maintain eye contact as she performed a magician’s sleight of hand, hiding her packet of chocolate biscuits away. “Can I help, Stella?” she offered. “Do you need a hand?”

  Stella shuffled through the door of the taxi office, with sweat running freely down her beetroot-coloured face and sporting impressive wet patches beneath under each arm. “Fucking hell. My legs are shaking like a shittin’ dog,” she announced, before making it over to her chair and collapsing. “That sadistic get at the gym had me on a bloody StairMaster machine for forty minutes. Forty minutes. That’s not good when you’re wearing a leather skirt. The chafing, is what I’m saying.”

  Susie laughed until she realised Stella wasn’t. “Oh, you’re being serious about the leather skirt at the gym?”

  Stella’s ability to make people feel they’d asked a very stupid question, with only the most minuscule of facial muscle movements, was truly remarkable. And neither did it let her down on this occasion. “Wearing a skirt at the gym…” Stella explained, as if to a small child… “Allows air to circulate in your nether regions, the important areas, and is like air conditioning for your—”

  “Flowers!” exclaimed Susie, cutting Stella off in mid-sentence. “They arrived when you were out!”

  “I saw them,” Stella replied, inspecting the lovely bouquet of flowers on her desk without the slightest bit of interest. “You keep ’em,” she told Susie. “Or you can chuck them in the bin for all I care,” she said. She removed a packet of wet wipes from her desk, took out several, and massaged her thighs as she leaned back in her chair. Feeling this procedure required greater attention, she stood. “I’m going to sort out what the air conditioning missed,” she said, taking tentative steps in the direction of the toilet.

  “Lee also popped in, Stella. While you were out,” Susie told her as Stella hobbled to the loo. “He wanted me to be sure I told you,” she added.

  “He did, did he? Very convenient, that, when he knows I’m at the gym and you’re in here all on your own,” Stella returned.

  Once again, Susie was uncertain if this might be a comment she was meant to laugh at, and so she grinned noncommittally instead, with her mouth only, considering this action to be the safer option. But Stella never turned back, slamming the door to the bathroom behind her.

  Susie grinned for a second or two longer, sufficient time to ensure Stella wouldn’t be returning to deliver a punchline. She felt her face warm as she blushed, unsure if she’d upset her friend-come-boss, replaying the conversation they’d just had in her head, trying to work out where she might’ve made a wrong turn. But there was no malice implied in anything she had said, so she was none the wiser.

  There was no smell of alcohol in the air, and it’d been weeks since Stella had sparked up a joint in work, so with no other clue, Susie propelled her chair, Flintstones-style, over to Stella’s desk and the flowers. She listened towards the bathroom — something she instantly regretted — before reaching for the card. She held her hand over the message at first, feeling guilty for intruding on Stella’s privacy. She didn’t know what she was expecting to read, but once she pulled her hand away to reveal what was written there, it simply said:

  She put the card back, placing it as precisely as she could, before returning to her desk and busying herself with tasks that didn’t need busying with. It wasn’t long, however, before she decided another cup of coffee might be the tonic she needed right at that moment. She moved around the front of the shop counter, just as Stella appeared, clutching a handful of scrunched-up wet wipes. “If you’re going in there…” said Stella, pointing to the toilet… “I suggest you should leave it five minutes. Ten to be safe.”

  “I was going to make us both something to drink,” replied Susie. “Coffee, I mean,” she added, seeing Stella perk up.

  “You got it right the first time,” Stella answered. “Put a finger of booze in mine.”

  This was yet another instance of Susie not knowing whether her officemate was serious or joking. Fortunately, Stella saved her the trouble of deciding.

  “Nevermind, I’ve got a stash in my drawers,” Stella told her. She must have noticed the look on Susie’s face, because she quickly added, “My desk drawers, you silly thing.”

  At which point Stella returned to her desk, opening and closing several drawers before finally settling on the contents on one of them. She produced a bottle of Glenfiddich Ancient Reserve from its depths — procured during the trip to Glasgow at Stan and Frank’s expense — held it up to inspect its label, examining it carefully, remarked, “Yes, this’ll do nicely,” and then proceeded to pour several jiggers into her awaiting mug. Once accomplished, she received her cup to the lips of her own awaiting mug, taking a deep, protracted draught, and then exhaled contentedly. “Better,” she said. “Much better now.”

  Now that Stella was in a more relaxed state of mind, Susie sallied forth courageously, saying, “It’s none of my business, Stella… and tell me to shut up if you want to… which I know you will, and have… but what’s
going on with you and Lee? He sent you the nice flowers, after all.”

  “Did he? How’d you know that?” asked Stella.

  “I just, ehm, guessed it was him. I mean who else would it be? Right? Unless you’ve someone else in your life that’s sending you flowers. But I don’t think—”

  Stella eyed her with suspicion, lighting a fag without breaking her stare. But then her expression softened again. “I’m sorry about that, Susie,” she said. “About before, that is.”

  Susie smiled. “Oh, you don’t need to be sorry, Stella. It’s kind of you to say. Sure, it’s not ideal. But, to be fair, there’s no extractor fan in the toilet. But the smell doesn’t last that long, honestly. Most of the customers don’t even notice it anymore. I know I certainly don’t,” she went on, babbling nervously. “So it’s not… I mean…”

  “I meant about snapping at you earlier.”

  “Ah. Okay.” Susie coughed. “Apology accepted, then.”

  Stella ran her fag-free hand through her tightly permed hair, interrupting the cigarette smoke halo circling around it like the clouds of Mt Fuji. Catching a glimpse of the sweat-infused t-shirt she was wearing in the process, she declared, “Would you look at the state of me. Honestly. Going to the gym. And what’s the point of it? I’m perfect as I am, aren’t I?”

  “It’s good for you, Stella,” Susie offered deftly, rather than step onto a minefield.

  Stella sucked on her fag like it was an asthma inhaler. “I know. Opens up the lungs,” she said. She lowered her head, releasing a frustrated sigh. “He’s a wanker, Susie,” she offered up, in reference to Susie’s question a few moments earlier.

  “Come on, that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” Susie replied, with a curious flapping of her hand. She was either trying to wave away the notion of Lee being a wanker, or the smell emanating from the loo was still evident. Perhaps both at once.