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White Trash

Page 14

by John King


  In many ways Dawes had represented the past. An industrial age of petty class politics. He had lived through momentous times, but those days were gone. The West had settled down and made great strides. Britain was more streamlined and less wasteful than ever before. Organised rebellion was no longer an option. He knew that Dawes had been active in the trades union movement, and even though the unions had been broken for more than a decade he still felt that these men and women had a case to answer. Unions had forced the nation to its knees. Of course, he respected the right of every man and woman to hold their own opinions. They lived in a democratic society and the right of the individual was paramount. But this democracy had to be respected by the Left as well as the Right.

  Dawes was a minor figure within the trades unions, of course. Unimportant. No doubt a decent enough individual who had worked towards a generous retirement. The state did its bit by providing a pension but it was up to those around him to lend a helping hand. Had he bothered to invest in a private pension, for instance? Expectations were changing. Something of the past had died with Mr Dawes. He mourned the individual as he did all individuals, yet not the notion of the nanny state.

  If Dawes represented the past then these thugs standing in front of Mr Jeffreys were the present. Their offspring would embody the future. A cultureless rabble who consumed with no regard for their fellow citizens. They had never had it so good yet still fought pitched battles. They used illegal drugs and battered defenceless women to a pulp. This was the direct result of years of undisciplined liberalism. These were the sort of mindless hooligans who would have knocked Mr Dawes off the pavement and into the gutter. They would not notice his pain, the fact that he was alone and unloved. What sort of life was that?

  In a curious way these thugs represented a natural progression from the trades union movement, even if they lived in a time of political apathy. They were rabble, yes, but highly dangerous and organised rabble. He thought again of that documentary detailing the use of surveillance equipment in tackling street crime. These men before him no doubt gathered in football gangs and organised confrontations via mobile phones and the Internet. Union thugs had embraced violence and fought the police, who were merely attempting to enforce the will of the people. Today’s organised gangs would fight about anything. Drugs a source of income.

  Mr Jeffreys’s remit did not of course stretch to the running of society at large, but as an individual he held certain views. His interest lay in improving the quality of hospital treatment. Meaningless confrontations such as this one cost the hospital dear. It was wastage pure and simple. If only they could control themselves.

  It was not just the thugs either, but the junkies, prostitutes, heavy drinkers and smokers. Everyone had to take responsibility for their actions. This did not mean he was reactionary. Far from it in fact. The nature of his work meant he had to deal with these realities. For instance, he had nothing but sympathy for the victims of AIDS. Too many people were disparaging about AIDS sufferers. Of course, if people could only control their sexual behaviour, their use of needles, then the problem would vanish. But for some reason they could not. This was frustrating but did not mean that he hated homosexuals and drug addicts. People fought among themselves. Paranoid and hysterical. He did not understand.

  —No, he’s had a jab and going to be stitched up in a minute, the bulldog was saying, talking into his mobile phone.

  Mr Jeffreys looked over at the doctor and nurse. An empty syringe lay next to the doctor. He wondered if the injured man was a drug user himself. He could not tell. These people blended together. A terrible thing to think let alone say, but he was tired. He had been working all day.

  —You all right, Charlie? the bulldog called out.

  The man seemed concussed. Merely nodded. The nurse had her arm around his shoulder now. There was no condemnation in her gaze. She was easy with him and he seemed to respond. It was obviously an attempt on her part to diffuse any lingering violence. She was trying to encourage the man to fight back against his injuries, a mirror of Nurse James and her approach to Mr Dawes. Just as long as it did not turn into attachment. He watched the nurse more closely and could not detect any personal motive.

  —He’s going to have to stay in overnight. We’ll wait till he’s had his stitches and tuck him in. It’s not pretty, but the doctor said he’ll survive. He’ll have a scar and that, but it could’ve been worse.

  —Let me talk to him, the YSL thug said.

  —Hold on. No, come down if you want but he’s a bit dopey. Just had an injection as well. It’s up to you, the bulldog continued.

  Mr Jeffreys faded the conversation out as nothing of value was being said. He watched the stitches being administered. The two thugs soon sitting on chairs. Silent. Tired most likely. The nurse was busy bandaging the wounded man when a woman was rushed in with a suspected heart attack. The doctor moved on and the thugs looked up. They seemed upset seeing the woman’s face and panicking husband. The man and his wife were in their sixties, the victim wrapped in blankets.

  Mr Jeffreys made his exit. For a moment he was nervous as he thought of the raving skeleton of the other night. That had been the worst abuse he had ever suffered at work. Otherwise things had gone well. He walked at a steady rate and allowed the silence to engulf him. The thugs were forgotten, locked into a video cassette. Sometimes he felt he could take his remote control and click the scenes back and forth. From the VCR to real life, and back again. He knew the situations that arose in A&E and was able to sum up the people. The trick was not to become cynical. To stay alert. The corridors were empty and safe and his annoyance subsided. He would work for one more hour and then leave.

  By the time he reached his office, Jonathan Jeffreys was fully relaxed. He was only human. He closed and double-locked the door, sat at his desk and stared at the blank screen of his computer. All around him men, women and children were on the mend. Safe in the knowledge that they were being watched over and monitored by dedicated staff. He thought of Nurse James and the handkerchief he had lent her to dry her tears. That was a nice touch. She had felt such sorrow at the death of a patient, an old man at the end of his life. Mr Jeffreys forgot the name, albeit momentarily. Dawes. Of course.

  He pushed the relevant button and waited as a trail of symbols trickled across the base of the computer screen. He remembered something and unlocked a drawer. He thought of his father and matched him to Mr Dawes for a moment. His father was a good man who had died four days short of his seventieth birthday. He had set high standards and his son believed that he was following in his footsteps. He recalled the funeral service and the tributes paid to his father by men of standing within the profession. His father had been a surgeon and saved many lives during the course of his own. He was very proud of his father’s achievements. These had been rewarded during his lifetime and acknowledged upon his retirement.

  Mr Jeffreys opened the drawer and took out a pocket watch. He opened the front and watched the second hand snap its way through sixty seconds, causing the minute arm to move. The numerals were Roman and the hands tipped with squat arrowheads. Provided it remained wound the watch would count out the centuries. Perhaps one day it would jam or a cog break. The mechanism might wear out. Time would remain rooted until an old-fashioned clockmaker could be found. He wondered if such men would exist in two hundred years’ time. The constant drive of consumerism meant that everyday items were no longer built to last. It could not be helped. Time was constant, whether measured or not. Only death could stop its flow. After death he firmly believed there was no more time. Just infinity and eternal bliss for the righteous, although he would not describe it in such biblical terms.

  The computer was ready but Mr Jeffreys sat for a long time staring at the watch. He thought of his father and pondered the ways of the world. Finally he clicked the cover of the watch shut and returned it to the drawer. He locked this and returned the key to his wallet. He appreciated antiques, yet the value of this particular timepiece w
as not monetary. It was personal, a keepsake, and something to treasure.

  Steve was lucky … he married Carole and settled down … while for Pearl things worked out differently … but as for those lies about her being a bitter woman … a frustrated … sadistic … lesbian … all twisted inside … well … that’s just spite … says more about the person saying it than Pearl … nothing could be further from the truth … she was a diamond … a pearl … and I laugh … almost cry … she was dedicated to her work … a teacher who was so passionate about education she never wanted to retire … she really worked hard to make school fun for the kids in her care … saw it as their big chance to learn and develop … to channel their energy in a positive way … and when a scared child arrived for the first time Pearl was waiting with a smile … she was firm … but friendly … and fair … she had so much to give … felt close to her little boys and girls … and it didn’t matter if they were good or bad … she cared about the troublemakers as well as the weak-lings … loved the bullies and the bullied … believed in discipline but was warm at the same time … it was just finding what they were interested in … if it was reading … writing … drawing … football … netball … anything … it didn’t matter … and with the difficult ones she really had to coax them … everything crossed over … interrelated was the word she used … telling me about her children … her work … and for the little boy who loved football it was a way of pulling him towards his reading and writing … he wanted to know what was happening in his football comics … and she’d get him drawing his favourite players … writing about a game in the playground … one he’d seen on TV … and just as important was the way the kids got on with each other … school was where they learnt to make friends … and Pearl tried to encourage friendships as well as interests … if a girl was all alone in the playground she sat different girls next to her in class … till they clicked and she had a friend … and they started playing with each other outside … she really loved children … their wide-eyed innocence … the good ones and the naughty ones … there were angels and little monsters … and she studied their mums and dads when they came in for parents’ evening … most cared about their kids but some didn’t … she didn’t understand that … she looked at the ones who didn’t and wondered what was wrong with them … hated the way they ruined something that was precious … and she put herself out for the boys and girls from broken homes … a few times over the years children who were battered … that really upset her … she had tears in her eyes telling me … told me about one girl who was being abused by her dad … too scared to say anything … social services mucking about with their committees … not doing anything … so Pearl changed after work and went round to the man’s house and knocked on the door and when he answered she punched him as hard as she could in the face … caused a commotion on his doorstep … and when a crowd quickly gathered she told his neighbours what was going on … made his life a misery … stronger people took over … and she went home and had her tea … soon after the girl was taken into care and ended up with foster parents who raised her … Pearl talked to them over the years and the girl grew up and got married and was happy … Pearl was always willing to take people on … that was an extreme case but she made her mark … Pearl was dedicated … and just because she never married that didn’t make her a lesbian … that’s a stereotype … the spinster dyke … stud bachelor … and being anaemic didn’t make her twisted … she was just a good woman … she liked a laugh … away from school with her friends … she had a good sense of humour … a few glasses of whisky at night as she sat marking books … the endless hours of unpaid overtime … work that was unrecognised but expected … her basic wage wasn’t brilliant either … specially considering the importance of education … those who earned the biggest salaries were the ones who least deserved it … the takers … and teaching had always been a hard profession … politicians sticking their oar in over the decades … and now you had inspectors coming in harder than ever … causing havoc with their stopwatches … looking at everything in terms of cost … she said it was the same with medicine and the police … you needed those three services more than anything … not that she thought about these things when she was younger … no … she hated school and had never been to hospital … she thought she was invincible just like Charlie … and as for the police … well … they spent most of their time dodging them when they were teenagers … specially the ones from Wembley who hassled them at the Ace Cafe on the North Circular … this was in the fifties when it all began … when Britain woke up and started in on the American Dream … when rock ‘n’ roll came over with Billy Haley … when ‘Rock Around the Clock’ was first shown at the pictures and the seats were being slashed and ripped out … she’d never been the stay-at-home type … this was when the country started speeding up … the Ace Cafe was the centre of her life when she was a girl … this was where she met Charlie … he was one of the original rockers … a ton-up boy in his Levis and leathers … grease in his hair … and the rockers were just taking things on from the Teds who were more flashy … Pearl could tell you all about the Lambeth Boys and the comer boys of Notting Hill … she’d grown up hearing about this hooligan menace to society … but she preferred the new style … the rockers with their Triumphs and Nortons … she loved the smell of petrol … the power of the bikes revving up outside the Ace … Elvis on the jukebox … her skin used to tingle sitting inside drinking coffee with her friends … tingled thinking about it now … watching the boys and the bikes … and she was so alive sitting there watching them race past … the speed and power got to her … everything was moving … and she fell in love with Charlie soon as she saw him … he was cocky all right … a hard nut … always in trouble … racing with the devil … taking chances … and he had a Triton … a customised mix of the Triumph and Norton … was always working on that bike … the grease in his hair dripped into the Triton … and back again … Pearl laughing … yes … she really loved him … wanted to get married but he wasn’t ready yet … but one day … it was agreed … and he used to take her out on the back of his bike and they could go anywhere they wanted … she felt so free … they both did … and there was this time he took her round a blind comer doing a ton … both of them leaning into the machine and sparks spitting up from the road the bike was leaning so far over … and she could feel his leathers on her face and smell them deep inside … it was a smell that was always with her … raw and alive … the wind was rushing past burning her ears … Charlie always pushing things to the limit … and he’d done blind bends a couple of times … she argued with him about it … but he said it was special and she shouted in his ear and he opened up the accelerator and they were right there staring death in the face … taking it on … it was the biggest rush you could get outside of a war … it wasn’t like she hadn’t done a ton before … she had … but doing the bend like that was different … brilliant … and they used to go all over … through London … have a cup of tea on Chelsea Bridge … the roar of bikes in the traffic …fifty or sixty of them feeling like no one could touch you … she loved it … and when Gene Vincent and Eddie Cochrane came over she saw them … one of her favourite songs was Vince Taylor’s ‘Jet Black Machine’ … she asked me if I’d ever heard it … but I never had … and there were other places over the years … Ted’s Cafe … the Cellar Bar … the Busy Bee … and she used to go to the 59 Club in Hackney as well … they all did … then to Paddington when it moved … and Charlie was never going to grow up … he was the sort who stayed young forever … and they were really in love like nobody else could ever be in love … he didn’t want the normal things in life … the house and car … but he wanted her … Pearl was his girl … they just lived for the moment … there were no plans … he was more into bum-ups and punch-ups than kids … she could never control him … that’s one of the things she loved about Charlie … but when she turned twenty-one she knew she wanted a family … and he still was
n’t ready … they had plenty of time … they were young with the rest of their lives in front of them … and Charlie had a temper but wasn’t a bully … she couldn’t have been in love with a bully … and she could look after herself as well … she was a teacher now but wild when she was a girl … and she laughed so you could see it … and I thought about the pervert and how she punched him in the face … you never know what’s behind the appearance … and maybe Charlie had a death wish … she said this with a dark look suddenly on her face … but she loved him for all his faults … Charlie was one of the originals … they were young … so young … and there was a game the boys played at the Ace … and Charlie was one of the boys all right … a lot of the others looked up to him because he never backed down from a fight … or a challenge … and one night he put Gene Vincent’s ‘Race With The Devil’ on the jukebox and ran out and jumped on his Triton and roared off down the road to the roundabout … he had to get down and back before the record ended … and when she was telling me this I was imagining Pearl all dolled up in her beehive … eating a sausage-and-liver sandwich … finishing it off and running outside … waving as he drove away … like something from a song … nice and romantic … and Pearl waited for him to come back and beat the record … she called it a death disc … a real death disc … none of your latter-day bubblegum girl-group love songs … she loved Gene Vincent up till then … never felt the same way again … and the thing was the 45 ended and Charlie was nowhere to be seen … she never thought of him crashing … he’d come off a couple of times before … broken a few bones … but they thought they were immortal … and then someone came back and said Charlie was in a bad way … and one of the boys took her down … and there was her Charlie lying on the North Orbital with his brains splattered all over the road … she held him in her arms and cried and cried and didn’t stop crying for two or three years … she was a mess … her life was finished now … and her pals were good to her … the boys as well as the girls … the funeral was another story … and she stopped then … didn’t want to go into that … but she recovered … you do … it doesn’t matter what happens in life you always go on … you have to … and Pearl never believed in heaven … this was it right here … and Charlie was in her … she’d been with him for years and his soul was inside her … she thought about him every single day … and eventually she got on with her life … she trained to be a teacher and her classes were her children … in a way … it wasn’t the same as having them yourself … but good enough … and she was happy … in school she was the well-turned-out … respected teacher … turned sixty and still working … she was the deputy head … had turned down the headmistress’s job … Charlie would’ve been glad … she wanted to concentrate on teaching rather than administration … and she never cried now … she’d done all her crying years ago … and she had her interests … never gave up dancing … her and Charlie used to drive and drink and dance the nights away … she danced slower now … went to biker events … she’d kept most of her friends … lots of the old faces turned out once or twice a year … she was at that Rockers’ Reunion in Battersea a couple of years ago when the two boys died … that was such a shame … and that’s where the grannies were these days … she was laughing again … listening to Joe Brown & the Bruvvers … teaching was what got her life going again … she’d had boyfriends over the years … but it was never the same … she never wanted to get married again … Charlie was the love of her life … and she reached round her neck and pulled out a locket … a small silver heart with a lid … opened it and held it over to me … showed off the face of a young man with specks of dark black hair hanging over his forehead … the sides combed back … and this was Charlie … tough on the outside and tender in … she smiled and asked me if I thought he was handsome … and I said yes … he honestly was … and if I’d been her I would’ve fallen in love with him as well … danced with him to rock ‘n’ roll … and she looked into the locket for ages … she kept Charlie’s picture with her all the time … she never went to his grave … you had to move on … and he was so gentle when they were together … treated her right … like a lady … and then she was back on the Triton … talking about one night she’d never forget … a few months after she’d done her first ton … and they used to go down to the coast sometimes … but this one night was special … the best of all … it was summer and they headed out at midnight … got down to the south coast in time to see the sun rise … sat on the cliffs together with Charlie’s jacket around her shoulders … keeping her warm … and then the first little pricks of orange appeared over the sea and the sun began to rise and they watched it swell and finally form a ball … lighting the world … a gentle breeze shifting the tall grass … and they made love on the cliff … and it was perfect … she wished she’d fallen pregnant at that moment … had his baby in her belly when he died six months later … and maybe that would have calmed him down … stopped him racing with the devil … but those were maybes … and she said that in the years they had together she bet she lived more than most people … she looked at some of the young people today and they were lost … where was the speed and power and rush of adrenalin you could only feel when you were out on the road … going down to the coast … into the West End … off round the North Circular … out into the West Country … they used to go to Wiltshire … on a Sunday … had picnics out there … and she clipped the locket shut … slipped it back between her breasts … and no way was Pearl a sad character … she had her life and a man she saw regularly … she said she would never live with him … Charlie was the love of her life and she was lucky … most people never got that … she was married to Charlie … in sickness and in health … just think of a young Elvis … the grease and smile … he used to ride a bike then got rich and famous and started collecting Cadillacs … and she often wondered what it was about Charlie and her that made them take those risks … all that energy had to go somewhere she supposed … she’d learnt from that and channelled it into teaching … that made her feel her life was worth something … and it was never ever boring … and she laughed and said that it had all worked out for the best … at least her and Charlie hadn’t grown old and angry and bored with each other … and I didn’t really believe her when she said that … but I sort of knew what she meant.

 

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