Would You Believe Him?

by Jack Hollinson

  Would You Believe Him?

  Jack Hollinson

  First published in 2016

  This edition published in 2018 by

  AG Books

  www.agbooks.co.uk

  Digital edition converted and distributed by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  © Copyright 2016, 2018 Jack Hollinson

  The right of Jack Hollinson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  It was a beautiful day and Barry was sitting in his girlfriend’s back garden sipping the tea that had just been made.

  ‘Guess what I’ve just heard, Barry,’ said Susan.

  ‘And what’s that?’ replied Barry.

  ‘My parents are going away next weekend and I don’t have to go with them! I’ve said that I’m going to a party and will be there all night. I was wondering...’

  ‘You mean that this house will be empty and you will have a key?’

  ‘Yep. We could come here to check that everything was quiet and maybe stay awhile.’ Susan giggled.

  ‘That’s a great idea! Yes, we must protect it from burglars but how do we get in without disturbing the neighbours?’

  ‘We can sneak in the back way, through the fields, but we must be quiet.’

  Susan was sixteen, quite mature for her age and Barry was seventeen. He owned a powerful motorbike and was intent on enjoying life to the full. Susan’s easy-going ways suited him down to the ground and he began to look forward to the coming delights.

  Barry managed to pay for his petrol, cigarettes and drink by working in a shop on Saturdays but although this was sufficient to run a moped, his bigger bike took one hundred and fifty per cent more petrol so he had to work in a petrol station two evenings a week to finance this.

  Work finished on the following Saturday and Barry drove home, hardly able to wait for the approaching night.

  ‘Mum,’ called Barry, after his tea. ‘Did I tell you about the party I’m going to, tonight?’

  ‘No, you didn’t!’

  His mother had the unenviable task of looking after three teenage boys on her own as her husband had left the family four years previously. Barry and his brothers, Ivan, eighteen and Anthony, fourteen, were always arguing or fighting so she had a tough time keeping them in order.

  ‘Yes, well I’ve just heard about it from Susan. It’s one of her friend’s birthday parties. I’m not taking the bike as we’re getting a lift from another friend so I don’t know what time I’ll be home.’

  ‘Can you give me more warning, next time? I don’t like you being out all night.’

  ‘Well at least I’m not driving so there’s no need to worry about me having an accident.’

  ‘All right. Try not to be too late and be quiet when you come in.’

  Barry had done it! He’d pulled the wool over his mother’s eyes and now the scene was set. He went out at 8 p.m. and caught the bus to Susan’s, a little over one mile away. They met at a pre-arranged spot, up the road from her house.

  ‘Did they go out as planned?’ asked Barry, eagerly.

  ‘Mmm, yes they did. The empty house awaits.’

  Susan led him over the rough ground behind the house and they tiptoed tip the garden path in the twilight.

  ‘I’ll go around to the front door and let you in the back,’ whispered Susan. ‘Please do keep very quiet - this is only a semi-detached house.’

  Barry nodded and waited for the door to open. They crept upstairs not daring to turn on a light then Barry took her in his arms, trying to give her some confidence and the comfort she needed. She responded fully and they stood, kissing and caressing each other almost as though it was the first time. This was partially true; because it was the first night they would spend together, alone, in their six month relationship. They fell to the floor and spent the whole night in each other’s arms.

  Barry’s mate, Pete, who also had the same type of motorbike, had boasted of seven successes in one night and although Barry tried to beat that record, it became unnecessary. Barry was there to enjoy the moment and then to be able to brag to his other friends about his achievements at school.

  Six o’clock came and Susan’s alarm clock went off.

  ‘Oh no! Where’s that bloody clock’, she shrieked. ‘If Mrs Nosey Parker next door hears that, she will tell Mum!’

  Susan dived into the pile of shed clothing on the floor of the room, frantically searching for the noisy object. Barry was still trying to pull himself together when she silenced the dreaded machine.

  ‘Why did you set the alarm?’ he said, with a puzzled look on his face.

  ‘We must he out of here by seven o’clock before the neighbours get up.’

  Susan was hurriedly dressing and Barry realised the stress she was under and threw his clothes on too. They went downstairs to the kitchen and Barry started rummaging through the cupboards for something to eat.

  ‘No, Barry, you can’t have that!’ whispered Susan, as Barry looked, at an appetising grapefruit.

  ‘Oh, why not? It looks rather delicious.’

  ‘My mother will notice if she gets back and finds her kitchen bare!’

  ‘Oh, okay, but man must eat - especially me.’

  ‘Have this,’ said Susan as she stuffed a piece of bread into his hands. ‘I don’t think she’ll notice, but, no more, please.’

  They left the house with their stomachs still rumbling and were soon in the rough ground at the end of the garden. Barry could only think of one word - magic!

  Monday dawned and Barry got up feeling full of life. The new term had started and he told himself that he must start to work hard if he was ever to get a good career. The past year had been all motorbikes, drink and, in the latter part, Susan - in that order - and his work had suffered.

  He quickly ate his breakfast and went to the garage to his Yamaha 200. It was looking just the way he liked as, due to a little scrape two months earlier, it had had a new petrol tank which had his favourite markings and colour on it. The bike was two-stroke and was capable of nearly 95 mph if you were going downhill and lying flat on the tank.

  It was one of the first of a new breed of machine that had electric start and Barry felt terribly superior as he pushed the button, twisted the throttle and made his machine roar into action, especially when his friends were still trying to kick theirs into life.

  He sped off down the road at his customary 50 mph and arrived at school ten minutes later. He was wearing his new waterproof motorcycling jacket and felt very sure of himself. He had passed his driving test only one week ago and was brimming with confidence which was quite a rare feeling for Barry.

  When his father had left the family to live with his mother’s friend, he had been forced to live through his adolescent years - the years when he had really needed a father’s guidance - with his mother struggling with finances and the
three boys. He had always been a bit of a worrier so had never felt that confident. This ‘friend’ of his mother’s lived in the next road to them, had been away to Europe on holiday with them many times and her husband often went to see rugby matches with the boys and their grandfather, so she was fully trusted. When this lady left home, her husband couldn’t take it and committed suicide in his front room, which made it hard for the young boys to look the world in the face.

  Now, Barry was trying to forget his past and concentrate on the future; to stride forward in life and to be a success.

  ‘Hi, Barry! Are you ready to suffer another year in this dump?’ said Mark, who was a good friend of Barry’s. He was slightly older than Barry but was in the same year for he had had to retake his first year because his results were not good enough in the examinations.

  ‘Sure am, Mark,’ replied Barry.

  They had met behind the school where they were allowed to park their motorbikes. Mark had a Kawasaki 350cc machine, which although being quite an old model, still made him able to command a great deal of respect from his mates. It was a very fast bike!

  Mark came from a newish estate made up almost totally of council houses and it was a trifle rough. He, himself, was the opposite being a tremendously placid lad with a great sense of humour and a typically left-handed attitude to life - cold, logical and creative. His creativity showed itself in his drawings as he was a brilliant artist. He didn’t draw stunning masterpieces, though he was studying art, but he was wizard at drawing comic characters which were styled on his friends’ names or features. It was when he got bored in class or in a free period that he put pen to paper and drew cartoon strips, which made most of his friends chortle and the subject seethe with anger.

  The most popular subject was his friend, Ben who had a haircut in the fifth form like a basin and was called either basin bonce or helmet head. Mark would draw a little head with a World War II German soldier’s helmet on, rather large ears, as this was another of Ben’s features, and he would give the head wheels for mobility. This figure would then be drawn doing the most absurd antics that made everyone, but Ben, laugh.

  Barry was drawn too, because there just so happened to be a young children’s television series with a figure called Barry the slug, so Mark went to town on this cartoon and just seeing the slime left by the slug infuriated Barry.

  These antics had mainly been in the fifth and lower sixth form days and Mark was becoming a relatively serious student in his last year at school. Another factor in his life which associated him with Barry was that he came from a broken home, as well.

  They sauntered into school, nonchalantly swinging their crash helmets to and fro.

  ‘Are you still going on the charity walk on Sunday, Mark?’

  ‘S’pose so,’ said Mark, sounding a little reluctant at the thought of a five mile walk.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Barry. ‘It’ll be a wonderful stroll. We’ll go to The Duke first, then down the hill to The Tavern and if we swig the beer back fast, we’ll make The Kings Head ‘You never know, The Arms, The Rose and The Coronet may be within our sights if we don’t dawdle.’

  ‘True enough. It’ll be a good boozing day,’ said Mark, a smile spreading from ear to ear.

  Ben suddenly appeared around the corner of the sixth form cloakroom.

  ‘Hi there. What was your weekend like?’ he asked Barry.

  This was an open invitation to boast, so Barry took Ben aside and revealed all the weekend’s events in splendid detail. Mark was sorting out his locker and could hear ‘You lucky bugger’ and ‘Cor, really’ so he went over and let Barry repeat his story. Whilst Ben was jealous, Mark did not seem too worried by all the facts - he had a very laissez-faire attitude towards females. All he was interested in was motorbikes and drawing.

  Mark had always had this casual attitude towards life. He started riding on a moped which was quite old and had those horrible pedals whilst Barry, and eventually Ben, bought the best sports mopeds around, at the time.

  But Mark did not worry. His moped, or ‘Granny Bike’ as his friends kindly referred to it, transported him around in a very reliable way and when he was seventeen, he bought a 150cc scooter which also made his friends laugh, but he didn’t care. The scooter had got him around satisfying his need for transport and now he was riding his Kawasaki 350cc. This had needed a lot of work before it became reliable but he was fortunate in having a brother who owned a car repair garage. He had worked there and so learned quite a lot about engines and so, these days, spent his leisure hours taking the bike apart and renewing faulty parts.

  ‘Are you bringing Beverley on the walk, Ben?’ asked Barry.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Ben.

  ‘But will she be able to keep up as we rush from pub to pub?’ joked Barry.

  Beverley was a petite little dumpling who Barry enjoyed teasing Ben about. They had been going out together for about a year but Barry could not understand why Ben had not raised his sights higher.

  ‘She will be carrying my helmet,’ said Ben, pleased with the way he could show his mates how he was using Beverley.

  ‘Oh, I’m not taking Susan,’ said Barry. ‘Pete said he wanted a lift so I’m taking him.’ This, perhaps, showed Barry’s attitude at the time for Susan came some way down on his list of priorities.

  Pete was one of the crowd, starting on a Yamaha moped and graduating to a Yamaha 200, the older model with the purple petrol tank - but he had not always been in Barry’s group. He had been at the school since the beginning of his secondary education but, when he reached the fourth form, he had become more aggressive and mixed with a group who considered themselves hard. He had developed a condescending sneer for others and, as if that was not enough, a very large Dr Martin boot was available to scare his fellow pupils.

  Barry’s group always kept away as they didn’t like trouble, but Barry couldn’t he pushed too far. He had an advantage over most of the ‘hard’ group because he towered over them but, unfortunately, Pete was the same height. This made Barry careful with him but tended to stand his ground if challenged by the others.

  Barry would always remember one incident, in the fourth year when Pete and his mate, Sam, the smaller irritant, were sitting behind him in a history lesson and Pete was goading him whilst Sam was flicking Barry’s head with a ruler.

  ‘Just you stop that, Davies!’ whispered Barry, angrily.

  Sam Davies sniggered

  ‘Oh yeah, and what are you going to do about it eh, eh? Look at him, he’s getting all upset.’

  ‘Yeah, Connors, stop crying you little weed.’ Pete just loved this needling of a supposed underdog.

  Davies continued flicking Barry’s head and then started tapping it with the ruler. This was too much.

  ‘Okay, Davies, do you want a fight or will you stop that?’

  ‘Ooh, ha, ha, yes, I’ll have a fight with you, any day!’

  Davies was not in a position to refuse to fight with Pete sitting right beside him. If he had backed away, he would irretrievably have lost face with his group, even though he was eight inches smaller than Barry.

  ‘Now let’s have a bit more quiet, there,’ said the teacher, as the voices became louder.

  ‘One o’clock, room ten,’ were the only other words that came from the aggressors and the fight was on.

  Ben, who was sitting beside Barry, glanced at his mate with a very worried look on his face, but Barry was pleased that he‘d stopped the taunting in such a strong-armed fashion. He was, also, very glad that he’d challenged the smaller boy to a fight and not the larger one.

  Lunch time came and the two sides went to the appointed classroom. It was quite empty and they went to opposite sides of the room. A group of four were on Davies’ side but Ben had somehow disappeared leaving Barry with just one schoolmate on his side.

 
The middle of the classroom was cleared by Davies’ group so that the fight could start and Barry took off his blazer.

  ‘Here, Nigel, could you hold this for me?’ he said to a small boy on his side.

  Nigel, who was a small, but very strong lad with muscles stretching his clothing, willingly took Barry’s jacket and waited for the fight to commence.

  The two boys sprang at each other, both eager to get the advantage but Barry had the height and the reach with which to place his punches. He knocked Davies to the floor but, instead of trying to finish it there and then by kicking his opponent into submission, he retreated in a sportsman - like way and allowed Davies to get up.

  Realising that be didn’t stand much of a chance against the taller boy, Davies got up and picked up a wooden chair that was beside him.

  ‘Go on, Sam, hit him hard!’ came the cry from his own group. Davies grinned an evil grin and lifted the chair above his head.

  Somehow, Barry had an amazing presence of mind and darted over to Nigel, who was still holding his jacket.

  ‘Quick, give that to me,’ said Barry and snatched hold of the jacket. Davies was not deterred and continued his advance so Barry swung the jacket above his head and smothered Davies before he could bring the chair down upon Barry’s head.

  ‘Ah, you bastard, you sod, you...’ screamed Davies, as he dropped the chair and fell to the floor.

  Meanwhile, a teacher on lunch time patrol had seen all the onlookers pouring into the classroom and imagined that something unusual was happening. As he neared the door, he could hear the bangs and crashes as the boys fought.

  ‘What’s happening here?’ he shouted, as he pushed through the melee. At once, the crowd scattered, leaving Barry standing in the middle of the room and Davies on the floor.

  ‘Oh, sorry, Sir,’ said Davies. ‘I’ve just fallen over.’

  ‘How could you fall over like that? And is that your jacket?’

  ‘Err, yes, Sir. We were just playing around.’ Barry grabbed his jacket and made for the door.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ commanded the teacher. ‘I look at this classroom, it’s in a terrible mess! Tidy it up, both of you, and don’t mess it up again.’