‘Right, magic. Well, good then.’
Etchman felt sick and badly wanted to go back to sleep, preferably for a very long time.
‘So then, what are your thoughts?’
‘Well, my first thought was to top myself, but that was before I went home last night and found out I’d been evicted and before the police took me away. Now I’m just on top of the flaming world and looking down on creation.’
‘Look, Lee. I know I sound like a bitch, but what did you expect? You sleep with me, lie to your wife, it was only a matter of time before it all caught up with you. But in the mean time I’ve got my third child on the way and I’m gonna need support.’
‘Perhaps you should’ve thought about that before you visited my missus.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘The house, the cars, the business, it’s all hers, I just ran things. Without her I’ve got bugger all, no home, no cash, nothing.’
‘So what about me, the baby?’
‘Fucked if I know love, but since you’ve put me out on the street perhaps you’d best start thinking of a way to sort it.’
Etchman switched off his phone and buried himself under the duvet, hoping that all the bad in his life might disappear while he slept.
16 Camping in Bluebell woods
Kenny, Alfie Gorman’s idle and overfed cat, his sole companion for the past seven years, leapt from his favoured perch on the window sill overlooking Westminster Road and hurried into the bedroom where he settled himself under the bed out of harms way.
Alfie, seated in his usual dark blue, stained and sagging armchair, was reading a novel about a writer’s wife going through his belongings, following the author’s death. It was fascinating and moving but Alfie was distracted.
He looked up as Kenny ran past and was not surprised to hear the rumble of thunder seconds later. Kenny hated storms and invariably sought shelter beneath the bed. Alfie stood and glanced out of the window. A few preliminary drops of rain had begun to splash against the glass, to be followed; Alfie was sure, by a deluge. In the distance he saw the sky light up blue for a split second though he could not see the lightning itself. Perhaps ten seconds later he heard more thunder. In the bedroom Kenny let out a distressed yowl.
Alfie was reminded of a night long ago, from his childhood. He wandered through to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, intending to keep Kenny company through the worst of the storm.
‘I remember a night like this, Kenny,’ Alfie began. ‘Worse actually. It was pitch black outside, so dark you could almost touch it.’
Kenny remained quiet, not because he was enthralled by his owner’s story – Kenny had heard this one before – but because he was tensed against the weather outside, prepared for the worst.
‘We’d gone camping, Frank and me, in Bluebell woods. It was my first time and it had taken some persuading before Mum agreed. That was down to Frank, of course, he’d been camping plenty of times and promised he’d take care of me.
‘The woods were quite close to where we lived; only a mile or two, and we were only going for one night. I was proper excited, Kenny, but then who wouldn’t be? I spent days checking the batteries in the torches, counting tent pegs, making sure there was plenty of bacon and sausage in the fridge. I even spent a couple of nights in my sleeping bag in my room, practising for the big night.
‘Dad dropped us off in the car park next to the picnic area, the plan being that we’d hike into the woods to the camp site. Thinking about it now the woods aren’t that big but it seemed to take ages to get to the site. I suspect maybe Frank took us round in circles a bit, made it more exciting for me though.
‘The site was a grassy clearing and the trees formed a canopy where small halos of light shone through, like spotlights almost. I remember Frank let me pound the tent pegs into the ground although I could hardly swing the hammer.’
The storm was now directly over Morecambe, the curtain of Alfie’s bedroom window highlighted in blue with every flash of lightning. Under the bed, Kenny crawled closer to the wall and pressed against the skirting board, keeping an eye on Alfie’s feet to confirm he was not alone. Kenny loathed thunder and lightning and was more than happy to listen to Alfie’s stories tonight.
‘It’s alright Kenny,’ Alfie said gently. ‘The worst of it’s nearly done. You’re perfectly safe under there. Now, as I was saying, we’d put the tent up and then I unpacked our supplies. I’d brought far too much for one night I suppose, but I was only little so nobody minded. Frank said we needed wood for the fire so we spent some time collecting sticks and came across an old church surrounded by a cemetery.
‘I was a bit nervous around the cemetery so we followed the path and discovered a large pool of water. It was beautiful Kenny, perfect in the sunlight. A brook flowed into the pool making a wonderful gurgling sound. I wanted to swim but Frank said it would be freezing because the trees kept the sun off the water. He did let me climb a tree though. I slithered along one of the branches that hung out over the pool.’
Alfie grinned at the recollection.
‘We never did tell Mum, she would’ve gone mental. We had lots of little secrets me and Frank. Anyway, we went back to the tent and it was getting towards nightfall. Frank showed me how to get the fire started and we had some bacon and sausage for tea. I wanted to stay awake as late as I could but it had been an exciting day and, as we lay in the tent listening to music on Frank’s transistor, I nodded off.
‘Now this is where it gets really interesting,’ Alfie reminded Kenny who was still hiding under the bed as the rain battered against the windows. ‘I suddenly woke up because I could hear a dog barking. In the dark it seemed louder and I admit I was a bit scared. Our Frank flicked his torch on and looked at me, told me it was probably just someone walking their dog.
‘But this dog sounded upset, a bit like you when the thunder starts, Kenny. Frank dragged me out of my sleeping bag and told me we were going on an adventure. We pulled our boots on and headed out into the darkness. I was terrified but Frank seemed as calm as if we were just off to the shops on a summer’s afternoon.
‘After a bit of running and clambering about in the dark we arrived at the pool of water where I’d climbed the tree earlier in the day. By now the howling of the dog was almost too much to bear and then we saw it. It was dark-coloured and struggling in the middle of the pool. Its eyes were wide and frantic. I was panicking but Frank just chucked his torch at me and jumped in the water.
‘Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion by this point. It seemed like Frank had been under the water for ever and I don’t mind admitting I was sobbing my eyes out. Finally Frank surfaced but by now the dog had gone under. I was certain it must be dead but Frank swam out anyway while I tried my best to light the way with the torches, not that I was much help my hands were shaking so much.’
There was a flash of lightning so bright it illuminated Alfie’s small bedroom. It was followed immediately by a roar of thunder which rattled the old panes of glass in the rotting window frames. Kenny scrabbled out from under the bed and scurried under the wardrobe. It was a tight squeeze for a large cat but a small price to pay for security from the storm. The cat began to growl in the darkness, his green eyes reflecting the light as gold.
‘Good lad, Kenny, try to be brave, you’re safe in here with me. Now, where was I? Oh yes, our Frank dived under the water and I was all alone. Seconds seemed like minutes but I was dumb with fear so I just stood there, frozen. At last his head broke the surface and he was dragging the dog behind him. I did my best to help pull them both onto the bank; though I’m sure I was no use. The dog looked dead to me, I said as much to Frank but he was determined.
‘We rubbed its chest and patted it quite hard and all of a sudden a load of water spewed out of its mouth. It coughed, tried to stand up and then collapsed again, exhausted you see. It did manage to lick Frank’s hand though. After that there was no chance we could stay in the woods, I was too scared anyw
ay and wanted to go home. The dog needed a vet as well; Frank carried it all the way home. It had two broken legs and we decided some cruel bugger must have chucked it in the water. Anyway, we kept the dog – Brook we named him – and him and Frank were inseparable for years. Still one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen, the way Frank rescued that dog.’
There was another flash of lightning which provoked a frightened yowl from Kenny, but this time several seconds went by before the thunder came.
‘It’s moving away, Kenny,’ Alfie said happily. ‘The worst’s behind us.’
* * * *
‘Gorman. Mr Gorman! Phone.’
Alfie jumped to his feet, spilling a chafed Kenny to the floor. He padded downstairs to the hallway in his slippers where the landlord, Mr Grimman, stood with the payphone receiver in his hand.
‘I only came in here to empty it so don’t be long.’ The landlord ordered grumpily.
Alfie smiled apologetically and took the phone.
‘Hello.’
‘Alfredo, it’s Loriana.’
‘Loriana, are you alright love, you sound a bit upset?’
‘No, not upset,’ she replied. ‘Just angry…and a little relieved.’
‘Why, what on earth’s happened?’
‘I have taken control of my life again Alfredo.’ Loriana announced defiantly, her Italian accent becoming stronger as her passion rose, reminding Alfie of his mother. ‘Last night I threw my husband out of my house.’
‘Blimey. Nothing happened did it, he didn’t, you know?’
Loriana managed to laugh at the suggestion.
‘No, you sweet man; my husband is weak and pathetic and has treated me like a fool for the very last time.’
‘I see. So, what can I do to help?’
‘Well, I know it’s a little cold outside but I wondered if I might invite you for a stroll on the promenade, if you are free? The air always smells so fresh after a storm.’
It was Alfie’s turn to chuckle.
‘Free? Course I’m free. You say when and I’ll be waiting.’
The arrangements made, Alfie replaced the receiver.
‘Got ourselves a lady friend have we Gorman?’ Asked Mr Grimman, who’d been standing directly next to Alfie for the duration of the call, tapping his watch and making an impatient ‘tutting’ sound.
‘Well, Mr Grim-man, I’m lucky enough to be her friend and there’s no denying she’s a lady. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go out.’
Alfie pushed past his landlord and hurried upstairs.
‘It’s Grimman, Mr Gorman,’ The landlord called after him. ‘My name is Grimman!’
17 Etchman hits rock bottom and Alfie decides to leave
It was a little before 7pm on a cold, still evening in late January. Alfie stood looking out at the twinkling lights of the town on the opposite side of Morecambe bay, at the clear black sky full of stars and he felt almost content; almost. His life was more peaceful than it had been in recent years; he’d made a wonderful new friend in Loriana, a friend who understood what it was like to feel loss, to be lost, someone with whom he shared a bond of background, language.
Yet, inevitably, Alfie still felt the dull ache of separation, the old memories of seaside holidays, laughter, adventures, and then the change; the arguments, the heartache, the eventual parting and break-up of his family. Alfie knew that after so long these feelings would never leave him, no matter how he plastered over the cracks. He also knew that, as he’d originally planned, he would leave Morecambe and continue his journey.
‘Buona sera, Alfredo,’ said a warm voice from behind him.
Alfie smiled and turned.
‘Good evening, Loriana. Come, tell me everything.’
They linked arms and began to walk through the darkness.
‘So,’ Alfie said in amazement as Loriana concluded her story. ‘Your husband is Lee Etchman. The bloke you’ve been telling me about, this younger man full of ideas, having the affairs and making you unhappy is the same man I see almost every day at the park, full of smiles and chat like all is right with the world.’
Loriana nodded. ‘Well, until his lady friend, Chrissie, visited the house yesterday and announced she was pregnant, I suppose Lee had every right to smile. Money, freedom, a great life. I cannot help but wonder now, I mean I always suspected, but I cannot help but wonder how many others there were, how many affairs.’
Alfie could think of at least one name – Tania Streatham. He’d witnessed Tania and Lee together on a daily basis and had always assumed they were up to something. Then, of course, Tania had confirmed she’d been seeing her boss. If only Alfie had known who Etchman was married too. But what could he have done? Told Loriana and upset her? Spoken to Etchman and faced humiliation? No, Alfie could have changed nothing and chose to say nothing now, instead keeping Tania’s name to himself and hoping the incident would stay in the past.
‘So, what are your plans or is it too early to say?’ Alfie asked as they turned towards the Narracott hotel, by now their regular venue.
‘I’m honestly not sure. Obviously I shall need to take more interest in the businesses, but other than that I do not suppose much will change.’
Loriana squeezed Alfie’s arm and glanced at him.
‘Except that now I am free to invite whomever I wish to my house without argument.’
* * * *
The Job Centre - or Job Centre Plus as it was officially named - was an open plan office with a sweeping semi-circle of grey tables, almost classroom like in appearance, forming a barrier between staff and job seeker. Large padded screens had been inserted between some tables and, to further clarify the divide, blue plastic signs hung from the polystyrene suspended ceiling bearing titles such as ‘New Claims’ and ‘Signing Point’.
It was the first month of a new year. Teenage couples with pushchairs queued for crisis loans. An older couple scoured the boards for anything that would top-up their pension while two middle-aged men, who looked a little worse for wear, sat with their eyes closed, waiting to sign.
There was only one person seated at the ‘Vacancy Inquiries’ desk, Tania Streatham, determined and reformed in the wake of her festive epiphany. She sported much shorter, red hair - her natural tone although she’d been forced to use a hair colour to shift the blonde. She wore no make-up and no outlandish clothing. She was dressed causally in jeans, vest and tracksuit top and she wanted a job.
‘So Miss Streatham, anything on the database caught your eye?’
‘Not really.’
‘Well, what sort of work are you looking for?’
‘Anything. I’m at college you see, so part-time’s best, and evenings would be good.’
‘What experience do you have?’ The advisor asked.
‘Customer service I suppose. I had a summer job in an ice-cream van and I’ve worked in a café too.’
‘So, anything along those lines, bar work, hotel, waiting on…’
‘Yeah, except I’m only seventeen so maybe not bar work.’
‘Well,’ said the advisor after a brief search. ‘They need general staff at the Narracott Hotel; reception, serving meals, reservations and so on.’
‘Fair enough, how do I apply?’
‘It’s just got a phone number on here. Shall I ring for you now?’
Tania nodded and, three minutes later, having spoken to the hotel manager, she’d been invited along for an interview that afternoon. Tania started work at the Narracott two days later.
* * * *
A month later, while the newly positive and freshly employed Miss Streatham was progressing with her life, a dishevelled and desperate Lee Etchman was secreted a few doors from Tania’s home. Etchman was confident of anonymity owing to his driving a second hand Renault 19 which he’d purchased since his eviction, having lost his precious DB9 along with his home.
Since Tania had left his employ and his life, Etchman had tried all manner of increasingly foolhardy tactics to try and tempt
her back. He had begun with text messages to Tania’s mobile but the replies to these had been offensive in the extreme. Next he’d tried ringing but, after an initial salvo of abuse, Tania had refused to answer her phone. Etchman quickly stopped calling the Streatham house when Tania’s parents questioned his motives, concerned about their daughter’s well being. That led to Etchman writing a succession of letters to Tania – the tone of which varied between begging, demanding and obsessive – to no notable effect.
On two ill-judged occasions Etchman had loitered outside Tania’s house and dashed over to speak to her only for her to scream at him until he ran away, fearing someone would call the police. Finally, in his most humiliating act to date, Etchman approached Tania at college while she’d been with friends. Tania had ridiculed Etchman publicly, calling him a pervert, pathetic, a letch, until they were all laughing at him and he left, chagrined.
Etchman was driven by an obsession to be with this nonpareil teenager who caused a fire to burn in his loins. Everything else in his life had taken a back seat. He’d barely even thought of his estranged wife and had given no more than passing interest to his rapidly diminishing cash funds or how he would pay his hotel bill once the money ran out. He waited outside Tania’s home like a stalker, intending to shadow her to her place of work. There he would talk to her, make her see sense in an environment where, hopefully, she would be keen to avoid a scene and could not simply leave.
At last, a scarcely recognisable Tania left the house. Etchman started the Renault’s engine first time - good little runner, only two previous owners, low mileage – and crawled along the road behind his sweetheart.
Ten minutes later they had apparently arrived – the grandest hotel on the promenade - the Narracott. Etchman watched Tania disappear inside then parked his car and sneaked to a window and peered inside. Sure enough, after a few minutes, Tania appeared and took a seat behind reception; he’d tracked her down and could now put his plan into operation.
All the Fun of the Fair Page 15