All the Fun of the Fair

by Jamie Sinclair

  Yesterday he’d been roused from fragmented somnolence when the children, aged five and seven, bounded into the room Etchman now shared with their mother and clambered into bed with them. Etchman was naked and had never felt more uncomfortable in his life.

  Today he’d collected the children from school so that Chrissie could go to the Job Centre to sort out a problem with a giro. While doing so Etchman noticed a series of deliberate scratches along one side of his car, the latest in a series of mishaps to befall the primordial vehicle.

  Thus far it had been a frightful New Year. Thanks to Chrissie turning up at the park, he’d lost Tania. Thanks to Chrissie visiting his wife Etchman had lost his home and his marriage. On top of this, owing to the incident at the Narracott – the second incident in quick succession requiring the police to be called - Etchman had received a formal caution. Now he was living with Chrissie because he had nowhere else to go.

  ‘For Gods sake!’ Etchman barked fractiously. ‘Can’t we have a bit less noise?’

  ‘Dick head.’ The oldest boy shouted.

  ‘Watch your mouth.’ Etchman snapped, slapping the boy on the back of the head which inevitably caused the child to cry.

  Exasperated, Etchman flicked through the meagre selection of television channels on offer – God how he missed satellite TV – to avoid watching giant furry creatures singing inane songs and counting objects over and over.

  ‘No! The programme.’ The youngest child screamed, horrified.

  ‘Turn it back.’ The eldest demanded, throwing a Hulk action figure at Etchman.

  Etchman deflected the figure with his hand then reluctantly changed the TV channel. At that moment the doorbell rang – a sustained ear-shattering panic-inducing buzz which, for some reason, made Etchman think of prison.

  ‘Hi, what can I do for you? He asked the elderly couple in front of him.

  ‘Who are you?’ Asked the woman.

  ‘Look, if you’re Jehovah’s Witnesses or whatever I’m not really interested. I’ve got two evil brats in here and my patience is wearing pretty thin…’

  ‘Grandma! Granddad!’

  The squeals of delight from the children enlightened Etchman as to who the couple were and his day deteriorated a little further.

  Ignoring Etchman totally, the children led their grandparents into the house, leaving him to close the front door and wander in behind them.

  ‘So,’ Grandma asked, bouncing her youngest grandson on her knee. ‘Who the blazes are you and why are you alone with these two little tykes?’

  ‘I’m err, I’m stayin’ here for a bit.’

  Etchman felt very awkward and longed to be able to go somewhere else, if only he had that option.

  ‘Are you…having relations with our daughter?’ Granddad asked, unsmiling, arms folded across his chest.

  ‘Well, relations. I erm…’

  ‘Well man, spit it out.’

  ‘I’m the father of her latest baby.’

  The old couple glanced at each other then Grandma spoke.

  ‘I see. And you’ve moved in here to support Chrissie, is that right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Etchman agreed, seizing the chance to at least appear like he was doing the right thing. ‘That’s it.’

  ‘And long term,’ Granddad took up the interrogation. ‘Do you plan to marry Chrissie?’

  ‘Marriage! Well, let’s not…’

  ‘He’s got a wife already.’ The youngest boy announced this without turning his little head away from the television.

  Etchman felt sick. For a second time Chrissie’s parents looked at each other and then the old man stood up. Etchman flinched, convinced he was about to be punched by a man twice his age.

  ‘Let’s go to the kitchen, make a pot of tea,’ Granddad ordered.

  Etchman nodded and led the way.

  ‘So.’ The old man began, flicking on the kettle but not bothering to find any mugs, spoons or indeed, tea bags. ‘It’s happened again.’

  ‘What has?’ Etchman asked.

  ‘A bloke gets my daughter pregnant, moves in for a bit, takes what he wants and then the minute it’s born you’ll be off without looking back. Leave us to pick up the pieces again.’

  ‘No, you see it’s not like that. Chrissie offered to put me up for a bit, just until I get somewhere sorted.’

  ‘She’s too good natured. Is it true then, you’re already married?’

  Etchman nodded and the old man shook his head.

  ‘So what on earth were you doing with my daughter in the first place?’

  ‘Well, we just met in a bar, got chatting like you do, had a few drinks and next thing you know…’

  ‘Spare me the details young man. So I assume it’s too much to ask that you’re here because you care for Chrissie?’

  ‘Of course I care for her, a great deal.’ Etchman even managed to sound a little indignant. The kettle began to boil, its noise masking their conversation.

  ‘And your wife?’

  ‘Well, yeah, I admit that she’s chucked me out but…’

  ‘So, in fact, the only reason you’re here at all is because you’ve nowhere else to stay and as soon as you find somewhere, or your wife’s daft enough to take you back, you’ll be away leaving Chrissie with another mouth to feed all by herself.’

  Granddad was angry, that was made obvious by the purple skin tone and spittle flying from his mouth.

  ‘Men like you make me sick, ashamed.’ He ranted over the sound of the boiling kettle. ‘You’re not fit to call yourself a man.’

  Mercifully for Etchman at that moment they heard the front door open and the kids cry out excitedly. It was Chrissie.

  ‘Make the bloody tea.’ The old man demanded and went to greet his daughter.

  A couple of hours later, after the extremely intimidating grandparents had left and the makeshift family had enjoyed a dinner of mini pork sausages and beans on toast, they were sitting in the cramped front room watching television. With the very vocal thoughts of Chrissie’s father ringing in his ears, Etchman decided he perhaps ought to make some effort with Chrissie since she had, after all, provided him with shelter.

  ‘Look, do you fancy going out tonight, few drinks perhaps?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘Excellent, I could manage a few pints.’

  ‘What about these two?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Whose gonna watch the boys?’

  ‘How should I know, don’t you have a sitter?’

  Chrissie snorted and swept a stray strand of yellow-blonde hair behind her ear.

  ‘A sitter? Yeah, and we have a woman comes twice a week to clean the place and a bloke that does the garden, you prick.’

  ‘So, what then?’

  ‘I normally drop ‘em off at Maureen’s over the road but tonight’s her bingo night.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So there’s nobody to watch ‘em.’

  ‘Which presumably means we’re not going out?’

  ‘Bingo.’

  ‘Very funny. Right, off-licence it is then, I’ll have to drink something to dull the noise.’ Etchman said.

  ‘Get me a bottle of cider then, and a Turkish Delight.’

  ‘Sweets, get sweets.’ The children urged in unison.

  Etchman grabbed his coat and slammed the door behind him, sighing loudly as he walked down the paving stone path to the gate which hung from a solitary hinge. When he had been to the Job Centre that morning he’d felt humiliated being in the company of the poor and unfortunate of Morecambe. When he’d rung about a job painting and positioning dog waste bins he’d felt ashamed. But now, having endured several days of living in a house with a woman he didn’t care for and her two hyper-active children, Etchman was looking forward to starting work, just to get out of the house, just for the peace and quiet.

  18 Alfie gets everything he wants, and is found out

  ‘So you’re leaving eh?’ Mr Grimman remarked.

  ‘’Fraid so,’
Alfie replied. ‘I’ll give you written notice by the end of the week.’

  ‘Excellent. Well, according to our contract you’re supposed to give a months notice and, of course, we’ll have to discuss your security deposit in light of past…disturbances.’

  The landlord was clearly elated at the news of Alfie’s impending departure. Since the failed suicide attempt when Alfie had inadvertently caused a blackout and seen his landlord in full make-up, Gerald Grimman was keen to be rid of Alfie and any potential leverage the tenant might have over him.

  ‘Fine, fine. I’ve got to give a months notice at the park and then I’ll be off, so that works out perfectly.’

  Mr Grimman made no attempt to hide his satisfied smile as a dejected Alfie set off for the Council housing department to try and gather information on available accommodation in other areas, his only stipulation being that it must be located at the seaside. Later, armed with a selection of leaflets instructing how to claim Housing Benefit and with details of a number of letting agents, Alfie trudged to the park.

  He still couldn’t believe what had happened with Loriana, how he’d lunged at her like an impassioned teenager, how offended she’d been. If he were honest, although the timing had evidently been terrible, he’d wanted to kiss her. In fact Loriana was the first, and indeed only, woman for whom Alfie had harboured significant feelings in all his forty-odd years.

  From the moment on the promenade when he’d first heard Loriana’s melodious voice, then seen her beautiful face, he’d felt it. They shared so much, beyond the obvious link of their Italian roots and the sense of being out of place in the world around them. When it came down to it Alfie was comfortable with Loriana, he was able to be himself. There were no pretensions, no lies or stories; not with regard to his current life anyway. Alfie’s past, as always, was an entirely different matter.

  ‘Looking glum Alfie.’

  He looked up from his reverie. Old Mr Crowther, a Happy Mount Park regular, who invariably wore the same grey trousers and green body-warmer for his matches in the bowling league, was peering into the hut.

  ‘Oh, afternoon Mr Crowther, what was that?’

  ‘I say you’re looking glum. Look like my missus when she can’t find her teeth.’ The old man chuckled then coughed violently. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his mouth.

  ‘No, no, not at all. Just lost in thought is all.’ Alfie forced a cheery smile.

  ‘Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my time on this earth it’s that thinking too much can be a bad thing and that old bugger Jennings cheats at bowls.’

  ‘That’s two things.’ Alfie pointed out.

  ‘Sometimes it’s best to just get on and do something because you’ll have plenty of time for thinking when you get to my age. That swine Jennings thinks I don’t notice but I do and I still beat him most of the time. Anyway, I’d best get off, it’s Watercolour Challenge in twenty minutes.’

  Ordinarily Alfie took most of the things people said to him the way they were meant, idle chit chat, polite conversation, received with a smile and dismissed with a nod. But perhaps Mr Crowther was right. Alfie did spend a sizable portion of his time adrift in a sea of thought, considering his life, what had gone before, what might be, and all the while in the real world he was sitting in a small wooden hut in a park, not actually doing anything.

  ‘Well sod that for a game of soldiers!’ He exclaimed suddenly.

  Ignoring the voice in his head that so earnestly advocated procrastination Alfie locked the hut and marched from the park.

  Twenty minutes later, perspiring slightly from a combination of nerves and the pace of his walk, Alfie was outside Loriana’s house and, to his own surprise, he rang the doorbell. He was breathing so hard he feared he might collapse and he was sure he could see his jacket moving with the thumping of his heart.

  ‘Alfredo? This is a shock; shouldn’t you be at the park?’

  Loriana looked jaded, fretful, and for the first time Alfie noticed very slight lines around her chocolate brown eyes but her magnificence still would not be denied.

  ‘Never mind the park. Look, I’m only gonna be able to manage this once, if that, before I pass out on the step so you need to just shush for a minute.’

  Loriana opened her mouth to reply but Alfie raised his hand and she remained silent. Alfie took a deep breath and swallowed.

  ‘I’m sorry about the other day, truly I am, but the fact remains that I don’t regret it. I can honestly say I have never met anyone like you Loriana. When I’m with you I’m myself and it’s been so long since I could say that. I know you’re angry and I know you’ve been through a lot lately but if I didn’t at least tell you how I feel before I leave I’d never forgive myself…’

  Alfie, forced to pause for breath, stopped speaking and Loriana seized her chance.

  ‘You are leaving?’

  ‘Yes. I’m…I’m moving on at last.’

  ‘I’d really rather you didn’t do that ‘Fredo.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘It is me who is sorry. I feared I may not see you again and I was too afraid to come to the park. My reaction when you kissed me, I was upset, tired, angry, but with my husband, not with you, my ‘Fredo.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘While you think perhaps…perhaps you might kiss me again?’

  Loriana smiled and, for the first time since he’d known her, Alfie thought he detected a flicker of nerves in her tone.

  ‘Right you are then.’

  Alfie stepped up, leaned forward and their lips met. It was more wonderful than Alfie had been able to imagine.

  Several hours later, when mid-afternoon had passed into mid-evening and the February sky had grown dark, Alfie Gorman and Loriana Cipriani lay in her luxurious King size bed, arm in arm, utterly relaxed and dozing lightly. Events had worked out perfectly, in spite of earlier hitches; two strangers had met and found a connection, a spark, and now they had each other and it was ambrosial.

  ‘Oh, Jesus. I’ve left the park unlocked!’

  Alfie sprang up in the bed, eyes wide with alarm.

  ‘What, what is the matter?’ Loriana cried. ‘Is it my husband, is he here?’

  ‘I’m sorry my love, but I must go. I’ve left the park gates open, all of them. God, I’m gonna be in trouble tomorrow if anyone notices.’

  Alfie was already up and dragging on his clothes, hobbling for the door while a distressed Loriana looked on.

  ‘Alfie, don’t leave. I had hoped you might…’

  ‘Sorry, sorry. I’ve just got to lock the gates. Bloody hell, where’s me sock? Never mind.’

  A moment later he was bounding down the stairs and out of the front door leaving Loriana confused, rejected and feeling more than a little cheap. She could already hear her father’s voice in her head.

  ‘Desiderano soltanto una cosa ed allora sono andati’

  ‘They only want one thing and then they’re gone’.

  Ten minutes later, left shoe rubbing violently against his bare heel, a panting, sweating, but otherwise ecstatic Alfie arrived at Happy Mount Park. He dashed in through the open main gates, locking them from the inside. He then worked his way around the perimeter of the park, fumbling in the almost pitch blackness to unwrap the chains and get the key into the padlocks.

  Finally, relieved, he approached the final set of gates in an overgrown corner of the park behind the toilets where he had been stunned previously by the gate bouncing off his head. He began to unwind the length of chain from around the gatepost and then paused.

  ‘Shit! Someone’s there.’

  ‘Sshh!’

  ‘Hello, anyone there?’ Alfie called.

  Silence. Alfie, feeling apprehensive, took a few uncertain steps into the darkness and away from the exit, conscious of the possibility that he may be about to lock somebody in for the night, unless they fancied scaling a six foot spike-topped fence encased in hedgerows.

  ‘Hello,’ he called ag
ain. ‘I’m just locking up for the night. Bit late actually but, anyway. Hello?’

  Alfie had to force himself to move towards the toilet block. He could hear the shuffling of feet and the whisper of voices. Kids, he thought, a bunch of kids with alcohol or cigarettes. Alfie hoped they’d be more scared than he was and simply run away, leaving him to lock up and return to Loriana.

  ‘Come on,’ Alfie said again, his voice firm and authoritative, his trembling hands disguised by the darkness. ‘We’ve all got homes to go to, let’s not drag this out…’

  He entered the toilet block, which had no door and was permanently lit by dim, flickering bulbs and smelled strongly of urinal cakes.

  The beige walls of the diminutive convenience were heavy with graffiti which lacked both imagination and a grasp of basic grammar. This Alfie did not notice. Along the left hand wall hung three urinals. The wall opposite featured two matching cubicles. Four men stood here, a fifth shuffled from the right hand cubicle self-consciously fastening his trousers. Two of these men Alfie recognised immediately as Rodney the Barber and Derek from the Fish & Chip shop.

  ‘What on earth’s going on in here then?’ Alfie asked, staggered.

  ‘Alfie, it’s Alfie,’ cried Rodney, the relief in his tone all too apparent.

  ‘You know him?’ One of the anonymous men asked nervously.

  ‘Yeah,’ Derek answered. ‘Alfie, comes in the chippy, works at the power station.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ said one of the men aggressively. ‘I’ve never seen him, which department?’

  ‘You work there too?’ Alfie was startled; cold sweat began to trickle down his sides underneath his shirt.

  ‘Yeah and I’ve never seen you.’

  Alfie opened his mouth again but nothing came out. In his mind he was suddenly back at school, a little boy faced with a gang of bigger boys. Instantly Alfie had become the weird kid, the special kid, the boy who made up stories because his brother had died.

  ‘Look mate,’ said one of the men. ‘Why don’t you do yourself a favour and clear off, mind your own business…’

  Alfie recognised the man’s face from the local paper. He couldn’t think of the man’s name, it might have been Hague, but Alfie was fairly certain he was on the council or some other official body.