by Paul Kelly
“The one standing outside number 83, Maggie . . that’s the only old Fiat I know of.”
“Mmmm. That one . . yes, it is rather old,” she agreed, “Well you know best Joe Osborne, but do be careful, won’t you. We haven’t got money to burn . . have we now?”
Freddie raised his eyebrows and glared at Joe.
“Does Maggie know a lot about cars Joe?” he asked as they closed the front garden gate behind them and strolled up the road together. Joe chuckled.
“A woman knows about everything Freddie. You’ll learn that as you get older . . you’ll see,” but before they took another few steps, Maggie shouted again.
“Not everything Joe . . Just nearly everything, Love and although I don’t know much about cars, that one would never pass as a Rolls Royce in a month of Sundays, that’s for sure.” Joe grinned as he answered her back.
“You’d need a ‘tarara’ like the queen wears if I get you one of them, Maggie,” he called out and they could hear her laughing.
“I’ll just have to wear me old straw ‘at, if we get this one then, won’t I?” she called out after them and Joe smiled as they went.
“Come on Freddie. Let’s see what you think?”
***
The library was exceptionally quiet that afternoon and Joe scrutinized the shelves for another book. He enjoyed reading. He looked at the catalogues with interest as Freddie studied the latest pop records, twisting his head from side to side and tapping his feet happily.
“Pssst . . . Pssst.” Joe heard a strange hissing sound at the other side of the large bookshelf. “Pssst.” it went again and then he saw two bright blue piercing eyes above a thick volume of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales.
“What are you doing here,” Joe called out aloud and then lowered his tone to a whisper as an elderly man in a gray soft hat glared at him. He ought to take that hat off in a place like this, thought Joe as he smiled back at the irate man and then repeated his question to Bertie. . . very, very softly.
“Speak with your mind dear boy, my ears aren’t too good these days anyway.”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? . .” thought Joe, hard and deliberately and his face went red as he held his breath.
“Thought you might have saved me a wee bitty piece of that mince and potato pie. I’m very partial to something of that nature, you know.”
Joe laughed and then stuck his hand up to his mouth as the man in the gray hat stared at him again.
“Well, well . . so you do have an Achilles heel after all, “ He said with his mind and with his eyes steadily staring in the direction of The Canterbury Tales, but Bertie sulked and shrugged his scrawny shoulders.
“It was those shoes that did it. I said they were too tight with the laces in and you said,”
“What on earth are you jabbering on about Bertie?”
“My sore heels of course, that’s what. That’s just what I’m jabbering on about whatever you mean by that . . . Jabbering indeed ..”
“I didn’t say anything about your heels . . I said your Achilles heel . .”
“Well whatever you call them, they’re sore anyway and I thought I would get a bit of sympathy from a friend . . Not much to ask, I would have thought.” Bertie went on and Joe giggled as he shook his head in disbelief, but Bertie went on airing his grievances. “Anyways . . sometimes, I don’t hear very well . . even when you talk with your mind.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, it is so and especially when I’m hungry and as a matter of fact I’m hungry now,”
He looked sadly at Joe and sniffed back a tear, “I’m starving in fact.”
“O.K. I’ll see what I can do when Maggie makes another one then . . .”
“Yes, do that please Joe . . and . . and anything else she might like to make. The smell of her cooking could make an old man very, very happy. “
Joe grinned and looked across to where Freddie was still standing, foot-tapping contentedly in a corner, near the record shelves and oblivious to anything else that went on around him.
“What book are you getting Joe?” Bertie asked, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, as if he was an authority in literature.
“I’m not sure yet, but I thought this one by Agatha Christie might make a good read,”
replied Joe and Bertie was just about to ‘think’ again when Joe interrupted his ‘thoughts’, “But then I suppose you would consider Agatha Christie to be an idiot to write this kind of stuff . . yes Professor?” he said with his mind, of course and Bertie’s tongue swept across his thin lips again, but he made no comment.
“It’s obvious my opinion is not required here so I’ll just take myself off . . and sit up on the roof . . Good day.”
“You will WHAT?”
Joe suddenly realized that when Bertie took off, his thinking language ceased and he was shouting with his ordinary voice again. Everybody in the library stared at him with an unanimous whisper for silence . . . SSShhhhh ! ! ! He took the book he wanted across to the desk and beckoned Freddie to follow him, but as he was leaving the building, the young librarian who had stamped his book, ran after him and met him on the steps outside the building.
“Excuse me Sir . . I think you’ve left these behind,” she said as she tried to catch her breath and tucked her hair around her ear. She held a pair of woollen gloves in her hand . . gloves that had no fingers.” Joe blushed and looked towards the roof . . . .
“These must be yours Freddie,” he said and passed the woollen things over to his nephew, hurriedly and with a scowl.
“No they’re not. I’ve never seen them before . . they must be yours, Joe,” said Freddie as he turned towards the librarian and smiled shyly. “My uncle is a little forgetful at times . . it’s his age you see . . I’m sorry to have caused you the trouble, thank you.”
“No trouble at all,” she said as she returned to the library, but Freddie saw the look on her face as she opened the glass doors . . and the way she stared at her hands with her nose all curled up.
“I didn’t know you wore mittens Joe . . Did Maggie knit them for you?” asked Freddie, but Joe was staring at the roof with a tight mouth.
“What? what was that you said? . . . Oh! yes . . Maggie knitted them for me, when she realized how old I was getting . . . ALL OF A SUDDEN . . .” he replied and stuffed the gloves into his coat pocket as he marched off, calling out to Freddie as he went.
“Let’s go and have a look at that car, before I get too old to drive the blessed thing.”
***
“Well, what do you think Freddie?”
Joe studied the old Fiat with a great deal of enthusiasm, but Freddie was agog with delight as Mr. Chesterfield stood by rubbing his chin with the expectation of a sale.
“Oh . . it’s lovely Joe . . all it needs is a bit of polish and . . maybe a new tyre at the back there Look!.
Joe looked more carefully at the bodywork and sighed, with the air of a professional, who knew all about Fiats and the likes.
“And a new back light . . and a new front wing. Look at the rust here. “Oh! dear, I don’t think it’s worth £60, Freddie,” said Joe and he stared at old Mr. Chesterfield as he spoke.
“Yes it is Joe,” said Freddie, “ But you could do a lot with it. Oh! Please buy it Joe. We could have such a lovely . . .”
Joe stood on Freddie’s foot and the boy shut up.
“No . . I don’t think it’s worth £60, Mr. Chesterfield,” he said as he stood with his forefinger and thumb over his lips, debating . . with one eye on Chesterfield.
“I think it’s rather nice, “ came a Voice from the sky and Joe closed his eyes to have a little thought, concentrating all his efforts into cursing the day he ever met that doughnut man.
“Nobody’s asking your opinion . . and I hope Freddie does
n’t hear me ‘thinking’ or he’ll think I’ve gone mad. Now go away Bertie . . Buzz off, will you.”
“It’s still a nice little car . . We could do a lot with it, you know,” came the answer back and Joe opened his eyes to see a bent old man leaning across the bonnet of the car, wiggling one of the wing mirrors. Mr. Chesterfield stood back in amazement.
“Well maybe . . I could drop the price to . . say £50, Mr. Osborne,” he said as he blinked back his disappointment and Joe was about to clinch the deal when a Voice from the skies interrupted.
“No . No . not at all, Sir. £60 you originally asked and £60 it shall be . . a bargain Sir. A real bargain.” the Voice boomed . . .and Freddie stared at Joe with his mouth open.
“But Joe . . I thought you said . . Oh! I’m glad you’ve changed your mind. Maggie will be pleased and we’ll have a lovely holiday after all, won’t we. . . Thanks Joe.”
Bertie smiled at Joe . . Joe scowled at Freddie and Mr. Chesterfield breathed a sigh of relief.
“You won’t regret it Mr. Osborne, I assure you. I had a new starter motor put into it last week and of course, I’ve had the breaks done. It’s a bargain for the price I do agree,” said Mr. Chesterfield and Bertie was about to add his comments when Joe closed one eye tightly and cut his old interfering friend out of his mind.
“Belt up old fellow . . you’ve caused enough trouble here,” he said with his mind, as Bertie strolled off along the pavement to study the car from behind. The next moment the old man was sitting on the car boot, bouncing up and down with a wide grin on his face.
“You won’t regret it Joe . . you won’t dear boy . . and Mr. Chesterfield didn’t even know that I was present at the sale. . . .”
“Belt up Bertie . . and get off that car,” screamed Joe, with his mind, of course as he smiled sweetly at Mr. Chesterfield and felt for his wallet in his inside pocket.
“£50 you said, Mr. Chesterfield . . yes?”
He counted out the money, but an invisible hand took the wallet and added another £10 as Mr. Chesterfield thanked him.
“You will have your little joke . . won’t you Mr. Osborne. I’ll write you out a receipt for the £60 if you’d care to come indoors with me now.
“No need . . no need at all, Mr. Chesterfield,” he said and turned to Freddie. “I only hope I can drive this thing away now . . that’s what I hope Freddie.”
“We will . . we will,” came the Voice and Joe could see Bertie jumping up and down on the pavement like a schoolboy; his fingers stuck in his toothless orifice with jubilant excitement, as Freddie jumped into the car and started to play with the steering wheel which came away in his hands.
“Joe . . Joe . . the steering wheel . . it’s . . it’s . . .”
“It’s a very nice one,” said Bertie as he flipped his tongue across his chin and licked his lips with satisfaction. . . . and the steering wheel turned slowly and firmly of its own accord. . .
***
Maggie wasn’t very pleased when they arrived back at the house, particularly when she looked out of her kitchen window to see a cloud of black smoke coming from the rear exhaust of the Fiat and then she heard a loud bang . . followed very soon after by another.
“Oh! dear, dear . . .. whatever will the neighbours think?” She sighed as Joe came in with a broad smile on his face.
“Well . . what do you think of it then?” he asked enthusiastically, but Maggie politely ignored his exuberance and suggested she should make Joe and Freddie a cup of tea, as Joe took his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves.
“It’ll be O.K. when I’ve cleaned it up a bit, Maggie . . you’ll see . . and Freddie has promised to help me.”
Bertie nodded his approval in the background, somewhere above Maggie’s head, but Joe narrowed his eyes at him and signalled for him to ‘clear off’”
“Don’t forget . . Joe.” The Voice grated on Joe’s mind.
“What?” he barked in disgust
“If she makes another mince and potato pie . . . will you . . . “
But Joe didn’t want to hear . . .I wish I had the means to shut you off, thought Joe as Bertie was about to disappear into his blue cloud.
“Naughty thinking,” said the old man . . . and vanished.
***
The car had more rust than Joe had first observed and the electrics were abominable.
“I think I’ve just bought me a pig in a poke here Freddie,” he said as he wiped the axle grease from his hands. “Old Chesterfield must have seen me coming . .”
***
Freddie and Joe worked on the car whenever they could find the free time. Freddie contributing his little efforts after school and at the week-ends and it took a lot of hard work to get it looking even somewhat presentable and mobile . . which was even more important, but as with any chore . . in time and with patience it began to look something like the car they had imagined it must have looked, four or five years ago . . at least. John Paul overlooked the work from his pram in the garden, kicking his little fat legs in encouragement, but Maggie looked out at the monstrosity, as she called it, with anything but enthusiasm.
“It’ll never look like a Rolls Royce . . that’s for sure,” she kept repeating and shaking her head sadly as she returned to her cooking, making the best of a bad job and secretly hoping for a small miracle.
***
Bertie stood on the bonnet munching a packet of maltesers as Joe rolled out from under the car
“Have a sweetie Joe . . the ones with the less fattening centres. .It says here on the packet . . go on.”
“Oh! Thank you very much. I’ll make a note of that important fact in my diary . . when I can get a minute.”
“Oh! Don’t be like that Joe . . The car is beginning to look lovely and you’ve cleaned it up beautifully, haven’t you now . .” Bertie commented as he popped chocolates into his floppy mouth, throwing them firstly into the air and then catching them with a glint in his eyes, as if his act had been perfected over a very long time, but Joe had only two hours to get his dinner and off to his shift at Frankham’s and he didn’t particularly want to listen to Bertie’s idle chatter.
“I’m busy Bertie . . surely you can see that . . why don’t you push off for a while . . go and do some shopping or something . . .” he snapped, but Bertie ignored Joe’s suggestion as he blew up his malteser bag and burst it with his fist in the air.
Joe jumped out of his skin.
“You gave me a fright there Mate. I thought this stupid old car had blown up on me. Don’t ever do anything like that again . . do you hear me?” he barked and Bertie looked forlorn.
“I thought . . well . . maybe, I could help a wee bitty . . maybe I could do a bit o’ polishin’ or something like that, eh?” he asked, licking his lips in anticipation.
“Thanks Friend . . but this work is for a young man . . thanks again, but no thanks,” Joe snapped and Bertie felt rejected as he stuck his forefinger up his nose.
“I’ll let you get on with it then,” he answered softly and disappeared. Joe felt a little ashamed at the way he had treated his friend, but he was also afraid to dwell on his thoughts too much, in case Bertie might read his mind and come back. . . . . He went to work that evening and was surprised to find that ‘Shifty pants’ hadn’t stopped his pay for the time he took off to visit Freddie at school, but he was even more surprised when the foreman offered to have his ‘new’ car serviced at a reduced rate.
“Thanks Mr. Hislop . . I appreciate that but it will be a few weeks before that old banger of mine will be ready for any kind of a service.”
“Never you mind Joe lad . . .Just bring it along whenever you’re ready . . d’ya hear?” said the foreman an Joe went back to his bolts, feeling rather happy about everything in general and wishing the time away until he could get back to work on his Fiat again.<
br />
***
Maggie greeted Joe as he came in through the back door after having finished his night shift.
“Joe . . You must have worked very hard on the car yesterday. It’s looking very much smarter this morning,” she said as she rubbed her hands on her apron.
“Thanks Love . . I could just murder a cup of tea,” he remarked as he kissed his wife and flopped into his favourite chair by the fire. “I’ll get a bit more done on it before I turn into bed, although I’m very tired . . “ He yawned and stretched his arms above his head. “Is Freddie at school today?”
“Yes Love and he’s looking and feeling a lot better since you had that talk with him,” said Maggie with a big smile on her round face, but as Joe grinned, he was afraid to think . . . very much. It involved such dire consequences, at times! ! ! He ate his usual hearty breakfast and went out to the car to get on with the repairs, pulling his list of requirements from his back pocket, but he stood back in amazement as soon as he stepped out of the front door. The nearside wing that had been so badly rusted, was like new . . shining and gleaming in the morning sunshine and all the lights sparkled. He stared for a few minutes and then he thought . . .
“Yes Joe . . Did you want me?” A voice came from behind his shoulder.
Joe glared at the old man standing so innocently in front of him, where he had moved around to face Joe when he felt the shock on Joe’s face had been there long enough, but Bertie shifted from one foot to the other, not knowing what else to say. “I wanted to help . . Joe . . that’s all. I meant well . . hon . . hon . .honest I did,” he stammered, but Joe grinned and stretched out his hand towards Bertie and the old man smiled. His face was full of joy.