Framed

by Frank Cottrell Boyce

  She was right about that anyway.

  When we got back to the garage, the chickens were on the grass by the ‘OPEN’ sign. Mam had found an old rabbit hutch for them to shelter in, so they mostly stayed in there. Sometimes they’d come out, but they always looked nervous. When they walked, they put one foot down, then stood still and looked round, like they were in a minefield. Whenever anyone opened the shop door, they ran inside. Minnie said it was because they liked the fluorescent lights.

  We tried to chase them out again, but every time we opened the door, the ‘pong ping’ noise frightened them and they ran off and hid behind the battery carousel. We were coaxing them out again for about the fifteenth time when suddenly the door went ‘pong ping’ behind us. We looked up and there he was, the clean man from the BMW.

  ‘Oh,’ said Minnie.

  ‘Would you mind holding the door open a moment?’ said Mam.

  He looked a bit bewildered, but he did it. And Minnie chased the chickens right past him.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Mam, all calm, as if well-dressed strangers were always coming into her shop to help get the chickens out. ‘What can we do for you?’

  He was wearing the whitest shirt I’d ever seen. It was nearly luminous in fact. He was wearing it under a blue suit with his cuffs sticking out so you could see that they had little shiny cufflinks. His shoes were shiny too. He was the shiniest person I’d ever seen. Even his car was shiny, which is inexplicable considering it’d just come down the mountain road.

  ‘Just petrol, please,’ said the shiny man.

  I said, ‘I’ll get it,’ really quickly, because I was desperate to have a proper look at the car. It was only when I got out in the rain that I realized it might have been more interesting to get a proper look at the man. Anyway, in case you really want to know, the car had black and grey nappa-leather seats, satellite navigation, full communications pack and about forty thousand miles on the clock. I know you probably think it was nosy of me to look at the mileage, but it’s all part of market research. The 5-Series BMW sometimes develops oil-consumption problems after the first fifty thousand miles. So it would be good for Dad to know the mileage.

  I’d just finished filling the tank when Donatello jumped on the bonnet and started scraping away at the paintwork. I shooed her off before she had a chance to scratch it, but she did do her business before she left. I thought I’d better wipe it off, so I went back in to get some tissues.

  Inside, the man was just giving Mam his credit card. ‘I notice you have a Gaggia,’ he was saying. ‘Could I trouble you for a double espresso?’

  Mam was great, of course. ‘Not at present,’ she said, ‘though very possibly in the very near future.’

  And I said, ‘If you’re still around in the very near future, that is.’ See that? Market research again. Trying to find out how long he was planning to stay.

  ‘We just need some filters. And some coffee. And some cups,’ explained Mam. ‘We do do dry cleaning.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ said the man.

  ‘And we can get you discount tyres if you like,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve got tyres, thank you.’

  I said, ‘Yes, I noticed. Ceat Tornadoes. You’d get a better ride with Pirelli P7s. I just thought I’d mention it. That mountain road can be a bit rough.’

  ‘Yes. Well, thank you very much . . .’

  Then I remembered to say, ‘Oh – welcome to Manod, highest rainfall in the UK,’ which is what Dad always says.

  ‘I suppose everyone has to be good at something,’ said the man, and I realized that somehow I’d said the wrong thing. When Dad said that thing about the rainfall, he made it sound good.

  I couldn’t figure out what I’d said different until Minnie said, ‘Highest rainfall and lowest crime rate. The two facts may not be unconnected.’ Then the man laughed. She is a brainbox.

  Mam said, ‘If there’s anything you need, just let us know and we’ll do our best. We do photocopying, Internet access, newspapers on request. And petrol, of course.’

  ‘You’ve already given me petrol. That’s why I gave you the credit card.’

  ‘Of course it is, sorry.’ She was a bit flustered because, behind the counter, Max was pulling at her skirt.

  She picked him up. ‘Oh,’ said the man. Mam looked up and knew what it was right away. He’d seen Max’s eyes. They are huge. You could fall into them. Mam smiled. The man said, ‘Madonna and child.’

  Madonna? I looked on the paper rack. Did he want a magazine about Madonna? Or a poster? Or a CD? We didn’t have any.

  Mam handed him his card back, saying, ‘Thank you very much, Mr . . .’ She looked at the card to see his name.

  He said, ‘Lester.’

  ‘Oh. Thank you very much, Lester.’

  As he was going out of the door, I remembered Donatello’s business on the bonnet. I grabbed the tissues and ran out after him. He was just opening the driver’s-side door when I shouted to him to wait.

  ‘The hens are free-range,’ I said, wiping the muck off the bonnet. ‘We sell the eggs if you’re interested.’

  ‘Not at the moment.’ He got in his car.

  ‘Just as well.’ I picked the hen up. ‘They haven’t actually laid any yet. Have you, Donatello?’

  The man had just shut his door. But when I said that, he opened it again and stared at me.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  ‘What did you say?’ he said.

  ‘Oh. I was talking to the hen, not you.’

  ‘And the hen is called . . . ?’

  ‘Donatello.’

  He kept looking at me.

  I shrugged. ‘The other one’s Michelangelo. I know they’re boys’ names and hens are girls but. . .’

  ‘Whose idea was it to call them that?’

  ‘Oh. Well. Mine, really. I don’t like Donatello as much as Michelangelo. I know a lot of people hate Michelangelo, but I think that’s stupid. He’s legend. They’re all great, aren’t they? Michelangelo, Raphael, Leonardo and Donatello.’

  ‘Yes, they are,’ he said.

  ‘In their different ways,’ I said.

  ‘In their different ways,’ he agreed. ‘I have to go now, but I’d like to carry on this conversation another time.’

  Then he pulled the door shut with the satisfying thunk you only get with a real class marque.

  When I went inside, the others were all sort of holding their breath.

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Mam.

  ‘He was just asking what the hens were called.’

  ‘Well, that was friendly then,’ said Mam. ‘Go and get Dad. Quick.’

  Minnie ran off to the workshop while me and Marie started arranging the collapsible camping chairs (Car Boot Crazy at the Dynamo Blaenau Football Club ground – £1 each) in a circle round the telly.

  When Dad came in, Mam said, ‘Right then, sit down. We’ve got something to show you.’ And she turned on the telly, and on came the CCTV tape of Lester’s visit. CCTV tape is not like normal telly. There’s no sound and the picture is very jumpy, so we didn’t see the door open. It was just – bing! – there’s Lester in the shop – bing! – he’s by the drinks cabinet – bing! – he’s looking at the newspapers.

  Mam said, ‘He’s having a good look round. He wants to buy something, look. He just can’t find anything he wants.’

  ‘Who is it?’ said Dad.

  ‘That,’ said Mam, ‘is a new customer.’

  I said, ‘It’s him from up the mountain.’

  Dad went right up to the screen ‘Why are his shoes all shining like that?’

  ‘Because they’ve been polished.’

  ‘You mean they really were that shiny? I thought it was something wrong with the tape.’

  ‘They really were that shiny.’

  ‘Whatever he’s doing up that mountain,’ said Dad, ‘it’s not looking after sheep.’

  We were still glued to the CCTV. Mam said, ‘Look, that’s when he noticed the coffe
e machine. He’d have bought a coffee if it was working. See? What did I tell you. That Gaggia is going to pull them in.’

  Dad said, ‘Did he order any papers?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then he’s not staying. A man with shoes like that reads the paper every day. If he was staying, he’d’ve ordered the papers.’ He was starting to sound grumpy again, like he did when the Ramanans left. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Homework.’ But as soon as he said it, the door went ‘pong ping’ again. We all turned round, and who had come in? Only Lester. He looked pretty surprised to see a circle of camping stools around the telly. He’d have been even more surprised if he’d known we were watching him, but Mam quickly flicked it to forecourt live feed, so the only thing on the screen was his car and the back of the Jet Wash. Now I think about it, that might have looked even weirder.

  ‘You said something about getting papers,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mam.

  ‘I’d like the FT if you can get it.’

  Mam looked a bit blank, but Dad said, ‘Oh. No problem. FT. How long would you like it for? Just a day. Couple of days? Weeks?’

  ‘Well,’ came the answer, ‘until further notice, I suppose.’

  ‘Right. Until further notice it is,’ said Dad.

  Then the man said goodbye to everyone. Then he looked at me and he said a separate goodbye.

  We waited until we heard the engine start up. Then Mam said, ‘What’s an FT?’

  ‘An FT,’ said Dad, ‘is . . . beside the point. Mrs Porty will know. The point is, the point is . . . we have a new customer! A brand-new regular customer. Until further notice!’

  ‘Thanks to the Gaggia,’ said Mam.

  ‘What d’you mean, thanks to the Gaggia? He bought a newspaper, not a coffee.’

  ‘But he would have bought a coffee if we’d had any.’

  ‘If we’d had any! He might’ve bought a racehorse if we’d had some. Shall we start a little stables just in case?’

  ‘The Gaggia set the tone, didn’t it? It’s classy, that’s what. He saw the Gaggia and he thought, These are the kind of people I can do business with. Frothy-coffee people. Not greasy-spoon people.’

  Dad looked at her. Then he looked at the Gaggia and he said, ‘Yes. It was. All thanks to the Gaggia.’

  So we knew that row was over, which was nice.

  Then we all watched the CCTV tape one more time for luck.

  8 April

  Cars today:

  LAND ROVER – Mr Morgan

  BLUE MONTEGO ESTATE – Mrs Porty

  (came with the papers and was tempted by the coffee. Said she would come back for one later)

  FIAT MULTIPLA – Mr Arthur from the newspaper (full tank, latte)

  TWENTY-ONE WHITE COMBI VANS!!!

  RED FORD KA – Ms Stannard (stopped for chocolate and – ended up buying a hot chocolate)

  BLUE LEXUS – Mr Choi (stopped for petrol, didn’t want coffee)

  GREEN DAIHATSU COPEN – Mrs Egerton

  (came in to look at the coffee machine, said she didn’t like the look of it, asked for a cup of tea. We don’t do teas.. Tom did one for her just this once)

  VAUXHALL ASTRA ESTATE 1.9 CDTi –

  Mr Davis (first visit to shop – potential new customer?)

  Weather – wet locally. Sunny on higher ground

  Note: SOMETIMES SUNSHINE IS NEARER THAN YOU THINK

  That same evening Dad came back from the Cash and Carry with coffee, filters, paper cups, shoe polish (because ‘that man does not keep his shoes like that without polishing them’) and a plug for the Gaggia.

  Mam came back from the Snowdonia Mountain Rescue Charity Shop with a book called Coffee Cavalcade (20p), which told you how to make all kinds of different coffee and – geniusly – a BMW M5 Owner’s Manual. ‘Not that we want his lovely car to pack up,’ she said, ‘but it’s as well to be prepared.’

  Dad took that for himself and gave the coffee book to Tom, saying, ‘Get reading that then. Your career in catering is about to begin.’

  Tom said thanks a lot and rang his mam to tell her about it.

  FT, by the way, is short for the Financial Times.

  Next morning we waited ages, but the shiny man didn’t come. Only Mr Arthur from the paper in his Fiat Multipla (top speed 109 mph). Which was interesting for me. I’ve always wanted to see a Fiat Multipla up close because I know it’s got three seats in the front, which is unusual. Also, with its snubbed bonnet and widely spaced lamps, it actually looks like a turtle!

  Mr Arthur is the editor of the Manod Month, our local newspaper. It used to be called the Manod Week, but there isn’t enough news in Manod to fill a newspaper every week.

  ‘That’s because most news is crime,’ said Minnie, ‘and Manod is sadly lacking in crime.’

  ‘Don’t know about sadly,’ said Dad.

  ‘You’d like more crime, wouldn’t you, Mr Arthur? Something to write about.’

  ‘I was going to write about these visitors,’ said Mr Arthur, ‘but there’s nothing to write. Except they’re here. And everyone knows that already. I’m going to have to write about you, Dylan.’

  At first I thought he was joking. But he really did want to write about me.

  ‘Being the only boy left in Manod,’ he said. ‘Having no one to play footy with. That must be interesting.’

  I wasn’t sure it was that interesting actually.

  Dad said, ‘I play footy with him,’ which wasn’t strictly true. ‘If you’re looking for something to write about, why not the absence of a sign for Manod on the A496?’

  ‘The sign is not a news priority, Mr Hughes,’ said Mr Arthur. ‘Everyone who wants to know about the sign already knows. A boy who has no one to play footy with though, that’s a story.’

  I said, ‘I’ll be able to play with Max, soon as he’s old enough. He’s nearly one.’

  ‘So that’ll be six years till you get a game.’ He wrote something in his notebook. ‘Well, there’s my headline. Now I’ll get my photo.’

  He pulled out his camera and straight away, like magic, Marie was standing next to me. ‘You can’t take a picture with him looking like that,’ she said. ‘Hasn’t even brushed his hair. When they have their photo taken for the newspapers, they spend hours in makeup and choosing clothes and—’

  ‘Yeah, but I’ve got to be in Traswynydd by lunchtime.’

  ‘It won’t take long,’ said Marie. ‘Tom will fix you a coffee, won’t you, Tom?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Tom. ‘What would you like? Cappuccino, espresso . . .’

  ‘Honestly, no. I’ve got a funeral to get to, see.’

  ‘Americano, mocha, mochaccino . . .’

  ‘Really, Tom. Thanks all the same’

  ‘Please,’ pleaded Marie. ‘At least let me brush his hair.’

  ‘All right. I’ll have a coffee, thanks. A normal coffee with milk in.’

  ‘Latte it is then,’ said Tom.

  ‘And I’ll have an espresso, Tom,’ said Dad.

  Marie dragged me inside and up to the bedroom she shares with Minnie, and then she started brushing her own hair.

  ‘I thought I was the one whose hair needed brushing?’

  ‘I’m going to be in the picture too, aren’t I? You want your sister in the picture, don’t you?’ She brushed her hair for about a hundred years and then she started brushing her face with this little thing of blusher. Every now and then she’d look at me and say, ‘Hurry up then.’

  I was quite interested in looking round the girls’ room. I’m not normally allowed in there, see. One wall was nearly covered in tiny pictures. ‘They’re from the “Be Lovely” page in Closer magazine,’ she said. ‘There’s a beauty tip there for every part of the body – eyes, teeth, fingernails, toenails – every detail of the female body.’ It was quite interesting, when you were close up. But when you stepped back it was even more interesting, because she’d arranged all these cuttings into the shape of a woman, there on the wall. Presentation skills, see
, that’s what she’s got.

  When she’d finished, she made me take her photo with a Polaroid camera.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘So I can see how I look.’

  ‘Look in the mirror.’

  ‘You look different in photos,’ she said. ‘The camera adds five pounds.’

  When we got back down, Marie said, ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Arthur,’ and did him a smile the size of a Mercedes radiator.

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Mr Arthur. ‘Worth every minute.’ He took a picture.

  ‘Do another one now,’ said Marie. ‘Side on.’

  She stood side on with her hand on her hip. In the end, she made him take about a million pictures of her standing in various poses until he said, ‘I’ve really got to run. The funeral will be over.’

  Marie wanted to know when it would be in the paper and made him promise to send her copies of the prints. He sent her a really nice one of her with her hair and teeth shining, about a week later. It completely made up for the fact that he’d cut her off the picture on the front page of the paper. It was just me standing by a petrol pump with a football under my arm and the heading ‘The loneliest boy in Wales’. By the way, the Fiat Multipla does have three seats in the front row. Disappointingly, the driver’s seat is in the normal place. If it had been in the middle, that would have been completely beastie.

  Tom had made Mr Arthur his latte and Dad his espresso. He thought the machine was broken because it only made a thimbleful of espresso. Tom kept pressing the button until he’d filled a mug, and Dad drank it. He was quite jumpy after that. He told me and Minnie to go to school.

  ‘But we want to see the shiny man.’

  ‘Yeah, the shiny man, where is he? Has he fled the country? Yeah, he’s probably fled the country. And left us with a pink newspaper and two ton of coffee.’ He was speaking really fast. It was a bit concerning really. Mam said, ‘Dad, the coffee is making you edgy. Go and have a drink of water.’

  ‘No, no, no, no. I’m going to take the paper up to him. Customer service, that’s what it’s all about. Dylan, get in the car.’

  ‘But you told me to go to school.’

  ‘No, I want you to come with me. He’s taken to you. We’ll take him up his paper and a cappuccino. That’s what customer relations is all about, isn’t it? Going the extra mile.’