Inside the shop, me and Minnie built a tower of Pot Noodle cartons, almost as tall as her. I thought she’d be disappointed that it was just paintings and not criminal masterminds up at the quarry. But she wasn’t. She said, ‘Art and criminals go together like fish and chips. Half the paintings in that gallery have been nicked. During wars, soldiers steal them. It’s called booty. Some of those paintings are worth a fortune. Someone’s bound to try and nick them.’
‘Yeah, but not from here. They’re up a mountain and down a quarry.’
‘Doesn’t matter. You know who nicks them mostly? The Mafia.’
‘The Mafia? Why?’
‘They use them instead of money. If one Mafia boss has to pay another Mafia boss say twenty million pounds, instead of sending a cheque or the cash, he sends a painting. Then it doesn’t go through the bank account, see. Harder to detect, isn’t it?’
‘A painting’s not worth twenty million.’
‘Some of them are. That’s why they’re hiding them in the quarry.’
‘Twenty million though?’
‘A few years back a man in a white Vauxhall Nova stole a da Vinci worth fifty million from a castle in Scotland.’
‘I bet he’s not driving a Nova now.’
‘He dumped it in a nearby forest and continued his escape in a black BMW 5-Series – just like Lester’s. It might have been Lester. He looks a bit fly.’
‘ Surely if he had fifty million, he’d’ve upgraded to the 6-Series.’
‘Dylan, when you were speaking to Lester, that time with the chickens, what did he ask you?’
‘Nothing. Just what they were called.’
‘Is that all?’
‘He wanted to know who gave them their names. I told him it was me. Why?’
‘Thinking.’ I like it when Minnie does her thinking. She usually comes up with something.
The tower of Pot Noodles sort of stuck out a bit to one side but it still stayed standing.
When Mam saw the size of the Leaning Tower of Pot Noodle, she started to fret again. ‘How much did you spend?’
‘You’ve got to speculate to accumulate,’ said Dad.
‘I don’t want to accumulate. I want to pay the mortgage.’
‘Put yourself in the position of a man who’s just driven a big van down the mountain road. He’s tired. He’s tense. He’s got to get out to open the gate. He smells coffee. He thinks, just a coffee. He follows his nose into the shop and once inside . . .’
‘Chicken Satay Pot Noodle,’ said Tom. ‘Who could walk past that?’
‘But what if he doesn’t stop? What if he comes down off the mountain and thinks, I can’t wait to get my foot down? What if he comes down thinking, Why would I stop at the garage when I could drive on to Asda and buy myself an all-day breakfast, the newspapers, some nice fruit and veg?’
‘Or a bag,’ said Marie. ‘They’ve got these lovely shoulder bags with, like, flowers on them. In Asda.’
‘And pizzas,’ said Tom. ‘Fresh pizzas. You can even choose your own topping. You can have bacon-and-bean pizzas even.’
‘I’ll tell you why he won’t go to Asda . . . customer relations.’ He looked at me. ‘Lester has taken to Dylan. Therefore we have customer relations.’
Nice Tom said, ‘Why though? Why has he taken to Dylan?’
‘Yeah,’ said Marie. ‘It’s got to be a misunderstanding.’
‘No, it hasn’t,’ said Mam. ‘It’s perfectly understandable. Anyone would take to him. People take to him all the time. He’s lovely.’
‘Unless you need an oil change,’ said Dad.
‘No,’ said Minnie. ‘Actually, it is a misunderstanding.’
Everyone looked at her.
‘Dylan told Lester it was his idea to call the chickens Michelangelo and Donatello. Lester has never heard of the Turtles. He thinks Dylan named his hens after great painters of the Italian Renaissance. He thinks Dylan is interested in art.’
Dad stared at me and then at the tower of Pot Noodles. Mam was already looking at the tower of Pot Noodles.
Minnie was still talking. ‘If Lester talks to Dylan again, he’ll realize he’s made an embarrassing mistake. And then we’ll have bad customer relations.’
Dad whispered, ‘Why did no one mention this before?’ It was the same whisper he used when he found out about the motor-oil/antifreeze mix-up.
‘I’ve only just worked it out,’ said Minnie.
‘How come he’s never heard of the Turtles?’ said Tom. ‘Is he thick or what?’
There’s no denying Mam was upset about this, and it led to a bit more shouting between her and Dad, so me and Minnie slipped out to school. We were just passing the Spar when Dad came running up behind us. He’d obviously thought of something. He always thinks of something.
‘Dylan, I’d like a word with you,’ he said.
We went and sat by the mural, just under the panel of Elvis Arriving at Sun Studios for the First Time, and Dad told me all about Luther Blissett. I’d never heard of him. Dad said, ‘He used to play for Watford in the 1980s.’
‘That’s before I was born.’
‘I know. I know. Well, he was playing at Watford at the same time as John Barnes. You have heard of John Barnes.’
I said, ‘Scored an inspirational individual goal against Brazil in 1984.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Well, Barnes and Blissett both used to play up front for Watford. OK? So Watford’s got two strikers and one of them is John Barnes. John Barnes – who scored against Brazil, who was PFA Player of the Year 1988, who played for England seventy-nine times, who wrote the Anfield Rap. And Luther Blissett – natural goal-scorer and good bloke. So AC Milan – one of the richest and greatest clubs in Europe – decides to buy one of them. Which one?’
‘John Barnes.’
‘They bought Luther Blissett.’
‘Why?’
‘By mistake. They knew that Watford had two strikers and they bought the wrong one.’
‘But . . . how?’
‘Doesn’t matter. The point is, Blissett goes from Watford to Milan in one very, very big move. And maybe it’s a mistake, but he’s there. All he’s got to do is raise his game and no one will ever know.’
‘And he does it?’
‘Well, not really, to be honest. Scored five in the season, and they sold him back to Watford. But the point is, he was there. And everyone loved him and he came back a better player. He scored a hat-trick for England and he’s still Watford’s greatest-ever goal-scorer.’
‘So?’
‘So it’s not about being the greatest ever. It’s about being the best you can be.’
‘What is?’
‘This.’
‘This what?’
‘This situation with the paintings and everything.’
‘Oh. Well, they did say I could have a game actually. If I came back up . . .’
‘I’m not talking about football.’
‘Yes you are. You’re talking about John Barnes and Luther Blissett.’
‘I’m talking about you. I’m saying, Lester thinks you’re some kind of John Barnes genius, and we all know you’re just, well, you’re just Dylan. But that’s all right. You have to take it as an opportunity. Lester thinks you’re clever. All you’ve got to do is pretend you are clever.’
‘Actually, I tried that in school. It doesn’t work. Wouldn’t it be better if we tell him that Minnie’s the clever one, not me? That he’s made a mistake?’
‘Lester doesn’t look like the type of person who likes being told he’s made a mistake.’
I was beginning to think that he didn’t have a plan after all. Then he said, ‘OK, so this is the plan. Minnie is clever, right. She tries to teach you all about Michelangelo and that lot. And when the time comes, she goes with you. So what she can’t teach you, she can whisper to you.’
Brilliant!
Minnie found the whole thing exciting. ‘This is a scam,’ she said. ‘This makes us con men. We
are perpetrating a fraud.’ She could hardly stand still, she was that excited.
I said, ‘I’m not perpetrating a fraud. I’m being polite.’
‘Whatever.’ We sat at the IT table, looking up Michelangelo on Wikipedia. It told you where he was born and when – which I couldn’t remember at all. And it showed you pictures of his works of art. His most famous is the Sistine Chapel in Rome. It’s an actual chapel and he painted scenes from the Bible all over the walls. He did all the painting himself because he didn’t think anyone else was good enough to help him. He did it all lying on his back on top of a high scaffold. He fell off a couple of times. The Pope was annoyed that he took so long doing it. Go on, ask me anything. I can still remember it all now.
That’s what I said to Dad when I got home. ‘Go on, ask me anything. Anything about Michelangelo.’
He was sitting on one of the discount garden chairs, next to the counter. He said, ‘Where was he born?’
‘Actually, he doesn’t know that,’ said Minnie. ‘But you can ask him anything else. Ask him about the Sistine—’
‘OK . . .’ But he never did ask me. Because while he was thinking what to say, a beige van turned up. It was an ordinary Luton van, but it had pictures on the side – pictures of men in bow ties and chef’s hats, holding pans, and the steam from the pans turned into curly writing that said ‘Brake Brothers’ Larder Fresh Food’. The driver parked up and came and put his head round the door of the shop. Disappointingly he wasn’t wearing a bow tie or a chef’s hat. The door said ‘pong ping’ and the man said, ‘This is Manod, isn’t it? Only there’s no sign on the A496.’
‘Signs are not a funding priority,’ said Dad bitterly. ‘How can I help you?’
‘I’m looking for Mountain Road?’ He said it as though it was the name of a road, like Waterloo Road. But it was obvious what he meant. So it was a bit bizarre that Dad didn’t answer. He seemed to freeze.
The man said, ‘Doesn’t ring a bell? Mountain Road?’
Dad stayed frozen.
Minnie said, ‘It’s just here, through the gate.’
The man left. Dad watched him open the gate, jump in, drive through, jump out and close the gate again, and all that time Dad didn’t move or speak.
It turned out that the Brake Brothers sell frozen food to pubs and cafes. And not ordinary frozen food either. ‘Cajun chicken wings, chilli con carne, steak and ale pie,’ said Dad.
‘How,’ he said to Mam, ‘how, how, how did we ever think they wouldn’t have arranged their food? What insane hope was it that made us think they might need us?’
‘You mustn’t blame yourself,’ said Mam.
‘I’m not blaming myself. I’m blaming you,’ said Dad.
‘I know how to make chilli con carne if anyone wants some,’ said Tom.
‘That’s the point,’ said Dad. ‘Why would you make it when they can bring you a frozen one? They’ve got a vanload from Brake Brothers, so what do they need? Nothing. Why would they buy our cup-a-soup when they’ve got buckets of Scotch broth and minestrone? Why would they look at our Pot Noodle when they can have chicken tikka masala? They’re not going to want to shop here at all.’
‘Nice though, chicken tikka masala,’ said Tom.
Later that afternoon, Mr Morgan brought his daughter down to look at the Mini Cooper. Dad let me help him give it a wash-and-wax and scrub the tyres. It looked like a brand-new car. He’d painted it racing red. Mr Morgan’s daughter is called Sian. She said the car was lovely but she didn’t like the colour. ‘Well, it’s racing red,’ said Dad. ‘Like in the film. You know, The Italian Job.’
‘No, I don’t know. It’s just a bit aggressive for me.’
‘What?’ said Dad. ‘How can a colour be aggressive?’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Morgan, ‘how can a colour be aggressive?’
‘It’s colour psychology, isn’t it? Red. Like in bullfighting. A little red car racing round these lanes, that’s like a red rag to a bull to some male drivers. I’d be leaving myself open to burn-ups and road rage and all sorts of things. Why d’you think it’s called racing red, Da?’
Mr Morgan said, ‘She’s doing psychology at university, see. She knows about these things.’
‘It was just supposed to look like in The Italian Job,’ said Dad. ‘It’s the one where they rob a bank in Italy and use Minis as getaway cars.’
‘Well, it sounds like a very aggressive film,’ said Sian.
So we didn’t sell the Mini. And it looks like we’re not going to sell the Pot Noodles either.
25 April
Cars today:
FORD SCORPIO – Sergeant Hunter
JAGUAR XJ 4.2 V8 SOVEREIGN (registration IN5UR3) – Barry and Tone from the Insurance
Weather – damp, turning wet later
Note: SOMETIMES YOUR FRIENDS ARE ENEMIES IN DISGUISE
Another lesson that the Turtles can teach us is that anyone can make a mistake. For instance, in ‘Notes from the Underground’, three rock-eating monsters chase the Turtles down a tunnel where they find an underground city. There’s a mysterious Entity living there who rescues them from the monsters so – understandably – the Turtles think he’s on their side. But really he’s got a plan of his own, which is to keep the Turtles in the underground city forever. They have to fight their way out when he attacks them with intelligent magma.
So it’s not surprising if a person mixes up motor oil and antifreeze sometimes. Or, if a person wakes up in the night and hears noises coming from the workshop, and looks out of the window and sees a light on, it’s not surprising if that person just thinks that his dad is outside, spraying the Mini Cooper a different colour from racing red. That would be an easy mistake to make and the person might not even know it was a mistake until he came down the next morning and found his dad talking to Police Sergeant Hunter about how someone had stolen the Mini.
Sergeant Hunter looked at me and said, ‘Did you hear anything, young Dylan?’
‘Yes.’
‘What?’
I told him all about the light being on and the door being open.
‘What time was this?’
‘It was quarter past three. And about ten minutes later I heard the engine start up.’
Dad was amazed. He said, ‘And you didn’t say anything?’
‘I thought it was you, doing a respray.’
‘Why would I start the engine up if I was doing a respray?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe if the paint was wet, you could take it for a drive and that would help it dry quicker.’
Dad rolled his eyes. We went to school.
Minnie was pure delighted that someone had finally done a crime in Manod. ‘Crimes usually come in waves,’ she said. ‘This is only the beginning.’ All the way to school she kept staring into people’s faces, trying to see if they were the criminal type. ‘The thieves may well still be among us,’ she said.
As soon as she got to school, she started telling everyone about it. By the time lessons started, every kid in the school was in our class listening to her talking about how an armed gang had come up to the garage in the middle of the night and stolen our souped-up turbo Mini Cooper, probably to do a bank job. ‘Mostly, cars are stolen to order for use in other, more serious crimes, as getaway vehicles,’ she said. ‘Our Mini is probably burnt out on a bypass in Birmingham now.’ Then she went on to tell everyone how I’d looked out of the window and mistaken these armed master criminals for my dad. Everyone laughed. I wondered why Ms Stannard wasn’t chasing everyone back to their own classrooms, then I noticed that she was sitting on one of the desks, listening too. ‘Carry on, Minnie,’ she said. ‘This is an excellent exercise in speaking and listening skills.’ Minnie even wrote her email to Gumbi about the robbery. In the afternoon, I got an email from George:
Dear Dylan, Thank you for your last email, which was quite dull. Is it true that you mistook a gang of armed robbers for your father and gave them the keys to his car? He must have been cross. Please write
and tell me more funny stories about your life in Manod. Don’t be dull again!
Your friend, George.
At lunchtime, Terrible Evans pointed straight at me across the dinner hall and started to laugh very, very loud and very, very long. I couldn’t wait to get home. At least there everyone already knew the details.
But when we got home, there was a Jaguar 4.2 (top speed 155 mph!!! 0–60 in 6.3 seconds) on the forecourt. I knew it wasn’t ours. There were two men in the shop wearing suits. One had a mobile phone tucked into his top pocket and the other one had a big droopy moustache like a walrus.
‘Hello, junior,’ they said when I walked in. ‘I believe you saw the whole thing?’
‘Well
‘I’m Barry by the way,’ said the one with the moustache. ‘And this is Tone.’
‘As in Ring Tone,’ said Tone, and he made his phone ring for a joke. ‘We’re from the insurance company.’
They spoke in turns, like they were on Blue Peter.
‘We just want to know what you saw,’ said Barry. ‘Take your time.’ He got out a notebook.
I said, ‘Well, it wasn’t much, really. I just woke up and heard a noise and there was a light on and that’s it.’
‘Time?’
‘Three fifteen.’
They both wrote down the time and said thank you. Minnie asked them if they thought it was the beginning of a crime wave.
‘Let’s hope not,’ said Barry. ‘We’re looking into this because it’s so unusual. Manod has the lowest crime rate in the UK. Normally. We wondered what was different this time.’ When he said this, he looked straight at Dad.
Dad said, ‘I locked the workshop before I went to bed. They forced the door. You can see that if you just go and look at it.’
Barry looked at me and said, ‘Can you remember what woke you up? Did you hear wood being splintered or anything of that sort?’
I thought about this hard before saying, ‘No. No, I didn’t.’
‘We’re just looking for clues, you see,’ said Tone, ‘to why this happened.’
‘When it’s never happened before,’ said Barry.
Clues. I thought really hard. Maybe if I could remember a clue, that would make up for not stopping them doing the robbery.
Framed Page 7