Toff Chav

by Miles Hadley

  My heart it burns so true

  You only as my Lover

  I walk the grounds in gloom

  Seeing only you in beauty

  I want you in my room...

  * * *

  Archie’s fountain pen faltered. He frowned. ‘...So I can have your booty?’ He screwed up the expensive writing paper and angrily threw it amongst a pile of other paper balls around the wastepaper basket of the library.

  He looked up and around him. From the damp patches around the huge sash windows, to wall after wall of leather-bound and gilded tomes. So many of their pages had not seen the light of day for centuries, if at all. He looked at a silver-framed photograph of his grandpapa on the library desk. He was looking sternly up at him.

  ‘Stop it... I never knew you,’ Archie muttered, placing the photograph face down on the desk to be rid of his glare. ‘Fuck this!’ he yelled at himself. ‘I’m going to call the bitch.’ Bella was beneath the desk and proceeded to whine.

  ‘Shut up, Bella. You can have a walk later,’ Archie said. He got out of the Chippendale chair and angrily strode across the library to a Chesterfield, where he sat down and sank into the depths of the faded leather. He dialled for Polly. To his surprise, she answered.

  ‘Thank you for the flowers. They’re lovely,’ Polly said.

  ‘Oh...’ Archie said surprised. ‘Look, Poll... I spoke out of turn. Please stay with me. We don’t have to go to bloody Africa.’

  There was silence for a few moments. Archie listened intently for her voice. Her voice, so babbling… he thought. Like... like a brook in the grounds of...

  Finally, she spoke again. ‘Listen to me, Archie. We need to talk. Not just over the phone. I want to meet.’

  ‘You name a time and place and I’ll be there.’

  ‘London. Our place. Razza will be working with Pa. It will be just us. Let’s say late morning.’

  ***

  Archie was nervous about seeing Polly that morning. He had not slept the previous night. He had tossed and turned and sweated. He had dreamt of Polly being within his grasp and yet not being able to hold on to her. However, his fears were allayed when they met. She smiled at him and they hugged and kissed as passionately as before upon the doorstep of the Raynards’ London residence.

  Once in the drawing room, they sat together on the sleek 1960s designer sofa.

  ‘Know who she is?’ Polly pointed to an early abstract portrait in an alcove, above some bookshelves.

  ‘No. Who?’ asked Archie.

  ‘My great-great-great-grandmother. I often wonder about her. She was an early suffragette and very active in the movement. Our Raynard radicalism is not something to be laughed at, Archie. We’re not like your family – sticking firmly to tradition. We’re often radical for a reason, and it’s to help the country progress socially.’

  ‘I understand that, Poll, but...’

  ‘No “buts”,’ Polly interrupted. ‘Listen to me, Archie Hodgkin-Smith. When I first met you, I was enthralled, smitten. I thought there was something in you. But, over the months that we’ve been together, I’ve become disappointed.’

  ‘But Poll... I...’

  ‘I was hoping you’d be something different,’ she continued. ‘Turns out, you’re a misogynistic, male chauvinist pig who believes that everyone should still treat you with deference.’

  ‘No Poll...’ said Archie, genuinely shocked. ‘Look... you’ve got me so wrong. I’m not like that at all.’

  ‘Oh, don’t make me laugh,’ replied Polly. ‘You so are!’

  ‘But I... I can’t help it. It’s the way I’ve...’

  ‘You so can, Archie. You so can help it. Listen to me... If you want to still be with me, then you are going to have to change for me.’

  ‘All right, Poll. I will. Poll, I love you so much, and I’m so sorry if you think I’m a sexist pig, or whatever. But Poll, you have to believe me, I so bloody love you! I’ve never felt this way before, but I’ll change and I’ll do it for you…’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Polly paused for a moment and frowned. ‘Well, there’s something I do when I’m in London that I haven’t told you about. Sort of a secret.’

  ‘What? Tell me?’

  ‘It’s more something that I want to show you, than tell,’ replied Polly. ‘Only, if you are shown... that is the way for you to be told. Come with me and I’ll show you.’

  As they made their way across London on the underground, Archie held Polly’s hand and wondered. Wondered what she was doing and what she would show him. He was desperate to know and he was annoyed that there was a part of her that he did not know.

  They exited the East London station and went to where Polly occasionally went. It was a part of London that Archie had not seen. There was a soup kitchen. Homeless people. Person upon person, homeless and seeking what little sustenance they could in order to live, or merely exist, on the streets of their Blighty. Their ‘Great’ Britain. Their ‘United’ Kingdom.

  As he looked at them, Archie felt shocked and ashamed of himself all of a sudden. Guilt for being himself. Guilt for not realising that this had become a part of his dear, sweet Poll and was a part of his dear, sweet England.

  He noticed that Polly was instantly recognised by some of the volunteers, as well as some of the homeless. One had a dog, a small black Labrador, who instantly reminded Archie of Smidgeon. He bent down immediately and stroked the dog.

  ‘What’s his name?’ he asked the homeless person, whose face was beaten, weathered and wrinkled by drink, anxiety and a life outdoors sleeping rough.

  ‘Tiddler,’ said the man gruffly, who was dressed in a scruffy thick lumberjack shirt, dirty jeans and builder’s boots. ‘He’s all I’ve got.’

  Polly came over after speaking to one of the volunteers. ‘Hello, Jack.’

  ‘Hello, your Ladyship,’ Jack quipped. He chuckled, showing the few remaining teeth in his smile. ‘Course, I know she’s not a proper Lady,’ he said to Archie, ‘but we like to have a laugh, don’t we, gal?’

  Polly smiled, before bending down herself to stroke the dog. ‘How’s Tiddler been?’

  ‘Oh, he’s great,’ replied Jack. ‘Always chipper... aren’t you, Tids? Course, now I can get regular check-ups for him. Thanks to a new vet that’s started up. She does it for free. Absolute godsend. Bloody angel, she is.’

  ‘Jack was in the army,’ Polly said to Archie.

  ‘That’s right,’ Jack said. ‘I did my bit. Seen the world. I was in the Gulf. Not the second one, but the first one, after they invaded Kuwait. Still got my medals.’

  He brought from a dirt-stained pocket two medals and showed them to Archie. ‘I lost the plot a bit afterwards. Can’t stand the systems. Civvy life is so different to the forces. Difficult to adjust. I’ve seen a bit, you see. Not pleasant. Stuff that’s pretty scary. Bodies, comrades, stuff like that. It never leaves you. It haunts you and you can never get it out of your system. Never. But I’ve got you, Tids, haven’t I? You old rascal.’ Jack stroked the Labrador with affection. ‘He’s my comrade now. Get’s up to all sorts, don’t you Tids? We’re family. Just him and I. He’s a right tease, sometimes. Licks my face when I’m asleep. Wakes me up, but he doesn’t bother me. It’s civvy life that bothers me. When I’m awake. I just don’t feel I fit in anywhere.’

  Archie went with Polly to chat to one of the volunteers called Anne. She was smiling and serving soup and bread from a vat. After helping her clean some of the pans and dishes, they headed back on the underground.

  ‘Poll...’ said Archie, as they sat down. ‘I’m so amazed and awestruck that you do this. It really puts things into a different perspective for me – it really does. I felt so stupid when I realised what you do. When I saw them. I mean, for Christ’s sake, Jack’s even got a dog like ours and he’s all he’s got, really. I mea
n, other than people – good people, like you and that young vet he mentioned.’

  Polly smiled at him. ‘They say ten per cent of the homeless are ex-servicemen and women. These people were actually willing to give their lives for their country, Archie. Think about it... and they end up on our streets. Something has to be wrong with us all – it really does. Yet, we just turn a blind eye and carry on as if nothing is wrong.’

  There was silence for a few moments, as Archie thought about what Polly had said. They were holding hands again. Polly gave Archie a smile and a quick peck on the cheek.

  ‘I do want to,’ she said.

  ‘Want to what?’

  ‘Go to Africa with you.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. As long as you promise me that you’ll change.’

  ‘I will, Poll. I will.’

  ***

  Much to Archie’s delight, Henry appeared to have finally accepted the change in him regarding Polly. In Archie’s eyes, Henry did everything a good old friend should do and apologised for his behaviour at Spratt’s. Yet, deep down, Archie knew that things would never be the same between them. Nevertheless, Henry helped Archie organise the Africa trip, which would take place at the end of Polly’s exams. They flew on a private jet that had kindly been lent by the Arab Prince from the Riviera in lieu of payment for Archie’s portraits of them.

  Archie looked at Polly on the plane. He had her all to himself again. She was, to him, such a splendid form, with such an articulate brain and a presence that set him alight with endless passion.

  She’s mine, he thought to himself.

  How Archie had loved buying that engagement ring at Asprey. It was a simple choice, an understated choice, but with just enough statement to symbolise his love for her. The cost had not mattered to him. He was able to purchase it with the sale of some of his shares managed by his private wealth manager at Fogg and Co.

  After leaving Dar E Salaam airport, Archie looked out from the window of the white Land Rover driven by Aiden, a worker from the reserve. It is all so damned exotic, he thought as they passed through village after village and town after town. There were women carrying various wares on their heads attired in bright, colourful garments. People were sitting on the backs of pick-up trucks speeding by, horns blaring.

  Archie asked Aiden to stop so that he could take some pictures at a marketplace. He took some shots of Polly, who rather naughtily held two large fruits in front of her. Some of the local women pointed and laughed. Polly laughed with them and snorted.

  After a long, dusty drive along a straight track, that Archie thought must have gone on for miles, they finally arrived. Waiting on the steps of their vast bungalow were the Hursden-Fowlers, who Archie had explained to Polly were cousins of his mother.

  Archie had only met them once, when they visited Risely, but that was years ago. He noticed that they looked much older. Roger Hursden-Fowler extended his hand to greet them and Barbara Hursden-Fowler gave them each a kiss on both cheeks. Their two German Shepherd dogs, Vic and Lacy, came bounding up to them, barking loudly and excitedly.

  Another man came out to greet them. Archie noticed that he was about the same age as the Hursden-Fowlers and he introduced himself as Jim Van der Weld.

  ‘Jim will be showing you the big game and introducing you to some Chaggas,’ Roger smiled.

  Once out in the Land Rover, driven by Jim, Archie and Polly were impressed as they saw elephants, lions, leopards, flamingos and buffalos. Archie took photograph after photograph with his telescopic lens. Sometimes, he would take shots of Polly. He thought that she looked gorgeous with the vast, arid African landscape behind her.

  They were driven further out, where they met some members of the Chagga tribe, dressed resplendently in red garments. Archie watched in amazement as some warriors jumped vertically high in the air, while their comrades sang Chagga songs.

  Jim Van der Weld then took them to a waiting helicopter on a small airstrip. The helicopter was piloted by Jim’s son, Jason. As they boarded the helicopter, Archie looked back to Polly.

  ‘Now for our surprise!’ he said.

  When they were seated, Archie watched Polly laugh out loud and squeal with delight as the helicopter rose from the ground above the majestic Tanzanian landscape. Within forty minutes, the helicopter landed three quarters of the way up Mount Kilimanjaro. Jason Van der Weld handed Archie and Polly each a small backpack containing provisions, giving Archie a secret knowing wink.

  When they had landed, Archie held Polly’s hand as they began their ascent up the track to the peak. He was impressed by the views. They stopped halfway to drink some water and sit down for a while to admire the view, and each other.

  They walked on and upwards, before taking another rest. They sat on some rocks, again admiring the wonderful view. Archie was conscious of Polly’s eyes upon him.

  ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Is what true, Poll?’

  ‘About you and the pig at the Hugh Despenser Society?’

  Archie looked shocked. Aghast. ‘Poll... I would never... do that to a pig.’

  There was a brief moment of silence. ‘Then how do you know what I’m talking about?’

  ‘Oh, Poll. Listen. That pile of horseshit has been doing the rounds for a while. If I could get my hands on the bastard that spread it, I would gladly shoot them with my Purdey.’

  ‘What’s a Purdey?’

  ‘My shotgun, Poll. It’s made by Purdey.’

  ‘And you and Henry?’

  ‘I could shoot him as well, sometimes,’ Archie laughed nervously.

  ‘You know that’s not what I meant,’ said Polly.

  There was an awkward silence. Archie thought about asking, ‘What did you think I meant?’ However, he knew that such feigned innocence would be futile. He felt cornered. Trapped all of a sudden.

  Archie felt the healthy colour in his cheeks drain rapidly as he looked at Polly; at her questioning eyes; her beautiful, questioning eyes. They were so deep and yet so bright; yet, at times, bloody sharp looking at the same time. He felt like his insides were caving in and he looked away; away, briefly across the vast vista of the African plains stretching to oblivion. He took a deep breath and attempted to gather his insides together again.

  ‘Okay,’ he said suddenly. ‘I’ll come clean, Poll. I’m bisexual, but I’m madly in love with you. You have to believe me. I bloody love you and, Christ, if I could move this mountain for you, I fucking well would. You’ve changed me, Poll. Ever since I’ve met you, I’ve progressively felt more liberated inside and I want to stop being such a stupid fucker and be more like you. I want to have a conscience, Poll. I was so impressed by what you do with the homeless, Poll. I really was... and now I’m wittering on, but the only reason I’m doing this is because I am madly in love with you.’

  Archie stood up and crouched on one knee before her. He looked up into her eyes. He brought from out of his pocket the little Asprey box, opened it and spoke with great gravitas.

  ‘Polly, listen. There is no way that my camera lens could ever capture the essence of you. Even as time overtakes our lives, I will still regard you as my love. There is no other. Poll – will you please marry me?’

  Polly appeared to be surprised and overcome with emotion. Archie continued to look up at her earnestly. There was silence. She would not answer him. He began to get worried.

  ‘Polly?’ he asked.

  Eventually she said it. ‘Yes!’ She laughed, snorted and began to cry.

  28

  ‘Well done, young man!’ Bollard said excitedly. ‘We’ll make a scholar of you yet! I am particularly impressed with your overall progress. Your handwriting is coming along in leaps and bounds, and I don’t think it will be long before we get you negotiating essays rather than short answers in paragraphs. I especially enjoyed reading your answer on the dissolution of the
monasteries. Always remember the Who? What? Where? When? and Why? technique when answering questions. Imagine that you are a police detective trying to solve a mystery. Isn’t that right, Christine?’

  ‘What?’ Gary exclaimed. ‘Me a pig? I don’t think so!’

  ‘Young man. If you are to become one of those commuters that you so dearly want to be, with a destination in life, then I’m afraid you are going to have to abide by the laws of the land. That means respecting the “pigs” that you so elegantly refer to.’

  ‘But they’re fascist cunts!’ said Gary angrily. ‘They think skin colour is an excuse for a stop and search.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Bollard.

  ‘My mate Jamal is constantly being stopped and searched. It’s always been the same, ever since we were little.’

  ‘In that case, young man,’ said Bollard, ‘you have found yourself a cause to fight for. However, the only way you are ever going to win that fight is by arming yourself with a thorough knowledge of your history. If you want your friend to be helped, you are never going to win by attacking the police force through insulting them or participating in riots. You must learn the law yourself, too, inside and out, and you must learn the system inside and out. Then, perhaps when you are intellectually strong enough, you can complain to the police on behalf of your friend and, if necessary, take the matter further. There is no place for racism in our country. It sinks us to murky depths. Isn’t that right, Christine?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m not being funny,’ replied Gary, ‘and I’m not a racist, but the immigrants have messed up a lot of stuff around here.’

  ‘Which immigrants are you referring to, young man?’

  ‘Well, the fucking Muslims for a start. They are constantly building mosques and wearing those hats and gowns and having big beards. Plus, they’re clearly a terror threat. Look at Lee Rigby.’

  ‘The reason why they wear those hats and gowns and long beards is to show their devotion to their faith,’ said Bollard calmly.

  ‘Well, can’t they show their devotion somewhere fucking else?’