Spud - Learning to Fly

by John van de Ruit

  By the way Shannon was marching around shouting orders at waiters and bar staff, it would appear that she’s in charge of far more than the kitchen. Then there was a loud pop and the champagne began to flow.

  Clutching my glass of bubbly, I moved around the pub not recognising a single soul. Bryan Adams’ Summer of 69 was playing over the Japanese jukebox and people were dancing where they stood and pouring my father’s booze down their gullets.

  Either the pool tables were now mysteriously working, or the people of Lower Umbilo carry Swedish currency around, because balls were being sunk and a serious pool competition was under way. It’s probably just as well that the dartboards hadn’t arrived because somebody would surely have lost an eye in the packed opening night chaos of Franky’s bar.

  I felt so proud of my dad that I had a lump in my throat. If you hadn’t ever been here before you would never know that this place of joy and laughter was previously a cut-price funeral parlour – I bet this is just the kind of place where Shakespeare might have enjoyed a pint.

  Good news on the Amber front. She had her arm around a man with silver hair and a smart jacket. I observed her for about twenty minutes from a small nook near the bathrooms. She didn’t look in Dad’s direction. Not even once. But my spying on Amber was cut short the moment I caught sight of Mermaid at the door. I craned my neck to look for Gavin, but it appeared that he wasn’t with her.

  I began to observe Mermaid as she made her way through the crowd towards the bar where Mom and Marge were perched on barstools still throwing back champagne. She chatted for a while and then began moving around the pub looking for me. I couldn’t delay any longer.

  ‘Johnny!’ she shouted when I suddenly appeared in front of her. Unfortunately, she showed no signs of acne and a beer boep. She looked like she always did at night – like a fizzing sparkler ready to explode.

  ‘Let’s go to the beer garden.’ She had to raise her voice to be heard above the din.

  ‘What beer garden?’ I asked. But she was already leading me by the hand towards the door that led to the room where the dead bodies used to lie.

  The room was gone. Instead the door led to a messy backyard where plastic chairs and tables were scattered among workmen’s rubble and piles of bricks. It wasn’t the most romantic of settings, but at least it was quieter and you could talk without shouting.

  ‘You’re a hard man to see these days,’ said Mermaid with grin.

  I grinned back but didn’t answer.

  ‘Gavin sends his regards,’ she said and waited for a response.

  ‘Great,’ I said and took a big sip of sweet champagne.

  ‘He doesn’t feel comfortable in bars. He thinks they’re places of sin.’

  ‘Well, that’s his opinion,’ I said in an icy tone.

  Mermaid obviously realised that I wasn’t impressed with her comment because she then started rambling on about how nice the pub was and what a great job Dad and Frank had done. I didn’t really listen because I felt a rising surge of anger inside me. It had nothing to do with Gavin, and everything to do with her. With every movement of her lips another painful memory returned. I realised in that moment that I couldn’t carry on like this. I had to be honest with her for the first time in over two years. I had to tell her how I felt. If I didn’t set myself free right now then all I could ever say was that I missed the moment – again. It was time to be a man and stop hiding from the termites that gnaw away at my brain whenever I think of her.

  ‘I don’t think we can be friends any more.’

  In retrospect my announcement must have come as quite a shock for Mermaid because she was in the middle of telling me about her modern dancing exam.

  ‘I can’t do this any more,’ I said strongly to drive the point home.

  ‘What?’ she said. She looked nonplussed.

  ‘I can’t be friends with Gavin and I can’t be friends with you,’ I said and took a long sip from my empty champagne glass. Mermaid didn’t notice the blunder because her eyes had filled with tears.

  ‘But I love you,’ she said and turned her face away from me.

  It takes a brave and courageous man to hold his nerve when confronted with a beautiful girl in tears. Unfortunately, I am no such man. My anger disappeared and I was struck with the sudden desire to hold her in my arms and kiss her.

  ‘I can’t take seeing you with somebody else,’ I said in a quivering voice.

  ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I just hoped that if you two could become friends …’ She didn’t finish the sentence.

  ‘I can’t,’ I said.

  ‘I love you,’ she said again, more desperately this time. She was crying now and I hardly heard her say, ‘I always will.’

  ‘Me too,’ I replied and then had to look away.

  I felt a feather of a kiss on my cheek, and with a swish of wispy blonde hair she was gone.

  And she really was.

  Monday 3rd August

  It’s like my first day at school all over again, except this time I don’t fear the unknown. If The Guv is right, and life is just a series of unrelated experiences, then this is definitely going to rank as one of the good ones.

  Mom and Dad are playful again. Happiness is everywhere, except in my mind when I think of Mermaid. I carefully packed my suitcase and kitbag, and then sat on my bed and ran through my lines one final time. I stood up, closed the windows and drew my old lady curtains. I then left the tranquillity of my room for whatever it is that awaits me.

  18:00 It was a bizarre experience standing around the school entrance neither in nor out. I could hear the usual bustling going on in the quad and the sound of trunks scraping on stone. Boggo set off to rile up the Normal Seven while Fatty made a beeline for the first year dormitory where he pilfered a jersey full of Plump Graham’s tuck. Rambo sat on the wall looking composed and snooty, while Vern struck matches happily on the lawn. Eventually, my curiosity got the better of me and I sneaked around the chapel entrance and into the flower garden where I had a clear view of the house door. Norman Whiteside was having a conversation with somebody inside while he leaned nonchalantly against the common room wall.

  ‘What do you mean I’m the only one?’ shouted a high-pitched insistent voice from inside the house. Our head of house mumbled something back to the hidden shouter, who clearly wasn’t impressed with his explanation.

  ‘Where’s Simon?’ demanded the loud unseen voice from inside the house.

  Whiteside shrugged and then rebuked Rowdy, who was passing by, for having his shirt un-tucked. The first year cleaned himself up and then scurried into the house before Whiteside could begin a lecture.

  ‘So I’m sleeping alone,’ whined the unseen voice again. Whiteside sipped from his tea mug and didn’t reply. Then the loud voiced boy stepped out of the door and with huge saucer-like eyes begged, ‘Can’t Mad Dog come back, just for a term?’

  Whiteside laughed loudly and didn’t reply.

  But Garlic wasn’t giving up. ‘How can there be only one member of the Crazy Eight left?’ he demanded.

  Norman Whiteside said that in his opinion one was one too many, and pushed past the desolate Garlic before disappearing into the house. Garlic stared out at Pissing Pete like he was contemplating suicide. He then took in a few deep gulps of air and seemed to completely zone out on the tower clock.

  ‘Don’t worry, pink face,’ snarled a low and miserable voice. ‘I’ll keep you company.’ Pike slid his arm around Garlic’s shoulder. Garlic stood stock-still like he was having a life and death stand-off with a poisonous snake.

  Then Vern’s demented face leered in beside mine. Clearly the idiot thought I was spying on something interesting and craned his neck to see what I was looking at.

  ‘What you looking at?’ hissed Vern in a conspiratorial manner.

  ‘Garlic and Pike,’ I hissed back and pointed to where Pike was now strangling Garlic in a half nelson. Vern then said, ‘Garlic,’ and sniggered away to himself like it was the funniest t
hing ever.

  ‘You two boys!’ shouted an ominous voice from just behind us. It was Viking dressed in tight denim jeans and a leather jacket. ‘Milton? Blackadder?’ he said loudly when he recognised who we were. ‘What are you two boys doing in the rose garden at night?’

  ‘Just looking,’ replied Vern and then pointed straight at the chapel wall.

  Viking’s eyes darted around in confusion.

  ‘Just looking for what, Blackadder?’ he demanded as he tried to remain on the offensive. Vern became embarrassed and looked directly at his toes. He then said, ‘Garlic!’ and squinted his eyes up towards Viking without shifting the angle of his head.

  ‘Garlic?’ boomed Viking in surprise.

  ‘Yes, sir, Garlic,’ said Vern.

  There was a long pause before Viking let out a long sigh and said, ‘Very well. In the Hiace, on the double!’

  The minibus was parked under a street lamp and I could see the silhouettes of Boggo, Fatty and Rambo arguing about who would ride up front with Viking.

  Vern sped through the rosebushes and charged off towards the minibus like there might not be any space left. Viking watched him go and then shook his head and murmured, ‘Should be an interesting seven weeks, Milton.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I replied.

  We walked towards the waiting minibus. Viking didn’t say anything further and seemed to be lost in thought. I didn’t know if I should say something to start up a conversation. After running through a list of conversation possibilities I felt like too much time had passed and starting a conversation would be a bit lame. In the end I remained silent and also pretended to be lost in deep and important thoughts.

  Surprisingly, Boggo had won the battle for the front seat and he immediately signalled his intentions when he shouted, ‘Let’s hear it for the world’s greatest director!’ as Viking pulled open the driver’s side door. We all cheered and applauded and Viking looked thrilled. Rambo’s knee slammed into the back of Boggo’s seat. Luckily he was wearing a seatbelt because thanks to the power of Rambo’s knee and the thin Hiace seats, Boggo might well have been propelled through the windscreen.

  ‘Now listen up!’ shouted Viking as he swivelled angrily to glare at us. ‘I’ve already caught Blackadder and Milton in the rose bed. They claim to have been looking for garlic for some hitherto unexplained reason.’

  Sniggers broke out from various places but Viking’s rage quickly silenced them.

  ‘Now look here, I’m not stupid. If you boys want to stuff around picking roses and romancing girls … I’ll have you sent home sooner than you can say … mark my words … if one of you sticks a foot out of line … so help me God … you little bastards!’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ we all murmured and looked elsewhere, desperately trying not to laugh at the director’s nonsensical threats.

  ‘Good!’ shouted Viking as the engine kicked to life. ‘Now, Mrs Owen will be taking care of you during your stay at Wrexham and she will report directly to me!’

  We all nodded and said ‘Yes, sir’ again.

  ‘Who’s at the back?’

  ‘Me,’ came the smug voice of Smith.

  ‘Who’s me?’ roared Viking. ‘Godammit, boy, can’t you see I have a major Shakespearian production to mount spanning two schools and both sexes. You think I even have time to ask the question, WHO IS ME!’

  Smith apologised profusely and identified himself twice. Viking ordered him to find his rifle case and open it. Geoff Lawson, sitting next to me, gasped in panic. Nobody wants to see a rifle in the hands of an unhinged theatre director. Thankfully it wasn’t his gun but his cane.

  ‘Pass it around,’ said Viking with a wicked grin. ‘I want everyone to feel its texture.’

  We passed the cane around. It smelled of furniture polish. Back in my old Spudly days this tactic may well have terrified me, but a few years in the funny farm has dished up far worse than Viking’s stick. I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t terrified. Rambo had wedged the cane between his legs and was pretending it was his penis. He then kept resting the tip of the cane on Boggo’s ear. Boggo couldn’t do anything for fear of riling up Viking so he tried to pretend that he didn’t feel his ear turning pink then red then purple.

  WREXHAM COLLEGE FOR GIRLS (Pietermaritzburg)

  The name was written in black letters on a white gate, which swung open after Viking had hooted impatiently and shouted loudly out the window. It was impossible to see much in the darkness but I was immediately struck by how open everything was. We followed a long driveway, passing signs for squash, tennis, swimming, and the gymnasium. Everything was quiet and chilly and not what I was expecting.

  I think Viking may have become lost driving around the Wrexham estate, because it took him at least twenty minutes to find our boarding house. I could feel the excitement building in the car as we craned our heads to get a better view of the school buildings. And who knew, perhaps even a girl.

  ‘Where’s the bloody sign?’ barked Viking as he screeched to a halt outside a white building marked Elizabeth House. We staggered out of the minibus and were met by a woman who looked like a bulldog. She was also looking angry and stood, hands on hips, ready to attack.

  ‘It’s half past eight!’ the woman declared. Viking was in no mood for taking crap from the matronly bulldog and ignored her completely.

  ‘All right, Black, Fatty, Greenstein, Milton and Blackadder – get out. The rest stay where you are,’ said Viking impatiently.

  ‘Good luck, Spud,’ whispered Geoff Lawson. ‘I’d stay out of her way if I were you …’ He gave me a jab on the shoulder and a thumbs up.

  ‘Thank God we’re not sleeping with the crazies,’ I heard Smith say to Spike as we stepped out of the van. Spike didn’t answer. The first question has been answered. The Crazy Eight have been quarantined from the rest of the cast and quite possibly the rest of humanity.

  ‘Hurry up, Fatso!’ said the matron as Fatty struggled with his bags and stolen tuck. Then she pushed Rambo on the back and said, ‘It’s past bedtime, you know.’ Rambo’s back stiffened, but he walked on and didn’t reply.

  We entered Elizabeth House and discovered that it was, unsurprisingly, painted white and cream. The matron led us down a dimly lit corridor and then into a small common room and kitchenette.

  ‘This is your communal space. It is to be kept clean at all times,’ she said before glaring at us accusingly and asking, ‘I hope you all brought your mugs?’ We all nodded.

  Two rooms led off the common room and each had three wooden beds and a cupboard.

  ‘My name is Ms Owen, although round here I’m known as Mr Owen,’ said the matron without looking too displeased about being known as a mister. ‘I’m in charge here and that means very much in charge.’ We all nodded like mutes.

  ‘You can decide on sleeping arrangements among yourselves. You have fifteen minutes to prepare for bed and then I’m turning the lights out.’ We all stared at her like stunned mullet.

  ‘You may use the girls’ bathroom down the corridor on the right, and please stand the seat up when urinating.’ She then turned on her heel and marched out.

  I knew how the sleeping arrangements were going to pan out even before Boggo called out, ‘Hey, Rambo – why don’t you pull in with me and Fatty?’

  I looked at Vern and he looked at me. I grinned at him and he grinned at me. We weren’t grinning about the same thing.

  Tuesday 4th August

  6:30 It took quite a while for me to figure out where I was when I first woke up. I could hear the unfamiliar sound of girls’ voices and hushed whispers. The sunlight was pouring through the open window and directly onto my face so I couldn’t open my eyes properly. Gradually, I became aware of somebody moving around in the little common room next door. There was the clink of coffee cups, hushed whispering and the odd sneeze. Thinking it was Boggo making his tea, I leapt out of bed wearing only my sleeping shorts and a T-shirt, and pulled open the inter-leading door only to be met by the surprised faces of two
young schoolgirls dressed in white school uniforms. They both seemed to be examining our coffee mugs closely and gaped at me with guilty expressions on their faces. They couldn’t have been older than thirteen and looked even younger.

  ‘Hello,’ said the one that looked slightly Spanish. ‘My name is Brenda, and this is Penny.’ Penny was taller than her friend, with blonde hair and railway braces. She had that look about her that suggested that she might be stunningly beautiful in five years’ time.

  Right now two inquisitive girls were the last thing I needed and I tried to wave them off and go back to bed but they stopped me.

  ‘Mr Owen has put us in charge of keeping things orderly,’ announced Penny. She then rolled her eyes at her friend as if I was a complete moron.

  Brenda has a dark complexion with brown eyes and hair, and a rather sweet round button nose. She grinned at me impishly and said, ‘We already know who you are.’

  ‘Really?’ I asked as I switched on the kettle and tried to play things cool.

  ‘Is Rain Man here?’ asked Penny and then immediately covered her mouth as if she had just blown an important state secret. ‘I mean Vern,’ she said and blushed.

  ‘He’s in there,’ I said and pointed towards our room. The girls peered into the room as if a large python may just explode through the doorway. They couldn’t see Vern properly because he was sleeping under a huge pile of pillows with his face pressed into the mattress.

  ‘You’re Spud,’ said Penny without too much enthusiasm. Then there was a brief pause before she asked, ‘Why are you called Spud?’

  ‘Don’t ask,’ I mumbled, and stirred away at my coffee in a rugged fashion.

  ‘Is it to do with a potato or something?’ continued Brenda, clearly not picking up my definite ‘back off’ vibe.

  ‘No,’ I answered.

  Then the other bedroom door creaked open and Boggo stumbled out wearing only a pair of white scants. Unfortunately for him, his eyes were still fastened shut with sleep so he didn’t see the girls.